Hello luvvies! So, thanks to all who favorited and alerted this little piece. But seriously, y'all need to start reviewing again. I've got over eight hundred hits and four reviews. Come on y'all. I want to know how you think I'm doing with this story.
Anyways. The title of this chapter is "Desire", but not for the reasons you think. The artist credit goes to Ryan Adams, probably my favorite singer/songwriter of All Time. If you haven't heard this song, which is the most likely case, look it up after reading this chapter.
This is kinda a long chapter, but lots of things happen here soooooo….. yeah. Enjoy.
Usual disclaimers apply, I'm just too lazy to type them at this moment in time.
Kyra rolled over and stared at the window, sighing heavily. After the run-in with the walkers today, there was no way she would be able to sleep without having nightmares. She envied Maggie for being able to sleep so soundly. She didn't have to deal with vivid nightmares and relive the horror of that night, two weeks ago today, when she'd had to shoot every member of her family and her boyfriend, because all were either bitten or scratched or both. She passed her hands over her face and gazed longingly at the open window. Rick had said at dinner that Dale would be on first watch tonight, till one o clock when Shane would take over. Kyra sat up and swung her legs over the edge of the bed. She enjoyed talking with Dale; he liked to discuss the merits of all sorts of things, from Charles Dickens to duct tape. This afternoon she'd sat up on top of the RV with him and doodled a little in her fat sketchbook, listening raptly. The memory made her smile. She decided that she'd go out and keep him company for his shift; maybe a little human socialization would do her good. She gazed at the window a moment longer, then she set her feet to the cold floor and went about redressing and tying her hair up in a ponytail to keep it out of her face while she worked. She threw her sketchbook and her pencils in her bag and tied her sneakers tightly on her feet. At the last moment, she clipped the sword to her belt loop and snatched her Mag-Lite off the bedside table.
Just before closing the window after her, she took a moment to watch Maggie for any signs of wakefulness. She was in luck; her cousin hadn't stirred a bit.
The night was hot and sticky, and the moon was full in the sky. Kyra smiled to herself. She loved nights like these, nothing around except the shrill of the night bugs and the incessant buzz of the cicadas. She ambled towards the RV, making just enough noise for Dale to notice her and not mistake her for a walker. She made it all the way to the RV and halfway up the ladder before a rough voice said:
"What the hell are you doin'?"
Kyra stopped dead for a moment. She took a second to place the voice, then climbed up the next two rungs and poking her head above the edge.
Daryl was watching her with a look on his face that was either amused or irritated, she couldn't tell.
"I thought…" She flushed mightily at her mistake and continued: "I thought Dale was on first watch."
Daryl snorted. "Nope. Old man's probably sound asleep by now. What the hell you doin' out this late anyways?"
Kyra climbed up onto the RV and took the same spot she'd sat in earlier. It just so happened to be very close to Daryl's left leg.
"Couldn't sleep." She replied offhandedly. "So I thought I would come out here and sit with Dale while he was on watch."
Daryl snorted derisively again. "Why the fuck would you want to listen to that fool old man?"
She cast him a foul glare that, had he not already been in a bit of a good mood, would have set him off bigger than life. "Do you always ask that many questions? Are you like, group interrogator or something?"
Daryl smirked. "Naw. If I was you'd be all manner a battered and bruised." He paused then, and added quickly: "Only if you were a man, though. Don't hurt women."
She nodded slowly, no longer paying him any attention. From where she sat she had an excellent view of the pastures, the little trail that led between them to the woods, and the towering silent forest beyond.
Daryl watched as she pulled a black bound notebook from her sack, and opened it to a page. There were little drawings scattered about it; one of a heifer as it reclined in the grass, the porch from an angle, Hershel's living room. He wondered where she learned to draw like that.
"Didn't know you drew." He continued quietly, returning his attention to his watch.
"Lots a things you don't know 'bout me. Ain't rill good, anyways." She drawled softly.
God, he could have closed his eyes and listen to that soft, slow drawl all night long. Despite being a Georgia boy born and bred, something about a woman's Southern accent at that volume mesmerized him. He shook his head compulsively, like a dog would, and scanned the horizon. "If you say so, then."
She sat absorbed in her drawings for almost an hour. At length she sat up and rolled her wrist a couple times and flexed her fingers. "Damn, I'm 'onna have arthritis if I get old."
"If is a good word to use." He commented.
"Yep." She put away her pencil and her sketchbook and sat with her knees pulled up to her chest, resting her chin on them. "So, where you from? Before the outbreak, I mean."
Daryl still watched the camp attentively. "Small town, just west of the Alabama state line. Was headed down to Atlanta with my brother, Merle, when shit hit the fan."
When Atlanta was bombed. She knew he didn't have to say it. "I'm from the suburbs, myself. South of Atlanta. Don't know why I was so lucky as to make it this far. If I was to say anyone would have made it this far, it'd have been my daddy and not me." She looked down then, and the silence that ensued was awkward for both of them. She began to chew on her fingernails, pretty things that they were, and Daryl gently took hold of her wrist.
"Don't do that." He mumbled. "Sorry for your loss. I know it sucks." He kicked himself for not saying anything more comforting than that. "It sucks"? Honestly, how much more awkward could he make this? He knew he wasn't good at handling emotion, especially women's emotions, but he at least didn't want to see her cry. It would break his heart to have to see that.
"Is what it is." She sighed plaintively. "If you really must know, the reason I couldn't sleep is because I have nightmares."
Her voice was now so quiet that if Daryl hadn't had abnormally keen hearing all he'd have heard was mumbling.
