so I let someone re-read this for me and they suggested I add a lil more of spice to things, so I present to you the newly updated version of this chapter!
enjoy this piece containing daryl's pining ass front and center and a little bit of its origins


oOo

Daryl lied on the couch in his room, hands behind his head, the exhaustion of his body and the buzz from the alcohol making him lightheaded enough for his eyes to droop closed on their own.

He'd showered right after dinner and it had felt like he'd washed weeks' worth of grime off him, the hot water on his sore muscles and the soapy cleanliness had filled him with a sense of physical relaxation.

The couch wasn't the most comfortable of surfaces - a cheap thing, with worn leather cushions and springs poking his back - but he preferred it over the floor, he preferred it over all the surfaces he'd had to sleep on for the last month or so. All in all, despite his aches, his body was ready to rest, but his mind less so.

He thought of Merle. If he'd been the one to steal their van, why hadn't he headed to camp, where had he gone? Had he gotten disoriented with the blood loss and crashed somewhere on the way? Was he even still alive at this point? If yes, for how long would that be? He hadn't exactly been in the best of conditions to go around slaying biters, fending for his life.

Merle might be the biggest douche-bag he knew, but he was still his blood, and not knowing his whereabouts, nor whether he was alive, was eating at him.

He resented the morons from the quarry for leaving him like that and tried to imagine what might've led to his incarceration. It had been Rick, the complete total stranger who had come back in place of his brother, the only one with the guts to confront him about it.

He'd even said that the catalyst had been something his brother had said to Diana.

Daryl had ignored that at the time, blinded by anger and betrayal, but now he wondered what he'd meant. He knew Merle held no love for Diana nor her family, but what had that jackass said and done that had led to him getting handcuffed to the fucking roof?

It frustrated him to have more questions than answers. It made him feel guilty to know his brother was out in that world somewhere, possibly dead, while he enjoyed his safety with an almost clear conscience.

Daryl's active mind reeled over the events of the past couple of days, wondering how so much shit could've hit the fan in such a short span of time.

He'd helped bury many familiar faces, but none had affected him so deeply as Samuel and Irene Lobo.

There was no longer a point in denying that he cared for that family. Even when the other survivors had been impartial to him, they had been different.

Maybe it was because he and Merle found them before the others, and it was as if they had imprinted on each other – or he had rather than his brother.

Daryl had had immense respect for Samuel and Irene. They'd had their differences, and they'd always been reluctant about their daughter's contact with him, which he'd thought was sound parenting, even if he hadn't been a threat. He preferred to think that they didn't necessarily despise him more recently.

They hadn't been close, but their deaths had moved something in him.

The bleeding heart his brother accused him of ached to think of Diana and the kids' grief. He'd been very young when his mother died and had long broken off contact with his father when the news came that he'd passed, so he didn't know the kind of sorrow they were going through.

He remembered their solemn faces at the burial; they'd refused to let anyone take over the task, piously scooping dirt with their own hands. It would've broken any sound person's heart.

Daryl had felt a strange sort of stabbing guilt, unreasonable and unfounded, over the fact that Diana hadn't been there with her family because of his damn brother. He had to shove through his thick skull that she'd volunteered, he hadn't pressed her to go. If anything, she'd been too stubborn to heed his words.

But if she had, it might've been her they'd be burying, an insidious voice had filtered through his thoughts at the time. It had resulted in conflicted reasoning. He hadn't known whether to be selfishly grateful that she'd come with him and had lived or guilty over that exact fact, knowing the pain she and her siblings were going through.

His shameful conscience had caused him to keep his distance from them, that and he felt his presence would be an intrusion. Both Glenn and T-Dog had been there for them, providing comfort he was incapable of. His absence would not have made a difference. Still, he'd helped with menial tasks, such as carrying luggage and later dismantling tents, if only to check on them and put his mind at ease.

It had been during one of those times that he'd found Diana crying in mourning.

He hadn't needed to think twice before he climbed into the tent and knelt beside her, bringing her into his arms. She'd startled but then had leaned into him, sobbing into her hands. Not a word had been exchanged, not that it'd been necessary.

Diana had melded to him as the minutes passed, and by the time her sobs subsided, she'd been all but sitting on his lap, folded against his chest, a welcomed warmth even on such a hot day. Her head tucked under his chin and her ear over his deep heartbeat. One of her hands bunched his shirt at his back while the other cushioned her cheek. He'd held her head gently, his fingers buried in her thick hair, and his other hand had stroked her bare arm, feeling goosebumps under his fingertips.

