Between the Thorns
Chapter 8
Daryl sat quietly on the sofa. He tried not to stare at them but as he watched Jean get her daughters ready for bed he found himself comforted by the simple normality of their routine. It reminded him of when he used to watch Carol give Judith her nigthtime bath back at the prison. An intense but momentary pang of lonliness washed over him. Daryl longed for his prison family and Carol in particular. Nothing sexual or romatic had ever gone on between them but he cared for her all the same. She had a soothing presence. Daryl swiped his hair from his face and tried not to dwell too long on the possibility of whether or not he would ever see the woman again.
The girls changed into pajamas. Rose took her braids out and brushed her own thick mane of curly hair while Jean did the same for the girl's younger sister. Lily had dark brown hair that was finer and thinner than her older sister's. She looked more like her mother in the face than the older girl did.
Both girls had been wearing pigtails. Now they each had one long french braid hanging down in the middle of their backs. The younger of the two was dressed in a pink princess nightgown and a pair of white tube socks with a hole in the big toe area of the right one. The older girl wore a men's button down flannel shirt that was oversized enough to cover her to the middle of her thin thighs. Her feet were bare and she had chipped pink nail polish on her toenails. Once Rose got done brushing her teeth to her mother's satisfaction she rinsed her mouth out and spit into a large bucket that Daryl guessed was kept there for that purpose. The girl started padding off towards the one part of the apartment Daryl hadn't been in yet. He assumed it was the bedroom she shared with her sister.
"Rose," Jean said, calling the girl back to her and pointing her towards the bedroom Daryl had woken up in that morning. The girl huffed and rolled her eyes but eventually trudged off in the direction her mother had indicated.
"Are we all sleeping in your bed mommy?," Lily asked. Jean plastered a big fake smile on her face.
"I thought it might be fun to have a sleepover," she lied. The truth was she didn't know Daryl well enough to trust him yet. That in combination with still being shaken up by what happened in the cafeteria made Jean certain that she would sleep better if she knew her girls were close. More often than not she felt like a mother hen making sure all her chicks were in the nest.
After both Jean's daughters had made their way into her bedroom she disappeared into their room and returned with a pillow and a blanket for Daryl. He hopped up quickly to take them from her. As she handed him the bedding his hand touched hers. Jean lingered there, allowing the tips of his fingers to graze over her hand for a few seconds longer than was necessary. Her eyelids were already drooping, the stress of the day had taken it's toll on her. Daryl nodded his thanks and stepped back. Jean was wearing her own version of pajamas. A large well worn men's t-shirt and boxers that Daryl assumed had belonged to her late husband. He had a hard time not staring at her bare legs when she turned away from him and headed for her room. The muscles of her calves were firm and round, tapering to thin ankles that were as delicate as her wrists.
"We don't leave the apartment at night," Jean said, stopping in the doorway to look back at him. She pointed to the bucket her daughters had been spitting in like tiny camels while they brushed their teeth. "So if you need to go just use the bucket." Daryl nodded, wishing like he had during dinner that he could think of something to say to her. He was hopelessly awkward when it came to dealing with women, always had been. The only time he ever got laid was if Merle brought two drunk whores home from the bar instead of one.
"Night," he finally mumbled. Jean nodded and rubbed at her eyes before following her girls into the bedroom and swing the door shut behind her. Daryl heard the muffled scrape of wood on wood. Then the soft thud of something heavy being pushed up against the inside of the bedroom door. There wasn't much furniture in the bedroom so he guessed what he heard was Jean taking the chair she had laid his clothes out on earlier and using it to brace the door shut from the inside.
Daryl wasn't offended by Jean's lack of trust. On the contrary he found the way she did her best to keep her girls safe endearing. And he was reminded of his own childhood. His mother had never had the good sense to lock his father out of the house when he was drunk. But more than a few times Daryl had woken up in bed to the sight of Merle sleeping in a ratty old easy chair that he was using to keep their bedroom door shut.
One bright lamp was still lit. Daryl rose from the couch and clicked it off. When he did he noticed that a small glow was coming from the girl's room. He smiled, assuming the light was coming from some sort of small nightlight that Jean had put in there for her girls to keep them from being scared of the dark. Daryl was grateful for the soft glow. He had been alone in the dark for a long time. The glow helped to remind him that he wasn't back down inside that horrible icebox of a closet.
