CP: [[ On principle, I don't check my phone while I'm driving, so I'm at a Speedway right now getting gas and a giant cherry vanilla coke. And I noticed I had a message. ]]
CP: [[ Is there some reason I got a text from Rick Grimes telling me he has a spare room? ]]
DD: [[ Yes, he's an asshole. Did he say anything else? ]]
CP: [[ Yes. ]]
DD: [[ And? ]]
CP: [[ We'll talk about it when I get there. ]]
DD: [[ So you haven't turned around and headed back? ]]
CP: [[ I probably should, but I'm not going to. I'm choosing to trust you. Please don't make me regret it. If there's anything else I should know… Tonight is your grace period. Anything comes out after tonight, I might be taking Rick up on his offer. ]]
DD: [[ Understood. Thank you for trusting me. ]]
CP: [[ It's mostly because of the carpooling. ]]
DD: [[ I know. That's why I didn't bury the lead. ]]
CP: [[ I'll see you in approximately 7.5 hours. ]]
DD: [[ Looking forward to it. Be safe. ]]
CP: [[ I will. I've got a lot to look forward to myself. ]]
DD: [[ :) ]]
DD: [[ Carol? If you get a flat tire, you call me immediately. BEFORE the tow truck. Not just a flat. Anything happens, call or text me. Construction? Bad accident slows traffic down? Anything that will delay you, just let me know. Because I'll be expecting you in 7.5 hours and if you're much later than that I'll be getting in the car to come find you. ]]
CP: [[ ≤3 that's incredibly sweet. A little stalker-ish, but incredibly sweet. I'll see you soon. ]]
DD: [[ not soon enough ]]
He'd spent the day shopping then puttering around the house, trying to keep himself from just staring at the clock all day. He bought new linens for her bed, so he unpackaged them and made the bed up, then realized the sheets all smelled like plastic so he stripped the bed and washed everything, then realized the mattress was pretty beat up and had a big divot forming in the center so he went to the store and bought her a brand new mattress with a thick pillow top. It was so damn comfortable that he bought one for his bed as well, and then had a nice two hours driving out and back from the store's warehouse to pick up the mattresses since delivery would take days, then fun figuring out how to maneuver them up the stairs and into the bedrooms without any assistance. And he still had a good four hours left to go.
With the new mattress in place, and the new, sweet-smelling linens on the bed, the room looked a lot nicer than it did before. He made sure all the drawers were cleared out in the dresser, wardrobe, and nightstands — even though he was tempted to leave the half-empty box of Glenn's condoms in the drawer just in case — and emptied everything out of the closet. All of it needed a new home, this was Carol's space now. He cleaned up the bathroom, thoroughly, even bringing in the vacuum to clear the dust off the cold air exchange vent and clean up some of the old cobwebs in the corners. After setting out the new, jasmine-scented bath items (because they smelled good), he went downstairs and cleaned that bathroom too. And straightened up the living room, vacuumed the area rug and swept the hardwood floors, then dusted everything. Then vacuumed and swept again, and cursed himself for being an idiot. The kitchen was pretty clean already but there was still three and a half hours so he cleaned it again, then unpacked the new, fancy espresso machine he got for Carol and read the instructions, then found a YouTube video to make sense of the instructions. After finding out his generous salary was due to her efforts on their behalf, he wanted her to have anything and everything she might need or want in her new home. After all, he wouldn't have this house if it wasn't for her. He made a sample cup of espresso and felt his eyeballs vibrate when the burst of caffeine hit his system.
Two hours to go and he was buzzing with nervous, espresso-fueled energy, so he decided to go out to the garage and work on his bike. And like always, he completely lost track of time while he was happily disassembling, cleaning, reassembling, adding fluids, and just generally tinkering on his classic Triumph motorcycle with Nine Inch Nails blaring in the background. Which is why he didn't hear her at first.