Daryl had felt guilty over taking pleasure from that situation, like he'd taken advantage of her sadness for his own benefit. Then, she'd mumbled a 'thank you' and his chest had felt warm inside.

He had never expected that fondness over her. To be honest, he hadn't really known when it had started, only how it was fed.

It was stronger now. It scared him.

He remembered thinking that despite her admirable qualities, despite her occasional fire, she was too tender for this world. Then she had come to him with some ridiculous proposition to teach her archery, her weapon looking as inadequate for the job as she was, and he'd grown intrigued. Even with her bow turning out to be completely unreal, he thought the task of teaching her would become a burden. It never did.

Whenever his frustration almost got the best of him, he'd find that he couldn't act on it. Diana would flinch away at his glares or whenever he raised his voice, and his annoyance would melt away. He didn't like her reactions, the fear, the tense anticipation of punishment. He felt disgusted by himself; he, who'd known that kind of horror, how dare he inflict it on others?

So he began seeking her trust. And it appeared she began to seek his.

If he had to guess, he'd say that was when his fondness for her had been born. Out of a need to protect her. Her tenderness soon became less of a weakness and more of a quality he reveled in.

Even though Daryl knew it wouldn't last long, seeing as he and Merle would be leaving soon, he couldn't stop basking in her soft attentions.

"Sweet cheeks screwing you?" Merle had asked, venom dripping at the nickname, when Daryl had refused to go along with his plan the first time. "Sucked the smart right out of ya through your prick."

Daryl had been this close to smacking his own brother, but he hadn't wanted to add fuel to the fire. Instead, he'd just made up an excuse and said they'd go through with it the week after, which never came to be.

He was jolted back to reality by someone at his door. Not knocking, but trying to pry it open, the handle rattling up and down.

Daryl sprang up on the couch with a start. He turned on the lamp on the side table and grabbed his knife from under his borrowed pillow. He unsheathed it and stalked to the wall next to the door, and waited until the other person stopped messing with the handle. His mind raced, now more than alert, as he went through the possibilities of what awaited him. He knew something hadn't seemed right about this place.

With baited breath and a ready knife, he unlocked the door and threw it open and was met with a shriek.

"Aah, que merda é esta?!"

"Diana?" Daryl lowered his knife, confused at her sudden appearance, as if summoned by thought.

The object of his musings stood clutching a hand over her heart, the other supporting her against the doorframe. She was clad in a Star Wars shirt and regular black leggings that accentuated the curve of her shapely thighs. Her curls were loose and still damp from a shower, draping over her shoulders, making the top of her shirt cling to her skin. He could discern a soft citrus smell emanating from her.

"Whatchu doin' here?" she slurred, blinking heavily and slumping against the wall.

"The hell are you doin' here?" Daryl frowned and sheathed his knife before letting it drop to the floor behind the open door.

"Oh oh, ah asked first," Diana said and looked at him expectantly, her rich brown eyes flying everywhere before they focused on him.

"What?"

"You sapos- sopuhs- sup-posed, yeah, t'say 'I asked you second', it's- it's a thing," she explained nonsensically, her hands gesturing vaguely. Her shoulder slipped on the wall and she would've fallen if Daryl hadn't caught her by the arm and held her up. Her skin was cool and he rubbed his hands on her upper arms to warm her up.

She grinned and stumbled in place, laughing in his face. He could smell the whiskey in her hot breath, but he was sure that what she'd had at dinner hadn't been enough to get her this drunk. She'd been tipsy sure enough, but she had still been able to stand properly and her tongue hadn't had as much difficulty with her words.

He could feel her body slacken in his hold, as if she was slowly losing the strength in her legs.

"You're drunk off your ass," he accused, and didn't know if he should be amused by it or exasperated.

Diana's addled mind reacted to his words by patting her behind with a worried look. Then she relaxed and smiled goofily, her blinks uncoordinated. "S' still 'ere."

Daryl sighed. "Where's your room?" he asked, hoping she'd at least be able to tell him that.

"Right 'ere." She pointed past him, inside.

He shook his head, a little voice taunting him about how he wished it was true. "No, it ain't."

