Disclaimer: I don't own AMC's The Walking Dead or any of its characters. I would be shitting bricks if I did though. Just sayin'.
Warnings: See original chapter for a complete list of warnings. This particular chapter will contain significant adult language, violence, and mild slash.
AuthorsNote#1: Please read and review. I am open to comments, advice, and constructive criticism. The encouragement and constructive criticism your reviews provide makes the writing process that much more enjoyable!
AuthorsNote#2: Because ShatteredMirror01 demanded musical Daryl and I needed a catalyst. (I am not sure if she/he is still reading, but…Like a boss!)
Rotation – Chapter15
He was returning his oiling kit to the back of his truck when he found it. It was dirt encrusted and shoved under one of the tarps as far from view as possible, as if someone had gone to great lengths to keep it hidden. Curious and slightly wary, he cast a careful look back at the others before he ripped off the tarp. Swinging himself up into the back, he climbed over top a sea of bags, his old fire engine tool box and one of Carol's spare suitcases in order to get a better look at it.
Sitting up on the metal edging, he paused, hands hovering just above its weather beaten sides. Eyes taking in the deep scores and fresh scuff marks from where the case had gotten caught between the wheel well and the groove of the truck bed. Even the iconic cattle skull stamp looked far more faded then he remembered. In a word it seemed different somehow. Aged...Neglected.
It was the same guitar case that had been in the back of the truck he and Glenn had liberated during that cluster fuck of a supply run at that farmhouse nearly two months back. Admittedly still thrown for a loop he twisted the handle and pulled the entire thing upwards, resting the case on top of all the other crap as he looked it over. After a long moment he couldn't help but raise a brow as he looked back towards the others. Already half convinced that he'd find one of them grinning back at him. As if this was some sort of elaborate, inner city joke that urban retards regularly played on backwater hicks or somemat'.
Because while the discovery in itself might not be outwardly startling or even particularly interesting, the point of the matter was that he certainly didn't remember putting it there. In fact he remembered the moment he had pushed it aside, throwing the case off the edge of the crowded flat deck along with all the other suitcases and backpacks the women seemed to have accumulated. Trying his best to ignore the damning ache that resulted as callous blunted finger tips remembered the play of bare strings humming across naked skin. Forcing himself to continue unloading in case the girls had collected any more supplies they could use.
He hadn't let himself dwell on it much after that.
The point was that he hadn't seen hide or tail of the thing since then. Figuring it had gone into the same junk pile they had abandoned when they left, leaving it to moulder and eventually rot along side everything else they couldn't use. And yet, here it was. Bold as bloody brass.
That being said, he already had a fair idea who had.
What was it about that kid and reading minds anyway? God knows he hadn't played in over ten years as it was..He looked back down again, letting his eyes sweep along the case from end to end, taking in the tarnished silver snaps and back hinges as his teeth tightened around his lower lip. Unable to help himself when he bit down just a mite too hard.
Oh what the hell. Couldn't hurt nothin' if he just took a look now could it?
He suppressed an admiring whistle when he finally peeked inside. It was a gorgeous Gibson Les Paul acoustic, still safely nestled its blue velvet interior. It was flawless, clearly worn down with love and age but obviously well cared for. It wasn't his brand, but it was still a pretty impressive make, arguably one of the best out there these days. He had friends that swore by it. Or he'd had friends that had, before all this
He ignored the collection of picks in favour of using his own two hands, letting himself get used to its feel as he lifted it up, letting the polycarbonate base rest cross the span of his thighs as he tested out the cords. He inspected the frets for any damage before playing a quick range, wincing a bit as the sultry twang fell flat somewhere along the length of the last three strings. And despite the grating sound, his frown lessened. The instrument was badly out of tune but like all Les Paul's its rich, wooden tenor was unmistakable.
God. He had missed this.
There was something about the sound of a few good chords humming under his fingers that softened him up inside. He'd never quite been able to put his finger on it. It was more then calming, more then comfortable.. Perhaps it all came down to the fact that it seemed to put him at ease. God knows precious little ever could.
