AUTHOR'S NOTE:
Hey y'all. I feel a little ridiculous writing this since I'm sure I'm just talking to myself at this point lol but here it goes anyway. Last few years have been kinda crazy. Moved across the country, got COVID, had a few depressive episodes, had to work a couple jobs to make ends meet, ya know. Definitely not the glamorous, responsibility-free life of the teenager who started this fic over a decade ago haha.
But I recently, on a whim, decided to rewatch TWD, and all the reasons I fell in love with Daryl Dixon can rocketing back to me. And then I remembered this story, felt bad I never finished it, and just kinda started writing lol. This was purely self indulgent, I wasn't even sure I was gonna post it, but I had fun writing it and thought maybe one person out there would get a kick out of reading it. Mainly I just wanted to write some actual pining/tension between Daryl and Audrey, so if the pacing seems fast and out of the blue, my apologies haha.
ALSO as an almost 30 yr old now who, as a teenager, was once in a problematic relationship with an older man, I can now recognize that the age gap between these characters is not... great lmao. But I don't have the will do go back and rewrite almost 500k of this fic XD (However, I did retcon Audrey's age a little in this chap, just for my own peace of mind. You can also just headcannon her whatever age you want haha.)
I've kind of written a few more bits and pieces of Season 2, so I'll try to post them when I can, but I'm mature enough to no longer make promises I can't keep lol.
Anyway, if you're here, hope you enjoy my silly little story!
(PS: If anyone is curious, the title of this chap is taken from a piece by my favorite poet, Richard Siken.)
Chapter 29: The Stone Inside You Still Hasn't Hit Bottom
The little girl's mama doesn't stop cryin', and Daryl feels guilt like a knife between his ribs, serrated and sharp. He stares at the RV ceiling above him and tracks the old man's pacin' footsteps— back and forth, back and forth— just to occupy his mind. Nothin' helps, though. He's managed maybe one, nonconsecutive hour of fitful sleep since sunset. His body aches, his stomach growls, and his eyes burn from exhaustion, strained from hours of squintin' at the grass and dirt, lookin' for signs that just weren't there.
He should be sleepin'. He needs to sleep. His body can't keep goin' like this, runnin' on fumes and fear. But he can't shut out the damn cryin' no matter how hard he tries, and every time he closes his eyes, all he can see is blood and the image of Audrey, cold and uncarin'.
Daryl lasts maybe another ten minutes before he's pullin' himself off the RV floor, some desperate, exhausted, half-cocked idea circlin' his brain.
On one side of the kitchen table, Andrea is fiddlin' with her gun, as she had been for the past few hours. Her fingers are still uncertain on some of the smaller pieces. As Daryl shrugs on his crossbow, she fumbles with the firing pin, the recoil spring. The sharp pings they make as they clatter against the table force Daryl's eyes to click over to Audrey in the opposite booth.
The kid is fast asleep. It's fuckin' impressive. Curled in the corner of her booth, she doesn't even flinch as the blonde curses in the dark and leans farther over the table, causin' more pieces to roll and clink. She doesn't even twitch as the girl's mother, still cryin' in the back, flips over in the bed and knocks somethin' off a shelf. Audrey just keeps on sleepin', the skin of her bruised and abraded cheek pressed against the window, her breath foggin' up the glass at irregular intervals.
Daryl frowns as he watches her. She's still breathin' funny, too shallow and too quick. She wheezes on the tail end of exhales.
Suddenly, Daryl remembers her wheezin' in his truck a few days ago, remembers the splotches of black and blue that spanned her ribs, remembers how far Audrey pushed herself today and how quickly she fell into such a deep damn sleep. He remembers all this… and so slips out of the RV without wakin' her, though he knows how pissed she'll be if she wakes up to find him gone. But the kid needs her goddamn rest, and Daryl knows if he brings her along, she'll only trip in the wan moonlight, darken more bruises on her skin, or fuck up that ankle of hers even worse.
Besides, maybe without anyone to slow him down, he'll actually be able to track the little girl.
Daryl barely gets two steps, however, without bein' stopped. He expects the old man's confused noise from atop the Winnebago, but he doesn't expect to hear the RV door open again at his back. Cursin', he turns around to tell the kid to get back inside and get some damn sleep, but he draws up short as Andrea softly shuts the door behind her.
"What are you doin'?" he asks. The words fall out of his mouth unbidden, and his voice sounds too loud in the dark.
"I'm going with you," the blonde says simply, stubbornly, and Daryl rubs the heel of his palm into his eye just to make sure it actually isn't Audrey standin' in front of him.
It isn't. Andrea remains standin' there, starin' at him expectantly.
"What's going on?" the old man calls down from atop the RV.
His voice is definitely too loud, and Daryl flinches, eyes dartin' up the freeway. Fuck. He just wanted to walk the road a bit, not call down another herd.
"I'm goin' for a walk," he tells Dale. Some very distant part of his brain is bitchin' up a storm about havin' to answer the old man's questions, but Daryl is too tired to listen to it. He just wants to get goin'. "Shine some light in the forest. If she's out there, it'll give her somethin' to look at."
Even in the dark, Daryl can see Dale's frown, eyebrows a giant, judgin' black V over his eyes.
"You sure that's a good idea right now?"
The blonde actually beats Daryl to the retort.
"Dale," she grinds outs, stone against stone, the letters chewed up and spat out. She shoots the old man an equally cuttin' look that, even in the dark, makes Dale lean back. Then, satisfied, Andrea turns and starts marchin' down the road like she knows where the fuck she's goin'.
Daryl watches her go for a moment and distinctly remembers not invitin' her. Fuck, he didn't even like her, and she sure as shit didn't like him. He considers walkin' in the opposite fuckin' direction, but with his luck, the blonde would just end up dead or missin', too.
Goddamn it. What the fuck was he gettin' into? He blames the kid for makin' him soft.
Rubbin' his brow, headache already growin', Daryl pauses for a moment and looks back up at the old man. The words climb up the column of his throat, rattle against the backs of his teeth. He doesn't want to ask, doesn't want to owe any favors, but…
"The kid's still asleep inside," Daryl mutters, voice low, back of his neck hot. He fidgets for a moment, boots scuffin' along gravel as he tries to figure out what to say next, but Dale cuts him off.
"I'll make sure she stays safe and sound asleep," he says quietly, and he has this weird sort of expression on his face.
For a second, it almost looks like a smile, but Daryl knows it must be the shiftin' shadows. In all the months Daryl's known him, all the months he's kept him fed and alive, the old bastard had never been pleased enough with Daryl to smile at him.
"And um… if you would… keep an eye out for…"
This time, Daryl cuts him off with a short nod. And, not wantin' to let Andrea get too far ahead of him and do somethin' stupid— like get herself killed, God he'd never hear the end of it— Daryl turns quickly and strides off down the road, the white circle of his flashlight bobbin' along the tree line.
#
"Could you slow down a bit?"
Daryl grits his teeth but slows down enough that Andrea can draw abreast of him. She's breathin' a little heavy and wipes at the sweat on her brow with the back of her wrist, makin' the beam of her flashlight bounce across the dark trees.
"Thanks," she gasps.
Daryl huffs and keeps on movin'.
They've been searchin' for about an hour now, maybe a little more, back and forth along the highway. There still has been no sign of the girl. Daryl feels like he's turned over every damn rock and twig in a two mile radius, but there's nothin'. No footprints. No snagged clothin' or hair on branches. No little voice callin' back to them from the dark. Maybe it's just cuz he's so damn tired, but as the night drags on, with the moon risin' higher above them, Daryl feels each step windin' somethin' tighter in his chest. He does his best to ignore it.
"Do you really think we're going to find Sophia?"
…his best does not account for the blonde at his side.
Wishin'— not for the first time— that he had left Andrea back on the highway, Daryl turns his flashlight on her and scowls. He's had it up to here with all this fuckin whinin', had it up to here with everyone's willingness to just give up.
"You got that look on yer face," he scoffs. "Same as everybody else. What the hell's wrong with you people? We just started lookin'."
"Well, do you?" Andrea demands and seems frustrated by his evasive answer.
Good. He's frustrated with her damn presence.
"It ain't the mountains of Tibet, it's Georgia," he drawls, lookin' away from her and scannin' the underbrush. Nothin' catches his eye, and maybe he's tryna convince himself a little too when he adds, "She could be holed up in a farmhouse somewhere. People get lost, they survive. Happens all the time."
"She's twelve," the blonde says, like he's missin somethin' obvious.
"Hell, I was younger than her, and I got lost." He bites the side of his tongue the moment the words are out of his mouth, blood bloomin' on his tastebuds. He didn't mean to say that, tell her that. The kid is turnin' him into a blabber mouth.
