Between the Thorns
Chapter 5
Daryl wouldn't go so far at to say that Jean had warmed to him after Sherry had practically sung his praises to her. But he would say that at least Jean was making occasional eye contact with him not instead of staring right through him like he wasn't even there. She even smiled at him once as he was swiping the hair from his eyes and suggested that maybe he ought to think about getting himself a haircut. Not that Daryl cared or was willing to admit that he cared what Jean thought of him. Being around her was just a temporary situation that he was stuck in. The haircut she suggested didn't sound so terrible. But Daryl wasn't sure if he felt comfortable letting anyone get that close to him with such sharp scissors in their hands. Especially the widow of a man that he had killed. So Daryl shook his head and remained silent.
After Sherry left, a woman came in dragging a small child by the hand. After some resitance, the child was bribed with the promise of a lollipop to climb up into the chair and allow Jean to trim the long hair out of his eyes and off his neck. Afterwards she did produce the promised treat from a colorful tin bucket she kept up on a high shelf. Jean set the bucket down in the chair next to Daryl in her hurry to walk the mother and son to the door. Daryl had never been partial to sweets. But either his tastes had changed or the time he spent in near starvation were making his body crave sugar. Because just looking at that candy was making his mouth water. He took a quick glance around. Jean was still chatting with the boy's mother. She was standing in the doorway of the salon with her back to Daryl. Before he even made the decision to steal from her, Daryl was sliding a small handful of lollipops into his pocket.
Once she got done with the few other appointments she had for the morning, Jean told Daryl she was taking him down to speak to the man that was in charge of the work assignments. Like earlier that day she led the way and he followed along behind her like a trailer on a truck. Daryl was again careful to commit everything he saw to memory. But he wasn't so involved with memorizing his surroundings that he failed to notice the way her hips swayed as she walked. And how friendly Jean seemed to be with the people here. Most people had a smile for her as she passed. Especially the men. A few even turned and stared at her, not even trying to hide their appreciative glances. Daryl couldn't help but think about how much easier it might be for him to escape the Sanctuary with a little help from her. How to go about convincing her to help him was a puzzle he didn't have any idea how to even begin to solve.
Thus far, the only Savior men Daryl that had been aquainted with were fighters, members of Negan's army. When Jean said she was taking him to meet with the one that was in charge of job assignments, Daryl expected another cocky rough talking personality. What Daryl saw holding a clipboard and looking back at him was the furthest thing from what he had expected. The man was overweight and the armpits of his shirt were damp with sweat. He stuttered when he spoke to Jean, obviously nervous to be in her presence. To his credit the sweaty man didn't seem to care where Daryl was from or why he had come to live at the Sanctuary. He was only interested in Daryl's potential job skills.
"What did you do before the turn?," the man asked. Daryl ground his teeth, his jaw twitching. He hate questions about his past. But that particular one was his least favorite question of all time. And there was no way he was going to admit in front of Jean or the fat man for that matter, that he had never had a real job in all his life. Unless selling drugs with his brother or hunting counted as a job.
"Did the huntin' fer my old group," Daryl told the man. When that didn't earn him a response he added, "was the recruiter fer Alexandria." He cast a sideways glance at Jean to gauge her reaction. She was wrinkling up her nose, looking at him like he was crazy.
"You don't have clearance to leave the perimeter," she told him. Her tone implied that he should have already known that. "Aren't you the one that built that bike D's been showing off to everyone?," she asked, looking hopeful. Daryl nodded, curious as to the reason why she seemed so concerned with what his job assignment was in the first place.
"You need another mechanic," Jean told the fat man, "Mike was complaing about it last week when I cut his hair." The fat man stuttered and stammered as he flipped through the pages on his clipboard. After some shuffling of his feet and a lot more paper flipping, the man found what he was looking for. He grabbed for the pen that was dangling down from the clipboard, attached by a short length of string and some duct tape.
"Yes...," the man declared, "we do need another mechanic. Can start the day after tomorrow. What's your name."
