Between the Thorns
Chapter 3
Her only response to knowing Daryl's name was the slight dip of her head that she gave him before she clicked the door shut behind her. Once she was gone, Daryl pushed the covers off and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He had been placed into bed completely naked. Daryl wondered if Jean had seen him that way and he supposed there was no way that she hadn't. After everything he had been through he wasn't sure how he had any dignity left. But he found the idea of that woman seeing him in nothing but the skin he was born in embarassing. Embarassing with a slight tinge of exciting. He couldn't help wondering if she liked what she saw.
"Don't let yer dick do yer thinkin' for ya," Daryl mumbled to himself, "got more important things to worry 'bout than her." He did have more important things to worry about than a pretty face. The first thing was finding a way out of this fucking place and getting back to his people. They needed him. Rick needed him. But he wasn't going to be clumsy or stupid about it this time. That was one mistake Daryl didn't plan to make twice. There was dark bruises all over his body from the last time. And he wasn't sure if his left eye was going to heal properly. The swelling was going down but his still felt like his vision and depth perception were off.
Daryl stood up, moving slowly since he wasn't sure which parts of his body were injured or how badly he had been hurt. The bullet wound on his shoulder had a clean bandage over it. The wound itself was itchy, a sure sign that it was begining to heal properly. Once he was on his feet, Daryl stretched out his body experimentally. He felt a little dizzy and his ribs were painfully sore. But other than that he didn't feel as bad as he expected.
There were clothes sitting on a chair for him. They had been neatly folded up and stacked in a small pile. He grabbed for the socks first. The entire time Daryl had been suffering down in that cold black hole his feet had been freezing cold. At one point he was sure he would have sold his soul to the devil himself for a pair of woolen socks.
His feet were actually warm from being under the heavy blankets. But it still felt amazing to pull on a fresh pair of socks. As Daryl slid them on he noticed that his feet were not only clean but the nails on his toes had been trimmed. He had already guessed that whoever brought him here had hosed him off first, but trimming his nails seemed an odd thing to do. Daryl glanced down at his hands. Except for his thumbnails, he liked to bite those down to the quick, his fingernails were also neatly trimmed. And they were clean. He couldn't remember the last time his hands had looked that clean. He shook his head, sure that his nails being trimmed was one mystery that he probably wouldn't ever solve.
Daryl held the clothes up in front of his body first. The jeans were a little long in the legs but otherwise everything looked like it would fit. The only thing he had seen before were his boots. Once he was dressed he slipped them on and cuffed the hem of the jeans he was wearing. Other than the jeans, boxers, a black t-shirt and a well worn flannel shirt had been laid out for him. They weren't things he would have chosen for himself but at this point he was happy to be clothed in anything besides a stinky sweatshirt with a weird letter painted on it.
Daryl placed his hand on the doorknob and took a deep breath. He still wasn't convinced this wasn't just some new stage of his torture. If he found Dwight and Negan in the next room holding Carl's severed hand he wouldn't be surprised. But when Daryl finally summoned the courage to swing the bedroom door open he found nothing of the sort was happening.
"It's the beast!," the younger of the two girls shrieked again. Her older sister leaned over and rabbit punched her in the arm. Their mother stopped eating and gave them both a stern look. The girl muffed a giggle which stopped abruptly as her mouth dropped open. She was staring at Daryl like he had a grown a third eye.
"Those are daddy's clothes," the youner girl announced. Her sister's head snapped up from her food as the older girl checked to see if her sister was correct in her assumptions. Her face twisted up into a little scowl. For the second time since he had first seen the girl Daryl was reminded of his brother. The older girl turned back towards her sister.
"Well it's not like he's coming back to claim them," she declared. If the older girl's intentions were to upset her younger sister then her words had the desired affect. The younger of the two girls began to cry. Their mother rose from the table and leaned down to wrap her arms around her younger daughter as she whispered to the older girl to be quiet already and just eat breakfast.
Daryl stood silently in the doorway of the bedroom and watched as the minor family drama played out in front of him. He was hungry and there was food on the table but he felt uncomfortable just sitting down. Not only was he about to eat with the dead man's family. He was also wearing the man's clothes. It made him feel unsettled, like he had murdered the man on purpose in order to take over his life even though that had been the furthest thing from Daryl's mind when he had led the attack on that satellite station.
Jean smoothed her daughter's hair down and kissed the girl on the cheek before she sat back down in her chair. Since Daryl was still standing awkwardly in the doorway of her bedroom she kicked the only empty chair at the table, sliding it out and indicating that was the place she intended for him to sit in.
"Nothing fancy," she warned him, "I'm not really much of a cook." Daryl stepped forward and took the seat she had pushed out for him. His stomach rumbled and he started to salivate instantly. He couldn't remember the last time he had real food. Even back at Alexandria they had been scraping by on scraps and half portions of canned beans. There was a bowl in front of him that was full of grits. On a plate next to the bowl there were two large links of pork sausage and a small pile of scrambled eggs. Daryl had to force himself not to shovel the food into his face with his hands. As it was he started eating so fast that when he looked up both of Jean's children were staring at him like he was an animal on exhibit at the zoo.