"What, you get lost in your daddy's cornfield?"
Her tone is mockin', as it almost always is when she addresses him, and Daryl grounds his teeth. He's gearin' up to say somethin mean, somethin hateful, but the kid's face flashes through his mind, and the barbed retort dies on his tongue.
"Yeah, somethin' like that," he mutters, lookin' away from the blonde and pickin' up his pace.
He coulda told her 'bout the real story, given her some encouragement, but that ain't his job. She ain't his friend, so she didn't deserve to know about his past. Especially if she was just gonna mock him for it.
Green eyes flash through his mind again, and a voice whispers, She won't mock you for it.
Daryl curses under his breath, tries to shake the thoughts out of his head, focusin' on the ground beneath his feet. He presses on into the woods, fast enough that the blonde is always a step behind him, but not fast enough that she falls behind. He can still hear her screams from earlier this afternoon, and he ain't lookin for an encore.
They continue in silence for another ten minutes, and Daryl's just about to turn them around when somethin' rustles in the brush. He automatically drops into a crouch and pivots toward the sound, the beam of his flashlight cuttin' through the blackness. Andrea clumsily follows suit behind him, crowdin' too close to his back. Her hand brushes his spine, and it immediately raises his hackles, distracts him, makes his skin crawl.
He leans forward and away, off-balance for just a moment, before he begins creepin' forward through the trees, crossbow locked and loaded. The flashlight bobs left to right, but nothin' catches his eye immediately, which just makes him more tense. The blonde steps on his heels a few times as she trails after him, and if he wasn't afraid that a walker was 'bout to leap outta the shadows, he would have snapped at her for it.
Finally, the trees thin ahead of them, and Daryl steps out into a small clearing, the moonlight a little brighter here. It glints off the dull yellow polyester of a tent, and a table… hell, it's a whole little campsite, complete with a firepit and everythin'. That doesn't bring any comfort, and Daryl's starts to worry 'bout gettin' a bullet in the ass instead of a bite when he notices that the campsite looks weathered. Disheveled.
Abandoned.
Course, then there's that rustlin' sound again, much louder, closer. Daryl jerks his crossbow in that direction, sees nothin' at first, until somethin' twitches a little higher up, snaggin' his attention.
"What the hell?" He creeps forward, starin' up at the walker in the tree.
It thrashes as it spots him, raises its arms, gnashes its teeth, makin' that godawful raspy groan. Daryl straightens up out of his crouch and feels some of the tension leave him. The stupid bastard was strung up like a pheasant left out to dry, not to mention the gnawed chicken bones of its legs. It wasn't a threat.
His eyes drift down from the trussed up walker, and they catch on somethin' else. Leanin' forward, he tilts up his flashlight, squintin' at the paper nailed into the tree trunk with a large knife.
"Got bit, fever hit, world gone to shit, might as well quit," he recites and then scoffs as his eyes flick back up to the pathetic bastard, the noose caught tight around its bloated neck. "Dumbass didn't know enough to shoot himself in the head. Turned himself into a big swingin' piece of bait. And a mess."
He wrinkles his nose at the walker's stripped legs, strings of flesh hangin' in tatters here and there. Then he hears a groan behind him. He tenses for half a millisecond before the sound registers as human, and he glances over his shoulder to see Andrea bent over with her hands on her knees.
"Ya alright?" he asks. Not cuz he cares but cuz he wants to rub a little salt in the wound after she mocked him earlier.
The blonde coughs, shakin' her head. "Trying not to puke."
He rolls his eyes. City folk. "Go ahead if you gotta." It's not like he's gonna have to clean it up.
"No, I'm fine," she argues, even though she's still bent over and pale-faced. "Let's just… talk about something else for the moment. How'd you learn to shoot?"
He debates not answerin' her but decides on somethin' short and vague instead, just to ward off any alternative questions.
"Gotta eat." He turns back to face the walker, watches it continue to squirm and thrash in its quest to get at him, devour him. "That's one thing these walkers and us have in common. I'm guessin' it's the closest this fucker's been to food since he turned." He snorts, lip curlin' in disgust. "Look at him, hangin' up there like a big piñata."
Andrea doesn't answer him, but he's not really talkin' to her anymore. He leans forward, gruesomely fascinated as he inspects the walker's gleamin' leg bones with his flashlight.
"The other geeks came and ate all the flesh off his legs," he observes absently. "Maybe even while he was still alive."
Abruptly, the blonde gags behind him, and a moment later he hears the wet splash of her vomit on the leaf littered forest floor. He turns to her, watchin' as she hacks and spits, and he can't help the smirk flickerin' across his lips.
"I thought we were changing the subject," she groans, her blue eyes snappin' up to glare at him as she wipes her hands on her pants.
Daryl shrugs, uncarin', and turns to walk away. "Let's head back. The old man probably already has his panties in a twist, and I don't need him climbin up my ass anymore."
He makes it two steps before the blonde's voice stops him.
"Aren't you gonna…"
Daryl glances over his shoulder, sees Andrea look from him back to the walker. There's a frown etched on her face, and she stares pointedly at his crossbow.
"Nah, he ain't hurtin' anybody," he grunts. "Ain't gonna waste an arrow, either."
Cuz he definitely ain't gonna climb a tree in the middle of the night to cut the fucker down.
Andrea doesn't like his response, and somethin' about the disapproval on her face makes a flare of irritation burn through him. It ignites in his guts and fires the next words off his tongue before he can think.
"He made his choice," Daryl all but sneers. "Opted out. Let him hang."
He's thinkin' 'bout the CDC, 'bout the kid tryna stay behind. He's also thinkin' 'bout the argument he overheard the blonde havin' with the old man— I didn't want your blood on my hands, and that's the only reason I left that building— and he can't deal with all the emotions writhin' through his chest, so he condenses them into anger.
But Andrea doesn't rise to his bait. She merely turns back to the walker, silent, and somethin' bout the hunch of her shoulders reminds him of the kid, makes him think of dull green eyes and flat voices. His next words just trip off his tongue, sharp and pointed.
"Ya want to live now or not?" He moves toward the blonde, but he knows it's not her answer he's wantin'.
Andrea turns back to him, and her features are carefully composed. He still sees the flash of muted anger in her eyes.
"Just a question," he mutters, cuz he doesn't actually want her to start yellin' at him in these dark ass woods. He's too tired for that shit and might just leave her ass. (Not really, but he tells himself that to feel better.)
The blonde glances back toward the walker, takes a deep breath, and turns to him again. "An answer for an arrow. Fair?"
Not really, Daryl thinks, but a dull throb has started up in the base of his skull, and his anger is drainin' away, leavin' him hollow and exhausted.
"Mmhmm," he grunts and hopes to get this shit movin' so they could return to the RV.
"I don't know if I want to live… or if I have to… or if it's just a habit." To his surprise, and massive discomfort, the blonde's calm façade cracks. Her voice trembles, tears fill her eyes, and for just a moment, they seem to glint green instead of blue in the moonlight.
He regrets askin'.
"That's not much of an answer," he says, only a little disdainfully, but he hefts the crossbow all the same, takes aim, fires.
His arrow lands true, as always, burrowin' between the walker's eyes, and the dead bastard falls blissfully silent. The body sways and twirls along the rope, it's momentum slowly fadin'.
"Waste of an arrow," Daryl scoffs and turns away.
He expects the blonde to follow him, hopefully silently, probably angrily. But she does neither. Instead, the hunter hears her walk away from him, her feet stompin' over dried leaves and dead branches, and he grits his teeth as he turns back around.
A flare of alarm jolts through him when he doesn't immediately see Andrea— why can't these fuckin' people stop wanderin' off?— but it fades when he spots the glint of her yellow hair behind the noose tree.
"What are ya doin'?" he asks, beyond exasperated. "Takin' a piss?"
The blonde doesn't answer him, at least not verbally. He hears the scrape of bark from behind the tree, followed by muttered curses, and then the sound of somethin' impactin' the trunk.
In the canopy, the walker's body shudders before the rope holdin' it up goes lax, and the corpse collapses to the ground with a fleshy thud.
Daryl raises an eyebrow and glances up from the walker as Andrea rounds the tree, wipin' one hand on her pants while the other shoves a machete back into the sheath at her thigh. She doesn't look at him as she strides up to the walker, and she only hesitates a little before she plants her shoe on the top of its head, wraps her hand around his arrow, and yanks it free from the rotten skull.
Only then do her blue eyes flick up and catch his, and she silently extends the arrow to him. Daryl purses his lips, but he ain't got a response, so he just goes to take it from her.
Before he can, Andrea suddenly retracts her hand, drawin' the arrow out of his reach, and Daryl scowls.
"Answer for an arrow," she says again, but their positions are reversed.
