Maggie slid out of bed a little before 8am. She wasn't sure when Rick and his crew would be showing up and the last place she wanted to be when they did was snuggled up in Daryl Dixon's bed. If she was asleep and discovered there she'd have some 'splainin' to do. The bed was the most comfortable bed she had ever slept in and she woke only once after she had initially fallen asleep. It had been about 4:45am and she had slid over closer to Daryl then, seeking out his hands so she could check his pulse. He had curled up with his back to her, gripping a pillow to his chest tightly with both arms, his hands tight against his chest. She slid her fingers beneath the shaggy hair fanned out across his jawline and down the side of his neck, pressing her fingers to his carotid artery and felt the strong and steady thumping as his heart forced his blood through his body. He had flinched and mumbled something unintelligible but hadn't awakened. Maggie made up her side of the bed, being careful not to wake Daryl and went upstairs to shower.
Half an hour later she was sitting on the deck with a cup of coffee in front of her. The air was heavy with humidity and she was thankful for the occasional light breeze that came across the lake and ruffled her hair. She had so many things going through her head that she felt like she was on speed. She wondered if Shane would be with the group today and just how mad her Dad was going to be at her for staying overnight here. She wondered if he would go ballistic when she told him that she wanted to move into the house with Glenn. There was no way in hell that she was going to mention what had happened with Daryl in the early hours of the morning out on the deck where she now sat, soaking up the morning sun.
Maggie wondered if she would be able to convince Rick to let her try to prove Shane's plot to get rid of Daryl. Rick needed to see what Shane was up to, he had to catch Shane in the act of behaving badly to actually be motivated enough to put an end to it. Rick would have to be convinced to humor her and to station himself in Daryl's closet or in the bathroom to listen to what would go down. Maggie had come up with what she thought was a pretty good plan, but in order for it to work, Daryl would have to agree to go along with it and she wasn't sure if he would. She smiled to herself. There were ways to persuade him and she wasn't beyond using them.
Rick climbed into Shane's Hyundai and sighed. Lori had expressed her displeasure at being slated to be, once again, left behind while. Rick and some of the others gallivanted off to this new supposedly wonderful house by a lake. After receiving the cold shoulder and having his amorous advances rebuffed by his wife the night before, Rick had caved in. Now Dale had relinquished his seat in the front to Lori and he slid into the back seat, pushing Glenn over into Hershel.
Carl had really wanted to come, too. Shane was going to take Daryl's truck and start working on cutting up the logs that littered the roadway at the impassible road blockage on the way to the lake house. He had loaded two chain saws, a couple of 5 gallon tanks of gas, a peavey, a cant hook, three gallon jugs of water and a couple of pairs of heavy gloves into the truck bed. He had asked Lori if Carl could come with him to help and he would bring him to the lake house when he was done cutting wood. It would be hot, sweaty work and it would be nice to go for a swim afterward. Lori had readily agreed and said she thought it was a wonderful idea. Carl was excited as well and was eager to help Shane with the wood. He enjoyed spending time with Shane and Shane had promised to teach him how to use a chainsaw today. Of course, this promise had not been made while Lori was in earshot and Carl knew better than to let his mother in on his and Shane's plans to let Carl handle something motorized, sharp and dangerous. She would have been livid.
Carl jumped into the passenger seat of the old truck and pulled his father's hat down firmly on his head. Shane started the old truck up and revved the engine, then put it into gear and pulled in behind his Hyundai as Rick lead the little two vehicle caravan down the dusty, gravel drive. Shane shifted into third and the gears groaned and growled as they ground together. Shane smirked, no one had damned well better do that with his vehicle, but so what if he was grinding gears in Daryl's piece of shit truck? It was more or less his now, anyway. After all, if things today went the way he was planning, he was pretty sure that Dixon wasn't ever going to be driving anything ever again. Shane did feel bad about what had happened to T-Dog. Hurting him had never been his intention, but the stupid redneck who was the intended target had avoided becoming walker food. Shane had tried to subtly push the theory that Daryl had been drugged up and had killed T-Dog because after all, why would he go through all the trouble, wounded and hurting as he was, to bury the man when he knew that a group of them would be there the next day unless he had something to hide? Shane noticed Rick furrowed his brow at the suggestion and Shane could see him struggling with whether or not he believed Daryl's version of what had lead to T-Dog's death. Rick had known that Daryl was stoned on pain meds when they'd arrived at the lake house yesterday and he knew as well as Shane did that when people were all drugged up on Vitamin M, they tended to do things they wouldn't normally do. Some of those things ended up being tragic and horrific. Shane had planted the seeds of doubt in Rick's mind. Now he just had to water them a bit and watch them grow.