"I can drink my juice real fast," the younger of the two informed him, "wanna see?" Without waiting for a response the girl grabbed for her nearly full glass of apple juice and began gulping and slurping it down. When the glass was empty she plunked it down on the table and let out a the loudest burp Daryl had ever heard come out of someone so small.
"Lily!," her mother scolded, "we have company..." Jean glanced over at Daryl as if she was trying to decide whether or not his presence warranted proper table manners from her children before she added, "...sort of."
A knock on the door haulted the conversation. Daryl felt his body stiffen up. He gripped the fork in his hand so hard his knuckles went white. When Jean swung the door open to reveal just a solitary woman standing there Daryl let himself relax a little. The girls hopped up from the table and hurried over by the door to put their shoes on. Their mother kissed them both and reminded them that to come straight back to the apartment after they were done helping in the kitchen. The door shut behind them and Daryl was once again left alone with Jean.
He hadn't had a chance to really observe her before. But not that he had gotten a better look at Jean it was obvious that she was grieving. There were dark circles under her eyes and she had only nibbled at the bowl of food in front of her. And when she had spoken to her girls she had the forced body language of someone that was barely holding herself together. Some woman were at their most beautiful when they smiled. And some looked best with a look of serious concentration on their faces. But the woman in front of him was appealing even in her grief. Daryl wished more than anything that he had some words of comfort to offer her. But he couldn't even begin to think of the right thing to say.
"There's still food in the girl's bowls," Jean offered, "..and mine." She hadn't failed to notice that Daryl had eaten every single morsel of the food she had put on his plate. Food in the sanctuary wasn't unlimited. But it had been a while since she had seen anyone that hungry. Starvation made people desperate and Negan preferred them all calmly under his control. Daryl nodded to indicate he wanted the food, then he leaned back in his chair so Jean wouldn't have to get too close to him while she scraped the remaining food into his bowl. As he ate Jean pulled a plastic tub out from under a nearby table and began quietly placing her daughter's dirty dishes into it. She moved slowly and methodically, like she was running on pure muscle memory. Her body was there but her mind was somewhere else. When Daryl finished eating she took his dirty dishes and placed them into the tub with the rest.
"I'm sorry about the clothes," Jean said quietly, "You were naked when they brought you here. My husband's stuff was all I had." Daryl wasn't sure how to respond. He felt this woman had shown him an extrodinary measure of kindness. Much more than he deserved. He was responsible for so many terrible things. He had gotten Glenn killed. Gotten Denise killed. Even Merle's death weighed heavy on his conscience. If he had just left with Merle instead of going back to his prison family maybe all of them would still be alive. He didn't deserve her generosity.
As Jean moved to pick up the last dirty dish, Daryl's hand shot out and caught her by the wrist. She gasped a little. Her body went stiff. Jean jerked her hand back, attempting to free herself from his grasp. But he held on. Her wrist was so small and dainty compared to the size of his hand.
He didn't want to scare her. Daryl only meant to get her attention. Once he realized he was frightening the woman he let go of her. Jean jerked her hand away and wrapped her other hand around her wrist like he had injured her in some way.
"Didn't mean to scare ya," he said, "I just..." Daryl stuttered and stammered for a moment, lost in the deep liquid brown of her eyes. He had heard the term doe-eyed before but never really understood what people meant by it. But that's exactly what Jean's eyes reminded him of. The gentle soft brown eyes of a deer. Why did she have to be so pretty? So fragile. Why couldn't he just hate her like he wanted to hate every asshole in this fucking terrible place? It would be so much easier for him that way. "Thank ya for breakfast," he finally spit out, "thanks fer the clothes."
The skin on her wrist still tingled in the spots where Daryl had touched her. Jean felt frozen in place, unable to do anything but look at him. She had noticed how good looking he was when he was lying unconcious in her bed. It was hard not to notice when his naked body had been on full display. She missed her husband so terribly that it made her chest ache for a man to hold her in his arms. And his arms looked like they were meant for holding. But she hadn't been expecting him to have such clear blue eyes. Not that she had noticed them Jean felt unable to look at anything else. The intensity of his gaze made her feel tingly all the way down to her toes.
Guilt was what finally moved her a few steps backwards. Her husband hadn't been dead even a month. And her marriage had been a real one, not one of Negan's idiotic couplings. In the sanctuary men got married for the sole reason of claiming ownership over the woman of their choosing. Jean had been married to her husband back before the turn. When marriage actually meant something. They had survived so much together. She was angry at herself for being so weak and needy. And for even entertaining the possibility of moving on so soon and with someone that she really ought to hate for what he had done to her.
"You don't need to thank me," she said. She stared down at the dishes as she spoke, not trusting herself to look at Daryl again.