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Girlie

Chapter 3

It was way after everyone had gone to bed that I heard the zip of the tent flap and the rustle of clothing a couple tents down. I turned over, thinking it was just T-Dog having to pee, but if I would have listened closer, I would have heard him snoring in his tent next door. I knew it wasn't a walker, walkers don't unzip tents, so I rolled back over and started to drift off again. In a second, I hear the sound again and it's my tent flap being unzipped this time. A hand appears in the darkness just as I'm ready to scream. It's waving a small bottle of rum back and forth. Daryl's head appears through the flaps next.

"Decent?"

"Yes." I snapped, trying to get the fright under control. "Pirate?"

"What?"

"You have rum."

"Oh. Yeah." he scoots in, letting the attempt at a joke roll off him. "Wanna drink?"

"Well, I dunno. You using 'drink' as a verb our a noun here?"

"Bottle's too small for a verb." he grinned. Sometimes he surprised me. This man ain't as dumb as he'd like folks to think he is. "I can't sleep."

"How's come?" I asked, throwing him a bed pillow. He plopped down on the air mattress with a sigh.

"Dunno. Found this 'n thought it'd help."

"Probably will if you drink it all." I said, taking the bottle from his outstretched hand. "Where do I fit into your little cure for insomnia?"

Daryl grinned. "So, we goin' huntin' soon?"

"You serious?" I gasped as the brown liquid ran down my throat, burning like fire. "Jesus God, that's cheap rum." I croaked.

He frowned. Even in the dim light of the tent I could make out his strong features. The nose. The square jawline. "Can ya' keep quiet?"

"Did you hear me scream when that walker showed up?"

He moved his head sideways, right then left, his neck snapping and crackling. "You gonna' be able to keep up?"

I passed the bottle back to him. "I'll manage."

"You gonna help me dress it and haul it back to camp if we find anything?"

"Why don't you just ask me if I'm going to wear a skirt and heels, that is what you're hinting at, right? Am I going to go all, ah, what do you call it, oh yeah, 'girlie' on you?"

"I told ya,' yer not girlie." he handed the bottle back again.

"Yeah, right. I'm not girlie." I snickered. "So I'm told."

"We done had this argument before. I know where this is headed." he laughed.

"I bet you do." I teased. "So when do you want to go?" I took a swig of the rum.

"Tomorrow morning."

"Oh, that soon? Do I have time to get my nails done before we leave?"

"Shut up." he groaned. He laid back on the pillow and propped one leg up on a bent knee, his feet on the blue plastic tarp that served as a floor cloth.

"How come we don't do this more often?" I asked.

"What?"

"Just hang out."

"You wanna' hang? With me?" He seemed genuinely surprised.

"Why not?"

"Dunno." Daryl was quiet for a while. "Never hung with a girl before."

"Uh, now, remember, I'm not a girl." I said wagging my finger.

"I kissed ya'. Yer' a girl." He rolled over on to his stomach, making "girl" sound like it had two syllables.

"Well, gee. Thanks. I'd started to wonder lately."

"Maybe you 'n tha' other girls ought ta' have one a' them, whatchcallits, ya' know where ya' go in ta' have yer' hair done 'n get a makeover 'n a massage'n all that crap."

"A spa day?"

"Yeah, that's it. A spa day." He had a twinkle in his eye as I handed him the bottle again.

"That's such a good idea, Daryl, and when we're done getting girlified, we could prance around in fancy little nighties and have..." I took the pillow from behind my back and hit him upside the head with it. "...a pillow fight! "Because that's what us girls do when we get together, we paint each others' nails and drink Mojitos then end up in a big ol' pile and roll around on each other naked."

Daryl set the bottled down, grabbed the pillow out of my hands and hit me back with it, knocking me backwards, climbing on top, his knees on either side of my hips. "Can I watch?" he said, leaning over me, pinning my arms above my head.

"For sure. You can video it! Oh, my bad. End of the world. Not enough batteries for the camera. Sorry Pumpkin!" I giggled as he hovered over me. "So, lemme' up?"

Daryl looked down and turned pale white and then beet red. Apparently he didn't realize the compromising position we were in. "Oh, shit." he said, moving off me quickly. "Sorry." he said under his breath.

"Not..." I said, sitting up and crossing my legs under my knees, "...a problem. So, tomorrow then?"

"Yeah."

I nodded my head. "K' then. Sounds good."

Daryl stood up and held the nearly-empty bottle down, offering me the last shot. I shook my head and he drained it and tucked it in his back pocket where the normally the faded red shop-rag could be found. He turned and left, tossing a causal "Night." over his shoulder.

I laid back on the pillow, taking a mental inventory of what had just happened. He trusts me enough to take me to the woods hunting. He remembers he kissed me. He thinks I'm a girl, but not a girlie-girl. He couldn't sleep so he brought a bottle over to share.

