Chapter 3 – Restless.
Daryl took to pacing when he was unsure or worried. Besides his feelings, he had a sense that something bad was going to happen. Although tortured nightly by his thoughts and mental gymnastics over Carol, he did feel something like contentment, living in this prison now. Of course the Rick situation was worrying and he didn't know every single person living there, but they had all settled into roles and routines and it brought a sense of community to the place.
There was no point going out hunting while it was this dark, but he couldn't stay in that cage much longer right now. Hell, he'd even start on breakfast if he wasn't a terrible cook. Before all this, the fall of the world they knew, Merle would order him to make something, which he would after much cursing and crashing of pots. He'd set whatever he'd concocted down in front of his brother, who would taste it throw his head back laughing and spit it out. Merle would eat raw meat, twigs, he inject or inhale any substance but he wouldn't eat Daryl's cooking. "Damned rats wouldn't eat this, little brother. Gonna have to get myself some piece of ass that can cook for us." He'd say before throwing it in the trash, plate and all. So, Daryl had stated from the start, especially when they settled in this place, he'd hunt, go on runs, clean, do anything but cook. Carol had laughed at that one in the first council meeting.
And there she was.
"Hey," she said in a whisper from the bottom of the metal steps. "Whatcha doing?"
Daryl swallowed. The glow from her lamp cast a toasty glow around her and lengthened the shadows she cast. The light picked out her cheekbones, those tan collarbones of hers and the smooth skin on her legs. Don't look at her legs, he scolded himself. Why did she walk around in those long jerseys with her legs on show like that? Did she know what it did to him? He looked down and shrugged.
"You don't know?" She whispered with a smile as she mounted the steps.
"Can't sleep." He muttered, chewing the corner of his mouth and looking at the floor. Why am I like this? He groaned inwardly. At times, he could behave like a normal person around her, and he often yearned to be alone with her. It was a delicious torture. But when that opportunity actually arose, sometimes, he fell apart. This was one of those times. He'd thought about her and his love for her so much, he struggled to keep up the pretence that she was like anybody else to him. Like she was a Maggie, or a Glenn or a Hershel.
"Everything ok? This is the third time I've found you out here, wearing a track in the floor." She set the lamp down the small desk at the top of the stairs. She sounded genuinely concerned and her brow furrowed slightly as she studied him. Those eyes studied him so intently that he was sure she could see into his soul, he just hoped they didn't read minds too. They were so blue and expressive, he could lose himself in them whenever he was brave enough to allow himself to hold her gaze. He was afraid if did ever look her in the eye for too long, she'd know. If she didn't already. And probably reject him. So, he avoided eye contact where he could, although he did that with mostly everyone at times, and had done his whole life.
"Dunno" he shrugged again, chewed his mouth "Got this feelin'. Something ain't right."
"A feeling?" She stepped back a little. "Do you feel sick?" She studied him again. With anyone else, she'd be starting to lose patience. It was like talking to a teenage boy at times with Daryl. But this was Daryl. He was special. Not in the head, or anything - he wasn't stupid. He just realise how truly special he was. He was a good man, she knew it. Saw it in him right at the start, tried to tell him, show him back at the farm. Yes, he'd been following his asshole brother around (she suspected that deep down, Merle Dixon had a good heart, she'd been proved right somewhat in the end) but she knew how it felt to lose yourself in the shadow of another. When someone you love, who has such a hold over you that you mould into whatever they force you to be, you forget real love doesn't equate to abuse.
She knew he didn't realise how much gratitude she felt toward him when he did so much to find her girl. He almost died. Sophia's own father died trying to protect himself only and this stranger, who looked to all the world like an undesirable risked his himself to try to find Sophia. At that point, she knew he was good, through and through and she could never repay him. She had told him he was every bit as good as Rick and Shane but he was as uncomfortable with praise as he was with physical interaction. Now, Carol also knew she couldn't bear to lose him….they'd lived through so much together.
Of course, there was another reason she couldn't lose him. It was one she put into an imaginary box in the back of her mind. With Ed, the box housed the secret abuse she suffered. She knew what was inside that box now, wrapped up securely and kept it all within. Occasionally she might take the box out and look at it, toying with the possibility of opening it up and the floodgates with it. She just couldn't. It wasn't that she was scared as such, it was just after the enormity of everything that had happened, she didn't feel it was the right time. She didn't honestly know when would be the right time, but living here, was starting to feel more settled. More like a place you could plan a future. And in this world, she wasn't sure if anyone should allow themselves to feel anything for anyone. It could all be snatched away in a heartbeat.
Plus, she wasn't sure how Daryl would react, should she ever open that box, so to speak. She told herself that it would only lead to rejection.