She'd pulled up to the curb at 7:35 PM, slightly ahead of schedule, and sat in her car for a few minutes staring at the house. It looked different than the street-view picture she'd been drooling over, better even. The house was still forest green with brown trim, but more lights had been added to the porch and driveway, copper metal sconces with an industrial feel. The small front yard had been torn up and replanted with perennials, and some kind of vine with white flowers with yellow centers was climbing up two of the pillars of the porch and reaching out for the third. The swing was still there, but another cedar-red Adirondack-style chair sat near it, angled slightly, as if waiting for someone to set a spell and talk with whomever swung nearby. A flag hung from a pole near the front steps, but it was the Brotherhood of Steel flag from Fallout, and that alone made her realize she was just wasting time in her car that she could be spending with Daryl.
She made her way to the porch, rang the doorbell, and then knocked on the door when no one answered. The stained glass she'd admired in the photos he sent was all over the front of the house: window accents, inset in the deep cherry-colored door, full windows in the attic, and a small porthole up top. She waited, and waited, and waited, then realized that the sound she was hearing in the background was Ringfinger and it was coming from behind the house. She made her way around the side, up the driveway, and ended up leaning against the doorway to the garage watching Daryl work on a motorcycle in the damp heat of the late July night.
He was still wearing coveralls, mostly. He'd at least started out with them, but now the top half was unzipped and hanging down around his waist, and his torso was clad only in a dirty, grease-stained wifebeater. He was all-over muscle. Not grotesque like some bodybuilders, but the idealized form that a sculptor would seek out from a hunk of marble, all smooth planes and rippling curves. His hair was slightly longer than the one picture she'd seen of him, but still that in-between mix of blonde and brown with faint reddish highlights in his goatee and mustache. It was sticking up in several places like he'd run his fingers through it, forgetting whatever unnamed substance was on his hands at the time. She wanted to reach up and smooth his hair down. So fixated was she on the vision of reaching up and running her fingers through his hair that she didn't realize he had stopped what he'd been doing and was staring at her. They stood there for who knows how long, just looking at each other, studying each other, realizing that this was the fleshy receptacle for the person they knew only by their words and sometimes their voice. These bodies were solid, real, and waiting for each other. She let her head fall sideways, resting on the doorframe, and smiled at him. He quirked up one side of his mouth and looked up at her through the fringe of his hair, in an expression that felt so familiar to her that her heart throbbed. She would have known him anywhere, even without that low-res image on the company intranet to guide her. She wasn't sure what condition she was in after 12 hours of driving, clad in jeans, red converse sneakers, and an ancient Pinky and the Brain t-shirt that was too short and too tight but had been her good luck charm on every road trip ever, but she felt good. For the first time in a long time, she felt good.
He started toward her and they met halfway, and she was caught up in an epic embrace. Her face was resting against his chest, tucked under his chin, her arms wrapped around him but unable to settle in the middle so she found herself just running her hands up and down the smooth planes of his back until the motion rucked up his t-shirt and she was touching skin. They stilled then, content with resting on his lower back, just above the waistband of his jeans and the folds of the coveralls, resting on hot skin that yielded slightly as her clenched fingers dug in. His arms were engulfing her, giving her the sensation of sinking into him, of being completely enveloped by his warmth, his strength. He rested his cheek on the top of her head and let out a gusty sigh, and she felt all the tension in her body drain out. She was home.
"I hope you're Carol, otherwise this could be awkward," he muttered into her hair and she snorted, feeling more than hearing his rumbley laugh in response.
"Who's Carol? My name's Theresa," she said rubbing her cheek idly against his chest and nuzzling into the nape of his neck. He tensed immediately, letting out a soft hiss.
"You keep doin' that and this could get awkward anyway," he warned, half amused and half embarrassed.
She stilled, mumbling a half-sincere "sorry" then contented herself with just breathing in the mix of sweat, motor oil, and spicy-musky-Daryl scent that made her unconsciously salivate. "You smell fantastic," she mumbled again.
"Jesus, so do you," he said in a tone that sounded suspiciously like wonderment, as though he never expected her to be real enough to smell of anything.