Daryl doesn't like it. He wants to argue that it's his goddamn arrow anyway, but he knows she's stubborn as a fuckin mule, and he's tired of arguin' in these dark damn woods.
So, he jerks his chin down once in response, expectin' the blonde to ask another stupid question 'bout Sophia or trackin' or which way is fuckin up.
Instead, Andrea's next words take him out at the knees.
"What's going on between you and Audrey?"
Every tendon, every fiber of muscle, in Daryl's body goes taut, his joints clickin' into place. The blood in his veins freezes like quick dry cement, and his skin suddenly feels too tight, too hot. He bites the inside of his cheek, tastin' metal.
"Don't know what the fuck yer talkin' bout," he spits, an angry denial, a reflexive response. He stomps forward to rip the arrow out of her hand, but Andrea doesn't let him, skippin' two steps away and tuckin' the arrow behind her back.
"Don't give me that bullshit, Dixon," she says, her tone sharp. "I might not be as observant as you—" She sneers his words from the old folk's home, her face twisted. "But I'm not fucking blind. Neither are the others, for that matter."
Daryl's whole body feels like it's 'bout to burst into flame as he thinks of the rest of the group whisperin' behind his back, watchin' him and the kid like vultures. He can only imagine what they've been sayin'. His initial thought is that he regrets ever lettin' Audrey into his space, under his skin, but he finds he can't fully manage it.
"You accusin' me of somethin'?" he demands, challenges, dares her to fuckin say it to his face. Stalkin' forward, he feels a tiny crumb of satisfaction when doubt and a hint of fear flash through the blonde's eyes.
To her credit, she doesn't retreat. In fact, she raises her chin as he comes to a stop merely a foot from her. She glares up into his face, and he reflects it right back at her, his hands curled tightly around his flashlight and the strap of his crossbow.
A silent, tense moment passes, neither of them relentin'. But then somethin shifts in Andrea's face, the anger fadin' into somethin else, somethin' Daryl can't place.
"No," she finally says. "I'm not accusing you of anything, Daryl. If you were your brother, I would be."
Daryl bares his teeth, an ingrained, instinctual reaction to defend Merle risin' up in his throat, but the blonde barrels on.
"But you're not Merle." Andrea's blue eyes rake over him head to toe, assessin', before they settle on his face.
"You don't know nothin' 'bout me or my brother." He still can't help but argue, even if he doesn't disagree with the blonde's words. Even if he doesn't want to disagree with them.
"I know what I've seen," Andrea says, her gaze still locked on his face, and Daryl fights the urge to squirm. "You weren't there to witness your dear old brother beating Audrey black and blue on that rooftop in Atlanta, but I was. The perverse glee on his face, that look in his eye… he was enjoying it. If she hadn't fought back, if Rick and Glenn hadn't stepped in… I truly believed he would have thrown her off the roof and laughed while doing it."
The already scant saliva in Daryl's mouth dries up, along with any retort he could have possibly spat out. He tries not to, but he can picture what the blonde is describin', the cracked and unhinged grin Merle always wore when he was havin' fun doin' somethin' particularly fucked up, like tryna put out cigarettes on stray cats. Daryl envisions his brother's hands diggin' into the kid's neck, leavin' behind those fuckin' bruises, laughin' that smoker's laugh and flashin' yellow-stained teeth.
Even though he already knew all this, had already heard the story, the images rock Daryl back on his heels, and the blonde presses her advantage while he's struck dumb.
"Now if I was Audrey…" Andrea places her free hand on her chest, raisin' her eyebrows. "After barely surviving that beatdown, I would have made it a priority to never find myself in the vicinity of someone named Dixon ever again. So, imagine my surprise when she actually ends up gluing herself to you instead. Hitching a ride with you out of the quarry, sticking to your side like Velcro when we went to the CDC. I'm thinking the poor girl has a brain injury, but she was always so quick to defend you. Vehemently at that. She kept emphasizing that you aren't your brother. I— and I'm sure many others in the group— didn't believe her."
If Daryl had any air left in his lungs, he might have scoffed. Course they didn't believe the kid. He isn't sure he does, either, his grandmother's words always whisperin' in the back of his head.
Yer a Dixon, boy. Got the same poison in ya.
"But…" the blonde continues, and god, why the fuck is she still talkin'? "For all my reservations— and I have several— there's one thing I do know."
She stares at him, one beat, two, and Daryl realizes she's waitin for him to respond, react. He doesn't want to give her the satisfaction, but his tongue feels strangely numb, and it moves of its own accord.
"And what's that?" He tries to say it gruffly, another challenge, a sneer. He fails cuz he can't feel the muscles in his face neither.
Andrea levels him with a steady look, a piercin' look, straight down to his goddamn soul.
"I know that someone doesn't run the risk of getting blown to Kingdom Come just to chase some jailbait tail," she says, and Daryl almost bites through his tongue again, hearin' Merle's leerin' 'bout the kid's ass and tits and if her mouth was good for anythin' else than bein smart.
Like you haven't been lookin' too, a voice jeers in his head, followed by all the little things Daryl has tried to ignore, suppress, deny.
A flash of Audrey lickin' squirrel grease off her fingers, the sliver of pale skin between the hem of her t-shirt and the tops of her shorts. The feel of her wrapped around him on the motorcycle, warm and thin and tremblin', her breath hot in his ear. What she felt like as she hugged him, her lips on his sternum, wet with blood.
The hunter feels sick, guilty. Bile churns hot in his gut, but the blonde doesn't even give him the chance to breathe.
"I heard parts of what you said to her, back at the CDC." Somethin' like pity rises in Andrea's blue eyes, and Daryl hates it, hates her for it. Hates himself for statin' his weakness so clearly. "And I've seen the way you've been watching over her the last couple days. I can tell you genuinely care about her, and the fact that you're here, looking for a little lost girl in the middle of the night, pretty much proves you actually have a heart under that asshole redneck exterior. But—"
"Enough." Daryl suddenly finds his voice, and it comes out rough, all gravel and thunder. He can't listen to this shit anymore. He feels like he's gonna come out of his skin. "If yer tellin' me to stay the fuck away from the kid, I got the fuckin' message, alright?"
He whirls around, ready to storm off into the woods and maybe actually leave the loud-mouthed blonde behind, but she cuts in front of him, barrin' his way and up in his face.
"If you would let me finish…" she says, and Daryl really doesn't want to, tries to move around her so she can't. But she suddenly shoves her hand into his chest, his own arrow pressed against his sternum. "I was going to say the exact opposite."
That actually draws him up short, makes him meet Andrea's eyes. There's no disgust in them, no accusation, no pity, and a blanket of confusion momentarily muffles his anger and shame.
"What?"
"Audrey needs someone to look after her," the blonde explains, and when she realizes he's not runnin' anymore, she takes a step back, gives him space to breathe, and Daryl fumbles to catch the arrow before it falls to the ground. "God knows she won't do it herself. She's self-sacrificing to the point of stupidity, honestly."
A snort is startled out of Daryl, and Andrea cracks half a smile. It fades quickly, though, and the blonde is serious again as she looks into his face.
"Audrey was Amy's friend, her l-last one, and they are— were — almost the same age. I-I feel a small sense of obligation toward Audrey, like I owe it to my sister to ensure she doesn't… meet the same fate." The confession is quiet, vulnerable, and Daryl shifts from foot to foot cuz he understands the feelin all too well, owing somethin' to a ghost. "But… I can recognize that, right now, I'm all but useless in this brave new, fucked up world. For all my bitching over it, I can barely even shoot my father's gun. There's nothing I can do to protect Audrey. But… you can. You have been. All I'm asking is that you continue to do so. And, as long as you don't do anything to purposefully hurt her—"
"I ain't never laid a hand on a woman," he snarls, involuntary. But the blur of his mother's face— her tangled blonde hair, her bruised body curled up on the floor, her teary, blackened eyes— is flashin' through his mind, and it feels like somethin' is sittin' on his chest. Then it's the kid in his mother's place, her too-green eyes starin' up at him pleadingly, and this time bile actually does race up his throat, scald his tongue. He swallows it down, but his next words shake more than he means them to. "I would never raise a hand 'gainst the kid neither."
Somethin hisses in the back of his mind, reminds him that he's already drawn Audrey's blood before, but Daryl violently stamps down the thought.
Andrea's eyes sweep over him again but quicker, no more than a flick before she's starin' him dead on. "I believe that."
For some reason, just that small admission has a knot unclenchin' in Daryl's chest. He tries to tell himself he doesn't care what anyone else thinks of him, screw all those fuckers' opinions, but he never wants to be associated with bastards like Ed Peletier. He never wants to become his father.