Lori stared out the window as the Hyundai headed for the lake house. Occasionally she would look in the side mirror and glance at Shane and Carl in the truck behind them. This time Carl was laughing and Shane had a shocked look on his face, as if Carl had just told him the punchline to an off color joke. Lori smiled a sad little smile. She was trying to be a good wife to Rick, but it was hard. Before Rick's miraculous and unexpected return, she had been happy with Shane. She had grieved for Rick and Shane had grieved with her, and with Shane's help and understanding, she had moved on. Shane had stepped into Rick's shoes and had become her best friend, her confidante, and her lover. He was her strength and her security. Shane had told Carl that he could never and would never even try to replace his father, but he would try to be the best role model and father figure he could for him. Lori had no doubt that Shane loved her and that he loved Carl and that if he had to, he would die protecting them. How was she supposed to erase all of that, all those experiences, all those feelings, the bond that she had formed with Shane? She had been so shocked and happy when she'd seen the face of her husband as he walked, unsure of what he was seeing, and then ran towards her and Carl. She had hugged him so hard, crying tears of joy and relief and she had kissed him, gazing with wonder into those big blue eyes that she thought she'd never see again.
Lori had dropped Shane like a hot potato and she had been furious with him. He'd obviously lied to her. He had told her that Rick was dead. It was only after a couple of weeks that she had let Shane explain himself. Once he had, she knew he hadn't been lying when he had told her that he was sure Rick was dead when he'd gone to the hospital to try to get him out before Atlanta fell to the undead. Lori felt guilty then, because Shane had been happy to see his best friend alive and well, too, and had quickly stepped aside and let Rick take back the role of Lori's husband, Carl's father and their protector. The sad thing was that Lori had now realized that Shane had actually been better in that role than Rick was. Shane had put her and Carl first in all that he did and with Rick, the group came first. Lori had realized that Shane's act of stepping back and letting Rick retake his place in her and Carl's lives and as leader of the group had hurt Shane, hurt him terribly, but he had done it just the same. After all, Rick was his best friend.
Lori believed Shane and was sure that Daryl had killed T-Dog. It was the only thing that made any sense. She had never felt comfortable around Daryl. He was coarse and rude and she had never heard anyone cuss so much in her life, except maybe his equally disgusting older brother. She had been mortified when Rick had fallen all over Daryl when he'd returned, injured, after finding Sophia's doll while searching for the missing girl. Rick had praised the man six ways to Sunday for finding that damned doll and doted on him like he was the second coming. It had darn near nauseated her.
Shane had shared in her disgust with the way Rick was all over Daryl. "Why is he so smitten with that idiot? What kind of fool would get thrown off a horse and impale himself on his own damned arrow? If he'd died he would have been my nominee for the Darwin Awards."
When Lori had expressed surprise that Daryl had been able to drag his wounded ass back to camp and hadn't died, Shane had said, "Dixons are like cockroaches. Sneaky, dirty disgusting things and damned near impossible to kill." It had made her laugh.
Rick took her hand and squeezed it. She shot him a little smile and then turned her attention back to the window and watched the fields and trees roll by.
