Droplets of water wound their way between Daryl's pectoral muscles, across his taut abdomen, and soaked their way into the towel around his waist. He dropped his dirty clothes in the basket marked, court laundry. Apparently, that basket was collected nightly, and the clothes were washed, dried, folded, and then returned to a shelf in the locker room by the next evening. It was like magic.
He walked on to his assigned locker, opened it - there were no locks - and pulled out his white muscle shirt.
"What happened to your back?"
Daryl had thought the locker room was empty. He quickly pulled on the shirt to cover the lashes. When he turned around, Henry was standing on the other side of the bench. The huntsman wore only a pair of black boxers as he toweled off his thick, gray-blonde hair. Daryl did a double-take when he noticed the large, patterned tattoo on his chest and shoulder - a series of concentric circles made with black and red dots. Henry wasn't the sort of man Daryl would expect to have a tattoo. "What's all that mean?" he asked, as much to change the subject as out of curiosity.
"It means I'm an idiot. I lived with the aborigines for a few months while I was doing my doctoral work in anthropology. They gave it to me one night after they got me drunk, told me it meant all these deep, significant things. Turns out they were just having a joke. What do your disembodied demon wings mean?"
"Same thing. Hell, only half remember gettin' it. Think I told the man I wanted a sexy angel."
Henry laughed. "Don't we all." He opened his locker, pulled out his pants, and stepped into them, saying, "My sexy angel tells me you're going to teach a hunter's safety unit to her class next Wednesday."
"Don't know why she didn't just ask ya."
Henry zipped up. "I have rehearsal in the afternoons."
"Rehearsal?" Daryl asked.
"For the orchestra. I play the violin. There were all sorts of instruments in the band room, so King Ezekiel thought - why not? All part of the bread and circuses, I suppose, but I like playing. The next concert is this Saturday, after the banquet. Are you coming?"
"Concerts ain't really my thing."
"It would make a great date night," Henry said. "For you and Carol. Not a lot of places you can take a girl in this world."
"Mhm." Did Henry think he was dating Carol? Were people actually dating in this world? Daryl grabbed his pants and boxers out of the locker and shut it. Then he walked past the bench to disappear behind a shower curtain. He didn't like getting dressed or undressed in front of people.
When he came out dressed, Henry was still in the locker room, shaving over the sink. Daryl tossed his towel in the nearby laundry basket.
"I know it seems silly to shave when I hardly have any stubble," Henry said, "but Gloria prefers a smooth cheek."
"Hmm."
"Carol likes the scruff, though, I suppose?"
"Dunno."
"You should really come to the concert." Henry ran the straight blade down his left cheek, clearing off the last bit of shaving cream. "Your niece will be in it, too."
"Savannah?" Daryl asked.
"She plays the flute. She's excellent, even though she misses half of the rehearsals."
"Huh." She'd never mentioned that.
"I thought Savannah might possibly be my daughter-in-law one day." Henry rinsed his razor, tapped it inside the sink, and began shaving his other cheek. "How does she seem to be doing to you these days?"
"A'right. Strong girl."
"Maybe a little too strong," Henry said. "She's like steel encased in iron. John always loved her more than she loved him."
"Ya get tired of losin' people." Daryl didn't like to hear Savannah criticized. He barely knew her, but she was all he had left of Merle. "Ya learn to protect yerself."
Henry wiped down his smooth cheeks. "There's no time, in this world, to guard your heart. You should love the one you're with, for as long as you have the privilege of being with her."
Daryl looked down at the water swirling in a slow circle around the drain of the sink, washing the shaving cream little by little into the depths below.
[*]
When Daryl was heading to the stairwell later, Savannah caught up with him. "Want to go riding with me before the banquet?" she asked.
He paused with one hand on the rail. "Ain't ya got rehearsal?"
She smiled. "Didn't know you knew I played. But I can miss one more practice. I feel like riding."
"Ya really want another rebuke?"
Savannah tilted her head. "And here I thought you were the cool uncle."
"Just don't like drawin' attention to myself."
"I got permission this time. And I got us a third."
"A'right," Daryl said. "Guess ya'll have to introduce me."