"There, or there, or aaaaall the way ooover there." She pointed at random doors while doing a wide and precarious twirl. Her bare foot caught on her ankle and she crashed backward into Daryl while he caught her under the arms. The fabric of her shirt was pinched under her armpits and the hem rode up her stomach, which still maintained some of its softness despite the hunger all of them had been going through. A shrug from Diana and the shirt exposed her belly button and the rhinestone piercing adorning it, which Daryl was seeing for the first time.

It surprised him pleasantly; he'd thought she seemed too much of a good girl for such things. It made him wonder if that was the only one.

He mentally cursed those stray thoughts away and focused on Diana, her head leaning back against his stomach. She looked up at him, cinnamon brown eyes caught in his and grinned. "Hiii."

Fuck, he couldn't just let her go around knocking on doors, not in this state. And like hell he would. He exhaled deeply, propped her up to a stand and led her into his room, a guiding hand on the middle of her back as she looked clueless back at him. He hoped she wouldn't misinterpret his actions in the morning, once she was sober.

On her way in, her dragging feet got caught on the carpet and she tripped. Daryl had been closing the door behind them and had been too slow to catch her. Luckily she caught herself on her forearms and stayed on all fours for a second, as if confused, and then burst out laughing. She pulled herself up onto her hands and then sat back on her legs, still chuckling.

It was nice to hear her laugh, with everything that had happened, it was a sound he'd missed.

Daryl picked up his knife off the ground, inhaled deeply and sighed while walking by her. "You a pain in my ass, ya know that?"

"Issa nice ass? Lemme see." She groaned in disappointment and swatted blindly at his leg when he ignored her and put away his knife. Then it went forgotten and she was snickering again. "Ass."

He sat heavily on the couch, the leather groaning under him, and he sighed contentedly. Diana had taken up pointing finger guns and making laser sounds, pretending to shoot at him and invisible targets in the dimly lit room. She pretended to take a hit from an unseen enemy and then slumped forward, folding over her legs until her forehead hit the carpet with a soft thud, hair spilling around her head, arms limp down her sides.

She moaned in distress and then came her muffled voice, "I been hit."

Damn, who knew she turned into a child when drunk…

Daryl was too tired to entertain this, he wondered if it would take long until she fell asleep, then he would gladly let her have the couch.

He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees and his chin on his hands. He looked down at Diana, his lips curling slightly in amusement.

Her arms were flapping at her side and she was saying something, but it all came out as indistinct murmurs. Her shirt had ridden up and he could see two dimples on the small of her back, her golden brown skin glowing in the yellow light of the lamp.

Daryl rubbed his hands down his face, pressing his fingertips against his eyes until he saw stars and her image was more or less erased from his mind's eye.

When he peeked at Diana again, her face was a couple of inches away from his, her rich brown eyes like molten chocolate, blinking her heavy lashes up at him. He jumped back with a hissed curse, his knee jerking up and almost hitting her in the face. His heart raced as he stared wide-eyed at her lethargic expression, not even flinching at his erratic movement.

She'd managed to scooch forward without his notice; either she was an amazingly stealthy drunk or he was just too tired and distracted to have heard her.

Her delated reaction came in form of laughter. She clutched her belly and gasped between chuckles, then slumped forward, her head finding a rest on the inside of Daryl's knee.

His breath hitched and his legs twitched close at that and she was forced to vacate. Her chin found itself propped on her forearms on top of Daryl's now closed legs. He tried to ignore how his limbs trembled with the effort to remain still, but he could not ignore how his stomach had been set alit and was causing him to break out in a cold sweat. He glued himself to the back of the couch, as far away from Diana as possible.

That angle was even more alluring and he forced his eyes shut, chastising himself; Diana didn't deserve to be victim of his hungry thoughts. He felt ashamed of himself, of his body's reaction to her.

His fondness for her had started off purely chaste and innocent; he saw a vulnerability in her he sought to protect. But as she became more and more capable of doing so on her own, under his teachings, he started seeing her in a different light. She wasn't a young doe-eyed girl in need of protection, she was an admirable warrior-in-training, and that's how he regarded her.

The tenderness he valued in her added to her growing confidence became a powerful combination. Virtually irresistible in his eyes. He became attracted to the soft curl of her smiling lips and the strength of her arms whenever she held an arrow. He became hyperaware of her every touch and longed for her gentle fingers on his skin and holding her soft body against him and then more and more.