I turned to my side and tried to play name-that-feeling. I wasn't angry. Wasn't dejected. Frustrated, yeah, a bit. Oh here it comes. Confusion. That was it. I fucking hate being confused. Most of the time I could read people, but Daryl Dixon was not consistent. Sometimes he was linear, like an arrow, point A to point B. Other times, not so much. Lately he'd been a lot of not so much. At least he made my brain go all loopy trying to figure out what he was thinking.

Yup, I was confused. I didn't know what his deal was. Or, for that matter, what mine was. Most guys would have made a move. Even a little one. I tossed to my other side, hoping that the rum would have taken effect by now and at least I'd drop off before I had a chance to have to give this some serious thought. What did I want? Daryl? What would I have done if he had made a move? If more rum had been involved would I have been the one to make a move? Did I want him to make a move, was that it? The rum hit just as the last question popped into my head. At least I think so, because the next thing I know is I'm hearing Dale and Andrea talking and a couple of catbirds screeching and I realize that I am going to piss off Daryl right off the bat for being late.

XXXXX

Daryl exited his own tent looking a little worse for the wear, not even knowing that I had overslept. His hair was askew and he needed a shave more than usual, and he hadn't tied his boot laces. I looked at him and smirked. "Shut up." he growled, which made me smirk even harder.

We spent most of the day looking for deer. Old tracks were everywhere but no fresh ones to speak of. The one deer we did see from a distance was a doe and she had a pretty young fawn with her. Along the way, Daryl nailed about three rabbits. I, however, scored big points when we came up a small rise and there were about six wild turkeys scratching and ambling around. Daryl motioned for me to take a shot and after several deep breaths and a lot of self-encouragement, I hit one, sending the others scattering, half-flying half-running away, chattering and warbling.

"Daaaaymn." he drawled, jogging to the hen turkey lying on the ground. He turned around and looked at me and nodded his head, trying to hide a smile.

I walked up and peered over at the carcass. It was sad and exhilarating at the same time. I watched as he pulled out the arrow and wiped it on his pants, handing it back to me. "Nice." He pulled out his knife and we began to field dress the bird to get rid of as anything we could that might draw walkers to camp.

When we got back, we handed off the rabbits and the turkey to T-Dog and Carol and went to clean up. I sat down to a bucket of cold water and a bar of soap and there was a noise outside my tent. It was Daryl, asking if I wanted to go down to the tiny lake to wash up. Cold bath versus cold bath with Daryl. Hmm. I declined politely and damn him if he didn't sound just a bit disappointed.

Carol and T-Dog had the turkey plucked, dressed and ready for the spit by the time I came out of my tent. Daryl was heading past as well, hair still damp, clean sleeveless shirt sticking to him, his muscles rippling as he walked. I glanced at his face, holy shit he'd shaved. He still had his goatee and mustache, but he'd tidied up the rest. My mouth must have been open because he saw me staring and frowned. "What's your problem?"

I shook my head, embarrassed. "N-nothing." Any attempt to be casual was futile. "You look...nice."

He grimaced again and continued walking, disappearing into his tent. Shit, so much for compliments...or discretion. I looked at Andrea, who was now standing next to Carol at the fire pit as T-Dog and Glenn were working to maneuver the bird, impaled on the crosspiece, into position over the low fire. She smiled and walked over next to me. "You know, it's gonna be a few hours before this thing is ready to eat." she said quietly, looking in the direction of Daryl's tent.

"And?" I said blinking.

"Just sayin', you have time to kill," she was still smiling, "and I know how hunting can get emotions running pretty high."

"Uh-huh?" I was still not following her.

"Oh for heavens' sake, get your ass over there." she whispered. "You know you want to."

My face was bright red, I'm sure. "What?" I gasped. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying you are both adults and you're missing an opportunity, Sweetie."

"Andrea, I can't."

"Go. Now. While he's clean." she laughed.

I turned and went back to my tent and sat down, her words echoing in my ears. I needed to think about what she said, but all I could think about was the way Daryl moved, the way he looked this afternoon after he'd returned from the lake. The way he felt sitting on top of me last night. Oh, then there was that kiss. I let my mind wander for a minute, indulging in some shameless fantasy. Shit. Andrea was right. Of course, she was not one to miss an opportunity. I'd noticed a couple things about how she and Shane interacted and put two and two together a while time ago. They'd definitely had sex. More than once.

I drew a deep breath and let it out slowly, taking a mental inventory of the pros and cons of going to Daryl's tent right now. The list of cons was some serious shit: unplanned pregnancy, outright rejection and humiliation, ruining our friendship, embarrassment if anyone in camp found out, the guilt of sleeping with a guy I knew not a lot about, a guy I wouldn't probably have even met were if things were normal.

The pros won. It was a much shorter list. One word, actually. Daryl.

I knocked on the tent with two condoms in my back pocket and a half-empty bottle of Irish whiskey in the other. Who could refuse, right? Daryl grunted and I crawled in.

"Hey." I said. "You busy?"

