"You're going to hurt yourself," Sinclaire said in alarm.
"I don't see you offerin' to help me," Merle pointed out.
"I'm afraid that I would hurt yourself. Are you sure this is a good idea?"
"Got a better one?"
"Look, just because you saw a guy shave like that in some low budget horror flick—"
"Pitch Black ain't low budget."
"Merle."
"Well, the point is, I can't see why it wouldn't work."
"For one thing I'm not sure you put enough grease on there. For another…well, I'm not slighting you, but Vin Diesel wasn't shaving left handed."
Merle pointed the knife at her and said, "Proves ya watched it. Now, ya gonna bitch or ya gonna help?"
She sighed and took the knife.
"I guess your skull is thick enough to avoid any real damage," she admitted.
"There ya go. Anyway, I got the idea from T-dog."
When she braced her hand on his head the first time it slipped off.
"Ew."
"Buck up Yank."
Sinclaire took a deep breath and a firmer grip on Merle's head and dragged the blade of the knife over his skull.
"Wonders never cease," she muttered.
"Told ya so."
"I have a knife in one hand and your head in the other. Are you sure this is the opportune moment?"
"Reckon not. So tell me, it's been a week since ya'll started shackin' up...managed to bang my little brother yet?"
"Knife and head," Sinclaire reminded him.
"Whatever turns ya on," he said with a grin.
"Fuck you Merle Dixon."
"Sounds like ya need somebody to do the job."
She leaned over and raised an eyebrow.
"When you're so happy with Tiff?"
"Who says we ain't happy?"
"I don't know. This bar has gotten a lot more redneck since the two of you got together. All the fights and the drinking. You're drinking too much by the way."
"Ya worried about me?"
"I'm worried about our stash," she said flatly.
"Yer a real keeper Yank."
"Look down."
Merle obliged. He figured she was lying about not being worried about him. It was kind of nice of her. He was drinking a lot lately. He blamed it on old habits and the difficultly with which they died. And Tiff was a fuckin' handful. He thought about how nice it had been when he shared the room with Sinclaire. She'd been good for a midnight conversation and she read to him. Tiff got mad when he woke her up and she hated books. Of course, Merle hated books too.
"Ya ever gonna finish Iron House?" he asked.
"I did," she answered.
"Without me?"
"If you keep jerking your head around you're going to be missing your right ear too. If it's symmetry you want then just say so."
"I oughta make ya start all over again."
"Yes, because reading is the best way to punish me," she said sarcastically. "I'll let you borrow it."
"Readin' with one hand's a bitch. Anyway, I kinda got used to yer voice."
"I thought you hated my voice."
"I hate yer accent," Merle stressed. "Nothin' wrong with yer voice."
"I would have thought they'd go hand in hand. Chin up."
He looked at the sky. She stepped around in front of him and swiped the knife across a few more times before she toweled the remains of grease off his head.
"I can't believe it, but you're done. And it was pretty easy."
She wiped the knife off on the towel and glanced around the camp.
"Lookin' for somebody else to shave?" Merle asked with a grin as he ran his hand over his head. He raised his voice when his brother walked by. "Daryl'd probably let ya."
"Let her what?" Daryl asked warily.
"Shave yer head."
Daryl raised a hand to his hair self consciously.
"Don't know about that. I know it's kinda long now but—"
"I can cut it!"
Everyone looked at Carrie in surprise.
"I really can, I've got scissors and everything."
Sinclaire wondered what else a person would need to cut hair, but she kept she kept the question to herself.
"Uh," Daryl began.
"I was in cosmetology school," she said. "I almost had my certificate. Come on, please!"
Daryl glanced Sinclaire's way. She shrugged. She didn't really have much opinion on his hair.
"Go for it baby brother," Merle urged. "Ya can't look no worse. And yer startin' to look like a girl."
Daryl sighed and sat down. Carrie clapped her hands and ran to Nate's SUV. She came back with a gleaming pair of scissors and a big smile. Daryl swallowed hard.
"Think he needs ya to hold his hand, Yank," Merle said.
"Fuck off," Daryl said, but he sounded distracted. He clearly didn't trust Carrie with anything sharp near his head.
Sinclaire wasn't sure she blamed him. Carrie was a pretty flighty person.
