Please leave reviews! I'm super unsure of where I'm going with this story, though I love Layla and how Daryl/Layla jive together, so any input will help :)
Chapter Three
"What's your poison?" Daryl asked, laying out the available artillery in front of her. Her eyes danced over the steel weaponry until landing on a machete. She picked it up in one hand, testing the weight, before tucking it into her waistband.
"No gun?" he asked her, as they got into the car with Michonne.
"I prefer to avoid them," she admitted.
"Can ya shoot?"
"Yes, I just prefer not to," she shrugged. He wanted to prod further but her succinct responses told him she wasn't in a sharing mood.
"Think we should hit up that big ass camping store, first," Daryl said as they arrived at the strip mall.
"I'll try the pharmacy on the end," Michonne told them.
"Okay. I'm going to try the Target, though. They'll be plenty of food and I could really use some clothing of my own," Layla explained.
"Nuh-uh," Daryl quickly quipped. "Not by yourself, y'ain't."
"Oh really?" Layla asked, placing one hand on her cocked out hip. "And why's that, Mr. Dixon?"
"'Cuz I said so!" Daryl hissed childishly. Why'd this damn woman have to be so stubborn?
"Daryl, you do realize that I'm 25 years old right? By my count, that means I survived 24 years, 51 weeks, and six days without you. Pretty sure I can get through the next hour as well."
Michonne snorted to her left, not even trying to hide her smile, and Daryl's expression went from defiant to sulky. He looked between the women, unhappy with their sudden camaraderie if it meant Layla was going to put herself in danger.
"Layla, you're hurt," he said softly. And despite her agitation with him coddling her, Layla and Michonne could both see the concern in his eyes.
"Why don't we clear the Target together?" Michonne suggested, with Layla and Daryl quickly agreeing. Daryl banged hard on the thick glass at the front of the store, the echo surely resonating far back beyond the numerous aisles. After several tense minutes, a good half dozen walkers pressed themselves up against the glass, moaning and growling loudly.
Michonne mouthed "One, two, three!" then threw the doors open, and between the three of them, the walkers were speedily chopped into pieces, scattered across the pavement.
"Let's go shopping," Michonne said with a grin, pulling Layla towards the Women's Clothing aisle.
"There could be more of 'em!" Daryl tried to protest, but the women just gave him an exasperated look.
"You going to try on bras with us, redneck?" Michonne teased.
His cheeks reddened and shoulders tensed briefly, but then he spat back, "Nah, but I'll keep watch." The glint in his eye betrayed his double entendre.
"In your dreams!" Michonne laughed, as they continued away from him.
"We'll be careful!" Layla called behind her.
As they lazily paged through blouses and jeans, Michonne said casually, "So, I heard about what happened with you and the Governor."
Layla gave her a wary look. "Rick?" Michonne nodded.
"I didn't really want it to be public knowledge," Layla sighed.
"It isn't," Michonne reassured her, "But Daryl mentioned you knew Andrea, so I started asking a few too many questions and cracked him."
"Seems like an ex-Sherriff should be a little bit better at handling an interrogation," Layla grumbled. "You knew Andrea too then?"
"Yeah, her and I spent the winter together, before we ended up at Woodbury. We saved each other, in a lot of ways."
"She was a strong girl," Layla said solemnly.
"Not strong enough," Michonne murmured, "How did you know her?"
"Well, to be honest, we never actually met. When Merle brought me to Woodbury I ended up a prisoner pretty much straight away. I don't even know what Andrea looked like."
"They why did you tell Daryl you knew her?"
"Well, I did. I just never saw her face to face." Michonne continued to give her an expectant, somewhat confused look. "We talked through the walls," Layla clarified, "For those couple of days that the Governor held her there. Late at night when the guards tended to pass out anyways."
"What did you talk about?"
Layla shrugged, "The Governor mostly. How much she regretted trusting him, how guilty she felt for sleeping with him and all that. She told me about her sister, and this old man she met right after the apocalypse went down who treated her like a daughter. She told me about you." Layla gave her a pointed look when Michonne's eyes darted up to hers, attentive. "I didn't realize the connection when I met you, but it's obvious enough now. The samurai with the katana who saved her life- that's easy enough to spot. She cared about you a lot. Told me she wished she'd listened to you when she had the chance."
Michonne gave her a heartfelt look. "Thank you," she said softly.
"It's the truth," Layla simply replied. They continued to wander down the aisle, picking out boots and socks intermittently to add to their cart.
Eventually, Michonne awkwardly let out, "So, Daryl…"
Layla grinned, "What about him?"
Michonne cocked an eyebrow at her. "Something going on there?"
