AN: This is a little oneshot for a little first date prompt that was sent to me by an anon on Tumblr.
I own noting from The Walking Dead.
I hope you enjoy! Please don't forget to let me know what you think!
111
"Bowl-O-Rama?" Carol asked. Her face drew up into something of a wince.
Daryl's mouth went dry and his stomach tightened at her expression. This was their first date. Beyond that, it was Daryl's very first actual date. He'd missed the whole dating as a teenager thing. He'd missed the whole dating in his twenties, thing, too. To be honest, he'd been terrified of the idea of dating and what dating could lead to—in Daryl's experience there was a very good chance that things could go very badly, and he didn't want that. He'd chosen, for the most part, to simply avoid women altogether.
The only woman that had ever changed his mind hadn't shown up until he was in his mid-thirties, and she'd come to town as a divorcee pretty freshly out of bad marriage.
She understood what it was that Daryl found frightening about where relationships went from first dates, and she hadn't judged him when he'd spilled all those thoughts out to her over apple pie at Betty's two nights before. Then, as though he weren't already drowning in his own humiliation, she hadn't judged him when he'd admitted that he had no idea what had driven him to confess everything he'd just said to her, except for the fact that she was the prettiest woman he'd ever met and, if he was ever going to date, he'd wish it was with someone like her.
In hindsight, Daryl wasn't even sure that he'd asked her on this date, but somehow she'd accepted.
And he was already fucking it up.
"You said you wanted somethin' cheesy," Daryl said. "Not no serious date, right?"
"Well—yeah," Carol said.
"Said it was easier, and it wouldn't be stressful, right?" Daryl asked. "Just food an' a good time. Said you wanted to have fun."
"Well…" Carol said.
"Bowl-O-Rama's got some of the best food in town, if we're bein' honest. Their hot dogs are good enough to come for them alone," Daryl said. "And—there's bowling. But if you don't like hotdogs…"
"It's not the hot dogs," Carol said.
"You do like hot dogs?" Daryl asked. Carol nodded. "Then—what's wrong? You changed your mind about goin' on a date with me?" Carol shook her head.
"It's not the hot dogs," she repeated. "And it's not you. I want to go on a date with you, Daryl. It was—kind of my idea."
"Then, why are you lookin' like you might puke in the parking lot?" Daryl asked.
Carol frowned.
"It's the bowling," she said.
Daryl furrowed his brow at her.
"You don't like bowling?" Daryl asked.
"I don't like games," Carol said. "I don't like competition."
"It ain't competition," Daryl said. "It's just bowling."
"Bowling is a competition," Carol said. "We keep score. Someone wins. Someone loses. I don't like it."
"They got skee-ball," Daryl offered. "Place across town has pool, but you can't hear shit in there."
Carol frowned at him. She sighed and he rolled down his window and lit a cigarette, determined to stay right there in the parking lot until they worked this out. Carol stared at his cigarette, and Daryl offered her the pack. She accepted one and the light he offered. She rolled down her window, and he noticed her fingers trembling as they held the cigarette. Whatever this was about, it meant something to her.
"My husband—my ex-husband, Ed—liked to play games and things…like bowling," Carol said.
"So you don't like 'em 'cause he did?" Daryl asked.
"I don't like them because…every time he played a game, it was a terrible night," Carol said. She sighed again. If he played with someone else, and he lost, it was a bad night. If he won, he'd be so egotistical that it was a bad night. If he played with me, and I won, it was a bad night. But if I lost? Well—then he couldn't even enjoy the game because I was so bad at it, so it was a bad night."
"Sounds like a fuckin' no-win situation," Daryl said.
"It was," Carol said. "I hate games. I hate competition. I hate winning and losing. And—I hate getting hurt because little boys can't handle their feelings about games."
Daryl frowned at her. His throat tightened. He understood exactly what she was saying. He waited a long moment, until he felt that air was travelling through his throat in a somewhat normal manner, and then he cleared his throat to make room for the words that he hoped would come out.
"I hear you," he said. "What if—I told you that I don't got no feelings about games except…I'm just hopin' to have a good time on my very first date with the prettiest woman I've ever seen?"
One corner of Carol's mouth turned up in a smile that might be a touch against her will.
"I don't know…" She said.
"What if—it weren't about winnin' and losin'?" Daryl asked. "Hell—I don't half know how to bowl. I mean I know the idea or whatever…roll the ball and knock the things down."
"Pins," Carol offered.
"See? You know as much as I do. Prob'ly a sharp or somethin'. What if it was just about…eatin' a good ass hot dog and playin' a game? Hell, we won't even keep score."
"I think the machines keep score," Carol offered.
Daryl laughed to himself.
"Then, we'll ignore the fuckin' machine, Carol," Daryl said. "But if you don't want to, then we'll leave. We'll go somewhere else. We'll do whatever the hell you want, because the only thing I'm wantin' is to have a date with you."
Carol considered it a moment.
"We don't keep score," she said. "And—if I'm bad at it, you can't yell at me."
Daryl laughed to himself.
"No score. No yellin'. Scout's honor."