Now there she was, practically lying on his lap, but drunk and definitely not consenting. And even if she had been sober and willing, he respected her too much to make any advances. She was young, he was not. She was the best this world had to offer and he… was not.

"I like you, Daryl," Diana sighed dreamily, breaking him out of his downward spiraling thoughts. His heart skipped a beat and he felt like a stupid boy with a crush, pretty pathetic. "And I like Glenn and T and Dale and Jacqui and Cátia and Bianca and Abuelito, Dios lo tenga en su gloria, and…" she suddenly stopped and straightened herself, freeing his legs. Daryl could've sighed in relief. "I don't like mi Abuela," she slurred, "You know why?"

Daryl decided to humor her and shook his head, also grateful for the distance she was putting between them. He knew there was beef between the Lobo family and Irene's mother as well as some other family members, but Diana had always sort of avoided the subject and he never pressed.

"She- she always mouthin' bad 'bout mami, y'know? She goes to e'ryone in the village and says- and says that mami's like this," she stuck her nose in the air with an arrogant look, "and talks 'bout her life and her money and tells lies! She jealous! Always jealous! She's a bad mom, a bad abuela, and mami's good, Daryl, she is." Her hands were clenched into fists on his thighs now and her face was pulled with frustration and anger.

Daryl didn't know what to do or say, nor did he trust his tongue to work, so he just sat and listened to her incoherent ramblings. The more she talked the more other languages slipped into her sentences and the less Daryl understood her. Which he was glad about because her hands riding up and down his thighs during her tirade were so distracting that he would not have been paying attention had he understood her words.

Diana fell suddenly silent, which alerted Daryl. She slipped away from him and sat beside his legs, her shoulder propped against the couch, one leg folded under the other, hands despondent on her lap.

He wondered what had caused the sudden change in mood, what had caused her to topple down the high she'd been riding.

"They're dead," she whispered, her voice heavy and watery.

Shit, Daryl thought, and he slid off the couch to sit facing her. Diana looked at him from under her wet lashes, her eyebrows knitted into a pained grimace. There was no sound, no sobs, just tears down her high cheeks. He thought this was worse. It was sobering, unexpected. Unpredictable.

Daryl had never wanted to hold her as much as right then, to give her some sort of comfort, but he waited for her move. He knew she was always open for physical closeness, but he didn't want to impose himself on her in the state she was in. He would only allow himself to what she let him.

Her chin quivered and she opened her arms to him, a bittersweet invitation. He took her into his arms until she sat between his legs, both of hers curling around his waist, as close as their bodies allowed. It was sweet torture, but he pushed it back; this was for Diana's sake, not his own.

Her arms went around his chest, her hands clutching the fabric at his back and she cried silently into the crook of his neck. He listened to her quiet gasps and sniffles as his hands worked in small circles on her back.

Diana began talking after some minutes passed, her breath on his neck, and he thought he might get drunk off the sensation. He fought off a shiver down his spine and pulled himself together, his ears straining to hear her whispered words.

"I- I'm nothin' without 'em. I can't- I'm- it's my fault."

Of course that's what she was thinking. If that was one thing he'd learned about her, was that she tended to blame herself for shit that wasn't her fault by miles. And that would not fly with him, not on this matter. "Hey," he coaxed and pried her gently from him to look at her.

Her swollen eyes were still glossy with tears. His hands went from her shoulders to her cheeks, wiping the tracks with his thumbs.

The proximity wasn't helping already, but now that her hands had scaled up his chest and neck, and her fingers were playing with the hair on the back of his head caused him to bite his tongue. His breath became shallow and his heart palpitated. He wanted nothing more than to close his eyes and give in to her hands.

"Talk to me," he said and grabbed one distracting hand to rest on her lap.

She didn't respond and bowed her head until her forehead settled against his collarbone. Her other hand slipped down his neck and joined the other in playing with one of the lower buttons on his shirt. In the sudden stillness of the room, he became almost hypersensitive to the fabric rustling softly against his skin and the citrus smell from her hair. Something stirred in his stomach. His hands twitched on her upper arms.

Diana spoke and her hands stilled. Thank God or whatever higher force was looking out for him.

"What am I gon' do?" she asked in a tiny voice. "I can't do anythin' without 'em. Felix an' Alice, they- they need 'em more than they need me." Her shoulders jerked with a humorless chuckle. "I can- I can barely take care of myself! They cooked my meals, washed my laundry, drove me places!"