"Depends what you mean by something," Layla replied vaguely, knowing how much it would annoy her new friend.
Michonne stopped in her tracks and gave Layla a disbelieving look, to which the other woman immediately caved.
"There really isn't much to tell. Nothing's happened, but, I don't know, when he looks at me... I trust him. And I don't trust people easily, especially not after that. But it was...a lot easier than it should have been, trusting that man. It's the reason I'm here with you now rather than camping out by myself in the woods. I'm not sure what else there is to say."
"You care about him," Michonne declared with a smile in her voice.
"Maybe I do," Layla agreed, "I probably wouldn't have stuck around if he hadn't asked me to. But I'm not sure that means there's something 'going on' with us. Not the way you meant it. Though I might have, kind of, slept on top of him last night."
Michonne smiled at her, "He cares about you too- acting overprotective, possessive almost. He's not like that with anyone else in his group."
Layla wanted to believe her fascination with him wasn't one sided, but wasn't totally convinced. "Maybe it's just the Merle thing…"
"No, whatever flipped in him happened before that. He let you get close to him. Physically, I mean. And Daryl doesn't do that. Not even with Rick and everyone else at the prison, and he's known them for a while now," Michonne persisted. And finally, Layla allowed herself to wallow in the warmth of accepting this.
They met Daryl back out at the truck, looking sullen as he leaned against the vehicle, waiting impatiently for them to return. As soon as they began to approach, he trotted right towards them, grabbing the goods and hurrying them back to the truck bed. "Didn't run into trouble?" he asked them.
"No, Daryl," Layla said melodically. "Unless you call gossip trouble."
His eyes narrowed at the pair of them. "Who you gossipin' about?"
"You, of course," Layla told him with a smile, only deepening his uncommitted scowl.
TWDTWDTWDTWD
They could hear the rabid snarls and frightened shouts from far up the road. Then, they saw it. The fence on the east side of the prison was coming down, pushed towards the ground by the combined weight of several dozen walkers. From the pathway between the fences, Rick and the rest of the prison gang were trying desperately to kill walkers and prop the fence up with several thick planks simultaneously. But with a crowd like this, they weren't going to succeed.
Layla had jumped out of the truck before it even came to a stop, wielding her machete diligently as she sprinted towards the encroaching herd.
"Layla!" Daryl shouted uselessly, slamming on the breaks. But she either didn't hear him, or had chosen to ignore him entirely. Two walkers had noticed Daryl's hoarse scream, and Layla cut them down like Christmas trees.
Daryl popped out of the car like a Jack-in-the-box, hurdling himself towards her as fast as he could. Three undead charmers were cornering her against the fence, reaching towards her with grimy claws. "Layla, no!" he shouted desperately, and at the break of his voice Layla brought down her knife against the first walker's skull, kicked the next closest back, then spun around and brought down the third. When the second staggered back towards her, she decapitated it, swiftly and without hesitation.
Daryl and Michonne were already out of the truck and backing her up, taking out geeks two or three at a time as they fought their way towards her. They trio tore through the herd at an alarming rate, producing a steadily growing pile of decaying corpses as they went. When the last undead arm had dropped to the ground, Layla collapsed along with it. Michonne and Daryl plopped down beside her, utterly exhausted and covered in walker guts.
Eventually, Daryl hoisted himself up and pulled Layla along with him, irrationally unwilling to have her more than an arm's length away. He pulled her behind him as they walked back across the prison yard. The rest of the group was leading the way, and abruptly, Daryl held Layla back.
"The hell were you thinkin'?" he growled, towering over her.
"I was thinking the fence was about to come down," she said simply, ignoring his tone of voice.
"The fuck, Layla! Ya can't go runnin' into a group of walkers like that! Ain't no one takin' down that many walkers by themselves and livin' to tell the tale!"
Layla fought her smile, "I know that. But I knew you'd be right behind me." She spoke to him in a kind, calm voice. "Michonne, too."
"But..."
"I knew you'd be there. I trust you, Daryl. But you've got to trust me too."
He watched her face for a moment, searching for the lie, but then conceded with a sigh. "Ya look like shit," he commented, eying her blood-spattered clothes.
"Wow, Daryl. You sure know how to woo the ladies," Layla replied sarcastically, rolling her eyes.
"S'not what I meant," he mumbled, pink rising to his cheeks. "But we ain't got the showers workin' yet. Ain't good to have so much of their blood on ya..." he reached out shyly and traced the line where her tank top met the skin at her shoulder. "I know a stream 'bout a mile from here. We could go there, get cleaned up?"