"What about?" He wouldn't have asked, didn't want to be rude, but he sensed she needed to air out that bit of dirty laundry.
"Losing everybody. My family, my… my best friend… I was on a supply run, went down to see if there was anything left at the Walgreens around the corner… and when I got back they were overrun… Lord, there must have been twenty of them…"
"Walkers?"
She nodded, seeing it all over again in her mind's eye. Her mother lay on the floor, already dead and gone. Her little brother, screaming in agony. Kyra felt the weight of the Glock in her hand, saw the barrel come up and saw her brother fall dead onto the living room floor. "I was the lucky one. I survived because I hadn't been there at the time of attack." Her voice was hollow, dead, raspy. Daryl wanted to comfort her but he didn't know how. "My dad… He… he asked me, if I could do it for him, him and… and Mitchell… My god, Mitchell." She rested her head on her knees and let what few tears had already escaped fall down her chin and stolidly held back the rest of them. She knew that what she needed most was a good cry, but she'd be damned if she let herself cry in front of Daryl. At length she straightened and wiped her eyes with her fingertips.
"You alright?" He asked. She thought she heard genuine concern in his voice.
"Yeah. I'll be fine." She glanced up and saw him watching her with an almost pained look on his face. He was right; it had broken his heart to know she was in that much pain and he was left having no earthly idea on how to help ease it. She gave him a brave smile and pulled her hair out of its ponytail, combing it out with her fingers.
"So you were pretty handy with that sword this morning." He changed the subject quickly. Better to remind her of victory rather than defeat.
"Thanks." She smiled warmly (for his benefit? He didn't know). "My daddy taught me. Been sword fighting since I was thirteen. This sword" -she nodded at the one attached to her belt loop- "he gave me for my sixteenth birthday."
"Damn. And how old are you now?" Goddammit, he knew better than to ask a woman her age, his mama would have beat him if she were here, God rest her soul.
"Twenty six."
So that put her at a few years younger than he. She looked much older, about thirty. He supposed it was the hardship of surviving the end of the world that had aged her. Either way he still found her more than attractive. Rapidly she was turning, in his mind at least, from pretty to beautiful. The longer he looked at her, the more little details he found to admire. Like the way she would push her hair all to one side and leave her neck bare on the other, the way it was now.
"What happened to your brother?" She asked suddenly. "Earl, right?"
"Merle." Daryl corrected her, half-smirking. Half the world seemed to think Merle's name was Earl; it had irritated the elder Dixon to no end. "He got handcuffed to a roof in Atlanta. By the time I got there to save his junkie ass, he was already gone; he'd cut his hand off so he could escape, see." He chanced a peek down at Kyra. She was staring at him with a look of abject disgust on her face.
"Oh my god. You've got to be kidding me."
Daryl laughed. "The hell I am. You must not be around desperate folks that much."
Kyra chuckled. "I guess not." She stood uneasily, using his shoulder for leverage. "I should probably go; it's getting pretty late. It was good talking to you again, Daryl." She gave him a smile and disappeared over the side of the RV, her sack slung over her shoulder. Daryl followed her with his eyes until she was safely inside. He'd never forgive himself something happened to her on his watch.
He decided then that he would protect her; guard her; keep her safe and comforted in every way he knew how. He didn't want her to hurt; rather, all he really wanted was just to be near her, hear her speak, see her smile, know she was happy and to make her life worth living.
He liked her. Genuinely, really liked her.
He liked her and he wanted her to reciprocate, and wanted nothing more than to tell her that, that he would never let anything happen to her, and for her to believe him.
But who was he kidding? He was forgetting who he was. He was a lone wolf by nature. There was no way she would ever return his feelings. It just didn't work that way. Women like her –city girls like her especially—just didn't mix with fucked-up "good ole boys" like Daryl Dixon. He sighed. Merle would beat the piss out of him and back if he ever knew. But then again, Merle had abandoned him a long time ago.
The thought of his brother riled up his temper with a vengeance, and he spent the rest of his watch brooding and stewing in his own misery.
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Kyra laid on top of the sheets, still dressed with only her shoes off, staring at the window. She'd seen Daryl around camp before, of course, and there was also tonight to consider. There was something about him that intrigued her. She knew most women would have taken one look at him and either felt objectified or intimidated, but when she was around him she felt… protected, almost. It was weird and she didn't know what it was, but she didn't want to know what it was lest it become paltry. In addition to that fact, whenever she'd seen him around, she had trouble taking her eyes off him. There was no denying it, Daryl Dixon was an attractive man. Tall, rugged, sturdy, with strong arms. And his eyes… My God, she'd never seen eyes that blue before. She wanted to get lost in them, those almost-navy blue rings capable of both getting under her skin and piercing her soul at the same time. The word "raptor" sprang to mind. And she honestly didn't mind that he was the strong, silent type. It meant he would listen well. But at the same time it made her afraid to talk too much. She was mortified that he would get tired of her prattle and just ignore her. Which left her at an impasse of the most vexing variety.
She rolled over and faced the wall instead of the window, and in time drifted off to sleep.
There were no nightmares that night, only hazy images to indistinct to recall the next morning.
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Done already? Man that didn't take near as long as I'd have thought. Don't forget to review, please please please. I'm asking nicely, y'all. Don't know when the next chapter will be up, I'm kinda at an impasse with this story right now. But I promise it won't be more than a month. :D goth chick out. Auf wiedersehen.
(A/N: To all previous readers, this chapter has been updated ever so slightly to remove some major OOCness. As of Oct. 4 2012. That is all)