"But," Andrea adds, yanks him from his thoughts, and he fixes his gaze on her face. "I wasn't talking about you hurting Audrey physically."
She looks at him pointedly, and Daryl feels the tip of his ears burn cuz he ain't sure what she's implyin'. The blonde must realize, and her eyes roll as she places a hand on her hip.
"I'm saying, just don't break her heart if you can help it, Dixon," she spells it out, and the hunter chokes on spit. Andrea smirks fully at him before she adds, "As long as you can promise me that, then I'll have your back if anyone else in the group starts giving y'all shit or asking too many questions."
Daryl feels like he's swallowed his tongue, and it takes a moment for him to cough it back up. Eyes skippin' away from the blonde, he pretends to do a perimeter sweep, lookin' for danger, but really he ain't seein' jack shit. Even his damn eyeballs feel hot with embarrassment, and he turns away from Andrea, hopin' she can't see how red he is.
"It ain't like that," he finds himself sayin', overwhelmed by a desperate need to deflect, defend himself. "We're just… friends." Goddamnit, he feels so stupid sayin' the word aloud, like he's five years old. "Just felt I owed it to her. Some kindness, I mean. After Merle."
Fuck, he needs to stop talkin'.
"Uh-huh," he hears Andrea say over his shoulder. She doesn't sound all that convinced, but her footsteps hurry after him as Daryl stomps out of the clearing. She draws up on his right side, half a step back, and the hunter can see her wide smirk in his peripherals. "Well, my offer stills stands."
Daryl ignores her completely, tries to forget the last ten stupid fuckin' minutes, and presses deeper into the trees. He practically runs back the way they came, not even thinkin' of Sophia, which he'll feel guilty about later. Andrea remains silent but stays behind him, steps loud enough that he doesn't need to look back to check on her— thank fuckin' Christ— and they've nearly reached the highway again before he realizes he's still clutchin' his damn arrow in a white-knuckled fist. Bitin' off a curse, he stops abruptly, stoops down, and yanks the string back on his bow, slottin' the arrow with rough, choppy motions.
The blonde doesn't say anythin', and Daryl doesn't look at her as he stands up and stalks the last few yards through the trees, steppin' into the brighter moonlight and wadin' through the tall grass to the guard rail.
His eyes instinctively glance left and right before he steps over the rail onto the cracked asphalt, but nothin' moves in the dark. He looks up at the sky next, and by the paler gray tinge, he'd guess they're only a couple hours out from dawn. He's been gone longer than he thought.
"Never thought I'd be so grateful to see that damn RV." Andrea sighs as she steps up beside him, and Daryl jumps, her voice like a gunshot after so much silence. "Wow, we came out like two feet from where we stepped off the road. You really are good at this, Dixon."
The comment is off-handed, she ain't even lookin' at him as he says it. Her tone is genuine, though, not mockin', and it sets Daryl back on his heels for the tenth damn time tonight.
He grunts at her noncommittally, his bones still brittle and achy after their earlier conversation, and he starts walkin' back to the shadowed RV without another word. The blonde follows behind him, yawnin', and Daryl's thinkin' he's just exhausted enough to pass out until daybreak.
Of course, that's when a flashlight atop the RV flicks on, slicin' across the darkness and blindin' him as it lands on his face.
"Cut that damn light out," he hisses, duckin' his head.
"No." The light doesn't waver. "That's what you get for running off in the middle of the night."
Daryl tenses as he recognizes the last voice he wants to hear right now, and he draws to a stop a car length away from the RV. He raises a hand to try and block out the spotlight, but his stingin' eyes can't see nothin' beyond the white-hot glare.
"You should be sleepin', kid," he grouses into the light.
"So should you," she volleys back with ease, but the light finally cuts out, and Daryl's left blinkin' colored spots out of his eyes.
When his vision somewhat returns, he finds the old man by the RV door, starin' at him contritely, and Daryl scowls at him.
"So much for makin sure she stays asleep," he scoffs.
The kid lets out an indignant noise above him before the flashlight starts blindin' him again.
"Quit it," the hunter snaps as he lifts a hand again, and he hears the old man chuckle.
"Sorry, Daryl," the old bastard says. "Could only manage half my side of the deal. But it seems you kept up all of your end, and for that I thank you."
The flashlight turns off again, and Daryl squints open his eyes, seein the old man smilin' at the blonde that steps up beside him. He glances at Andrea, and she ain't exactly smilin', but she ain't glarin' at the old man like she was earlier.
Daryl curses himself for noticin' and wonders how he got roped into this city folk soap opera.
He considers steppin' past them both, slippin' through the ajar RV door to catch some shut eye. But, when he listens, he can still hear the little girl's mama cryin' in the back, and his eyes shoot to Dale, wonderin' how she hasn't lost momentum yet.
The old man winces as he turns away from Andrea momentarily. "Carol was waiting with us on top of the RV. When she saw you guys coming back alone…"
He trails off, and he doesn't sound accusatory, but Daryl feels guilty anyway.
For better or worse, he's distracted from the feelin' when he hears the kid move atop the motorhome, followed by a hiss of pain.
"Hey!" He snaps his head up, glarin' at the kid even though there are still rainbow spots dancin' in the corner of his eyes. "If ya fall off and break yer neck, I swear to Christ…"
"I'm not!" she protests, but she sounds petulant, unconvincin', and Daryl can see the grimace on her face from where he's standin'.
"Just… stay there," he grunts. "I'll come help ya down."
Audrey grumbles somethin' he can't hear, but she sinks back down onto the RV until the hunter can only see the top of her head. Satisfied that she's not gonna kill herself in the next thirty seconds, he makes a quarter turn and strides for his bike. It only takes him a few moments to dig out the bag he needs, even in the weak moonlight, and then he pivots and makes his way back to the RV.
Dale and Andrea are still hoverin' near the door, lookin' like they're gonna talk, but the blonde turns her head and smirks at Daryl as he passes them, her eyes jumpin' to the top of the RV. His skin prickles with heat again, with ants. He ignores it and her as he makes his way round the RV, climbin' up the ladder with the plastic bag clamped between his teeth and the crossbow swayin' against his spine.
As he gets his boots on the roof, he hears the quiet murmur of Dale and Andrea talkin', but he tunes it out as his eyes fall on the kid. She's sittin' on a spread out blanket, sprawled beside the old lawn chair they'd been usin' as a watch post, her backpack bein' used as a pillow at the small of her back. Her legs are stretched out in front of her, soles danglin' near the edge of the roof, and Daryl notes the way the moonlight glints off the pale skin of her shins, the bruises and scrapes marrin' her skin only smudges in the dark. His eyes trail up to her knees before that guilty feelin' seizes his throat again, and his gaze jumps, skittish, to her face.
She ain't lookin' at him, her face obstinately facin' forward, off the side of the RV, and it looks like…
"Are you poutin'?" he snorts as he takes the plastic bag out of his mouth.
"No," the kid mutters, but her bottom lip is stickin' out almost an inch from her face.
"Better tuck that lip away before someone snatches it." He bends down to mime doin' just that but stops his fingers just shy of her mouth, catchin' himself. His hands are filthy, and besides, he shouldn't be… doin' whatever the fuck he was doin'.
Audrey doesn't seem to notice his internal struggle. She just sucks her lower lip into her mouth with an obnoxious slurp, but she winces. and it pops back out, the skin slick and swollen and pink.
Christ, he needs to stop lookin' at her face.
Tearin' his eyes away, he focuses on the lawn chair just past the kid.
"Watch out," he grunts, carefully pickin' his way over her legs. She doesn't stop him, and he collapses on the metal chair with a sigh. A rattle draws his attention downward, and he spots both of Audrey's swords tucked under the chair.
How long had she been up here, waitin' for him?
Daryl looks back over at her in time to catch her green eyes dartin' away, but he keeps starin' down at her until she starts squirmin' and finally meets his gaze.
"I woke up, and there was no one in the RV," Audrey says without preamble. "Then I stumble outside only for Dale and Carol to say you disappeared into the woods with Andrea hours ago. After you had already told me that tracking in the dark is no good."
Her voice has a hint of that petulant quality again, a little accusation, but there's more. Daryl sees a flash of hurt lurkin' behind her emerald irises, and somethin' else. Somethin' sharper.
"Jealous, kid?" It comes out as a joke, but there's a sincere question underneath, threaded through with disbelief.
Audrey's lips press into a thin line, and she turns away from him again. Daryl can't tell if it's cuz she didn't find his joke funny, or if it was an admission of guilt. The clouds shift and part overhead, and as the moonlight strengthens, he sees a red flush on the kid's cheeks.
That damn preenin' sensation spreads through his chest again, and the hunter fights a losin' battle tryna wrestle it down.