Diana pushed herself upright, then, and looked him in the eyes, hard and full of hatred for herself. "Why did they have to die?" she asked, emphasizing every word, and Daryl found himself short for them. "I'm useless in the real world. I shoulda died. They don't need me, not me, not me!"

That was like a slap on the face.

He would not be allowing her to wallow in self-pity, that was something he could not tolerate. He accepted that she was mourning and trying to cope, but this was not the answer.

Daryl cupped her face between his palms and she stopped speaking at the suddenness. He couldn't help admiring the few scattered tiny beauty spots on her skin from up close. Some on her right cheek had the makings of a constellation he knew but could not name.

He felt a sense of security in her drunkenness, like he didn't have to be embarrassed by whatever he said. "There ain't ever a reason for bad shit to happen, it just do. And then you either let it bring ya down, or you stick your middle finger up and rise above it."

Her chin was trembling again, her bottom lip sticking slightly out, but she didn't cry, so he continued. His hold became gentler and he swept some stray hairs away from her face.

"I ain't sayin' it ain't gonna hurt, 'cause it will. Like fucking hell. But when times are tough, you gotta be tougher, and I know you are. I seen you shrug off the end of the world like it ain't mean a thing, and bring down two grown men like it was some minor-league shit."

"I cried 'bout all o' that," she admitted, looking off to the side, and Daryl could've laughed at her sheepish confession.

"Yeah, you gonna cry even more 'bout this." He swept her curls back and put his hands on her shoulders with a gentle squeeze. "That don't mean it won't get better.

It's gonna be harder, it's gonna take longer. But ya ain't alone. Ya got your brother and sister, ya got me, shit you even got the fuckin' ch- Glenn always on your damn tail."

"Oh," she said suddenly, her wide cinnamon eyes returning to his, and her fingers encased his wrist. "I'm sorry 'bout Merle."

Daryl huffed a breath of disbelief at her train of thought and nodded, pushing the subject aside. "Yeah. Get my point? Y'ain't useless, you the only family those kids got. Samuel and Irene were killed, it ain't nobody's fault, especially not yours. There's squat shit you coulda done-"

"-If I'd run faster," Diana interrupted with a hard voice, looking down.

"You only woulda hurt yourself," he reasoned, remembering thinking her lungs had been on the verge of collapsing as they ran back to camp by the way her breathing sounded.

"I shou- shoulda stayed behind," her voice became thick with tears once more. "Papá was so- so mad at me, so disappointed. Both o' them were. I-"

The tiny bit of resentment he'd felt towards her melted away. She'd sacrificed so much on his behalf; he couldn't hold her responsible for his brother's stupidity. He caught her eye. "One thing you can do to make it up to 'em."

"What?" she asked and dried her eyes on the backs of her hands.

Daryl tilted his head. "Ya gotta live."

Diana exhaled deeply, sounding exhausted, and took her time thinking over his words before nodding. If there was anything he wanted her to remember from that night, it was those three words.

"Thank you," she whispered, glancing up at him. Her hands cupped his jaw, thumbs gently caressing his stubbled cheeks, and she pulled him to herself until their foreheads rested together. Her skin was feverishly warm but not unpleasant.

Her hands then reached up and her fingers found his short hair again, digging into it, pulling slightly at the roots. A shiver ran down his spine, raising goosebumps on his skin and making his scalp tingle.

Daryl closed his eyes, his heart stopping for a beat only to restart at a gallop. He inhaled sharply, the scent of oranges and limes that wafted from her hair tickling his nose. Her warm breath on his lips made him wish to feel hers against his own, but he didn't think to move.

Then he heard her moan in despair and whisper 'oh, God', which was when she threw up.

Daryl opened his eyes and inhaled deeply in acceptance. He should've expected that. He looked down at himself. It ran down his shirt in a long streak and his nose twitched at the smell.

Diana was staring at him with wide eyes, covering her mouth with her hands. She seemed to be awaiting some sort of repercussion or punishment, and even if he had gotten mad, he wouldn't have stayed for long just from seeing her like that.

"Perdóname," she said from behind her hands, her eyes wide and apologetic, and wiped her mouth with the collar of her shirt.