111
Daryl didn't exactly keep his promise of no yelling, but Carol had forgiven him the yelled profanity that had slipped out when he'd discovered exactly why you weren't supposed to step foot over the line on the floor and he'd royally busted his ass in front of God and everyone.
She'd forgiven the people behind them for yelling when she'd let go of her ball, accidentally, and it had gotten slung backwards in their direction. She'd forgiven the people next to them for yelling, too, when her ball went rogue again in their direction.
Daryl had even forgiven Carol her yell of complete shock when he'd tripped over his stupid-ass over-sized bowling clown-shoes and dumped an ice cold and refreshing Coca Cola directly into her lap.
They hadn't kept score, though the little machine that was wired up and programmed to do just that had kept score for them. They hadn't even bothered to look at it as they'd polished off the milkshakes that followed their meals. Between the two of them, Daryl figured they'd probably gotten a handful of points. They would have had to have added their scores together to come close to competing with anyone else in the Bowl-O-Rama, and it didn't make sense to compete with each other when it had taken both of them nearly the entire game to get the hang of actually knocking down a pin and not just cruising their balls right down the gutter—unless, of course, they were rolling roguishly around the floor where they had absolutely no business being.
If they had come there to get any real competition or athletic growth from their time spent bowling, Daryl would have had to say that the date was an absolute failure.
As it stood, though, he thought the date hadn't been too bad. By the time they'd left, Carol had let him let her out the door, and then she'd met him as he'd come out and wrapped herself around him as they walked, hugging him sideways. And, when he'd dropped his arm across her shoulder and squeezed her gently, savoring the warmth of her body as it fitted against his in the cool air of the night, she hadn't pulled away at all.
Daryl walked her to her side of the truck, but he was reluctant to let her go, even then. She must have sensed it, because she didn't pull away entirely. Instead, she slid her body around his, hugging him from the front. She smiled at him, and his pulse kicked up.
"Hot dogs weren't too bad," he offered, not moving yet to open the door, lest she let go of him.
"I think it was the best hot dog I've ever eaten," she said. "The milkshake was good, too."
"That chocolate one you had looked pretty good," Daryl said. "Mighta even been better'n my strawberry. Might try that one next time."
"You might could taste a little of it now," Carol said. "If you wanted."
Daryl's pulse nearly went haywire. From the way she was looking at him, he knew what she was proposing. He wanted it, too.
"Gotta admit to you that—just like this is my first date? I never kissed anyone before."
She didn't look judgmental. She looked pleased.
"That's OK," she assured him.
"Might kiss as bad as I bowl," Daryl said with laugh.
"My husband—my ex-husband—said I was bad at everything," Carol said. "I might kiss as bad as I bowl, Daryl." She shrugged her shoulders. "Maybe we won't know the difference."
"Either way—we ought to be pretty decently suited to each other," Daryl said with a laugh.
"Just like with bowling," Carol said.
"Here goes nothin'," Daryl said. He leaned to kiss her, and she met him. He didn't know what he was doing. He had no idea what he should do with his lips, his tongue, or even his head. He didn't know what to do with his hands, either, as they sort of instinctively pulled her into him. He didn't know if she knew what she was doing, either, but he enjoyed it—and she must have enjoyed it, too, because she didn't rush it, and she smiled at him when the kiss broke.
"OK?" He asked.
"I think so," Carol said. "Maybe we both need the practice."
"I don't mind practicing," Daryl offered. "Bowling—it weren't so bad?"
"I had fun," Carol said. "I haven't had fun in a long time, Daryl."
"I had fun, too," Daryl said. He assumed she must know it was true since he was still holding her by the truck instead of letting her into the vehicle so that he could take her home.
"Do I have to ask you on a second date?" Carol asked. "Or—are you gonna ask me?"
"You wanna go on a second one?" Daryl asked. He couldn't hide his enthusiasm.
Carol laughed quietly.
"Weren't you the one at Betty's that told me that first dates lead to marriages and…babies…and being stuck together forever?" Carol asked.
Daryl hummed.
"But most of those things are bad. You said so yourself," Daryl said.
"I said they can be bad, and I know that from experience," Carol said. "But—so can bowling. I know that from experience, too. But—I had a good time tonight, and I might really love bowling now…at least if it's with you."
"So…" Daryl said, everything else getting stuck in his throat. Carol's smile renewed.
"So—it's hard to get to forever without a second date," Carol said. "There's a place in the next town I heard one of the waitresses at Betty's talking about. They have something every Friday night. What are your feelings on…dancing?"
"I hate it," Daryl said.
"Me too," Carol said.
"But with you…" Daryl offered.
Carol smiled.
"I'll try not to step on your feet, if you'll try not to step on mine."
Daryl laughed to himself.
"You can dance on my feet," he offered, "as long as…you let me hold you like this the whole night."
Carol giggled and wiggled a little, rocking Daryl's body with her own.
"Even on the fast dances," she said. "You've got a deal."
"Friday night, then," Daryl said. "I can't wait to make a fuckin' horse's ass of myself with you."
Carol laughed and hugged him before kissing him again.
"I don't think there's anybody else I'd rather be a horse's ass with, Daryl," she teased.