Daryl cracked an eye open and yawned into the pillow he had hugged against his chest. The room was bathed in light and for a second he didn't know where he was. His memory awoke and caught up with him and the little that he could remember from the events that had occurred hours earlier that morning sprung to life in his mind. Maggie had told him he'd OD'd on morphine and then… He attempted to rub the sleepiness from his eyes. "Maggie?" he whispered hoarsely. His throat felt like he'd been gargling with razor blades and his mouth felt like he'd been chewing on cotton balls. He rolled onto his back and looked to his left. He was alone in his bed and the other side was made and looked as though it hadn't been slept in. He sighed. He was sure she had insisted on sleeping in his bed last night. He hadn't dreamed that, had he? He vaguely remembered her yelling at him and telling him he'd scared her.
He yawned again and closed his eyes. Damn, he was so tired and he felt like he was in a fog. Maybe he just would take Hershel's orders to heart and stay in bed all day. That would make Hershel happy. He'd be following the vet's instructions and if he was able to sleep, it would make the day go by faster. He pulled the sheet up over his shoulders and snuggled back down into the quilt he'd managed to somehow cocoon himself into overnight.
Daryl was on the verge of falling asleep again when the smell of bacon cooking wafted into the bedroom. His stomach growled and he suddenly realized that he was hungry. Very hungry. He opened his eyes and pulled himself up with a groan. He sat still on the edge of the bed for a minute, waiting for the cobwebs in his head to disperse. Once his head was clear, he trudged into the bathroom and closed the door.
He looked in the mirror over the sink. His hair stuck out in all directions and the hair that fell at his temples had twisted into odd looking loose spirals. He had dark circles under his eyes and the scruffy beard on his chin was a bit longer than he was used to and had spread down beneath his neck. He would shave the damned thing off today. If he was going to be confined to his room most of the time for the next couple of weeks, he might as well shave it off now and then he wouldn't have to bother with it for the rest of the period that he considered his" incarceration." He knew he'd be free to walk around the house and he might spend some time in the den on third floor, the one with all the trophies in it, but he also knew that Rick was planning on moving the group into the house soon. He really didn't want to be running into them all the time, to feel their eyes on him, looking down on him, judging him, and Carol….how was he going to deal with her? She hated him. He had failed her, failed Sophia and now Carol was hurt and angry with him and did anyone ever get over the loss of a child if they actually loved them?
"Momma never got over lil' Reb." Imaginary Merle reminded him. Daryl splashed cold water on his face and nodded. He remembered. He had never met his other brother.
Rebel had been born when Merle was six years old. Daryl had seen a couple of photos of Reb, photos of him standing next to Merle and sitting on their Momma's lap. The boy in the photos was a small boy, about three years of age with thick, pitch black hair and pale blue eyes. Daryl remembered being about five years old and his Momma sitting with him at night as she had him say his prayers. "Now I lay me down to sleep...". She had taught him to always include little Reb in his nightly prayers and one night Daryl had asked her why. "Isn't Reb in heaven, Momma?" he had said. She had nodded, tears in her eyes and he had asked, "so why do we got ta pray for 'im if he's already in heaven?" His momma had hugged him and kissed his cheek and said, "because he likes it when his little brother prays for him and so do I." Momma had always referred to Rebel as her little angel.
Daryl never knew how his brother had died and Merle wouldn't tell him. "I got nightmares 'bout it 'nough fer tha both a us." He'd say when Daryl would ask. Daryl stopped asking when he was seventeen after he'd questioned Merle about it again and Merle had popped him in the face good and hard; breaking his nose and blackening his right eye and told him not to ask him again. Daryl then figured it was probably something he'd rather not know anyway.
Carol loved Sophia and Daryl knew Carol would never, could never forgive him for the loss of her daughter and he would have to avoid her as best he could, for both their sakes. He wondered if she would feel a bit better if she knew that he'd never forgive himself for not finding the young girl, either, and that his failure would haunt him until the day he died.
Daryl decided he would talk to Rick about getting a door put in where one of the windows was in his room. He could climb in and out a window, but with his incision still healing, it probably wasn't a good idea. Having a door to the outside would come in handy when trying to avoid all the people that would soon be invading the house.
Daryl made his way towards the kitchen, the smell of the bacon getting stronger and now mingling with the smell of coffee and something else that he couldn't quite place. He almost bumped into Maggie as he started into the kitchen from the dining room.