"Okay. That sounds great, actually," Layla said, grinning. Daryl really was cute when he was nervous.
Carol had been hanging back, walking in pace with the couple behind her. She'd known this new girl would be trouble from the moment she'd seen her. All wide eyes and puppy-dog pouts, manipulating Daryl as if he were some teenager. Daryl didn't belong with a girl like that. Some whore, playing the victim and making everyone feel sorry for her.
And the way he'd gone sprinting after her when she got out of the car to fight, it made Carol sick to her stomach. Daryl had never protected her with that much ferocity. And now here he was, asking her out on some kind of date. The stupid bitch. Daryl was not for her.
"Hey, Carol, tell them we'll be back in a couple hours," Daryl called ahead of him, already turning back towards the exit.
"Where are you going?" she asked with a frown, crossing her arms and staring him down.
He gave her an agitated look, "For a walk," he grunted. And without waiting for her reply, he dragged Layla towards the fence and out into the forest.
TWDTWDTWDTWD
"Turn around," Layla ordered expectantly when they reached the edge of the stream. Daryl's choice in locale had been no accident. The setting was perfect: peaceful, secluded, romantic even. The stream pooled into a relatively shallow lake, headed by a gurgling waterfall that stood about twelve feet tall. It was beautiful, really.
Daryl looked at her blankly. "I'm going to get undressed. Not much point in bathing if I can't get any of my dirty bits, is there?" Layla said playfully, blushing at her use of the phrase 'dirty bits.' She never talked like this on purpose, and certainly not in male company.
"Oh," Daryl said dumbly, still blatantly staring at her. She reached out and pinched him, making him jump in surprise.
"Any day now?" she said, smiling at him. He turned around and listened attentively. He heard her pull her shirt over her head, grunting slightly as the stitches on her back pulled and puckered, then drop the soiled cloth into the dirt. He heard her sharp intake of breath as she bent down to remove her shorts.
"Shit," he heard from behind him, and very nearly spun right around to check on her.
"You okay?" he called worriedly.
"Yeah, it's just, I can't swim. Not with," Layla sighed, "my back."
"Oh," Daryl replied dumbly. And thoughtlessly he went to face her, surprising them both when he found her mostly undressed.
His eyes went straight to the ground. "Shit, sorry, I..." he began to apologize, and then set out on unbuttoning his sleeveless flannel.
"Daryl, what are you doing?" Layla asked him slowly. His eyes shot back up to hers when he realized that hint of hesitance in her voice was fear.
You're such a fucking dumbass.
"Christ, Layla, I didn't mean. I wasn't gonna-"
He near-ripped the shirt from his body and handed it to her, still careful to keep his back to her, but more concerned at the moment with scaring her off. "S'cleaner than anything you've got on. You can use it to clean yourself off. So you don't gotta get in the water."
His stomach churned painfully for the suspended moment that he held out the offered garment for her, and she watched him cautiously. But half a second later, she accepted the shirt, giving him a small nod of understanding.
She walked into the water until it wisped against her hips, then slowly began to wipe the blood and grime from her sun-kissed body. Daryl knew he should get on with cleaning himself off as well, but nagging words were piling in the back of his throat, and he knew he wouldn't be able to concentrate on anything else until they'd been cleared.
"Layla," Daryl called softly, and she looked over her shoulder at him. "Ya know I wouldn't...ya know I'd never...do that to ya, right? Ain't gonna do something you don't want. Don't want ya worryin' about that from me."
Layla smiled gently at him. "I'm not worried. You just caught me off guard, is all." She turned away from him again, using the shirt that had so recently been resting against his sweaty skin to clear off her own. "Guess it was just those abs of yours, distracting me."
Daryl blushed wildly, realizing all at once just how much of his skin was on display.
She didn't mean that the way it sounded. It was just a joke.
After taking a moment to compose himself, Daryl skimmed out of his jeans and dove straight into the water, clad only in his boxers. When he surfaced a few yards away, Layla was openly watching him.
"What happened to no peekin'?" he carped.
"You got to see mine. It's only fair," Layla countered.
"Wasn't on purpose!"
"Sure," Layla retorted, her smile betraying the tease. When she'd finished washing off, Layla waded over to the edge of the water, and stood uncertainly at the shore.
"What's wrong?" Daryl asked, swimming over to meet her. At this point, he didn't even try to hide the way he was watching her. She'd seen right through that rouse anyways.
Layla crossed her arms shyly, "Didn't bring anything to change into. Forgot I have clothes of my own now."
"Mmm, and ya shouldn't put back on any of those bloody clothes neither. Just wear the shirt I gave ya. S'long enough to cover ya up while we get inside."