"You know him. It's Carl Grimes."
"Carl don't ride."
"He's going to ride with me," Savannah said. "I'm going to be teaching him."
"Hmm…and was this your idea or his?"
Savannah smiled. "He's just a boy, Uncle Daryl."
Daryl turned to follow her and fell in step beside her. "That boy's killed more people than ya can count. Some maybe he didn't even have to."
"Haven't we all?"
[*]
At first, Daryl had fun racing bikes with Savannah. She was fast, and agile, and a challenge to keep up with. Carl was riding behind her, his hands around her waist, his eyes shut tight against the speed. But when Savannah slowed to a stop, got off her bike, and told Carl it was time to teach him to ride, Daryl had nothing to do but ride circles around them, killing time.
He watched Carl make stupid mistake after stupid mistake, while Savannah yelled at him like a football coach. Carl's expression seemed a cross somewhere between scared and turned on.
Daryl got bored and frustrated and started feeling like a chaperone. "Better be gettin' back," he told them. "Gotta get ready for the banquet."
[*]
When Carol finally freed herself from the kitchen to join her friends, it was already dessert time. Daryl had, once again, kept an empty spot next to himself for her at the table. She sat down with a smile just as a cup of decaf coffee was deposited before her by a kitchen servant.
The page began the evening announcements. At the conclusion, he said, "There is to be a change in procedure. Henceforth, public rebukes will only be issued after a second infraction for the same offense. First offenses will be discussed in a private meeting with His Royal Highness."
Daryl leaned forward toward Sasha, who sat opposite him. "That ain't exactly what I meant."
"It's a start," she said. "It's something."
"What did ya have to do to get just that much?"
"I blew him, of course," Sasha said dryly. "What do you think? I used my words. I'm pretty good with words, actually." Sasha rolled her arm and rubbed her shoulder. "Let's just work legs tomorrow. You might have been right about resting a bit more in between."
Carol looked from Sasha to Daryl. "Work legs?" she asked.
"Daryl and I lift weights together."
"Oh." Carol was annoyed by a completely unreasonable stab of jealousy.
"You can join us if you want," Sasha said.
"No, that's okay," Carol said. "Weights aren't really my thing, and I usually spend the early afternoon at the firearms range practicing."
"She's damn good, too," Rick said. "Daryl, you should see how close Carol's groups are now."
Daryl glanced at her. "Don't surprise me none."
Carol smiled at him. "Well, I did have a good teacher at the prison."
"This isn't Daryl's doing," Rick said. "You've gotten better since you left Alexandria. Competition level."
"Better than you?" Michonne asked.
Rick shook his head. "I hate to admit it, but..."
Michonne chuckled.
After finishing her desert, Carol excused herself to return to the kitchen.
Daryl grabbed her hand. "Sit down," he ordered. "Relax. Ain't fair ya had to eat dinner on yer feet in the kitchen, and ya only get a few minutes to sit for dessert?"
"This is my job, Daryl, and I don't work in the mornings like you do. I earn my place. Just like everyone else."
He let go of her hand. "Fine. But yer gonna relax tonight when ya get in."
She smiled all the way to the kitchen.
[*]
Daryl had his handgun disassembled on the breakfast table and was ramming a cleaning rod in and out of the barrel when Carol entered the apartment. He didn't look up until she was sitting down across from him.
"Hey," she said.
"Hey." He continued to pump the rod back and forth.
She smiled. "That's pretty hot."
"Stop." He slid the rod slowly out, removed the now blackened cloth, and began to reassemble the gun. "Want to finish yer movie?"
Carol thought it was sweet that he was offering to do something she liked. "That's okay. We don't have to."
"Don't mind if ya want to watch it. I can suffer through."
"I've seen it twice before." She didn't want to bore him with it.
"Yeah, but, it's probably been awhile." He clicked the last piece of his gun in place, racked the slide open, and peered inside. Satisfied, he lay the gun back down on the table.
Carol smiled with a sudden realization. "You want to watch it."
"Nah!" he insisted. "Don't give a shit 'bout no damn romance movie." He shrugged. "But I ain't got nothin' better to do."
