Chapter 34 – Goddamned art

The rest of Daryl's weekend was gray at best.

By Sunday morning any remaining wisps of optimism that there was some innocuous reason behind the fact that Tahlia hadn't been in contact with him yet had long disappeared, and he dragged his way through most of the day with a churning pit of cold anxiety in his belly, agonizing over whether he'd crossed a line, undermined their friendship, offended her, upset her, or all of the above. He wanted to call her, apologize, say whatever he needed to say to make it right, but because he was the one who'd messed up, he felt like he didn't have the right. Felt like he had to wait quietly with his tail between his legs until she was ready to summon him - and hopefully forgive him.

Sequestering himself in the shed for the afternoon, the sun was sinking below the horizon when he morosely trudged back up to the house, the sound of the tv blaring from within setting his teeth on edge before he even reached the door. Andrea and Merle were folded around each other on the sofa watching a movie, and though Daryl would've preferred to shut himself away in his room, he figured that being around the two of them all loved up was annoying enough that at least it might take his mind off Tahlia for a while.

"What's this shit you're watchin'?" he asked flatly as he dropped down into the armchair.

Merle, bleary-eyed from two late nights and way too much beer over the course of the weekend yawned as he replied, "Diary of – Andie, what's this again?"

"Bridget Jones's Diary." supplied Andrea, shifting a cushion onto Merle's lap so she could lay down.

"Looks stupid." muttered Daryl sourly, crossing his arms over his chest.

Unperturbed by his brother's mood, Merle shrugged. "S'actually kinda funny."

Andrea's phone buzzed in her hand and she read the message, laughing to herself before nudging Merle. "Listen to this one: she said that the awards dinner last night was in this glitzy room with a feature pool, and the guy who took out the top award dove into the pool in his suit and everything and swam up to the stage to get it!"

"Pfft." scoffed Merle, his eyes glued to the tv. "Sounds like a fuckin' jackass."

Ice shot through Daryl's veins and he flicked his gaze to Andrea. "That Tahly?"

"Sure is." replied Andrea distractedly, rapidly typing a message back. "She's filling me in on everything from her weekend."

Not everything, Daryl knew, otherwise he'd be getting the third degree by now. "She back in town?"

"Yep. Got home about an hour ago. Aw, look! Merle. Look." Andrea held her phone up. "This is her and Michy with some people they haven't seen since law school. So cute! Here, Daryl, she's sent through a bunch of pictures from the conference. You want to see?"

He didn't. He really didn't want to see her smiling and posing and enjoying herself with other people. Couldn't stomach that right now. "Naw. She uh… she ok?"

"Seems to be. Sounds like it was a really great weekend."

And given the way Andrea was giggling at another message, it didn't seem like Tahlia was upset, after all.

Clenching his jaw, Daryl nodded slowly to himself, the corrosive burn of bitterness seeping through his veins.

So that's how it was going to be.

Tahlia was all happy and telling one of her closest friends everything except for that momentous little incident on Friday night, which meant it hadn't been momentous for her at all; and while he was worrying his ass off about the whole thing, she was enjoying herself and blanking him and pretending it never happened.

Fine. Thought Daryl testily. Fuckin' fine.

Yeah, he'd screwed up, got it all wrong, that much was obvious now and he was sorry as hell, but her acting like this? That was bullshit. Thought she valued their friendship enough to at least give him the opportunity to make things right. Guess he got that wrong, too.

Then Merle let out a loud guffaw as, in the movie, Bridget Jones slid down a fireman's pole, her ass colliding with the camera, and Daryl couldn't stand it; none of it; not another second, and he thrust himself to his feet.

"This is the dumbest fuckin' movie I ever seen." he snapped heatedly, and stormed off to his room, leaving Merle and Andrea staring after him in bemusement.

Monday.

Typically the shittest day of the week, and this one had been no exception.

In addition to the regular crap at work – two guys off sick; a delayed shipment; a bottleneck of jobs – the anger that had bubbled up the night before had settled into a low, constant hum, vibrating through Daryl's bones, making him feel wired and peevish as hell.

