Work Text:
Daffodil
The subdivision’s picked clean.
Most places are these days, and it ain’t like Daryl was expecting no different. Even so, disappointment settles heavy in the pit of his empty belly. Drags his shoulders and his chin down low, and he’s grumbling an apology as he peels the mildewed tarp off his bike. Cussing and kicking at the wheel in frustration when he realizes she ain’t behind him no more and shit. More than one reason Merle used to call her Mouse.
Subdivision ain’t just picked clean. It’s deserted. No signs of people.
Dead or alive and Daryl reassures himself with that thought as he hitches his crossbow over his shoulder, walks the sidewalks with their weeds poking through. Looks for signs of her passage. Crumpled grass. The faint impression of her boot in rain softened earth. Still. Ain’t til he rounds the corner. Sees the silver shine of her hair in the sunlight, gets a glimpse of the red shirt that’s her favorite, that his stance softens with relief. “Thought I told ya to stay close.”
She shrugs. “You did.”
He opens his mouth but he ain’t go no answer for that. Woman’s cut him off at the knees ‘fore he can even work up a full head of steam and anyway. It’s just the two of ‘em. Nobody around for miles. Last walker they seen was scuttling after a skinny rabbit not worth wasting an arrow on, what was left of its hands and knees scraping against the cracked Georgia asphalt. Lifting his thumb to his mouth, he gnaws absently at his nail. Glances around and feels his scowl slipping away because this yard is different than the others. All of them have been reclaimed by nature. Ain’t much around now that hasn’t been. But this yard? Everywhere he looks there are flowers reaching for the clear blue sky. Cheerful and happy, they thrive in yellow clusters. Pushing up through beds of leaves that look liable to crumble to dust between his grimy fingertips and he looks at her. Blue eyes pretty and bright as stars and smile curling sweet and he sighs. Pushes on the crooked little gate that whines and joins her. “Should be gettin’ back.”
“Should,” she agrees, her shoulder brushing up against his as she stands, unworried about the dirt and dead leaves clinging to her knees.
She lingers, though, and those crinkles around her eyes soften into something resembling sadness and damn if he can stand seeing her look that way. Been a suffering fool for that look since the very beginning, way back at that quarry. “Reckon there ain’t no real rush, though. Old MacDonald can check the traps. Do him good to take a break from picking peas and shit.”
“Daryl.”
She’s smiling again, even as she shakes her head, and he’ll take what he can get when it comes to keeping her happy. Shoot the breeze when responsibility tries its best to pull him in the other direction and he nudges her with his elbow. Nods at the bag she’s got hanging off one arm. “If you’re gonna keep me out past my curfew, don’t you figure you should feed me?” He feels stupid as shit, but the lame ass joke pays off and she sputters with laughter, so instant and light he knows there’s not a part of him that wouldn’t do it all over again. Just to have that sound fill his heart back up and give him hope for any dark days that might come. “What you got in there, Woman?”
“Well,” she drawls all Southern sweet, blue eyes sparkling and sly before she looks down and starts digging through her pack. “If you don’t love me yet, Pookie, you’re going to when you see what I have in here.”
She don’t see the way he swallows. Or hear the way his heart starts pounding like it’s ‘bout to take flight clear of his chest. If she notices the tremble in his hand when he takes the can of offered peaches from her, she says not a word because that’s just the way it is between the two of ‘em. Easy and soft. Understanding and filled with so very much between the lines, but Daryl has a feeling she knows. It’s in the way his eyes are always searching out the shadows for any hint of danger that might threaten to cross her path. It’s in the way he lets her careful touch linger and don’t shy away. It’s in every breath he takes. It’s just that automatic, that instinctual, and he huffs out a laugh when she leans back on her elbows. Goes along with her and makes shapes out of the gathering clouds. Soaks up her smiles and her silences, content to stay in the moment with her until she sighs and pats him on the leg. Scrunches up her nose as she stretches her legs. Stands up and stumbles into him just the slightest bit as he follows her lead, her hand bracing against his shoulder and his catching her by the hip.
“We really should go.”
“’Fore they send out a search party,” he agrees. “And get lost lookin’,” he smirks. His eyes flicker to her lips then dart away and hell if she don’t catch him in the act. Make him blush and do the stumbling this time. Put some distance between them that she don’t chase, but she grins. She goddamn twinkles and shit. She keeps looking at him like that, he might do something crazy. Might march right up those steps and take her inside. Lay her down and wipe that grin right off of her face with his mouth, lose himself in her and lose all track of time and then wouldn’t they be in some shit when Sasha and Glenn and that kid Zach finally pulled their thumbs out of their asses and found them? “Looks like rain,” he finally manages. “Best get back.”
She squeezes his shoulder and sighs. Sidesteps him and waits at the rickety gate, her back to him in an effort to hide her obvious disappointment. “You coming?”
“You go on ahead. I’ll be right behind you,” he promises. He waits for the sound of her footsteps to fade before he unsheaths his knife and bends down, tucks the happy little flower inside his vest when he has it free. Suffering fool, indeed.