The echoing snap of thick fabric cracking through the air effectively brought him back to reality. And as he followed the movement, he was rewarded with the sight of Lori hanging up her broods washing. He eventually decided that there must have been another bout of midnight domestics, because the woman looked fit to be tied. Something that wasn't exactly unusual these days mind you.Especially considering the ever mounting soap opera-type romance she and Shane had shared before Captain America had seen fit to grace them all with his presence.
Oh to be a fly on the wall for that conversation…
He took in her tantrum with a critical eye, watching as the tall womanshook out each shirt before she hung them on the line. Whipping them about like each and every one of them had done her some sort of personal injustice. Working until she had exhausted her laundry basket and filled up their entire clothes line and part of Carol's to boot.
He snorted emphatically at that, fiddling with the peg heads, raising an eyebrow as he looked up at the sky. It looked like rain.. Thatwasgoingtogooverwell. Already idly wondering just how far her eyes were going to bug out this time. Women.He swore six ways to Sunday that none of them had any common sense.
Shifting his body so his limbs draped more comfortably over the wheel well, he looked over at the others as he continued to strum. Gradually forcing the untuned chords into submission as he played a few scales, careful to keep the sound at a level that only he could hear.
The old man was still standing watch with T-Dog on top of the RV, keeping an eye on the road that led up to where they had decided to stop for the time being, a dumpy half forgotten state park fifty miles north of their last camp site. Despite the distance between the RV and his truck, their lips were alive with snatches of barely audible conversation. Apparently in deep discussion over the possibility of a supply run to the outskirts the small town they had seen not too far up the road. Clearly not noticing they had an audience as Shane frowned and shifted from his position at fire not far away, obviously eavesdropping as he spit shined his Mossberg.
Amateur.
The little ones were playing just along the outskirts of the tin can fencing, under the watchful but unobtrusive eye of the girl's mother, Carol. The woman herself was looking it was somewhat better these days, something that was ironic given the circumstances, but not less true in kind. He liked to think it had something to do with finally being free of that bastard of a husband. The lack of bruises on her delicate skin seemed like a welcome change all else considered. He even saw her smile every now and again, her timid lips arching upwards as the smile eventually made it to her eyes. Coming out as genuine and unabashed, so much unlike the ones she used to give when Ed was still around.
He figured that that in itself had to be worth something..
And while he couldn't see Glenn right off, Rick and Andrea were working through the supply lists, making a tally of what they currently had and what they actually needed. He eyed the blond woman closely, there was a bit of color back in her cheeks, but her eyes said it all. She was still broken. Drifting.But for now despite the contrary she was still here, and he supposed that had to mean something.
He watched as she gestured toward T-dogs van, making another brief addition to the list before turning the paper over and started on the back side. Rick nodded animatedly as he ticked a few things off on his fingers, clearly thinking of things off the top of his head as he went. It seemed like they really were serious about another supply run after all. He had decided to stay out of it completely a few days ago, after Lori and Andrea started throwing around words like: "feminine hygiene productions" and "tampons."
Who knew that the end of the world could be so god damn complicated?
It was the scuff of a shoe sole grinding against the loose gravel that finally alerted him, and when he raised his head he was hardly surprised to find that it was Glenn who was standing there. Momma would have called it gawping, but he was content to play it off, trying to ignore the amused twinkle and black lit smile that seemed to have taken up permanent residence across the kids face.
"I didn't know you played." The younger man commented, his words deceptively simple and unsurprisingly free of even the smallest smidge of guilt. The kid was good, he'd give him that. And as if to prove his point the kid shoved his hands in his jeans pockets. Leaning against the side of the truck all loose limbed and careless, the very picture of idle unconcern.
Uhuh. He wasn't buyin' what this kid was sellin'. Not one bit.
"Don't really." He finally responded, letting his fingers ghost across the strings, the movements almost deceptively careless. Deciding that for the time being any serious admonishments related to spying or sneaking up on people were just about moot between them.