They might have continued to stand there for the rest of the night if her stomach hadn't chosen that moment to growl, loudly, declaring it was done waiting for the nourishment she'd been promising it for the last hundred miles. "Bloody hell," she groused, wiggling a bit in embarrassment which in turn made him hiss out in warning. There was only so much he could handle at one time. She reluctantly released him and stepped back, forcing him to relax his grip on her but he didn't drop his arms completely, she was still within the circle of them. "That thing got a hair trigger or what?" She smirked at him, enjoying his dark blush but regretting it instantly when his eyes began to gleam wickedly.
"Hair trigger but a solid grip. You might want to try a few practice shots sometime." He smirked at her as she blushed in return.
Her face split into a grin as she took up the challenge. "Maybe. But I really prefer the big guns, you know, the kind with a lot of kick. Can you guarantee my satisfaction?"
His eyes shifted instantly from bright blue, an amused sparkle, to a dark smolder. He slowly licked his lips before purring "It gets the job done," in a deep, gravelly voice that caused her thighs to clench and her stomach to flutter. "But what's important is that we guarantee that whatever job we take on, we don't stop until every need is met. Sometimes multiple times, to assure satisfaction."
"That's...that's an admirable work ethic," she stuttered, suddenly very aware that they were not hundreds of miles apart and flirting over airwaves or chat channels. All of her self-doubts came crowding back in, causing her to question everything from his true level of interest to his level of disappointment when she didn't measure up. From everything she'd ever heard, she was just not very good at any of this sex stuff. He watched her transform from sultry temptress to trembling mass of inhibitions and neuroses between one heartbeat and the next, and felt a stab of anger at the man who had brutalized her into this state of doubt and fear. He slowly drew his arms away but let one hand trail down her arm and catch hold of her hand, small and fragile in his grip, and without saying anything he flipped off the stereo and the lights, depressed the thumb lock and shut the door, then lead her back down the driveway toward the house.
"C'mon, let's get you some food," he said, looking back at her with a soft smile. "There's plenty of time for your shenanigans later." He was pleased to see that had the desired effect, her sense of humor kicked in and she smirked right back at him.
"MY shenanigans?" she asked, looking at him with one eyebrow raised.
"You heard me," he tossed over his shoulder as he reached the side door and tried to fish out the keys in his right pocket with his left hand, to no avail. He tried to transfer her hand from his right to his left, thinking he could maneuver it so she'd have her back pressed against his chest under the guise of reaching to unlock and open the door, but she dropped his hand and stepped away, looking out towards the street while he fumbled with the door.
He gave her a quick tour, changing out of his coveralls and sweaty tank into a plain black t-shirt while she used the restroom and cleaned up a bit, then they unloaded her car while waiting for the pizza he ordered. He asked when the rest of her stuff was going to arrive and seemed shocked when she shrugged and said that this was it. "Ed didn't like clutter."
She had them carry everything up to her room except a large wooden crate that she asked to leave in the living room for the time being. As he was carrying in the last box he saw her standing at the side of the bed looking down at the vase of tulips, lightly rubbing the petals of one bloom between her fingers. She looked up at him and smiled, nodding at the flowers. "This is really nice of you. They're beautiful."
The way she looked at him, the tone of her voice, it made him blush and look away. "Thank you," he mumbled, "but it was Tara's idea."
Her smile got wider. "Oh yeah? She's sweet."
"Abe said I should have warm cookies waiting for you, like hotels do. So there are cookies for later."
She laughed, shaking her head. "You sent out the bat signal? Who's idea was the fancy bath oil?"
"Oh, that was mine. But the others approved."
"What else did you do in the time it took me to drive here?"
"Umm...coffee machine and a year's supply of coca-cola compliments of Glenn, and new sheets and pillows. Oh, and we both got new mattresses." She raised both eyebrows at that, glancing over at the bed. "Your bed was all lumpy from Glenn's dense ass. He don't look it, he's skinny as shit, but I swear he's got bones like a fuckin' Basset Hound. So I picked out a new mattress and it was so comfortable I decided I needed one too."
She touched her face and he realized she was wiping at her cheek, and the soft light from the bedside lamp reflected off the moisture gathered in her eyes. She didn't look at him, she hugged her arms around herself, still staring at the bed. "You are the best man I know," she whispered, "I can't believe you did all this for me."