"You already know he gets the girl. I told you that."
"Yeah, I know how all these things are s'posed to end. Just ain't quite sure how the guy gets there."
Carol stood. "I'll get the movie going. You re-open the wine."
While Carol readied the DVD player, Daryl struggled to get the cork back out of the bottle. He broke it off halfway, and then had to work it loose, but he lost part of it in the bottle. When he poured, a little bit of the cork flecked into the glasses. He sat down next to her, put his glass on the coffee table, and then fished out the cork piece from hers with his fingers. He then sucked the wine off his fingertips and handed her the glass.
"Good thing alcohol is sanitary," she said.
"Washed my hands 'fore dinner." He picked up his glass and fished out the flecks from it, too, before licking his fingertips. Daryl didn't seem to have the faintest idea how maddening Carol found that habit. It was crude and disgusting and...well...naughty and sexy...Carol leaned forward and pressed play.
The disk whirred into motion as Daryl put his bare feet up on the coffee table.
"That's not really a hassock," she told him.
"Is now."
Carol settled against his side, since he hadn't protested about it last night. As she hoped, he let his arm fall over her shoulders, this time right away. His arm didn't feel nearly as awkward as it had last night. His muscles were firm, but not stiff. His body seemed relaxed. She tilted her head and leaned it on his shoulder as they watched.
When the movie neared one of her favorite parts, she said, "The wet shirt scene is coming up."
"The what?"
"Mr. Darcy goes swimming. See?"
"Why the hell does he swim in his clothes?"
"Why? Do you always go skinny dipping?" She had a vision of Daryl diving naked off a dock into a deep lake of water.
"When I's alone. He don't know she's there. Well, he does now. Why's she turning away? Ain't like he's neked."
"Well, back then, that practically was naked. That and she can't stand his hotness. It's blinding her."
Daryl grunted. "She thinks that giant house is hot."
Carol chuckled. "I wonder if there are people living in estates like that in England now, just surviving."
"Hell," Daryl said. "Maybe other countries ain't even got walkers. Maybe they's just goin' on as always."
"Wouldn't they know about us here and send help, then?" Carol asked.
"More likely bomb the shit out of us so it don't spread."
"Well, you're a bit cynical."
He shrugged. "It's what we'd do."
"No, it's not. We'd the send the Red Cross. Fly in and drop a bunch of food. Shoot walkers from the air."
"Yeah? They couldn't even do that here. Cain't believe we's survivin' and the military couldn't deal with it."
"It is odd," Carol agreed. She sipped her wine and enjoyed the feel of Daryl's strong body next to hers as she watched. To her surprise, he began to move his thumb in a slow circle across her skin, just below the edge of the short sleeve of her shirt, but he didn't do it for long.
"I like that," she said.
"The carriage?"
"No...the rubbing."
He began to move his thumb again. Then he used all his fingers to gently massage the side of her shoulder. When she turned her head to smile at him, Daryl got that Oh-God-I'm-touching-a-girl awkward look in his eyes and stopped rubbing. Carol wished she hadn't spooked him and returned her eyes to the movie. He was quiet for most of the rest of the film, but he at least kept his arm draped around her shoulders.
When the carriage was driving away from the church after the wedding scene, Carol observed, "That's the first time they've kissed."
"That's weird. Marryin' someone ya ain't even kissed yet."
"It is weird," she agreed. "Knowing and desiring someone for a long time and not doing anything but exchanging lingering glances for scene after scene after scene."
"Guess that's how it was back then." He stood and stretched the arm that had been around her shoulders, pulling on it across his chest. She heard a pop. "Gotta hit the hay." He began to retreat toward the curtain.
"Can you pick up your boots?" she asked. "Bring them in your room instead of leaving them in the middle of the floor?"
He stopped, sighed, and walked back a few steps to the boots that were lying on the other side of the coffee table. "Yer a bit of a nag, ya know that?" He bent over and picked them up.
"Maybe I just wanted to get a good look at your ass."
"Stop." As he turned to head toward the curtain, she saw the faintest smile toying at the corner of his lips.