"Sure sounds like it." The kid returned. Balancing himself effortlessly on one of the back tires as he hitched himself up. Wriggling and inching backwards until he was sitting directly opposite him. Back braced up against the window as his feet spread perpendicular over the luggage and supplies with a sloppy sort of ease that he hadn't been able to manage since he'd turned thirty.
He eyed the kid through the messy thatch of dark brown hair that had fallen over his eyes. But when it appeared that the kid was content to keep to the silence he turned his attention back to the instrument, still not entirely satisfied with the tightness of the peg heads.
It wasn't until he had played through the opening strains of "The Wanderer" by Johnny Cash a few dozen times, slowly feeling his way through the chords as he relied on fuzzy memories of paper music he'd only ever paid half attention to, that the kid shifted on the metal edging.
Ignoring the fidgeting he thrummed his way into a more complex melody. Strumming up some random mish-mash that came out sounding strikingly reminiscent of The Doors and anything Jimmy Hendrix had ever come out with. He didn't even wince when he hit a few off chords, far too intent on the ability to bring forth the music itself. It had been a long damn time since he had let himself play like this, freely and without censure. He'd almost forgotten what that kind of freedom rightly felt like.
The next time he looked up he caught the man in an unabashed stare, the kid's smile nearly a half a mile wide as relaxed fingers tapped out the rhythm in time with the chords even as the music itself stuttered to an ungraceful stop. He felt a flush steal across the coarseness of his neck, the embarrassing color barely hidden by a few days worth of uneven stubble.
Fuck.
It was stupid crap like this that always seemed to do him in. And he felt ten times as dirty for even thinking it, but he just couldn't seem to get over the warm flip flop that rolled deep in his gut whenever the kid did shit like that. In a way he almost hated the kid for it. For making him feel this way…or for just making him feel. He wasn't sure which was which anymore.
And he swore to Christ that the kid was doing it on purpose these days…
"Did'cha just come over here to bug me, or what kid?" He finally barked, suddenly feeling remarkably cornered, pressured to put his thoughts into both word and action. He didn't like it, this feeling. It left him unable to shake the resounding feeling that the ball had just been thrown into his court.
He blew the hair out of his eyes and ground his teeth in frustration, as if the movement alone could somehow instil action. Dixon's didn't do uncertainty. They skull fucked it into oblivion and rode it all the bloody way home! What the fuck was wrong with him?
But instead of getting huffy or even taking it personally, like he'd fully expected the kid to do, the younger man only smiled. His expression morphing into an insufferable and rather alarming mix of amusement, and that smug, rather self satisfied look that is entirely unique to someone who knows alotmore then they are telling.
Cocky little bastard.
Not expecting to get much of an answer after that, he turned his attention back to tuning the guitar. Refusing to let himself dwell on the matter anymore then he already had. Not entirely keen on letting himself think about what that damn kid was up to this time anyway.
So when the kid finally did reply it caught him entirely off guard.
"You know I'm not a kid right?" The younger man shot back, blurting out the words like he had been waiting to say them all this time. His determination clear as the kid held him fast in a stare that probably would have intimidated a lesser man. Apparently keen on making some sort of lasting point.
"Yeah I know kid, I know." He returned. His voice going habitually flippant even as his thoughts began spiralling outward. Spreading like water streaming down a window pane at the beginning of May, as the full conations of man's outburst truly began to sink in. Wellshit.
And when the man finally wandered off, eyes searching and perhaps even somewhat disappointed. He found himself cursing his own damn stupidity when he realized that what had come out of his mouth only moments before hadn't been what he'd been meaning to say at all..
A/N#1: Please let me know what you think? Reviews and constructive critiquing are love! (I like to respond to all my reviews so if you reviewed anonymously or I somehow missed you, I love you all, just saying.)
A/N#2: So glad people as still reading and reviewing. Think I can finish this story before the new season! YIKES. (Probably two more chapters after this one)
"But when you get music and words together, that can be a very powerful thing." – Bryan Ferry