"Don't worry!" Carrie said with a grin as she finger combed his hair. "I'll leave enough for Sinclaire to grab on to."
"Thanks," Daryl said dryly.
Sinclaire watched Carrie run her fingers through his hair and thought about how Carrie had wanted him. He'd probably rather have her in the truck at night. It wasn't going well between them at all.
The kisses were getting better as he gained confidence and it was enough at times to send shivers through her, but there wasn't much chance of progressing beyond that because every time he tried she barely gasped out the word pineapple before shoving him away.
She'd been pondering the problem all day today and she'd come up with a possible reason. It was better when she could see him. The problem was that, obviously, they couldn't just do it with the lights on.
Except that she might have a plan for that. She just hadn't had a chance to get him alone today. She decided that she'd ask when his hair was cut and he looked a little less worried. She could see that the haircut was shaping up just fine, but that didn't stop her from mirroring Merle's concered expression the whole time. It was more fun that way.
Once Daryl's haircut was complete and he, and everyone else, saw that he didn't look bad, Carrie found herself overwhelmed with customers. Sinclaire was going to join them, but Daryl pulled her away from the line.
"What?"
"I like it," he said in a low voice. "Don't cut it all off."
It was hard to say no to that, so Sinclaire didn't try. He could be a little bit adorable at times.
"I wanted to talk to you anyway," she said.
"Okay."
"In private."
"Truck?"
"Woods."
He scooped up his crossbow and they headed into the treeline.
"So I think I know what the problem is," she said, looking studiously away from him.
"Problem with what?"
"With the Pineapple conundrum."
"Oh." Then, when she didn't elaborate he said, "Well? Ain't a mind reader ya know."
"I'm thinking that the problem is the darkness," she said in a rush. "When I can't see you, even though I know it's you, I picture…anyway. I think that if we had light…then you know…I wouldn't be trapped by old associations."
"Ya wanna fuck in the truck in broad daylight?" Daryl looked like he'd consider it.
"No! I was thinking about your "deer stand"
"Oh. Well…sure if ya want to."
"Well if you don't…"
"Never said that. I just get the feelin' yer makin' fun of my deer stand."
"Bowhunter, it's a tree house and you might as well admit it."
"It's a deer stand with a roof. And walls. Can't help it if Carl and Sophia play in it sometimes."
"You showed it to them!"
"Where are they today anyway?" he asked. "Don't wanna uh…"
"Scar innocent children for life with our talk of pineapples?" Sinclaire said with a laugh. "Sophia is helping with the laundry and Carl is grounded. I didn't get the details, but he can't leave the house."
Daryl snorted. "See how long that lasts."
"He's a good kid," Sinclaire said. "And really…it's not like any of us ever stay in the house unless we have to."
"Guess that's true." He waved his arm to indicate that she should precede him up the rope ladder he'd stolen from Nate's SUV so she did and he pulled it up after them.
"It's a beautiful tree house," she said.
"Deer stand."
"Women really go for guys who are nice to kids," she informed him.
He leaned closer and cupped his hand around the back of her head. Just before his lips met hers he said, "Glad ya like my tree house."
This time she didn't wait for him to nudge her onto her back. A few kisses and several reassuring daylight glances had her tense with actual anticipation. It was kind of weird to be actually turned on.
She buried her fingers in his hair—Carrie had been right—and pulled him down on top of her. Another glance caught the pleased shock on his face. He braced on hand beside her shoulder and slid the other under her lower back pulling her closer against him as he pressed his lips to her neck.
Sinclaire further shocked them both by arching her hips against him, rubbing against the rough fabric of his jeans.
"Shit," he groaned as she felt his shoulders go tense under her fingers.
His lips found hers again and she found that she really liked the new desperation in the kiss. She wrapped her legs around him to get him closer as she arched her back again. It was feeling more than just not-panic-inducing. It was starting to feel nearly delicious.
He must have agreed because he pushed against her the next time she arched against him and both of them groaned in pleasure.
"Shit," she echoed. "Bowhunter…I…"
"No no," he said hurriedly. "Don't talk. Ya might say pineapple."
Sinclaire wondered idly if he'd ever enjoy a pineapple again if the world went back to normal, but she didn't think this was the best time to get into the discussion. Since he didn't want her to talk, she simply yanked at his jacket and once it was gone she began fumbling at the buttons of his flannel shirt. It was hard to do with him over her.