He wanted to say "I'd do anything for you" but knew this wasn't the time. Instead he grunted, and shrugged, and blew it off with "It ain't nothin'. I want you to be comfortable."
She didn't say anything for a long time, just stared at that bed while he stared at her, then gave a little shudder and seemed to pull herself together. She turned to him, the barest traces of tears on her cheeks and her eyes suspiciously bright but her smile was genuine and warm, and she motioned him out of the room and followed him down to the living room. The pizza arrived and they sat together on the couch, eating straight from the box, in a companionable silence and grunts of appreciation for the food. He was glad to see that she packed in three whole pieces and didn't just pick at her food. She was tiny and fragile seeming, but it wasn't from self-imposed starvation. At one point she nodded over at the crate and said "My most prized possession is inside that box. If you don't mind, I might want to hang it up in here? It...it's kind of perfect for this house."
He nodded at her, saying, "You know, you live here now. You can put your stuff wherever you want and you don't have to ask permission." She smiled at him weakly and he tensed, realizing that her decision to stay wasn't completely solidified in her mind anymore, and the four slices of pizza he'd already wolfed down formed a lump in his gut. She was already finished and had edged away from him a little, so he fought his instinct to reach for her and sat back instead, licking the grease from his fingers. He did notice, despite her not-so-subtle attempts to distance herself, that her eyes followed every move of his hand and mouth as he cleaned off the remnants of dinner, almost mesmerized by it. He slowed down, taking his time, enjoying how big her eyes got and how her lips parted just slightly as her breathing picked up, but when the tip of her little pink tongue darted out, licking her bottom lip, he felt his dick begin to stir and he groaned reflexively, the sound breaking the spell and causing her to flush beet red and retreat to the far corner of the giant sectional sofa. He regretted buying such a large fucking couch, but moved back towards his own corner and pulled one of the loose throw pillows into his lap hoping she didn't realize the significance.
"I was going to tell you, you know. As soon as you got here."
She shrugged, still a little disconcerted by her reaction to him, and looked down at her hands. "I believe you. And even though I know why you did it, it still doesn't change that you lied to me. And it doesn't change that I heard about it from Rick Grimes of all people."
"I know. And I'd like to say that I regret it or I wish I hadn't tricked you like that, but you'd already decided that this was a bad idea without even thinkin' about it, and it's not a bad idea. It's a really fuckin' good idea. So I woulda said anything right then to get you to agree to move down here."
"Why?"
"You got friends here, and nothin' needs to change with your job, and you're safe from Ed now. I have the room, and havin' you here I don't have to worry about you, and if Ed ever showed up here and tried anythin', I'd fuckin' kill him. And if I didn't, Abe would or Glenn would, or fuck, Tara would rip him to pieces. And you don't have to worry about money. I'm already coverin' all the bills and the house payment on my own, so you just need to relax and take care of yourself and stop worryin' about shit for awhile. It's a fuckin' good idea and you know it."
"No," she said, shaking her head at him, "why is it so important to you that I move down here? Why is it so important that I'm safe, why do you worry about me? Why are all these people so willing to defend me? Why is Rick Grimes trying to convince me to stay with him instead? I don't understand any of this. I'm just your co-worker." She was genuinely confused by all of it, and that made him so sad. And fucking furious at Ed for hollowing out all the places inside her that should have been filled with confidence, and self-worth, and love.
"Because you're important. To me. To all of us. You're a fuckin' superhero to Tara, Eugene worships you, Jesus has already said he'd go straight for you. You're just...Carol. And that means something."
"I'm just a goddamn computer programmer!" She was frustrated, and that made her angry, and she forgot to be defensive or self-conscious or wary. She sat forward, one hand fisted on the couch cushion and the other gesturing wildly as she spoke, her eyes blazing, and he swore she grew about six inches taller. He wouldn't have been surprised if she turned green and put on enough muscle to bust through her clothes at that moment. It was the sexiest thing he'd ever seen in his life."What the hell? I. DON'T. UNDERSTAND."