She smiled at him, "Oh, good, you're up. I made breakfast for us." She reached for his arm and he pulled it away from her as he backed up two steps. She smirked at him and closed the space between them and reached out again and grabbed his arm. "I swear, Dixon," she scolded, "you're jumpier than a long tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs." and she steered him towards the door that opened onto the deck. "'Jes' don' like bein' touched. Why y'all gotta always be touchin' me? T-Dog was always touchin' me, Rick tries ta fuckin' touch me an' lookit you. I fuckin' hate it. Whut, m' I the family dog er' sumthin'?"" he grumbled as she pulled him along with a steely grip on his arm.
Maggie smiled as she pulled Daryl towards the patio table. "It's because we're not supposed to. Kind of like that saying, 'God made cats so mankind would know how it felt to pat the tiger.' Well, sometimes we just want to risk it all and pat the tiger anyway."
Daryl grinned mischievously, "Ya callin' me a tiger?" he raised his eyebrows at her and did she actually see a gleam in his eye?
"Hey, you're the one that's always sayin' you're not a pussy and accusing everyone else of being one. If you're not a pussycat, you must be a tiger." She motioned for him to sit at the end of the table and she sat down on the other side of the corner.
He looked at the food she'd placed on the table. "You're Betty Crocker in disguise, ain't ya?" he asked her.
A pot of dark, tarry looking coffee with whisps of steam floating up from its surface sat close to his plate. She'd made it extra super strong again. There was a plate heaped high with bacon, a plate with a pile of hot biscuits, a bowl of hot grits and a large gravy boat filled with sausage gravy spread out across the end of the table where they sat. She'd placed the salt and pepper and butter on the table as well and had set a place for each of them, complete with a folded napkin. A pitcher of orange juice dripping with condensation finished off the spread.
"So whats the occasion?" he asked her as he tossed two biscuits on his plate and proceeded to drown them with sausage gravy.
She smiled and poured a glass of orange juice for herself. "The downfall of Shane Walsh," she announced.
"'N what a mighty fall it'll be." Daryl reached for the orange juice. "Where 'n hell did you get orange juice?" he asked her before he drank the whole glass. Damn, he hadn't had orange juice for a long long time.
"There's a bunch of cans of frozen condensed juice out in the garage in the freezer with all the frozen fruit in it. I just had to dig a bit." she said.
"So," he asked her between bites of biscuit, "whadaya want?"
"What do I want?"
"Yeah. Whadaya want? A woman don't put out a spread like this 'less she's lookin' to get somethin' back."
Maggie couldn't resist. She gave him a devilish smile. "I know we usually don't have it at breakfast, but I was hoping that you'd agree to be dessert;" she winked at him, "if you know what I mean."
Daryl felt his face get hot and he dropped the three pieces of bacon he'd just grabbed off the plate. His chair scraped against the deck as he pushed it backward and prepared to make his escape.
"Oh come on, you know I'm kidding. I mean, you might be the tiger of our group but I'm totally crazy about my pussycat." She smiled at him and he pulled the chair back in closer to the table.
"See? Why y'all gotta tease like that. Ain't nice. Makes me way uncomf'table. No more a' that shit, 'k?"
Maggie sighed, "You're right, I'm sorry. Well, not really, but back to the Shane situation. You know Shane is going to want to see you. He's going to want to see how you're doing, how things are set up, what his options are and how best to make a move."
Daryl nodded. "I was thinkin' the same thin'. Figured I'd make 'im think it'd be easy for 'im, maybe he'd put 'is guard down, get cocky, not be so careful. If I'm an easy mark, he won't be worried 'bout bein' caught doin' anythin'."
Maggie smiled. It looked like the bribery breakfast might have been a waste of time. Daryl was suggesting the part of her plan that she was sure he would resist. He was going to be the bait.
"Figured we could let 'im think we hadn't figured out the pill switchin' he did. I could make it look like I'm taken four 'r five of em' at once. I'm bettin' he'd either wait aroun' to see if they'd tire me out 'r leave an' come back later." He laughed. "'S morbid as hell, but wanna make a bet?"