Even though he was no longer expecting anything other than silence from Tahlia (Fine! he still shouted in his head every time he thought of her), he wanted to throw his phone in the goddamned lake just so he wouldn't keep habitually checking it, but he needed it for work. Fucking work. If he didn't own the place now, he would've taken the week off and gone straight to the cabin to clear the din in his head and the ache in his chest. But he couldn't take either of those luxuries, so he stomped through his day doing his best to focus only on what was in front of him and nothing else (because the 'nothing else' hurt), but even so, the dark clouds refused to budge.

As Daryl arrived home in the evening, Merle and Andrea were just on their way out, and asked if he wanted to join them for a bite to eat before heading to the gallery for Tanya's exhibition. Up until then, Daryl had forgotten all about the exhibition, his promise to Tanya, and his kneejerk reaction was a petulant: nah, ain't gonna waste my time lookin' at smears of paint on canvas – because he didn't want to look at goddamned art, he didn't want to socialize, and he sure as shit didn't want to see Tahlia.

But as the evening wore on and he was doing nothing but restlessly storming around the house, he couldn't help but think about her; couldn't help but be morbidly curious as to how she'd act when they were face to face, if she'd keep up her little charade, and eventually he decided that maybe he would go and look at some goddamned art after all.

The gallery was a mossy brick heritage building in the old part of town, and the time-tired exterior was in stark contrast to the modern, bright, white and wide space inside. Daryl had been here on many occasions over the years.

A while ago, before he'd met Tahlia, when he'd had more spare time on his hands, he'd sometimes come to hang out in the adjoining studio at the back of the building. Set up to be used for art classes or a hired space for artists, when it was unoccupied Tanya gave him free rein to while away an evening here, an early morning there, messing around with different mediums and getting lost creating a little goddamned art of his own. Normally he binned everything he did because it was just for fun, just a secret thing he enjoyed in the moment, not made to have a lasting presence or to be seen by anyone. Except, there was one time he'd accidentally left an oil painting of the Blue Lake in the studio, and when he returned a week later, he'd been horrified to find that Tanya had hung it in the gallery. Even more horrified to learn that she had a buyer interested. After much cajoling, he'd agreed she could sell it on the condition the piece remained anonymous and she never breathed a word to anyone about it for life, and though he'd ended up with the easiest $400 he'd ever made in his pocket, the thought that someone had an original Daryl Dixon hanging on their wall still made him cringe to this day.

Tonight it was much busier than he was used to, and a hush lay over the crowd as Tanya and two other artists were halfway through their welcome and introduction to the exhibition. Accepting a glass of champagne handed to him by a hostess, Daryl downed it in one and handed it straight back, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand before quietly sidling up to stand next to Andrea and Merle.

Swiveling a critical look at his brother, Merle raised his brows. "Thought you didn't wanna waste your time here tonight, huh?"

"Promised Tanya." muttered Daryl with a moody shrug, and then grunted when he received a hard elbow in the side from Merle along with an eye roll, but at least his big brother left him be after that.

It was easy for Daryl to spot Tahlia. To him, she was a beacon, after all. There, on the far side, she was all polished and perfect, her blouse and tailored pants an indication she'd come straight from work. His stomach gave a painful flop and he stared at her, wanting to catch her eye, see the truth inside no matter what it might be. But despite the fact that she was almost facing him, she didn't look his way, just kept her attention firmly fixed on the speakers and a smile firmly pasted on her face.

The address was soon over and people began to move leisurely around the gallery, drinking in the pieces on display. At first, Daryl thought maybe Tahlia hadn't actually noticed him yet, but he quickly realized that as he moved from one painting to the next, so did she, carefully maintaining distance between them while masterfully avoiding eye contact all the while. And it was just a further agonizing twist of the knife that she had affixed herself to a group of Tanya's friends (people she barely fucking knew, noted Daryl), and was all bright and shiny and full of animated chat for them.

And so it continued, this unhurried game of cat and mouse, and Daryl deflated with every step, turned in on himself, a consuming combination of hurt and anger reverberating in his chest. He barely registered his friends around him, and after a while, the mess inside him even became too heavy to hold any attention on Tahlia.

Of course, he could've been the one to go to her, force her to acknowledge him, demand to know what she was playing at, but he didn't see the point – she'd made it clear she didn't want to speak to him and he sure as shit wasn't going to beg. But he also wasn't going to keep torturing himself, and though he hadn't even been at the gallery for an hour, he needed to get out, be alone.