"Well, it wouldn't be the first time people in our group have snuck off for a little… stress relief," Audrey mutters, still not lookin' at him, which is good cuz Daryl knows his face twists into somethin' stupid. "But I really don't think the pitch dark woods is an ideal place for—"
"I didn't fuck her," he blurts out, his tone disgusted, the very idea makin' his skill crawl. "I couldn't sleep and just wanted to look for the girl a little more. Trackin' in the dark ain't very good, which is why I'm fuckin' exhausted with nothin' to goddamn show for it. And Andrea invited herself along, I was just too damn tired to argue. Should of, though. Damn near talked my ear off."
With things I didn't ask or want to hear, he adds in his head.
Those too-green eyes flick back to him, scan him from head to toe, but where Andrea's look had been piercin', Audrey's feels like it's flayin' back his skin, one layer at a time.
It's quiet for a long moment, the two of them starin' at each other, and Daryl realizes the highway is completely silent around them. The old man and the blonde must have gone back inside the RV.
Audrey is still starin' at him, pickin' him apart, and the hunter fidgets in the lawn chair. It groans under him in mute protest, and his boots knock into her swords again. Without a word, the kid leans over and draws them out, her face mere inches from Daryl's knee, and the sudden proximity makes him tense again, makes him speak without thinkin'.
"If I'd had my pick, I would have wanted you out there with me instead."
The kid looks up at him, eyes wide, face pale and bruised and trustin'. His hand itches with the urge to touch her, cup her cheek, and Andrea's words come back to him, unbidden and unwelcome.
Don't go breaking her heart, Dixon.
Fuck, he's goin' straight to hell.
Another bout of silence washes over them, this one more than a little awkward, but Audrey never looks away from him, and try as he might, he can't break her gaze either, even with his heart tryin' to climb up his throat.
"Wow," the kid finally murmurs, her voice quiet and hushed. "I thought you were going to follow that up with something gruff and grunty, like, 'Cuz yer the only damn idiot who can kind of handle a weapon.'"
She twists her face into a severe scowl, and the impression of him is awful, cartoonish. He doesn't know if he's more embarrassed by his words or hers.
"Is that's s'pposed to be me?" he scoffs, rollin his eyes and hopin to move the conversation past his too vulnerable admission. "Keep yer day job, kid."
For the first time tonight, a smile actually floats across Audrey's face, and the sight makes somethin' in his chest go hot and squirmy.
"Shaddup, Dixon," she laughs and pushes his leg, but the motion seems to jar somethin' painful cuz she inhales a little too sharply, and her face ripples like she's fightin' back a grimace.
That reminds him of the plastic bag sittin' in his lap, he brought it up here for a damn reason, and he has to squint a little bit as he begins to dig through it, searchin' for two different pill bottles.
"Here." He cracks open one bottle, then the other, and shakes out a single pill from each container into his palm. "China— Glenn took the ones I gave you the other night, so these are a bit stronger. Pain pill should help ya sleep, and with all yer cuts and scrapes, 'nother antibiotic can't hurt."
Daryl looks down and to his right, finds Audrey frownin', and he can just see the argument buildin on the tip of her tongue.
"Don't even fuckin start," he growls. "Ya need to be on yer A-game tomorrow when we go meet up with these goddamn strangers."
"Being high kind of defeats that purpose," the kid points out, always a fuckin' smart ass.
"Ya ain't gonna trip on this one pill." Daryl rolls his eyes and holds his hand out to her. "Most effects will wear off by the time ya wake up. But at least you'll get some sleep and won't be so dead on yer feet."
Audrey narrows those sharp, bottle-glass eyes on him, but the hunter can see the bags and shadows beneath them. She needs sleep. He knows it, and she does, too.
"Fine," she sighs as she reaches up toward his hand. She half turns and goes to pick the pills out of his open palm, but her fingers shake as they brush against him, and the pills slide out of her loose grip. "Shit!"
The kid scrambles for the medicine as it hits the RV roof with twin, dull pings, and she nearly succeeds in knocking them off entirely.
"Stop." Daryl puts a hand on the curve of her shoulder, his touch feather-light, but the kid still under his palm regardless. The profile of her face looks flushed, embarrassed, but the hunter ignores it as he slowly bends down to pick up the pills near his boots.
"Sorry," Audrey mutters as he sits back, and she lets out a sigh, rubbin' the unblemished side of her face. "Pain and lack of sleep do not make for steady hands."
She holds both of them up to prove her point, her right wrist wrapped and splinted, her left relatively whole but tremblin', twitchin', and the kid curls her fingers into a fist and drops it into her lap.
Daryl stares at her seated form, the pain hoverin' just beneath the sharp planes of her face, the emerald sheen of her eyes, and not for the first time tonight, he speaks without thinkin', moves without a conscious plan.
"Tilt yer head back," he says, and the kid does just that, her neck turned at a slightly sharp angle as she frowns up at him.
"Huh? What for?"
"Open yer mouth," he grunts and ignores her question, his whole face goin' hot and tight.
Audrey's eyes widen a fraction, but she surprisingly doesn't argue. She just obediently drops her lower jaw, and Daryl can see the slick glint of her tongue behind her parted white teeth.
"Wider." His voice is nothin' but a rough whisper now, shame and discomfort and a million other emotions makin' his throat too tight. He feels like he can't breathe.
The kid obeys again, her mouth partin' even wider, and Daryl darts his hand forward, careful not to brush her lips as he drops the pills on her waitin' tongue. She lets them sit there for a moment, her eyes never leavin' his face, and the world feels like it's stopped around them.
Then Audrey closes her mouth and swallows, and Daryl can't help but track the way her neck bobs as the pills slide down her throat, dry.
"Was gonna grab ya some water," he mutters through numb lips, and his voice seems to break the spell holdin' time in place.
The kid blinks, licks her lips, and finally she's sittin' back, puttin' a few inches of space between them, lettin' Daryl breathe for the first time in minutes.
"It's fine, didn't need it," she says, shiftin' so she faces forward again. She stares out over the side of the RV, but her head is still close enough that her hair brushes the outside of his arm.
Daryl curls his hands into fists and stuffs them between his thighs, the bag of pills crinklin' in his lap. He's tryin' not to think about the feelin' of Audrey's warm breath on his fingertips. He isn't succeedin', and he feels vaguely nauseous again.
Fuck. Why did the blonde have to say anythin'? Why did she have to draw his attention to all the thoughts he's been suppressin' deep down?
Why was he so sick in the damn head, a Dixon through and through?
The hunter lapses into a tense, guilty silence as he stares out into the dark woods. The highway is silent save for the rare breeze through the dry grass, the sporadic chirpin' of crickets. Daryl finds himself half wishin' the kid would leave, go back down into the RV, but he was the one that yelled at her for tryin' earlier. He said he was gonna help her down, but now he can't even look at her.
Her presence is a constant in his peripherals, though, and as the minutes tick by, he can see her profile relax a little as the pain pill starts to kick in.
"You know," her voice finally breaks the silence, and Daryl stiffens like he's bracin' for a blow. But her voice is soft and silently slurred, and he can't tell if that's from fatigue or the drugs. "In the month it took me to travel from Dalton to the quarry, I spent most nights sleeping in trees."
His eyes click down and settle on her for the first time in what feels like an eternity. She's still starin' out into the trees, but her face ain't so pinched anymore. The comment is kinda outta left field, but Daryl doesn't think she's losin' it again.
"Ya slept in trees?" he echoes, wonderin' what she's gettin' at.
"Mm." The kid bobs her head in a slow, sluggish nod. "Only thought of it after the first couple sleepless nights. Being on the ground made me feel too vulnerable, too exposed. Every little noise had me drawing my sword. In a last ditch effort, when I knew I was gonna pass out one way or another, I spent an afternoon scouting out the perfect tree. Then I scaled as high as I could go, used some rope to tie my body to the trunk, and hoped for the best. It worked, for the most part. Though I did fall out one night and fuck up my ankle."
She laughs, a soft, breathy huff, and she lifts her currently injured ankle, cocks her head with a slow smile. "After the repeated injuries, I think it's time to admit my NFL career is over."
Daryl snorts, caught off guard by the joke, and the kid turns her crooked smile on him. His own lips can't help but twitch in response, and Audrey's smile widens a fraction before it slowly dims.
"I was just thinking," she murmurs, turnin' back to the forest. "I hope Sophia had the same idea. About the trees, I mean."
Her voice has that fragile quality again, like glass that just needs a soft tap to shatter, and Daryl shifts, uncomfortable. The kid always elicits such a convoluted mess of emotions in him, and he never knows what to say, what to do. He suddenly recalls Andrea's earlier question— Do you really think we'll find Sophia? He'd answered her without thinkin', given her a sliver of his past but no more cuz she didn't deserve it.