"You ain't just anything, Carol. You're fuckin' amazing. I've known you're amazin' for years, but I didn't even realize the scope of HOW amazin' until yesterday. I gotta say," he said, shaking his head as she sank back in the couch cushions, more perplexed now than frustrated. "I'm kinda with Tara now. You ARE a fuckin' superhero."
She stared at the fireplace and he watched her try to process what he said, and he could tell it still didn't make sense to her. He'd promised her the truth, and it wasn't what he expected to be telling her but it was what she needed.
"I was 23 or so when I got my job, fresh outta college. It was intimidatin' to say the least, and I had struggled a bit in school because I didn't know everythin' I should have goin' in. We don't ever talk about these things so you wouldn't know this, but I had a shitty fuckin' childhood. My mom died when I was young, my dad was a drunk asshole who beat on me and my brother for kicks, and my brother has been in and out of jail since he was a teenager." Her eyes got wide and her mouth crinkled in an expression of shock. He could see the guilt already beginning to form a barrier, because she didn't know and thought she should have, because she didn't somehow understand implicitly that this was something he suffered and it was her fault that she hadn't ever comforted him or fixed it for him. "Don't do this, Carol, don't fuckin' take this on yourself. You didn't know because I didn't tell you, and for the same reason why you didn't tell me that Ed was beatin' on you. You start feelin' guilty then that means I get to feel guilty and responsible too, because it's exactly the same." She considered it for a moment then nodded, willing to concede his point. "My dad died when I was 15 and it was probably the best thing that could have happened to me even though I didn't think so at the time. I ended up in the system, had a few different foster families, but mostly lived in youth housing until I was 18. I got a full ride to Georgia State because of it, I fulfilled a quota I guess, and I was able to get my degree in only five years despite everythin'. So when I started workin' with you, I was not...overly confident...with my abilities. I was pretty much terrified, every single day, that Karen would finally realize that I got hired by mistake and let me go, so I tried to keep my head down and not draw attention to myself.
"Instead of that, I got you. Everyone there knows you're the best goddamn programmer we got, and most people agree you're the best they've ever known from any job. You know your shit, and no one knows why Google or some other way more important company hasn't lured you away. I was so fuckin' scared to work with you, I was sure I'd screw somethin' up and I wanted so badly to impress you that I know I was babblin' like an idiot the first time we talked and I was sure you were gonna tell Karen not to let me work on your tickets anymore. And instead, you sent emails to me and Karen praisin' me for doin' such a good job. Then you deferred people to me, tellin' them that I was the man to go to for the information they needed. You asked my opinion in meetings, in front of all those people, and then listened to my ideas. You ran things by me, wanting MY opinion on YOUR work, and you told clients that I was the reason their problems got solved. By name. You told them that Daryl Dixon was the hero who saved the day. We weren't even friends when this started, we had barely spoken at that point, so it wasn't because of some loyalty to me. You fuckin' treated me with respect, made me feel like I was worth somethin', and no one else in my entire life had done that." He shook his head at her. She still didn't seem to understand. "You do that with everyone, Carol, every single person who has worked with you has the same stories about how you made them feel like fuckin' stars, like the most important people in the room, and you make sure every goddamn manager and VP and client knows how much you value the opinion of some lowly tech or tester or junior programmer. Even if you don't work with them, even if you just hear something good about somebody, you make a point to tell that person how good they are, how appreciated they are, and you don't care if it's the guy cleaning the bathrooms or the fuckin' CEO. I heard you once told Blake that he did a great job on some presentation, that he really knew his shit, and Olivia said that he was grinnin' for the next two days. He brought in doughnuts for the whole fuckin' office because you praised him.