There were times she felt his eyes on her when he thought she wouldn't notice. She didn't know if it was out of a brotherly concern, or friendly look to make sure she was okay at all times. The intensity of his staring seemed to suggest more than friendship or familial feelings, but she was useless at relationships and clearly wasn't an expert on guys, given her choices in the past. It got her a little flustered if she analysed it, which she avoided, or she'd drive herself crazy. Whatever was going on behind his eyes, he kept it to himself. He couldn't pass her a bandage without studying it intently, trying to avoid her eyes and touch so he sure as hell wasn't ever going to sit her down and open up. Maybe he didn't want to get close to her now because she repulsed him, those nights out on the road where more than likely born out of obligation. He'd never once tried anything and the insults Ed branded into her self esteem rose to the surface.
Carol had decided to start pushing certain boundaries with Daryl, in an effort to help him understand how honourable he was. She was going to get decent eye contact. At the moment, they were on smiles mostly. He smiled a little when she cracked a joke. Baby steps. She figured the heavens would open, should she ever get a chuckle or, heaven forbid, a laugh out of him. She'd try though. His grumpiness, growling, grunting and lack of being socially adjusted enough to hold another person's eye stemmed from a lack of self worth. She'd build that up, brick by brick, even if it took a lifetime. Which in this reality may not be too long but God loved a trier. He deserved to see what others saw in him.
They were progressing with smiles and she was working on physical interaction. Not, the throwing her up against a tree physicality (she wouldn't protest of course) but being able to touch his arm or nudge him or pass him something without him jumping twelve feet in the air if they brushed hands. He'd almost sunk into the bed at the farm when she'd kissed his forehead after Andrea shot him. She knew then it was all connected to the abuse he'd suffered. She saw the scars on his back. Part of her had wanted to sit on the bed and tell him he wasn't alone, she knew exactly how he felt but it would have been a waste of energy; he'd have clammed right up.
She wrapped her arms around herself and felt her teeth were going to chatter. "Are you coming down with something maybe?"
"Naw, Dixon's don't get sick," he snorted.
She suddenly stepped forward and put a hand on his forehead. "You feel a little on the warm side."
Daryl swallowed. He was warm because she was in his personal space, whispering, leaning toward him in that jersey and her short greying hair was tousled and, looked sexy as hell,. He noticed she looked like she was cold. He decided to be brave like he had during their winter long camping trip. He took a step forward and without allowing himself to think, both of his hands started rubbing her upper arms for warmth. He looked down at her, into her eyes, struggling against his urges and said "M'aight". I am now, he thought. One of inner voices urged him to stay like this forever, he liked the way his hands could probably encompass her entire bicep. She was so slender and he felt so protective of her, but he knew she had a steel core and could take care of herself. "You should go back to bed, get warmed up."
"Mmmm, go back to bed, huh?" She tilted her head, looking up at him, a small smile playing at her lips. He could have sworn she bit her bottom lip a little, when he replayed the scene in his head later on. (He did that a lot, hence the lack of sleep) She inched closer and whispered, "What if I need more warming up once I'm in bed?"
Silence. A heartbeat. Then she laughed.
As her words sunk in, so did the panic and awkwardness. "Huh". He mumbled and suddenly dropped his hands like she was a hot iron. "You should still go…. you got Judith. She doin ok?"
Carol looked down towards the cell and nodded. "Yeah. Always hungry. I'll get back to her. As long as you're sure you're ok?" She looked back around with those liquid blue drops of eyes.
"Fine."He nodded. He was anything but fine, he'd fucked it up. Again. He should loosen up, relax, especially around her. That's what Merle always told him, "Chill out around the pussy, little brother. They can smell fear." Daryl wasn't inexperienced, he'd been with woman in the past. Of course, he'd always been drunk or high or both when he gained the ability to bring a woman home, if they made it home. He usually made it as far as the back of his truck. The women he'd had in the past weren't beautiful or brave or strong. Not that he could remember much, but they'd barely had the brain cells to walk in a straight line while chewing gum. In the past, he found that he could dull that niggling voice in his head with drink or drugs and he could screw around as well as the next guy. Something must have attracted the women, although Merle said it was because Daryl was the 'sweet' one. He wasn't sweet to those women. Never got their names, never bothered with numbers, in fact any number of his previous conquests could be in this prison right now and he wouldn't know it. They were faceless, a means to release. He stayed clear of younger looking ones, they usually wanted to 'talk' and crawl inside your skin to get to 'know' you. So, even though he didn't have a defined type, he preferred more mature women, those who he assumed didn't need him for anything other than a quick drunken fuck.
Carol picked up the lamp and began to walk back down the steps. "Oh, one more thing," She spun around and his heart jumped into his throat. "When you're next out on a run, could you maybe grab some thick fleecy pyjamas? A few pairs maybe? Might have to try to find enough share 'em round. Can't sleep in this flimsy thing all winter." She pulled at the jersey and in doing so, he caught a glimpse of thigh. He swallowed loudly.
He nodded. "Sure. On the list" He pulled the corner of his mouth up in an attempt at a smile and nodded. Their next run was in about three hours.
"Thanks Daryl." She descended as Judith cried out a little and he watched her hurry back to her cell. He stood a few minutes longer, knowing this latest exchange was going to keep him awake for weeks.