The movement made him notice the dark stain on the Stars Wars logo of her shirt, and Daryl cursed his bad luck to hell and back.

He worried his bottom lip with his teeth and detangled himself from Diana's legs, using the couch for leverage while holding his shirt so that nothing dripped. Diana followed him with her eyes in anticipation. "It's alright," he told her, and saw how her tense shoulders dropped.

He used one of his rags to mop up the most from his chest, then he balled it up and shoved it inside one of the shirt's front pockets. He rummaged through his belongings and sighed in irritation. He only had one clean shirt; he'd washed all his other clothes before and had left them in the men's locker room to dry, they would not have been ready by then.

He could give this clean one to Diana, but that would mean that he'd have to sleep bare-chested with her in the room. That thought didn't make him very comfortable. But he couldn't very well just let her sleep in soiled clothes or half naked.

There was also no way he'd go around knocking on doors for borrowed clothes, that was plain ridiculous and humiliating.

He could give up his room to her and sleep in the entertainment room, but then she'd wake up hungover, alone, and wearing his shirt. He needed to be there when she woke up to explain the situation.

"Damn it," he hissed, absurdly annoyed at himself for not having possibly foreseen this outcome. He grabbed the shirt from his bag and handed it to Diana. "Put this on, I'mma wash yours."

She took it with a grateful nod, awfully silent, and Daryl left her line of sight while keeping his back turned to her, giving her the privacy she deserved.

He almost crossed his arms over his chest but remembered himself and his nose crinkled at the unpleasant smell of sick. He shoved his hands in his pockets to stop from fidgeting. He could hear the scraping sound of cloth as Diana undressed, which made some uncharacteristic images pop into his mind, while he cursed his hormonal teenage-like thoughts. He was a fucking grown man, act like it!

Everything would be easier if he wasn't attracted to her, then he could be the friend she considered him to be and also deserved.

A sigh of defeat reached his ears and then Diana's muted voice, "I'm stuck."

Daryl peeked over his shoulder to assess the situation and found her with her Star Wars shirt still on, the tight collar stuck halfway, her mass of curls the only thing visible. He couldn't help the snicker that escaped him.

"Don' laugh, help." She gestured vaguely with her raised arms while twisting her torso to him.

"Yeah, yeah, stay still."

Daryl knelt behind her and told her to raise her arms. Then he caught the hem of the shirt, the backs of his fingers brushing against her sides and Diana straightened herself with a tiny muted gasp. A knot tightened in his throat and a fire ignited in his lower abdomen.

He pulled the shirt up, almost unnecessarily slow, exposing her brown naked skin to his guilty but hungry eyes, then it went over her head and her curls cascaded over her back, the scent coming back to tease him.

There was enough silence to hear a pin drop, and Daryl could hear the sound of his own heart raging in his chest, spreading the fire through his veins. He clutched her shirt in his lap, keeping his hands grounded as his eyes took in everything he could see.

Her figure backlit by the golden light was almost divine. A halo following her curves and painting her hair. The dimples on the low of her back, the stretch marks on the soft curve of her hips, he took it all in.

Diana's arms crossed her chest to cover herself and she looked at him over her shoulder, her hair moving like a veil over her skin, revealing more of it to him. He regarded her profile, her eyes were half closed in something akin to what he was feeling, and her lips were parted. Her tongue swept over them and Daryl found himself doing the same. Then her eyes were on him, molten chocolate enveloping him, and her lips moved to form his name in a silky voice.

His chest hurt with the way his heart was pounding and he became almost short of breath. He leaned forward and hovered over her shoulder, his eyes set on hers. His breath fell on her skin and she shivered, her teeth catching her bottom lip as her throat worked to swallow dry.

Daryl reached around her, careful not to touch her, and he grabbed his forgotten shirt from her lap. He leaned back just as slowly, wishing he could take her in his arms and lose himself in her. He wished she wasn't drunk, wished he was less damaged, wished he was someone she would be proud to be with. Maybe then he would've enjoyed the sound of her voice calling his name that sweetly without anything holding him back.

He knew she didn't mean anything by it, he knew she was inebriated and feeling sad and lonely, and he was a warm body that could comfort her. It was merely instinct. Still, he could wish.

"Get dressed," Daryl whispered, and he helped his shirt over her head. He gathered her hair and pulled it out of the collar as her arms uncovered her front and slipped through the sleeveless holes.