"And if all of this wasn't enough, I find out yesterday that you've set up your entire team to not only succeed, but do so without havin' to compromise or suck up or deal with any of the politics around the office. You went in behind the scenes, not tellin' anyone, and guaranteed not only our jobs but our fuckin' SALARIES, and in a way that turned us into fuckin' superstars to the higher ups. I couldn't figure out why none of us were gettin' shuffled around to work on some of the shitty projects that always end up with one of us takin' blame for poor design or poor decisions. I couldn't figure out why a lot of that was even changin' altogether — not just for us but for everyone it seems, like the fuckin' corporate overlords finally came to their senses and realized that the grunts in the field were the ones fightin' the battles not givin' the orders. Fuckin' Milton Mamet tried to blame Jesus for a release having to be pushed back, claimin' QA was the bottleneck, and Blake shut him down in the meetin', in front of the client, and said no bottlenecks form in a vacuum and every person in the room contributed to the schedule issues, including the client who needed to make some key decisions before things could proceed. You think that kinda thing just happens? We're goin' from a culture of blame to a culture of actual teamwork and support, and people are fuckin' happy to come into work in the mornin'. And that's all you, Carol. You did that. You're the reason Tara has a job. You're the reason they hired Rosita as a PM and promoted her to tech lead and she's fuckin' killin' it. You're the reason why our new CTO is a dreadlocked black lady named Michonne and not some fuckin' old white dude. You're why I have a house, and Glenn is gonna propose to Maggie, and why Abe and Tara and Jesus and Rick would all cut off their own goddamn hand to be on your team. Do you get it now?"
She was crying, had been since he started talking, silent tears streaming down her cheeks as she listened to him but unable to look at him. She wasn't used to hearing good things about herself, not like this, not with this level of conviction behind the praise and certainly not getting credit for doing things that mattered this much to so many people. "That I'm apparently fuckin' amazing?" She said, smiling ruefully down at her hands, clenched together in her lap. She still didn't sound like she believed it but he'd work on that. Just like she did for him.
"You are. And that's why when you say things like you're a worthless piece of shit, or that you're pathetic, or that some useless asshole was goddamn hurting you and making you feel like you didn't matter and you didn't deserve anything good, that's why I would say or do anything to get you away from him. Even lie to you. Even pretend I don't—"
"Don't. Please." She interrupted him, looking desperate. "There's no way for that sentence to end that doesn't mess me up right now. Good or bad, I can't...I can't handle any more changes." She was pleading with him, leaning forward in supplication and it was killing him not to reassure her, not to do whatever he could to just make her feel good again. "I'm broken, Daryl, and I think being here might help me fix myself, but it's gotta be ME fixing myself. I can't risk depending on someone else right now, no matter how much I might hope or want someone to make me feel better. Make me feel whole. You're my best friend, you have been for years, even when we weren't speaking and there was no hope in me that you'd ever want me around again, you were still the best friend I ever had. I take back every mean or bad thing I ever said to you, I take back every doubt I ever had. I am begging you to let me stay here with you, in your house, and be a part of your life again so that I can have my best friend back because he's the only thing that makes me feel strong and capable and worthy. I don't care what you do or what you say, I don't care if you've lied to me or if there's bodies buried in the yard, or if you want me to just stay out of your way and in my room, just please give me time here with you to fix all the broken pieces in my head."
He wanted to cry. She was giving him everything and taking it away at the same time, but he had to hope that it wasn't always going to be like this, that once she felt "fixed" she'd be open to...more from him. More with him. That as important as it was to him, he wouldn't just be her best friend, because he'd never been so confident in what he felt for anyone as he was with this woman. She was the love of his life, and everything he was and everything he had was for her. It was all for her. He nodded at her, reaching out to take her hand and just held it in his. "I told you I won't lie to you and I mean it, but I appreciate you trustin' me to make that decision on my own. Everythin' else is just silly. I want you here, I want you in my house and in my life, and I don't want you hidin' in your room or thinkin' of this place as anythin' but your home too. I know what it's like to be adrift, Carol, to not have a place of your own, and as far as I'm concerned, this whole house and yard and fuck, even the neighborhood, is just as much yours as mine. So there's no question of me givin' you time here or you wonderin' if the other shoe will drop and I'll make you leave. Matter of fact, if I do anythin' that makes you uncomfortable or unwelcome then you have every right to ask me to stay out of YOUR way and keep to my room. Because you are the reason I have this place, this life, and letting you finally be here to claim your piece of it is just how it should be. This is our house." He smiled at her, and she hiccuped a little from the crying. "Just don't tear up the front yard without talkin' to me because I put a lot of work into it and would like to salvage what I can."