Daryl checked the door the apartment, making sure it was securely locked from the inside. Then he stalked silently around the place, obsessively checking and place where he thought there might be enoungh room for someone to hide. He found a serrated steak knife in a bin of clean dishes that he palmed. Alive or undead, everyone was a possible threat. After completing his security checks, Daryl felt secure enough to get a little more comfortable. He slid his boots off. Not his pants even though the metal snap was rubbing against his stomach. Only his boots.
The couch was lumpy but infinitely better than cold unyeilding cement to sleep on. Daryl placed the pillow Jean had given him against the far end of the couch, so that he was facing the door. He slipped the steak knife underneath. The blanket Jean had given him was pink and purple with a cartoon character on it he didn't recognize, an overly happy mexican girl with a head that was shaped like a football. Despite its unmanly appearance the blanket was plush and warmer than it felt like it was going to be. As Daryl nestled down into the uneven cushions he felt something hard and lumpy pressing into his hip. A quick investigation into his own pocket revealed that the hard lump there was from the handful of lollipops he had stolen from the treat bucket in Jean's salon earlier.
Daryl felt a little guily for taking the treats. But not guilty enough to give them back. He silently unwrapped the first one and slipped it into his mouth, enjoying the overly sweet taste as he listened to the soft whispering murmurs coming from behind Jean's closed bedroom door. He couldn't make out every word but he could hear enough to know she was either reading or telling her girls some sort of bedtime story.
Desite the fact that Daryl had felt safe enough to remove his boots, he was still afraid to let himself fall asleep. He managed to keep his eyes open for a little while, eating the candy he stols slowly. But he had been sleep deprived for far too long. Only a few seconds after he wrapped the wrapper around the sticky remains of the last lollipop and crammed it into his pocket Daryl's heavy eyes blinked shut, thrusting him into oblivion.
He might have been asleep for hours. Or maybe only a few seconds. Either way Daryl woke with a start. Someone was leaning over him. He didn't open his eyes to see who it was, choosing instead to fake sleep and hope that he might be able to take his would be attacker by surprise. The person was sneaky and quiet. Daryl would give the bastard that. The only sounds of the person retreating were a soft rush of air and a few quiet shuffles against the floor. The next sound Daryl heard was the quiet groan of a dining chair as someone put their weight on it. But the noise that sent him flying off the sofa was the crinkle of a synthetic wrapper. Later he would find himself completely unable to articulate what had scared him so badly. But in that moment he was sure that he was about to be sexually assaulted, the one and only form of humiliation and torture that hadn't yet been used on him while he was Negan's prisoner.
Jean stepped down from the dining chair. She only just got both her bare feet on the floor when she was grabbed roughly from behind. Her body met the wall opposite her with alarming force. The air woofed out of her lungs. Her arm was twisted painfully behind her back, making little black spots swim in front of her eyes. Once she was able to suck in a breath of air she began to cry.
"You're going to break my arm," she sobbed, trying to keep her voice quiet because despite the severity of the situation she didn't want to wake her girls up and frighten them, "Please let go." Her arm was released from the awkward position it was being held in. She felt the blood rush back into her hand as she was whipped around to face the person that had been holding it.
"Planning to slit my throat while I slept," Daryl hissed into her face. He had released his grip on her arm but moved his hand to grip her by the throat instead. Thankfully he wasn't squeezing down. Not yet anyway. His body was flush against hers, one of his large feet positioned between her two smaller ones. Their foreheads were touching and his breath smelled like lemon lime candy.
"No," Jean whispered.
"What the fuck were ya doin' sneakin' around in here then?," Daryl hissed. She could tell some of the fear and anger was draining out of him now. But he wasn't ready to let her go just yet. Jean wasn't sure but she guessed Daryl had possibly been in the middle of some sort of horrible nightmare that he was now taking out on her. She had been terribly frightened at first but now, nightmare or not, she was starting to get a little angry. This man didn't have the right to put his hands on her. All she was trying to do was have a little midnight snack. She hadn't even so much as breathed wrong in Daryl's direction. Well maybe she had breathed on him just a little bit. But she certainly didn't have any intentions of hurting him or slitting his throat.
"I wasn't sneaking around," she spit back, "I fucking live here!" Daryl loosened his grip on her neck, not failing to notice how soft her skin was and how good the taunt cords of her neck felt under his touch. He also realized that he had woken up with a raging erection that was currently pressing hard against Jean's stomach. Her full breasts were crushed between them.