"No." he was almost sullen.

"What's the matter?"

"Nothin'." Definitely sullen.

"You mad because I didn't go with you to clean up?"

"No."

"Will this make you in a better mood?" I held out the bottle.

"Ain't in a bad mood."

"Then what's going on? You're acting like your pissed off at me."

"Drop it." he said, taking the bottle from my hand and sitting down.

"Do you want me to leave?" I said, folding my arms.

"Do what you want."

"I want to figure out why you're angry."

"I ain't."

"Well if this isn't mad, what is it?"

Daryl just sat there, unscrewing the cap on the bottle slowly. Dramatically. "Nothin'." He took a long drink from the bottle and wiped his lips with the back of his hand. "You stayin' or what?"

"No. You come find me when you're ready to tell me what you're so pissed off at." I turned and stooped to leave and heard a quick sound behind me. Daryl leaped to his knees and reaching out, had grabbed at the leg of my pants. I nearly tripped and fell forwards as he pulled me roughly back and on to the bottom of the mattress.

"What the hell?" I tried to say as he moved on top of me, nearly crushing me, kissing me roughly. His lips still burned from the god-knows-how-old Jameson's. I put my hands on his chest and tried to move my head sideways to break free. "Stop it. Daryl." I pushed on his chest hard. "Stop it!" He stopped for a second, his hands frozen, gripping my waist tightly. "Jesus would you slow down?"

He looked at me and I realized that what I had taken for anger was something different. His chest was heaving and his breath was ragged. His eyes were absolutely dark blue now, burning and intense. I scooted out from under him and moved higher up on the mattress. His mouth was open, like a cat, taking in as much air, as much scent of it's prey as possible. I could feel the heat from his breath a foot away. "I came over here to show you something." I said, scooting my hands through my hair. "I have a confession to make."

"What?" his voice tight.

"Uhm." I started to get nervous just from the sound of his voice and the look in his eye. This was hunter-Daryl. I'd seen that look before. "I wasn't being straight up with you about something."

"What?"

"Remember when I got pissed when you said I wasn't prissy and you said not to get my undies in a bunch?' I reached for the bottle next to the mattress. Whiskey was definitely going to be necessary for this.

"Yeah, so?" he was chewing on his thumb again, glowering.

"You were wrong."

"What?"

"You were wrong about me." I said. His blue eyes were still flashing.

"The' fuck 're ya' talkin' about?" he took the bottle out of my hand quickly and took another big swig, punctuating his loud swallow with a satisfied, if not slightly painful, "gaaaah."

"Oh, Jesus. Turn around."

"What the fuck."

"Turn around."

Daryl mumble-cussed about wasting time and being god-dammed cryptic as I undid my jeans and slid them off. He stopped grousing and got real quiet when he heard the zipper but he stayed turned around. I stood up carefully and lifted the hem of my t-shirt and pulled it off over my head and adjusted myself before I threw the t-shirt at the back of his head. "Ok."

Daryl turned around and dropped the bottle of Jameson's in his lap, fumbling to pick it up before the light brown spot on his leg grew any larger, barely able to look down to upright the bottle. "Holy fucking shit." he said loudly, his eyes big as saucers. He looked away long enough to set the bottle on the floor.

"Holy fucking shit!" he repeated, starting at my knees and sweeping his eyes upwards, stopping at my chest. "I...I..."

"I know, you were probably expecting camo, right? Or at least plain white cotton?"

Daryl looked at me, a grin from ear to ear, eyes still wide, eyebrows up. I don't know what he was more interested in, the silk push-up bra with the lace trim or the matching lace bikini panties with silk piping around the waist and legs. They were a deep crimson red, which stood out against my pale skin. The panties dipped low in the front and were cut high in the back. Daryl reached up and pulled me to my knees in front of him, his hands moving to the elastic and silk on the panties. He ghosted it with his fingers, tracing the pattern with a feather-light touch. I could feel the heat of his hands through the sheer lace. He reached up to run a hand over the cup of the bra and I let out a little gasp.

"Tell me ya' didn't have these on when we were out today" He said, not taking his eyes off of me.

"No." I looked down at my feet and glanced back up, squinting like I was about to get smacked. "I had on my black lace ones then."

"Fuck me." he shook his head.

"It's kind of the last desperate attempt for me to keep something of the way we used to live. I'm not doing a lot of normal girl-stuff nowadays. I guess this is how I hold on. I confess, Daryl. I've been lying to you. I'm really am a girlie-girl."

"So, all this time?"

"Yup."

"You always wear this stuff?" He said, his head was bent slightly and his eyebrows were still raised.

"Nope." I said seriously, cupping his chin and raising his eyes to meet mine. "Sometimes I don't wear any at all."

Daryl bit his tongue and let out a high-pitched whine as his hands moved down and his thumbs ran over the skin of my stomach. That was the day that Daryl Dixon came to realize that a little bit of girlie, even underneath it all, might not be such a bad thing.