Once he realized that they weren't making much forward progress he got to his knees and yanked her up with him. She liked the way his hand curved around the back of her neck when he kissed her, but she had to pull away to watch as she unbuttoned the shirt. The panic wasn't near eclipse proportions but she was aware of it in the very back of her mind.
There were nice distractions as the shirt came off though. For one thing, he had great arms. For another she discovered that she had a thing for tattoos. Another difference. She ducked her head and kissed the one on his chest before looking up at him.
He raised an eyebrow and looked significantly at her many layers.
"I think so," she whispered.
Her jacket landed on the floor beside his about a second later. He took longer with the vest since there was a gun in it, and then he skimmed the first shirt over her head. Then the next.
"How many shirts ya got?" he asked in amusement.
"Three. It's cold."
"I'll keep ya warm."
That part was true. As the last shirt landed on the floor she knew that the cold air had washed over her skin but all she felt was the heat of the gaze he swept her with. Sinclaire caught her breath when his fingers brushed down over her stomach teasing her skin until his hands rested on her hips.
"Not much to ya without all them layers," he said. "I mean…ya know…"
"You thought I was fat," she teased. "You can admit it."
"No! I never though ya was fat! I've always thought ya were beautiful."
She leaned forward and kissed him. This was nice too. He'd looked at her almost hungrily, but there was still a lightness to being with him. It wasn't frightening at all. And he thought she was beautiful. Couldn't go wrong there.
She felt his hands move up her back to the clasp of her bra. He was moving slowly but maybe he was distracted. Her fingers were moving equally slowly toward his belt buckle. She felt his stomach tighten when she brushed it and heard him catch his breath.
He pulled her closer to him. She liked the way he wrapped her in his arms it felt almost comforting. He knew this wasn't easy for her and she wanted to make this good for him. She slid her hand into his jeans and felt him jerk against her when her fingers found him.
"Fuck."
"That's the general idea." She closed her hand around him and tried to measure mentally. If her calculations were correct the women who hadn't banged him in the past were the ones who'd missed out.
His hands went to the clasp of her bra with more conviction this time.
And then they heard the argument beneath them.
Sinclaire went still and listened as Bowhunter began to reach new heights in inventive swearing. He did it all in a very low voice so he didn't alert whoever was in woods to their presence, but he did it very well. He pulled his shirt back on and bundled her layers in a ball.
She edged closer to a window to listen as she untangled her clothes and dressed again.
"I don't think we should be going this way," a woman's voice said. "I think we're back tracking."
"Stay calm," a man replied in a confident tone. "God told me which way to go. This is where we're meant to be."
Sinclaire raised an eyebrow.
"We need to keep going this way, through the woods and see what we can find."
She saw that the man was pointing in the direction of the bar. This wasn't a good sign.
The woman had crossed her arms over her chest and was shaking her head vigorously. She was younger than Sinclaire had thought. She'd have guessed mid-twenties but the dirt caked on her face was probably aging her. Maybe 21? 22? The man was older, probably around Merle's age, but he was Merle's polar opposite, lean and lanky and as black as Merle was white. He did seem remarkable calm about this whole thing.
"I'm not sure that this is right," she said again. "I feel like he'll be there…waiting for me."
"That's just Satan trying to keep you down."
The man put his hand on the woman's shoulder and squeezed reassuringly.
"I have heard the word of the Lord. If we keep going we'll find others—"
The young woman flung herself away from his touch and threw her arms out. Sinclaire noticed how worn her clothes were. She wore a pair of jeans with holes in the knees and a tee shirt that bagged to near her knees. She also wore a light running jacket. The man didn't look much better. He was still dressed like a reverend complete with the little white thing at his collar, but his clothes were just as loose and the crisp black had faded.
"Are you not understanding that I don't want to meet more people? People aren't handling this well! I want to be alone!"
"It's not safe to be alone. Look at us," the man turned her back around. "We aren't handling this too well ourselves. We haven't eaten in days. The Lord tells me that there are good people around. People that will take care of us."
"Well," Bowhunter drawled from the door of the tree house. "Yer half right. There's people over there fer sure. But I don't know how helpful we're apt to be."