He had the sudden impulse to kiss her. To slip one hand up under the soft cotton shirt she had on and see if her nipples were as hard as they felt against his chest. Daryl didn't act on these urges. To do so would have been wrong in every way. He was a little disgusted at himself for even thinking about it.
"Tell me what you were doin'," Daryl demanded, his tone quieter and more controlled.
"Let me go," Jean ordered, putting extra emphasis on each word. She was not going to answer his question until he got his hand off her throat.
Daryl finally came to his senses. He removed his hands from Jean's body and stepped back. She lifted up the arm he had pinned behind her back and rubbed at her wrist, immediately filling him with guilt and remorse for grabbing her so roughly.
"What were you doing?," Daryl asked again. He knew now it was really none of his business but he still wanted to know why she had been leaning over him while he slept. Jean leaned down and picked up the piece of candy that she had dropped when Daryl grabbed her. She handed it to Daryl for his inspection.
"I couldn't sleep," she admitted, "I hide candy from my kids and sometimes I come out here at night to eat it, alright?" With that she reached forward and snatched the small square of wrapped chocolate back out of Daryl's hands. It made the same crinkling noise that had startled him when he was lying on the couch with his eyes closed.
"Fuckin' hell," Daryl cursed under his breath. He was feeling like more and more of an ass as each second ticked by. "You were just checkin' to make sure I was asleep?," he asked, knowing already that the answer to his question was yes. Jean nodded. She told herself she was checking to make sure Daryl was asleep because she didn't want him to know where she hid her candy. If her girls found out about it they would eat the whole bag up in five seconds. Then that other thing had happened.
Jean nodded when Daryl asked her if she was just checking to make sure he was asleep. That's what she told herself she was doing when she drifted over towards the sofa instead of heading straight for her candy stash. Daryl's breathing was slow and heavy even though his eyes were moving rapidly under his heavy lids. He looked so peaceful lying there. The contrast between his rugged good looks and the children's blanket he was sleeping under pulled at her heartstrings. Jean's hand reached out for him. Before she really thought through what she was about to do her hand was stroking over the hard muscles of his arm, fingers squeezing just slightly to see if he was as strong as he looked. She should have walked away after that but she didn't.
Jean traced the tip of her finger up the length of his arm and touched his hair. She felt like she was hypnotized by him, unable to stop herself from touching him even if she wanted to. Which she didn't. Jean touched his beard, feeling the difference between the coarseness in the hair on his face and the softness of the hair on his head. She ran the pad of her thumb over his lips, wondering what it might feel like to kiss him. And then she had done something exponentially stupid and probably a little bit creepy too. It felt like an eternity since she had been kissed. So Jean leaned down and pressed her lips to his. Daryl's lips were warm and soft and felt so good against hers that she lingered there longer than she intended. It wasn't until his body twitched that she jumped back, quickly regaining control over herself.
"Lemme see yer wrist," Daryl offered, holding his hand out. To his surprise Jean stuck out the wrist he had twisted behind her back and allowed him to run his fingers over it, probing at the bones and tendons to make sure he hadn't unjured her too badly.
"I'm alright," she assured him.
"M'sorry," Daryl told her. In the dim light of the room her dark brown eyes looked almost black. Her long lashes cast spidery shadows on her cheekbones. His amatuer medical examination was staring to feel more like affection. Her wrist was still in his hand and she hadn't tried to pull away from him yet.
"It's alright," she said, "I'm sorry I scared you." Daryl nodded, not sure what the proper response would be to her unexpected apology. The adrenaline that was still lingering in his body gave him a small burst of bravery. It allowed Daryl to say what he had been wanting to say to her ever since Negan approached them in the cafeteria.
"M'sorry. For what happened earlier," Daryl added quickly before he lost his nerve, "Negan's a damn dick for talking 'bout ya that way." His statement certainly wasn't Hershel quality but Daryl felt good about it anyway. At least he said something.
Jean wanted to thank Daryl for his kind words. But she didn't trust herself to speak. Her throat was thick and she was already blinking back unshed tears. She settled for giving his hand a quick squeeze before turning and hurrying away into her room to muffle her sobs with a pillow. Jean still shut the door to her bedroom. But she no longer felt the need to drag the chair in front of it.