If possible, she became even more appealing just for wearing his clothes. His stomach was so twisted he thought he was going to be sick as well, and there was a nervous trembling in his abdomen that spread to his hands.

He had to leave.

"Go lay down," he told her once the knot in his throat allowed it, and then he took her shirt and was out of the room.

Once in the men's bathroom, Daryl took off his shirt and threw himself into the task of washing their clothes, hoping the mindless task would numb his thoughts and calm his body. He really wasn't looking to having to take a cold shower.

He rinsed the shirts and his rag and lathered them in hand soap and then scrubbed and scrubbed, using his knuckles until they felt raw. Then he focused on that pulsing sting, anything to take his mind off her.

He wrung the clothes free of excess water and then threw them into the sink in pent-up frustration, her image stamped in his mind's eye, provoking him. It wasn't fair to her. He was a trusted figure in her life, he shouldn't be longing for her when he should be satisfied with what they had. Her friendship was more than enough, having her near him was even more than what he thought he deserved.

He glanced at his red, somewhat bloodied knuckles and then leaned heavily on the counter with a sigh, dragging his wet hands down his face. He looked at himself in the mirror; his chest and back bearing scars of years of abuse, hideous memories, things he didn't want Diana to see and know about, at least not yet. She already knew too much about his shitty life as it was.

Daryl doubted she would even notice them in the state she was in right now, but what if she woke up earlier than him in the morning? Not to mention how bad it would look that she had slept in his room and had been wearing his clothes. Once again, he didn't want her to misinterpret anything and hate his guts.

"Fuck," he whispered and tore his gaze away, forcing his sobering thoughts elsewhere. At least his cold shower problem had been solved.

He grabbed the shirts, shook them open while getting splattered with droplets, and went back to his room, breathing deeply before turning the handle.

He hurried to the side table and turned off the lamp. To his good luck, Diana's eyes were blissfully closed. She was lying on her belly on the edge of the couch, one arm and leg hanging precariously off the side, mouth slightly ajar.

There was light spilling into the room from under the door, so Daryl's eyes adapted quickly to the dimness. He kept an eye on her while hanging their shirts over his crossbow to dry. He jumped and turned around when he heard her move, then cursed himself for his reaction.

From his bag, he retrieved his water flask and a dented leaf from a stash inside a side pocket. He grabbed an empty flower vase off the side table and crouched by Diana's side.

He called her name until she blinked blearily at him through her heavy lashes. "Here, rinse your mouth." He handed her the flask and held the vase under her chin. He heard the water swishing in her mouth and then she swallowed it. "No, spit it out."

"Too late," Diana whispered. She grabbed the flask with his hand still attached to it and led it to her waiting lips, forcing him to go along. She drained it, gulping noisily, and then sighed with satisfaction. Daryl took the flask and his hand back with a fond curl of his lip and wiped his thumb on the corner of her mouth, where some water had trickled down her chin.

Her lips moved under his touch, forming a sleepy smile that tugged at Daryl's heartstrings. She let her head flop back down onto the pillow, her hair spilling everywhere and over her face. She blew on it but the strands always landed back on her cheek.

Daryl breathed out in amusement and curled the hair behind her ear, and then put the leaf up to her lips. "Chew on this," he whispered.

"Wazzdat?" she mumbled but opened her mouth anyway, her tongue poking his fingers, not even waiting for his answer. He felt touched by her trust. It could be the drink messing with her judgment, but he liked to think it was because she absolutely trusted him.

"Mint leaf," he answered simply while pulling the blanket over her.

"Mmhm, daznice," she slurred, and then turned her back to him, scooching to the back of the couch.

Daryl shook his head at the ease with which her moods changed and stood. He thanked his lucky stars that she was back to her childishly drunk self and he hadn't come back to her the way he'd left her, deliciously seductive and so out of reach.

He closed his bag and dropped it onto the floor next to the couch to use as a pillow. He lied down; the carpet was better than hardwood floors any day, but it still didn't help his aching restless body. He stretched this and that way, turned to one side and then the other, but no position was better than the last, so he let himself be on his back.

"Daryl?" sounded Diana's drowsy voice, and Daryl wished he was dead already.

He cleared his throat and whispered, "What?"

"Where're you?"

He raised his hand and waved it once. "Here."