She smiled at him, wiping her eyes, and nodded. "Okay," she whispered, then kept wiping at her cheeks because the tears kept coming.
"Carol, can I...can we...goddammit..." he shrugged at her helplessly, "can I just hold you for a bit? Because you're cryin' and you're actually really here for real, and I've missed you so fuckin' much..." She nodded, sniffling and giving him a shy smile, and he got up from the couch and walked to her end of it, then picked her up in his arms and settled down right where she'd been but now she was on his lap with one of his arms around her back and the other wrapped around from the front, just holding her against his chest with her head tucked under his chin. She curled one hand into the front of his shirt, the other tucked under his arm tracing light circles on his tricep. He kissed the top of her head as she let out a contented sigh.
They sat that way for what felt like forever and no time at all, and he very carefully kept his hands on neutral ground, limiting himself to an occasional soft kiss on the crown of her head, and just enjoyed the feeling of having her there in his arms. She was more than he ever thought she'd be: more beautiful, kinder, stronger, and more fragile. After a time he gave her a squeeze and said softly, "can I ask you for somethin' else?"
She didn't hesitate, just nodded, trusting he wouldn't ask for something she wasn't ready to give.
"Can I take a picture of us, like this?" She sucked in her breath just slightly, a minuscule hiss, and tensed just a bit. "I'd like it for me, but I was also hoping to send it to the group, so they'd know everythin' was okay between us."
She chuckled. "Rick in that group?"
"He was, but he left it. I was gonna text it to him separately," he said smugly. She giggled then nodded.
"Okay, as long as you aren't using your powers for evil..."
"I promise not to caption it 'Suck it, Rick' — that good enough?"
"It'll do."
He fished out his phone and held it up in front of them, and they both smiled as he tapped the button. The picture was too close, just their faces: his chin resting on her head, his wide-ass grin matched by hers, but it was weird. She took the camera from him and held it out farther, using both hands and leaning back into him to get it at a slight angle. She snapped a few pictures then they both looked at the final shots onscreen.
He thought maybe they were the best pictures in the history of photography.
She was pressed back against him, her head resting on his shoulder. He had his cheek pressed against her head, that same wide-ass grin that he was sure was now permanently affixed to his face, and his arms were wrapped around her torso. Her arms were pointed straight in front of her holding the phone, pressed together enough that she gave herself the effects of a push-up bra, enough so that even Tara might be happy. She was grinning too, and her face was still flushed from all the emotion so her eyes were practically glowing neon blue. She was gorgeous, and she was clearly sitting on his lap, and looked damn comfortable doing so.
"I'm going to post that last one, if that's okay," he said. She nodded, still in his lap with her back against him, but her face was turned to rest against his chest and he looked down at her and could see her eyes closing right before she let out a big yawn. He should have made her go to bed right then, but tonight was his grace period and he didn't know what she'd allow as far as contact and touching after this, so instead he sank back into the corner of the couch and provided a much better angle for sleeping. Her breathing got deeper and more even, and she twisted a bit so that her back no longer pressed against him, now it was her front and she was snuggling deeper into his arms with her knees pulled up and one arm wrapped around his back while the other rested on his chest near her cheek, her hand fisted in his shirt. She looked so tiny like that, so delicate and fragile curled up against him. Such a small thing to carry so much, be so much to so many. He held up his phone and snapped another picture, feeling a little creepy about it but wanting something to remind him of this feeling in case she never allowed him to hold her while sleeping again. He felt so protective of her in that moment, a surge of emotion at the thought of someone like Ed ever laying a hand on her, an impulse to violence he'd never known before and it was so reminiscent of his father that it scared him. She stirred a bit, reacting to the increase in his heart rate, and he forced himself to relax again, to think of pleasanter things, like the intoxicating scent of her hair or how soft her skin was.