Glancing at the group in conversation around him – Shadow, Dwight, Sherry, others he didn't know – he knew that if he told them he was leaving already he'd have to weather the whys and goodbyes and he didn't have the energy for that. So instead, he muttered something unintelligible and gestured vaguely in the direction of the restrooms at the back of the gallery, figuring it would be easier to pretend he was heading that way, then skirt around the periphery and slip out, hopefully unnoticed.

Shoulders hunched, hands pocketed and head down so as not to catch any eyes or any unwanted conversation, he was about to pass the restroom door when suddenly, it opened. And because the universe had a sick sense of humor, of course, it was Tahlia, blazer on, handbag slung over her shoulder, ready to leave, but she stopped short when she saw him, barely suppressing her gasp of surprise.

Daryl's body tensed, his throat choked, and though he had an urge to just keep walking, he planted his feet. He'd like to see her try to avoid him now. Firmly setting his jaw, he fixed her with a stony look, challenging her to speak.

Composing herself with practiced speed, Tahlia pulled a smile on her face and the lapels of her blazer closer together below the hollow of her neck.

"Oh, hi!" she said brightly, her fingers nervously worrying her bag-strap at her shoulder, belying her breezy tone. "I uh… I didn't realize you were here. Have you… have you been here long?"

Daryl wanted to call her out on her bullshit, but instead he flatly replied, "Long enough."

"So," Tahlia said, that fake smile still wobbling on her face as she gestured around. "Isn't the exhibition great? Tanya's done an amazing job at pulling it all together. Her pieces are so beautiful too, did you see them? She's really talented. I especially loved the one with the boat in the storm. Powerful stuff."

That hum of anger that had plagued him all day surged violently at her nonchalant façade. So this was what they were reduced to. Contrived surface chat. Like strangers.

"Well," continued Tahlia quickly, "I wish I could stay longer, but I'm just on my way out, so…" She trailed off, her smile weakening, struggling, "I'll see you round."

Hurriedly she turned to walk away, like she couldn't get away from him fast enough, and Daryl's eyes flashed and he couldn't help but call out to her, his voice all cold, hard stone,

"Guessin' ya didn't wanna talk."

Stopping in her tracks, Tahlia turned slowly and matched his hard glare, the reference to his text message clear. "Excuse me?"

With a disparaging huff, Daryl shook his head and looked away. "Forget it."

Taking a step back towards him, Tahlia's tone was sharp, the brightness long gone. "I did want to talk. That's why I called you. You were the one that was too busy. What, was I supposed to wait until you were done then call you back?"

Daryl's eyes snapped back to hers. "Huh?"

Sucking the side of her cheek, biting down hard, Tahlia willed herself to remain controlled. She didn't want him to know how much he'd upset her. Which was why she'd prepared herself to act normal around him tonight, like everything that had happened was no big deal. And then she'd seen him in person and it had been so much harder than she'd expected – especially because she'd been able to feel the tension, irritation rolling off him all night, like she was the one who'd done something wrong, messed things up somehow – and she hadn't been able to bring herself to go and speak to him in case she unraveled right there in front of everyone, including Amber, whose eyes had been boring into Tahlia's back since she'd arrived. So, she had enclosed herself in Tanya's arty group (because all their other friends would know about Daryl and Amber and she figured they'd be less likely to try and share that piece of gossip with her if she was surrounded by people they didn't know very well, and then she'd be less likely to cry in public) and had diligently positioned herself a safe distance away from both Daryl and Amber, avoiding any interaction while maintaining a happy front and trying to engage in discussions about art which she had no appetite for right now, and God, all that had been exhausting and now she needed to go home.

And she'd nearly made it.

She'd nearly made it out the door without hearing any gossip about the party or anything else; without having to face the two people she'd been so carefully evading, but just her luck, she'd bumped into Daryl at the last minute. And worse, she'd let her mask slip with that acidic comment she'd just made, so now he knew she was all sore and she was going to have to explain herself right fucking here and now.

Heaving a sigh, she shook her head in defeat.

"Look, I'm not naïve enough to think one drunken kiss means we're in a relationship, but I guess I stupidly assumed it meant something. I know you're free to do whatever you want with whomever you want, but from now on, please," she held a weary hand up, "Leave me out of it, ok? I'm not cut out for casual."