But here, now, he thinks the kid deserves it. He thinks she would appreciate it, and that squirmin', preenin' thing in his chest distracts him enough from his discomfort to speak.
"I got lost when I was younger than Sophia, and I ended up fine."
Audrey's eyes find his again, and as the clouds drift away from the moon, he can see her pupils are a little dilated but focused on his face.
"Really?" she asks, tentative, like she's afraid of pushin' too much.
Daryl remembers her askin' 'bout his ma back at the CDC, remembers how he yelled at her in response. Just another thing for him to feel guilty over.
"Mmhmm." He nods and tries to lighten the heavy, cracklin' atmosphere with a joke, even if it is the truth. "Nine days in the woods eatin' berries, wipin' my ass with poison oak."
"Nine days? Jesus Christ. It took people that long to find you?" Audrey blinks, and her mouth falls open a little, but the hunter forces himself to maintain eye contact.
"Found me?" he scoffs, and the words just start tumblin' past his lips. "No one found me. My old man was off on a bender with some waitress. Merle was doin another stint in juvie. No one even knew I was gone. Made my way back, though. Went straight into the kitchen and made myself a sandwich. No worse for wear. Except my ass itched somethin awful."
His last line startles the creepin' pity right off the kid's face, out of her eyes. She snorts, then starts to giggle in earnest, and even though Daryl's skin feels a little tight after revealin' somethin so personal 'bout himself, he huffs out his own laugh.
"Sorry." Audrey tries to stifle another giggle, fails. "I-I don't mean to laugh at your itchy a-ass, I just…"
She devolves into snickers again, and Daryl knows he's smilin' like an idiot but can't seem to stop himself.
"Laugh it up, kid," he says. "I could barely sit down for two weeks. Had to hover over the toilet to take a shit."
That sets the kid off even more, and she lists into his knee, holdin' her side as she hiccups for breath in between bouts of laughter. The hunter recognizes she's probably a little stoned, and that's why she finds him so funny, but that knowledge doesn't do anythin' to dampen the warmth spreadin' through his body.
"Okay, stop, stop," the kid gasps like he's forcin' her to laugh, and she presses her temple into the side of his knee. "I-I'm gonna pop a scab or something."
It takes her a few moments to catch her breath. Her head remains on his knee the entire time, and Daryl bites at the cuticles on his right hand so he doesn't so somethin' stupid like stroke her hair.
"Just sayin," he mutters as he spits out a strip of skin. "The only difference between me and the girl is Sophia's got people lookin' for her. I call that an advantage."
Audrey isn't laughin' anymore when she lifts her head and looks at him, but there's a small smile on her face instead of a frown.
"You're right," she says, and her eyes are a little glassy and unfocused, but the gratitude is clear in them all the same. "Thanks, Daryl."
He grunts wordlessly, not knowin' what else to say, but the kid doesn't seem to mind. She just turns forward again, but instead of movin' away, she resumes restin' her head on the side of his knee.
Daryl doesn't have the heart or strength to tell her to move, push her away, even if every nerve is his body feels strung tight.
They sit there in silence again, time drippin' by slowly, but it's comfortable. Without his permission, Daryl feels his body start to relax muscle by muscle, slouchin' in the lawn chair, and he's minutes away from dozin' off when Audrey gasps.
His eyes immediately snap open, snap down to the kid, but she's not starin' at some walker on the ground that had snuck up on them. Instead, her head's tilted back, to the sky, and Daryl follows her line of sight. Most of the clouds had faded away or moved on, so the inky-blue backdrop above them is clear. The moon has started to sink toward the far horizon, and the stars look down at them coldly, twinklin' and distant. The hunter is just about to ask what the hell the kid was gaspin' at when a streak of light arcs across the sky. Followed by another, then another and another, until it seems like half the sky is full of them.
"It's a meteor shower," Audrey murmurs, her tone full of awe but undercut by somethin' almost sad.
Daryl looks down at her again, and her smile echoes her voice. He thinks there's a glimmer of tears in her left eye, the only one he can really see from this angle, but the kid doesn't let them fall, just stares up at the fallin' stars with that funny little smile.
"Make a wish," she says out of the blue.
"What?" He can't have heard her right.
"When you see a falling star, you're supposed to make a wish," she explains, her smile wry, like she knows it's stupid. But she still clenches her eyes closed, scrunches her nose even though Daryl knows it must be sore. "Come on, hurry! Close your eyes and make a wish, the shower's about to end. But keep it to yourself, or it won't come true."
Daryl scoffs, glances from the kid to the sky again. The streaks are less numerous now, slowin' down, and the hunter doesn't know what possesses him— maybe it's the kid's ridiculous scrunched up face or her head restin' on his knee again but a little further up, toward his thigh— but his eyes drift closed. A half formed thought of finding his brother starts to form in the back of his mind, but then two different wishes dart through his thoughts, quick and bright, like the stars fallin' through the sky.
He wants to find that little girl and…
He wants to keep the kid beside him safe, no matter the cost.
Daryl doesn't know if he's allowed to ask for two wishes, but there were more than two fallin' stars, so he hopes it's kosher.
He also hopes he hasn't jinxed himself.
"Hey, you did it." Daryl opens his eyes to find Audrey smilin' up at him, her face soft and lax. "You made a wish."
The hunter feels his cheeks go red, the heat travelin' down his neck and up to his ears. He hopes the kid can't see it but knows the moon is bright enough for him to count the freckles hidin' beneath the bruises on her face.
"I was fallin' asleep," he grumbles, slouchin' further in the chair and crossin' his arms over his chest.
"Sure," Audrey says, but she's still smilin' as those piercin' green eyes flick back up toward the sky. "You know… I saw a shower like this about a year ago. They apparently happen more often than people think, everyone's just sleeping through them."
"Oh, yeah?" Daryl asks even though he's seen them himself a few times, usually when he was out huntin' in the middle of the woods with no one and nothin' around for miles.
"Yeah… or at least, that's what I was told." Her smile goes a little funny again. "Second hand information, but I trust the source."
"Who was it? Yer source." The question is asked before he can think better of it, and he wonders if he pushed too far, too personal. The kid hadn't revealed much about how she ended up walkin' alone through Georgia, but from the few details she has shared, Daryl can guess what happened, can guess that the kid's seen her fair share of blood even before the quarry.
But Audrey doesn't withdraw, doesn't cry. Her smile even grows a little, thought it remains mostly sad.
"Her name was Anne Marie. She was one of my best friends. She was a little timid, but she was so smart. She excelled in all the math and sciences classes, but astronomy was more like a hobby for her. For weeks, she talked about this bigger-than-usual meteor shower that was coming up, and even though Dalton wasn't as big as Atlanta, there was enough light pollution to be a problem. Soooo… we snuck out. Me, Anne Marie. Our other two friends, Kaleigh and Mathias. Told our parents we were sleeping at each other's houses and drove Kaleigh's car out into some middle-of-nowhere field. Even though Kaleigh only had her permit and wasn't supposed to be driving at night."
"What?" Daryl laughs, tryna picture it, but he can't. "Yer tellin' me that Saint Audrey snuck out of the house and went on a joyride?"
He thinks he feels her shudder when he says her name, or maybe that's him, but then she just starts laughin', too. It's quieter than before, more subdued, but still… nice.
"I don't know what saint you're talking about there, Dixon." She cuts him a smile that's more mischievous than sad, her eyes teasin' under the glassy sheen, and Daryl feels another hot flash behind his breastbone. "I'll have you know, I have quite the rap sheet."
"Yeah, right," he snorts. He doesn't believe that for a second. "For what? Feedin' the homeless? Jaywalkin'?"
Somethin' flashes through the kid's eyes, somethin' like amusement, like she's aware of a joke he doesn't get.
"Don't judge a book by its cover, Daryl," she says vaguely, probably tryin' to be mysterious or some shit, but the hunter is distracted by the way his name sounds fallin' from her mouth.
"Tch, next yer gonna tell me ya got matchin' gang tats with yer delinquent friends." Without thinkin', he extends his hand and flips her hair behind her left ear, exposin' her neck, like he would find a gang sign inked into her skin there.
Of course, there's nothin' there besides the bruises his brother left behind, and Daryl feels another small stab of guilt. He drops his hand back into his lap, rubbin' his fingertips into the rough material of his jeans to try and erase the sensation of her silky hair against his skin.
Audrey doesn't seem to notice, just hums and cocks her head thoughtfully, her temple against his knee again.
"Actually, Mathias did try to make us get matching ass tattoos for graduation. But he was vetoed."
What… the fuck?
