Chapter 28 - Hands

Daryl was unable to stop thinking about the previous evening's 'birthday celebration' and was also unable to shift the small smile crooking his lips, the warmth in his belly and the general lightness he felt as a result. He couldn't understand how a gesture so small (and, quite frankly, ridiculous), could make him feel so good.

But it did.

And so did she. She made him feel like that all the time, like he was important. He wondered (and felt stupid wondering it) if this is what it felt like to have a best friend, to know that you were at the top of someone's list. To know that there was someone who would consider you, put you first, before anyone else. He'd never been one to have many friends, and certainly hadn't been at the top of anyone's list before.

Of course, out here, he had become close to others through circumstance – namely Carol (although it felt like she had only latched on to him at the beginning through loss, rather than because he'd been someone she wanted to get to know) and Rick (but Rick had a family so his priorities would always lie with them first and foremost), but that was very different to this thing he had with Tahlia. This thing where he was more comfortable and more himself with her than he'd even been with anyone before. This thing where it felt like the time they spent together was never enough. This thing where life was brighter, warmer, easier around her.

This nameless thing that just felt good.

Contemplating all this while down at the main gate sorting through a load of branches and sticks to make trellises for the tomato and pea plants, he glanced up to see Tahlia jogging across the garden to where Rick was watering the vegetables. Frowning, he couldn't help but wish that the two of them wouldn't spend so much time together. Morbidly curious, he watched on, unable to stop the worm of jealousy from burrowing deep into his heart.

Too far away to hear anything that was said, instead, Daryl watched Rick and Tahlia's hands do the talking for them.

.

His hands, perching on his hips as he stood when she approached, concern on his face.

Her hands, flying in the air, gesturing wildly as she closed the gap between them.

His hands, held up, appeasing, calming.

Her hands, fingers tenting, pressing to her lips.

His hands, cupping her face, tender, stroking.

Her hands, resting on his chest, head bowing.

His hands, encircling her, pulling her close, an embrace.

Her hands, around him, clutching his shirt, head on his shoulder.

Daryl's hands, clenching, snapping the stick they held.

Their hands, joined, as they walked beyond the sheds together.

.

Embittered, Daryl screwed his face up and threw the broken stick at the fence.

Daryl was getting ready to go to the woods to be alone, process what he'd seen. He knew Rick and Tahlia had become close through the morning hours they shared, but he had hoped they wouldn't ever become that close; hoped that nothing more than friendship would develop between the two of them.

Perhaps he should have seen it coming.

They were a good match. Tahlia was... Tahlia. Beautiful inside and out. And Rick, well, he was a great man - strong, driven, likeable, probably good-looking (Daryl wasn't sure on that), a man who would treat Tahlia right. The kind of man she deserved. Of course they had become close from spending time together, formed a bond, so this was just the natural progression. Inevitable, really.

So why did it still feel like a sledgehammer to the gut?

Maybe because, for a brief moment, it had felt good to have a person. To be at the top of someone's list. And Daryl had let himself believe that he meant a little more to her than anyone else. That the bond between them was stronger than what she had with anyone else. And after being on such a high from the previous evening, it was a long, jarring nose-dive back to the cold, harsh ground of reality.

And really, thought Daryl, in what world would trash like him ever come out on top?

Especially not when compared to a man like Rick - the sheriff, the stand-up guy, the model citizen, father, leader. The lowly, redneck drifter had nothing on him. Daryl knew he should be used to being passed over by now. Should be comfortable at the bottom of the heap. God knows he'd been there long enough. But still, it stung like fuck.

"Daryl." Her voice, surprising him, breaking through his dark musings.

He tried not to scowl at her, but it didn't work.

"Daryl, will you help me with something?"

"Why doncha ask Rick?" he snapped, not caring that he sounded petulant.

Confusion knitted Tahlia's brow, but she implored. "Please?"

With an exasperated huff, he shrugged moodily at her. "What?"

"It's... Butter. He... his leg got crushed by a crate, and the injury was so bad that... Rick had to put him down." she sniffed, emotion for her favourite goat spilling over.

"Aww, shit." Daryl was immediately flooded by guilt over his suspicion of her and Rick.

The scene he'd just witnessed started to rearrange itself in his head, painting a different picture now – her upset about Butter, Rick calming, comforting, leading to see, nothing beyond the line of friendship. Momentarily shocked by the strength of the jealousy he had felt, Daryl suddenly realised it wasn't just Brody that made him bristle, but now the thought of Tahlia and any man was enough to raise the green-eyed monster within him.

But, why? Why did he even care what she did with anyone else? It shouldn't even be an issue. Perhaps it was just that overly protective streak he had for her flaring up. Although, even as that thought arose, so did the realisation that it was more than that. More than could be contained within the boundaries of a friendship. The unwelcome awareness of the strength of the feelings that were developing for her left him a little unbalanced.

Tahlia carried on quietly. "He doesn't want him to go to... waste, but I can't... please will you do it? Prepare him, I mean?"

He understood what she was getting at now. She couldn't gut and skin the animal she considered to be her pet, carve him up for eating, and was asking for his help.

"Course I will. Aww, c'mon, Tahly. Don't cry."

"I'm not." she said as tears rolled down her cheeks.

"God's sake." A comment more directed at the fact that he felt damned helpless around her and could only do what he imagined every other fucking guy would want to do seeing her like this - pull her close, comfort her, protect her. He hated that she had this effect on him. Yet, here he was, holding her tight, stroking her hair. Just like he'd seen Rick do, not 10 minutes before.

"Can't get so damned attached to animals, y'know." he muttered.

"I know. I won't."

But he knew, she would. Stupid, caring, loving girl.

"C'mon. Show me where he is."

Tahlia hooked an arm through Daryl's, wiping at her face with her other one, and led him towards the animal sheds.

Butter lay just outside the entrance of the goat shelter, a blanket tucked up to his chin, another blood-soaked blanket under his head from where Rick had slit his throat.

Daryl gazed down at the wretched animal, a small flame of anger briefly licking inside him. He should have been the one to do it. Not Rick. And not like that. He hoped Tahlia hadn't been there to witness the goat bleeding out.

"Alright, I'll take care of him." Then up at her. "Go."

She nodded, more upset than she knew she should be.

"Go." He pushed her shoulder to spur her to move, and finally she did. Then he picked up the goat and took it up to the prison to prepare it for dinner.

The stew smelled delicious that evening.

Carol had used some amazing blend of spices and vegetables from the garden to produce a fragrant meal, which the others devoured heartily.

Back by the concrete wall, Tahlia smoked, the aroma of the meal only making her feel sick.

"Here. Gotta eat." Daryl appeared next to her holding out a plate.

"Thanks, but I'm good."

"Tahls, can't think of it like that."

"I can't eat my kid."

He gave a little snort at that, and even she couldn't keep the smile from tugging at her lips. She rubbed her forehead. "Oh God. I'm not built for this world."

Daryl took the cigarette from her hand and had a long drag.

"Y'are. You remind everyone that humanity ain't lost. You're perfect."

He had meant to add 'for this world', but for some reason that bit didn't come out, and he was left standing awkwardly in the implication of the few words he had said, and dropped his gaze to the ground.

"Need you to balance me out, though." she spoke up eventually, thoughtfully. "You're sensible and strong and a realist. Keep me from floating away with the fairies. Give me my smoke back."

He held the cigarette out to her and slowly drew his eyes up to meet hers.

Realising that no matter where he featured in her head, she was at the top of his damned list.