Staring at her, Daryl's anger reduced to a simmer as confusion rose up in its place. "The hell are you talkin' about?"

"You already know this about me, Daryl." replied Tahlia, spiritlessly. "Yeah, maybe I'm old-fashioned, prudish, whatever you want to call it, but I can't do what you do. I'm strictly a one-person-at-a-time kind of girl and that's not going to change. But I really don't want to screw up our friendship, so I think it's better if you just… do your thing and-"

"The fuck is 'my thing'?" interrupted Daryl, feeling like he was missing something really goddamned important.

"You know…" Tahlia shifted uncomfortably and glanced around. "Like, with other girls."

"What other girls?!"

Daryl's voice had risen in frustration, and Tahlia shrank in on herself, hoping like hell no one was paying any attention to them, grateful for the free-standing shelf of plants that was providing a miniscule amount of concealment from the rest of the room.

"Can we please not do this right now?"

Daryl, on the other hand, didn't give a flying fuck if everyone in the room was watching on with their popcorn in hand, because in this moment, the only thing he cared about was deciphering what it was that had Tahlia acting so off and wobbly. From the way she was talking it seemed like maybe their kiss wasn't the thing that was upsetting her after all, but something else entirely, and he needed to find out for sure, so he stood his ground and folded his arms tightly across his chest in an attempt to still some the of tension that was vibrating through his body.

"Gonna lose my shit in a second if you don't tell me exactly what the hell you are goin' on about."

Tahlia didn't know why he was tormenting her, making her say it all out loud in a public place. Hugging her arms protectively around her waist, she gave a hard swallow and managed to keep her voice respectably steady despite the hot sting of tears in her eyes.

"I don't know what was going through your head on Friday, but after, when you told me to call, I was hoping that meant you wanted…" She stopped herself and shook her head. "Doesn't matter what I hoped. But it would've been nice if you'd at least spoken to me yourself instead of getting Amber to do it. That made me feel really stupid, to be honest. Real fucking stupid. And I know you probably think I'm overreacting, but I just needed to take a little time before facing you again."

And though Daryl understood the words coming out of her mouth, he couldn't make any sense of them.

"Amber?" he muttered in slow confusion. "When was this?"

Eyes widening in dismay that he couldn't even recall the incident that had plagued her for two whole days, Tahlia sucked in a shaky breath.

"Um. Saturday night when I…" Suddenly smacked by the realization that for him, their brief kiss would've faded into vanilla insignificance in comparison with the rest of his libidinous activity over the weekend, Tahlia's stomach dropped with sickening speed and she felt like such a fool. Swiping at her eyes in the most dignified manner she could muster, she held her head up and almost managed to drag a tight smile back onto her face. "Don't worry about it. It's fine. I'm fine. I'm gonna go, but maybe we can catch up later in the week. I'll see ya."

And then she was gone and only a floral-scented space remained, and Daryl stared at the emptiness in front of him trying to piece together all the things she'd said, stuck on the fact that she said she'd called. Because that couldn't be - he'd kept his phone obsessively, uncharacteristically close all weekend. He would've known if she'd called. Even if he'd missed a call. And just to prove that to himself, he fished his phone out of his pocket, fumbling for a moment as he tried to remember how to check the call log.

There. Today's work calls; one from Merle yesterday when he wanted to know if they had any arborio rice at home because he wanted to make a 'fuckin' risotto'; and then… his brow furrowed.

Incoming call - Silver – Saturday 5:12pm – 57 seconds

That couldn't be right.

But it was there, on the screen.

Slowly rewinding his way through the weekend, he patched Saturday back together in his brain: work; bike ride; Fox's; home.

He wasn't sure of the timing of anything beyond his work hours, but he did remember coming home from his bike ride and thinking, goddamn, it wasn't even 5 o'clock yet – he still had a whole night in front of him to fret over Tahlia. And that was why he'd gone to Fox's, which meant he must've made it to the bar around 5pm. But he'd had his phone with him the whole time, had been checking it the whole time, so how the hell did this one-minute call with Tahlia fit in? And he certainly hadn't spoken to her, so who -?

Suddenly all the pieces crashed into place.

Fucking Amber.