Daryl chokes on his tongue, usin' every ounce of energy to not think of the kid's ass, spread out on a tattoo chair. He swears he's gonna pop a blood vessel tonight with how much blood keeps rushin' to his head and face. He coughs to try and cover his reaction, but Audrey laughs at him quietly, her head shakin' against his leg as she tries to stifle it.
Silence settles as he gets his breath back, and just when Daryl thinks the kid is done tryin' to kill him, she speaks up again.
"Do you want to see them?"
Jesus fuckin' Christ. Daryl's gonna get a nosebleed at this point, and when a walker smells it and comes to find him, he'll happily throw himself into its jaws just to escape the embarrassment.
Audrey must realize he's about to have a goddamn aneurysm, and she snorts out another laugh as she fumbles to correct herself.
"I-I meant do you want to see my delinquent friends. Not the ass tattoos. Which I don't have, just to clarify."
Daryl can't get his tongue to work, so he just lets out a grunt, which the kid seems to take as an affirmative. He doesn't even know what she's talkin' 'bout, but he'll take anythin' to change the topic.
Audrey smiles a little and sits up further, finally pullin' away from his leg. It immediately feels cold, almost achin', but the hunter ignores it and watches as the kid slowly and painstakingly pulls her backpack from behind her and sets it between her thighs. She flips open the flap and starts diggin', takin' stuff out here and there and settin' it beside her on the blanket. Daryl spots a pair of clothes, shorts, t-shirt, underwe— he forces his eyes to the next item, which is a book. Then a folder is set on top of it, and Daryl frowns, wonderin' why the kid is carryin' around documents in an apocalypse, like she has homework to turn in.
He's distracted, though, when the kid makes a vaguely triumphant sound and pulls somethin' into her lap. Daryl leans forward to peek over her shoulder, sees she's flippin' through that familiar leather journal. Except she doesn't pause on any of the pages, covered in the scrawl of her handwritin'. She flips all the way to the back, and a small stack of photos slide into her hand. The hunter recognizes them from the night she came to his room at the CDC, drunk and cryin' 'bout her mama, and he spots the exact picture the kid showed him, a freeze frame of a pretty woman with red hair.
Audrey just skips past that picture, this time, and two more, until she finally stops on another one. Her smile is funny again, ripplin', as she hands him the glossy photo.
"Here's our group mug shot," she says, tryin' for a joke, but her tone is so fragile that Daryl is compelled to take the picture from her, his fingers gentle and cautious.
As he pulls it closer to him, Daryl looks down and finds a still frame of four teenagers. They seem to be in someone's bedroom, all of them sprawled haphazardly across the unmade sheets, like they'd been racin' a timer. A boy with brown skin and black curly hair lays in the foreground, half on his side, with his mouth frozen mid shout or mid laugh. Two girls kneel behind him, caught in the motion of fallin' over, the one on the left tall and blonde, the one on the right petite with mousy brown hair and glasses.
And there, with just her head pokin' out above the other two girls, is Audrey. Her hair is much longer, thrown up in a messy bun with strands framin' her healthy, unbruised, unblemished face. Her smile is wide and bright, and her eyes are happy and blindin' green.
"The one with the glasses in Anne Marie," the kid says, her voice suddenly a whisper as she leans over and points to the girl on the right. "She's the one who told me about the meteor showers. And that's Mathias." Her finger moves down to the boy. "He wasn't all that great at the academics part of school, but he was in almost every extracurricular club. Track was his most recent interest. He's even wearing the shirt here, which I think I might still have somewhere. He was always forgetting shit at my house."
Daryl's eyes go to the boy's chest, and he suddenly recognizes the gray tank top. In the back of his mind, he sees a flash of the kid at the CDC, drownin' in a shirt several sizes too big, the name Linardos stamped across her shoulders.
The hunter feels ants under his skin again, remembers wonderin' if the shirt had belonged to her boyfriend, but the kid's dry laugh pulls him out of his spiral.
"He wasn't actually any good at track, mind you," she chuckles. "He just liked ogling the other guys in their short-shorts. Which was probably why he usually came in last at the meets."
Abruptly, the feelin' that Daryl now recognizes as jealousy evaporates from his blood. His eyes focus on the boy in the photo again, and he notices there's… glitter sparklin' on his tanned skin, a sticky sheen to his lips in the form of some other kind of makeup. Merle would have made a derogatory comment, but Daryl finds he doesn't care who this boy used to ogle at, as long as it wasn't Audrey.
The damned voice in the back of his head whispers that Daryl is no better, but he ignores it as the kid keeps talkin'.
"And then that's… Kaleigh." She leans forward again to point out the blonde, but her finger shakes as it hovers over her friend's face. "She could have been the most popular girl in school. She was tall, blonde, beautiful. Well-rounded in all her classes. Extroverted and friendly to everyone, unless you pissed her off. Then she could cut you down in ten words or less and do it with a picture-perfect smile. When I first met her, she intimidated the hell out of me. But, for some reason, she chose to hang out with us nerds, weirdos, and outcasts. She… was actually the first friend I ever made."
The kid's smile is brittle, tremblin' along the edges like the ground about to give way durin' an earthquake. Daryl thinks she's about to start cryin', and he knows that'll just be the straw that broke the camel's back for him, so he says the first thing that comes to mind.
"Yer my first friend."
He hates the words the moment he says them, wishes he could swallow them back down. But he can't, they're echoin' through the air now, mockin' him, and he has to face the admission like a man. He instinctively waits for the kid to laugh at him, but she never does, and when he gathers the courage to look in her eyes, her smile is stronger, steadier, wider.
"I'm honored, Dixon." There's a light, teasin' note in her voice, but somehow Daryl knows she ain't laughin' at him.
"Should be," he scoffs, forces false confidence into is tone, even when he means the exact opposite. "Blondie ain't got nothin' on me in a popularity contest." He gestures to the blonde girl in the photo before he drops it into the kid's lap.
Audrey giggles again but doesn't say anythin else, and she quietly starts to gather her photos and things. She tucks the pictures back into her journal, wraps the journal and the other book in her extra shirt, and stuffs the whole bundle back into her pack. She reaches for the folder next but struggles to wedge it back into place, and she bites off a yawn with a curse.
"Come on, damnit," she mutters before she gives up and starts pullin' out her clothes again.
"What are ya even carryin' in that folder?" Daryl can't help but ask, curiosity gettin' the best of him. "I think the universe has given ya an extension on yer homework."
"Huh? Oh." The kid blinks down at the folder she's set atop her thigh. "It's not homework, it's—" She cuts herself off, bitin' her lip, and her face flushes with what looks like embarrassment.
"What, ya got some nudie mag clippings in there?"
"N-No!" Audrey sputters, her cheeks an even deeper red now. "It's just… paperwork."
"What kinda paperwork?" Daryl asks with a raised eyebrow.
"Nothing, it's— it seems stupid now," the kid mumbles as she ducks her head, but she opens the folder anyway, flicks through a stack of papers with official state seals in the corners. "When we thought we could still make it to the refugee center in Atlanta, my mom said we needed to keep important documents with us, in case we got separated, or if soldiers needed to ID us. Stuff like birth certificates and medical forms and other bureaucratic bullshit. I know now that I don't actually need any of this crap, but… I dunno, feels weird to just leave it behind."
She ends with a shrug, her fingers trailin' over the top page in the folder. She doesn't actually seem to be readin' it, but then her hand stills. Daryl can see the edge of a frown on her face as she bends over, looks closer, then picks up the folder to bring it up to her face.
"Wait, that's not…" she trails off, her eyebrows furrowed into a deep V.
"What's wrong?" Daryl asks when he sees her eyes widen, when she takes a sharp breath and seems to hold it. His eyes dart around the RV on instinct, but the early mornin' is still silent and clear around them.
When he focuses on the kid again, she starts to shake her head, slowly at first, then more vigorously as she lets out an explosive exhale.
"My… birthday is wrong," she says in a weird, flat tone. "The year is different."
"Ya don't know yer own birthday, kid?" he scoffs, confused, cuz even if Daryl's family never celebrated his own birthday, he at least knew when he came into this world.
"I do!" Audrey defends herself, a little more color in her voice, but she still sounds unsure. She starts flickin' through the rest of the papers again, her fingers urgent and quick. "At least I thought— I just haven't had to look through this shit in so long. I hadn't even gotten my license yet, and my mom helped fill out my college applications, and— oh."
She goes quiet again, pauses on a particular page with a sticky note stuck in the corner, covered in loopy handwriting. Daryl is still frownin' in confusion when she continues.
"My mom left me a note. Said she meant to tell me but would explain more later. I-It seems I repeated kindergarten."
"It seems?" Daryl echoes. "What, you don't remember?"