"Why shouldn't I put on the bloody ones?"
"It just...ain't a good look for ya, s'all," Daryl said to the ground, but Layla smiled at him nonetheless. He doesn't like to see me hurt. He worries about me. Why?
"Okay, your shirt it is then," Layla agreed, pulling on the damp sleeveless flannel. She watched as Daryl swiftly slipped back into his jeans and boots. Droplets of cool water still clung to his chest, streaking south as if to avoid being scorched by the Georgian sun. Well this is new, she thought to herself, openly watching some half-naked man get dressed. Hardly feeling self-conscious at all when I catch him watching me. Definitely new.
But then Daryl shrugged into that very tattered shirt he'd so adamantly refused to let her wear.
"Yuck, why don't you just leave it here? Won't be able to get the blood off anyways," Layla commented, but cut herself off as soon as she saw the look on Daryl's face. Discomfort and embarrassment didn't begin to encapsulate it, so Layla made the active choice not to push him on the topic. "Though red is a nice color on you," she added boldly, and grinned when he tried to hide his blush.
They walked back towards the prison in amicable silence. Daryl noticed the way she always turned her face towards the sun, seeking it out like water to a man dying of thirst.
"No windows," Daryl said aloud, but Layla understood what he meant.
"I missed the sun. It was the only thing I found myself really craving, while I was there. Always did love being outside."
"Yeah, can't say I was too thrilled we ended up where we did. S'good that it's safe, and all, but I can't stay in those walls too long."
"You grew up outside." It wasn't a question.
"For the most part," Daryl confirmed, "Bein' out here was always easier."
"Is that why you don't like people?"
Daryl didn't stop completely, but his gait slowed as he stared at her incredulously. "Who says I don't like people?"
"Michonne. Well, that wasn't exactly what she said."
"What'd she fuckin' say, then?" Daryl immediately questioned, sounding put off.
"She said that you don't let people...close." Daryl stayed quiet, unable to compose a quick retort that would disprove Michonne's observations. "Though obviously there are some exceptions."
"Like what?" He was genuinely curious.
"Like me."
That caught him off guard. He swallowed hard before looking firmly at the ground and admitting, "I was never too good with people."
"You're good with me."
He looked up at her, staring as if he thought he could decipher all the truths from behind her eyes.
"You are," the woman insisted, grabbing him loosely by the wrist and forcing him to stop in his tracks.
"Layla, what-?"
"I want to do something. And I want you to know before I do it that it's not just because of what happened to me, or what's happened since. Are you going to let me?"
"We talkin' 'bout somethin' dangerous?"
"It could be."
Daryl nodded thoughtfully. "Is it somethin' you really want?" he asked her.
She smiled brightly, "More than anything I've wanted in a while."
"Well, you deserve a 'lil somethin' good, I figure. So whatever it is, we can-"
Layla cut him off with a kiss.
It was obvious enough he wasn't expecting it, with the way he all but froze against her at the first contact. But when Layla reached up and pressed both palms against his biceps, stroking tenderly, Daryl's lips finally began to move with hers. They didn't kiss for long. They didn't throw each other down into the dirt and moan into the wind. But when Layla felt Daryl tentatively cup her cheek, she knew the risk had been worth taking.
Layla broke away first, still standing as close to Daryl as possible and looking up at him uncertainly. Daryl's heart was racing, pumping red-hot arousal through his system like ice creeping in on the shore. She'd kissed him, so now he couldn't exactly feel guilty about it. And of all the things he'd thought she meant...this girl was just a bag of surprises.
He barked out a laugh, then stifled it, before saying, "That's not what I thought you meant."
"I got that," Layla told him with a smile. "Are you mad?"
"Christ, no. A pretty girl wants to kiss me? I ain't gonna argue none," Daryl said too fast, and instantly reddened when he let the words slip.
"So you think I'm pretty, huh?" Layla teased.
Daryl bit steadily at his lip. "Might," he grunted with a cringe. "That really what you were wantin'?"
"Really, really. And fair warning, there's a good chance I'll be wanting it again."
"I was that good, huh?" Daryl said as they began to walk back to the prison.
Layla smacked him in the gut. "Cocky."
"Hey, it ain't every day a guy gets kissed by a girl like you. Gotta savor it."
"And what kind of girls have you been kissing, Daryl Dixon?"
He snorted, "Don't you worry. Ain't been kissed in a good long while. Didn't fuck it up too bad, did I?"
"Nah, you passed with flying colors," Layla promised with a laugh.
"S'good," Daryl said as they reached the prison gates, "Gotta take notes for next time."