Maggie smiled. Daryl was laughing as if this was going to be like playing some sort of harmless prank. "What kind of bet?" she asked.
"How do ya think he'll try to do it? He ain't gonna wan' it to look like he did nothin'. I'm bettin' 'pillow over the face' when he thinks I'm sleepin'."
Maggie smiled and gasped, putting a hand over her mouth theatrically. "Daryl Dixon, you're a sick sick man! You want to bet on murder method?" She laughed. "One week of doing dishes when it's my turn says he stole a bottle of Midazolam and he's going to try to give you a shot of that. Dad used 2 mills to put you flat on your back and the bottles hold 10 mls. If he did grab a vial of it, I'm betting he'll try to inject you with a helluva lot more than just 2 mls."
"Ain't no way in hell I'd give 'im a chance ta get close enough to me to do that." Daryl said. He was looking out across the lake and Maggie thought she detected a new and different expression on his face. Concern? Worry? Doubt? Was it fear?
"I'll be standing by with a shot of Flumazenil just in case," she assured him. "That's the antidote for a Midazolam overdose."
He looked over at her. "How do you know all that shit? 'Bout drugs an' stuff?"
She swallowed as he studied her with those damned beautiful sky blue eyes of his. She had never seen anyone with eyes that color, that expressive and thought to herself what a waste it was for God to bless Daryl Dixon, of all people, with those eyes. "I went to college for pharmacology. I also worked in an inner city methadone clinic and a psychiatric hospital while I was in school, so I'm very familiar with psychotropic drugs, narcotics and opiates. They were sort of my specialty." She smiled at Daryl, almost embarrassed. Did it sound like she was bragging? She hoped not.
Daryl nodded. "Good stuff to know." He stole a glance at her. She was smiling and blushing and looking down at the grits on her plate. He smiled to himself. She was embarrassed. It made him like her just a bit more. There had been no conceit meant when she had been telling him about her schooling.
"She likes 'ya baby bro'. Y'all could steal 'er from ching-chang-chung slanty eyes. Hell, compared ta 'im you're almos' a real man. You heard her say she thinks you're a tiger." Imaginary Merle laughed. "More like a tiger-lily." He scoffed, "but she likes ya. C'mon boy. You best be gettin' some tail or ol' Merle's gonna think you're in love with yer hand."
Daryl ignored Imaginary Merle. He did like Maggie, but not like that. The last thing he wanted or needed in this messy world was a relationship and all the distractions and bullshit it would bring with it. His life was fucked up enough as it was, thank you very much.
Daryl finished his last piece of bacon and his coffee. He stood up and moved to pick up his plate to bring it inside. "Thanks. Prolly the best breakfast I've 'ad since this whole walker clusterfuck started," he said and he meant it.
"Why thank you, Mr. Dixon. Now just leave your plates, I'll get them."
He scowled at her, "'I'm not a fuck'in invalid. I can get 'em."
Maggie glared at him, "I didn't say you were. I was just being nice. I figured you'd want to get into the shower and get yourself all prettied up for your date with Shane."
His eyes got wide, cripes, did she think he stunk? Did he? Well, he had puked his guts out several hours ago, but he'd rinsed his mouth out since then. Twice.
"You never said what you wanted in payment if you win our sick little bet." she reminded him.
He smiled. He could tell her she would have to do the chicken dance some night out here on the patio table in front of everyone.
"Naked." added Imaginary Merle. "…...aw come on! At least in 'er underwear!"
"Okay, ya gotta skin whatever small game I bring in for a week." Daryl said.
Imaginary Merle groaned.
Maggie flashed that pretty smile of hers again. "Deal," she said, sticking out her hand. They shook on it.
Three hours later Maggie heard the F150 descending the driveway. She'd gone up and unlocked and opened the gate two hours before and was in the back yard weeding the garden when the truck came to a stop near the chain link fence.
She smiled as Glenn leaped out of one of the back doors of the truck and practically vaulted the fence, running up to her and pulling her into a tight hug. He released her and smiled as he held her at arms length, taking in her beauty.
"So," he asked her, "how did things go last night?"