"Daryl." When the man continued to stare at Daryl it became obvious to him that the man required more information. "Dixon," Daryl added. At the sound of his last name, Jean's head snapped towards him. She sucked in her bottom lip and started nibbling on it as she stared at Daryl like she was tying to do long division in her head. "What?," Daryl asked her. She shook her head and muttered under her breath that it was nothing.
"Come on," she said, clearly eager to change the subject, "I'll show you where the garage is."
Jean led the way, noticing again that Daryl had a habit of keeping a few steps behind her. She wiped her clammy palms against her thighs and rubbed her hands together, letting the friction dry them the rest of the way. Dixon was probably as common a name down south as Smith or Anderson. Just because she knew someone once with that name didn't mean that it had anything to do with Daryl. She refused to consider any other possibility.
Jean took a deep breath and blew it out through her pursed lips. She had a little game she liked to play with herself when there was something on her mind that she didn't want to think about. It had helped her to fall asleep many times since the end of the world. She thought back and tried to remember something specific from the past. This time she settled on what sort of birthday parties she had for each one of her girls. When Rose turned one, Jean had a barnyard animal themed party for her. There had been little cupcakes that were decorated up to look like cows and pigs and chickens. Jean had to have the party at her Aunt's house because her father said he wasn't going to celebrate the birth of her bastard in his house.
Pulled abruptly from her memories, Jean stopped and spun halfway around. She had suddenly become aware that she didn't hear Daryl's footsteps behind her. While she hadn't specifically been given the job of being his keeper, she knew if she lost him she was likely going to be in a world of knee deep shit that she did not want any part of. Before she even got all the way turned around, Daryl slammed into her. His chin knocked into her forehead painfully and Jean staggered back a step.
Daryl didn't think before he reacted. He put his hands on Jean's arms to steady her. As they walked he had been consumed with his own thoughts, which mainly involved making himself think about how he was going to get out of this place to stop himself from thinking about the woman walking in front of him. He had been staring down at his feet to avoid looking at her since all her seemed to be able to stare at was the way her jeans hugged her curves in all the right places. That and the spot where her shirt hung down in back, revealing the strap of her black lace bra. He was glad she wasn't blonde. Blonde made him think of Beth. Just another dead girl in the long line of deaths that Daryl could have prevented and didn't.
"Y'alright?," Daryl asked her. Jean's hand lifted up to feel at the small swelling bump on the side of her forehead. She stared up at him. In the dim flickering florescent lights, her warm brown eyes looked almost black. Daryl didn't realize that his hands had moved down her arms and wrapped around her waist until he felt her pushing back against his chest.
"I'm fine," she said. She had been saying it so long it just came naturally. But the truth was she was anything but fine. Her encounter with Simon earlier had left her doubting herself. And the mention of Daryl's last name had drug up some painful memories that she would have rather left buried down deep inside of her. Not to mention that he had startled the shit out of her when he slammed into her. And hurt her head. Suddenly Jean had found herself being held in his arms. She had been right about them being meant for holding. Part of his face was hidden. But behind the curtain of his hair she could see how intensely blue his eyes were.
"I'm fine," she repeated, more to convince herself than to convince Daryl. Jean took a step back, noticing that the moment she showed any physical resistance to his touch that Daryl had released her immediately. He let go of her waist, his hand lifting up to cup the side of her head. After rubbing his calloused thumb over the bump that was forming on her head he pulled his hand away and lowered his eyes to stare down at his boots again.
Daryl thought she might say something to him. Maybe tell him to keep his filthy fucking murdering hands off her. But Jean just stood there staring at him. The way she lifted her delicate wrist to press her fingers to the bump on her head reminded him of a wounded baby bird. So small and fragile that if he squeezed to hard he might break her. After another moment of thick silence, Jean turned on her heel and started walking at a more brisk pace than she had been before.
One more left turn and a set of stairs led them outside into the sunlight. Daryl spotted a row of motorcycles, his bike among them. He stopped following Jean. Staring at the bikes he gave a moment of consideration to what his chances were of getting away if he made a run for it now. He must have been staring for longer than he thought because suddenly Jean was at his side, tugging gently at the sleeve of his flannel shirt.