"Where- oh." He heard the creaking of the couch springs and the groaning of the leather cushions, and saw her head peek out the side of the couch, her curls cascading over the edge, their subtle scent reaching his nose, bringing back recent memories of her bathed in light.

He inhaled deeply and looked up at her, crossing his arms over his bare chest, hoping it was dark enough and she was inebriated enough.

"What're ya doin' there?" she asked, tucking her hair back so it didn't obscure her vision, her cheek pressed against the cushion.

"Tryna sleep," he said and closed his eyes again, hoping she'd take the hint.

"On the floor?"

Daryl sighed. "Yeah, on the floor."

"The sofa's enough big both for us, wait," she stopped and then rephrased it emphatically, "big enough for both of us, yeah." Her hand reached down to one of his that was covering his torso, her warm fingers wrapping around his wrist, and she tugged on it. "Don't worry, your dinagy- your dinty- your dignity is gon' be left intact."

Is that what was going through her mind? He thought she'd be more worried about her own dignity. He looked up to see her goofy smile as she blinked slowly down at him, her eyes half-lidded.

"If not, I'mma sleep on da floor and you take da sofa," she pressed, and then booped his nose with a fitting sound. "It's your sofa."

He didn't respond, hoping that his silence would cause her to give up. "Okay, then," he heard her say, and opened his eyes to see her begin her descent, her legs clumsily dropping down the side of the couch as she tried to climb down on all fours. Her knee hit the floor rather abruptly and she hissed in pain.

He caught her as she was about to fall on top of him and breathed out, "Fine. Climb back up."

"Yass," she said and up she went. His hands left her as soon as she was safe from any further bruises.

Daryl sat up and sighed hopelessly, rubbing his forehead and pinching the bridge of his nose.

Diana was lying on her side at the back of the couch, looking at him expectantly, pulling down the blanket for him to climb in next to her.

He swallowed heavily, his blood restarting its former well-known race through his body, making him break out in a nervous sweat. The couch was too narrow and he could feel her heat everywhere that her body didn't touch, and believe him, it was touching plenty.

He lied rigidly, dangerously close to the edge of the couch, his hands folded over his stomach as he tried to school his breathing.

Diana draped the thin scratchy blanket over him and her hand dragged over his chest as it returned to her side. Her arms were folded at her chest, pinned between him and her, and he could feel the backs of her fingers caressing his upper arm. Then her nose poked the same spot and he felt the cold rush of air as she inhaled.

"You smell good," she sighed, and Daryl wished once again for death to take him. Then she made a small sound of realization and shuffled to rise on her elbow. "Lift your head," she whispered near his ear, her breath tickling him and causing him to suppress a shiver. She slipped the pillow under his head so that they could share it.

Her head settled close to his, her hand rested limply on his stiff upper arm, shy of his chest, and she had draped one leg over his so that her knee took residence between his legs and her warm inner thigh came very close to something it shouldn't.

"You comfy?" her warm voice asked, the final drop that brought a rush of blood to his face and a location more to the south. He didn't trust his voice and merely nodded once and heard her sigh, "Good."

He was shivering, she had turned him, a grown man with sexual experience than went beyond sharing a bed while completely clothed, into a trembling fucking mess.

There was no way he'd be falling asleep soon at this rate.

He dreaded the days to come. He had been able to keep his affections in check until now ever since becoming aware of them, from now on he would have to work extra hard on that aspect. He'd have to keep a physical distance from her if he wanted to remain sane, nothing too drastic or she would know something was wrong.

She couldn't know.

He wanted to spare her the discomfort. He knew her and knew she would never abandon him, but his feelings and his desires would put her in an awkward position and that was the last thing he wanted.

He would wait them out. She was young, smart even if on the naïve side, and beautiful, she wouldn't have to wait long until she found someone more appropriate for her, maybe even Glenn, and then he'd have to do the noble thing, which was a pretty recent thing for him, and let go of said feelings and desires.

It seemed there was no other direction for his thoughts to go but downward, and Daryl let them drag him until his mind and body sobered up.

He looked at Diana in the dark, her face relaxed in blissful sleep, lips parted and breathing deeply, her breath on his shoulder and up his neck. He relished in feeling her soft body limp against his own, but sentenced himself to just that one time.


he hides it pretty well and diana's dense as fuck, so i don't think it's gonna be a problem. poor guy tho, add all this to the fact he's touch starved and i'm not being very kind to him...