"Not really," she says, starin' blankly at whatever document she'd been readin. "My parents died a few months after I started, and then I had a few emergency placements before the court decided on a more permanent foster family, so the following year is just kind of one big blur. My mom must have realized early on that I didn't know and wanted to save me the embarrassment of being held back."
The kid speaks plainly, simply, with no emotion, and it's not until Daryl goes stock still beside her that she looks up at him. She frowns at whatever she sees on his face, but then her eyes widen a fraction, like she just realized she'd contradicted the story she gave everyone the first day at camp. The story of a spoiled rich girl whose parents bought her sword lessons and fuckin ponies and shit.
"Oh. Right." She swallows, licks her chapped lips. "So, I, uh, might have fudged my history before."
"Just a little," he huffs, and his perspective of the kid shifts as he looks at her. Her resiliency— the way she can't, won't take shit sittin' down— makes more sense now, if she grew up in the system.
Audrey shrugs but seems grateful for Daryl's lack of judgement. "I never liked being the poor orphan girl. Hated the pity people treated me with after they learned the truth. When the world ended, I decided people didn't need to know that part of past anymore. My little sob story isn't really relevant when we're all just trying to survive."
"So why ya tellin' me?" he asks, a genuine question instead of a dismissal.
"I dunno." The kid's thin shoulders move up and down in another shrug. "Maybe you're just easy to talk to, Dixon. Besides, secrets are meant to be shared between friends."
She flashes him a quick, lopsided smile, and Daryl takes it like an arrow to the heart. The kid doesn't notice, startin' to shuffle her papers back into order and closin' the folder.
"Still feels weird, though," she says as she begins to put things back in her pack again. "I'll be turning nineteen instead of eighteen in a week and a half— or whatever it is, I can't even remember the days anymore. And I know time doesn't really matter at this point, it's not like I can drive to the gas station to buy scratch offs and cigarettes but… I don't know, it's just weird."
Audrey is so focused on packin' that she doesn't realize Daryl has stopped breathin'. Her words are echoin' through his brain— nineteen instead of eighteen, she's already eighteen— and in their wake rises a tidal wave of relief, then shame, then guilt. Here the kid is, barin' her soul and past and shit, trustin' him with pieces of herself she's entrusted to no one else in the group, and Daryl's wonderin' if a clerical error is gonna save him from the inferno.
Not really, he knows he's already got enough sins to his name without her help, but this sin in particular had been tearin' him up all night, ever since the blonde pointed it out to him. The kid's still young enough that he shouldn't be lookin' at her, thinkin' bout her, like that regardless. A year is just a technicality, but that year makes his self-loathin' a little less sharp.
That fact in itself still makes him kinda sick.
As Daryl gets caught in the tangled snarl of his thoughts, he doesn't realize he's started chewin' at his nails again. Not until another hand wraps around the one at his mouth, a thumb pressin' firmly into the center of his palm.
"You're gonna chew straight down to the bone one of these days," Audrey yawns, tuggin' his hand— their hands, she's still holdin' on— down to rest on Daryl's right thigh.
She's kneelin' in front of him now— when the fuck did she move?— so close her belly brushes against his own knee each time she takes a breath. She's swayin' a little, side to side, and her eyes are more sleepy and unfocused, jaw crackin' with another yawn.
The pill must have taken full effect by now.
"It's fine," Daryl grunts and tries not to focus on how the kid is absentmindedly rubbin' his fingers, her callouses catchin' on his knuckles.
"It's not," Audrey argues. It's clear she's tryna come off stern, but her frown makes her look like a pouting kitten. "T-Dog's already got a nasty infection, and I'm basically a walking sore at this point, so the odds aren't looking good for me. Then there's Sophia… and Carl… The group doesn't need you losing an arm to a staph infection on top of everything else."
The kid's right. He knows it, she knows it, and Daryl squirms, his knee jumpin' nervously beneath where she is still holdin' his goddamn hand.
"Just a bad habit," he mutters. He can't look at her head-on, his lungs feel too tight with her so close, sharin' his air. Instead, his eyes drop down and get stuck on the sharp juts of her clavicle, the smear of dirt and sweat pooled in the hollow there. His mouth keeps movin' without his permission. "Usually use cigarettes to curb the urge but don't got any."
"You can't just replace one bad habit with another one, Dixon." Audrey rolls her eyes, scoffin', but her mouth is tickin' up at the corner, and she cocks her head at him, the angle teasing. Her fingers squeeze his own, hard, makin' his heart skip a beat, before she abruptly releases him.
Daryl's empty hand curls into a fist, and he digs his nails into his palm, chasin' the residual warmth and cursin' himself for it.
Meanwhile, Audrey lays out on her side next to him, draggin' her pack so that it's propped up under her head, which rests just a few inches below the lawn chair's right armrest. She lets out another yawn as she stretches her body slowly, hissin' as things pop into place, and she sinks into the threadbare blanket like it's a memory foam mattress instead of two inches of itchy fabric between her and a metal roof.
"You need to find something better to occupy your hands," the kid murmurs as she settles in, and her voice is a little thicker, a little more slurred. "Something less self-destructive. Hmm, maybe we can find you some knitting needles. You can make me a scarf for the winter."
"Shut up," he grumbles, but there's no heat to it. In fact, his tone is disgustingly fond, and to save some face, he drops his arm off the side of the chair and flicks her ear.
"Owwww, that hurt," Audrey whines, and even though she's laughin', Daryl feels a tendril of guilt snake through his veins.
He absently rubs his thumb over the tip of her ear, tryna soothe the sting. Her skin is warm beneath the pad of his thumb, and her hair is downy soft between his rough fingers.
"Mm, that's better," the kid sighs and scoots her head further up her pack/pillow to be closer to his hand.
Daryl knows he should withdraw, should stop touchin' her, but his arm won't listen. His thumb keeps tracin' the shape of her ear, his palm practically cuppin' the back of her head. As he cards his fingers through her short hair, he's careful not to get caught in any knots, and the kid makes a pleased sort of purrin' noise that makes his blood run hot.
"Oh, that's an idea," she suddenly mumbles. "You can start braiding my hair. It's just starting to grow out again, and that'll keep your hands busy."
"This ain't a sleepover, kid." He says it like he's not still pettin' her hair, like he has plans on stoppin' anytime soon.
"What are you talking about?" Audrey yawns, tiltin' her head slightly so his sweepin' thumb brushes the smooth bolt-scar on her temple, the curve of her cheek. "We stayed up nearly till dawn gossiping, we took some very nice drugs— did I say thank you for those, by the way?"
"Ya did," Daryl mutters and doesn't point out that he hadn't taken any drugs tonight. Even if he kind of feels like it, with the way his heart is trippin' over itself in his chest.
"Mm, good, because they are very nice," the kid repeats with a sigh. "My body feels like a fluffy cloud instead of one big, ugly bruise. Floating instead of throbbing, ya know. Hmm… What was I sayin' again?"
"Ya were goin' to sleep." He tries for stern but falls drastically short. In fact, he's smilin', still strokin' the top of her head, and he's glad for the dark solitude around them.
"Sleep, sleep… oh, sleepover! Thass right." Her words slur into a giggle. "I was sayin' this is the best sleepover I ever had. Gossip and drugs and falling stars. Mmm." She nuzzles her head up into his hand again, her cheek warm against the heel of his palm. "Your hands are so soft, too."
"My hands are sandpaper, kid, more callous than skin," he snorts, and that's now he knows she's seconds away from passin' out.
"I mean you touch me soft," Audrey murmurs, and when he looks down at her, her eyes are closed, but he can see the edge of a smile. "I like it."
Daryl feels pressure build up inside him, throbbin' in his head, like he's a balloon about to pop at the seams. He doesn't know how to respond, but thankfully the kid seems to have used up all her energy. She subsides into her lumpy pillow with a sigh, her breathin' growin' slow and deep, her face lax and peaceful.
Even after she's asleep, the hunter keeps his hand in her hair. Tells himself it's just to check if she's still breathin', but the lie rings hollow even in his own head. He can't hide from himself anymore, not since that damn blonde held up a mirror to all his traitorous thoughts.
Daryl had tried to fight it, tried like fuckin' hell, but despite his best and worst intentions, he cares for the kid. Probably too much.
Definitely too much.
But what can he do now, other than accept it?
He just hopes he can keep his more… base desires hidden, at least from the kid. The other fuckers in the group can think what they want, her opinion in the only one that matters to him. Audrey is his friend, but nothin' more. Can't be nothin' more. He can look but not touch, and he ain't really supposed to be doin' the first thing anyway.
Daryl's fingertips suddenly feel hot with guilt where they're tucked under the shell of Audrey's ear, but the hunter is powerless to move them.
Oh, he is so fucked.