"You'd make it about ten paces outside this place before they gunned you down," Jean said, speaking in a hushed tone that suggested other people might be listening. "That's been tried before and by someone a lot faster than you." Plus he would get her into deep shit with Negan. But since Jean wasn't sure Daryl cared she didn't bother to mention that little detail. Jean tugged at his shirt again. "Come on," she urged, "Garage is this way."
The man who ran the garage seemed nice enough as far as Saviors went. He was tall gangly young black man that reminded Daryl a bit of Noah except he was a few years older and his name was Mike. Daryl's other coworker was a woman. She had long blonde hair that was tied back in a low bun and a tattoo on the side of her neck. Mike led him and Jean around the garage, pointing out projects that were being worked on. While Daryl still wasn't happy to be a captive in this place, working on engines sounded a lot better than being locked up naked in a closet. If he had to be a prisoner here, he figured it might not be so bad to bide his time doing something that he enjoyed.
In typical female fashion, Jean looked rather bored with the tour. Until they skirted around car that was up on a lift and a large supply truck came into view. The truck had a very detailed picture of Negan's barbed wire bat spray painted graffiti style on the side of it. Jean's body tensed up.
"How long has the west 8 outpost crew been here?," she asked. It was obvious that Jean was trying to control her tone and facial expressions. But Daryl could tell by the change in her body language that she was seriously disturbed by the sight of that particular truck.
"Came in late last night," Mike told her, "they weren't due until next week... heard they spotted a new camp or something and wanted to talk to the boss man 'bout it." Jean nodded. She was already stepping backwards towards the exit when she made her excuses to Mike.
"Going to have to finish the tour later," she told him, "I forgot I have to pick up my girls from the kitchen." Mike nodded and gave Jean a little wave before she turned on her heel and started rushing for the door. Daryl nodded back at the man before he turned and started chasing after the woman. She kept it to a brisk walk while they were inside the garage but once they were back in the dimly lit hallways inside the Sanctuary she increased her speed. Daryl had to jog to keep up with her. They took a different route back from the one they had used to get to the garage. Daryl didn't have time to commit this one to memory but he assumed it was the most direct route back to the kitchen. Before they even reached the door, Jean was calling out for her daughters.
"Rose! Lily!," she hollered. When Jean rushed into the kitchen and saw that her daughters were no where to be seen Daryl could see the panic in her eyes. "Where are my girls?," Jean demanded of the woman that had arrived to collect them earlier that morning.
"I sent them down to get some eggs," the woman answered, her confusion at Jean's sudden state of panic showing plainly on her face. Jean didn't offer the woman any explanation. She simply turned and ran from the kitchen. Daryl followed her, unsure of what else he ought to be doing to help. He had already guessed that Jean's sudden panic to find her girls had something to do with the truck she had spotted in the garage.
Daryl's boots clanged on the metal staircase. Outside the sun was shining brighter than it had been on their walk to the garage. While the saviors took most of what they needed to survive from other groups, they did grow some of their own vegetables and raised their own chickens for fresh eggs like the ones that Daryl had eaten for breakfast that morning. Jean yelled for her girls again, calling them both by name. Two brown heads popped up, both the girls looking suprised at their mother's panicked tone. Her older daughter was reaching inside one of the hen houses, handing eggs out to Jean's younger daughter to be placed in a basket.
"What's wrong mom?," Rose asked. Jean ignored the question, pulling her younger daughter into her arms and hugging her until the girl protested and demanded to be let go before Jean broke the eggs she was gathering. Jean hugged her older daughter next, pulling the girl against her. "Mom," Rose asked again, "What's wrong?"
"I went to the kitchen to look for you," Jean told the girl, "and I guess I got scared when I saw you weren't there." Daryl knew that was a lie. Jean had been scared long before she got to the kitchen. His concern over the situation was growing despite the little voice in the back of his mind that kept telling him he didn't care and this woman's problems were none of his business. Daryl didn't like to see a mother scared for the safety of her children.