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The chilly mist was both a blessing and a curse. Normally it was an absolute inconvenience. Shit for being outside the fences. Some days it was so thick you couldn't see an arm's length in front of you. It was disorienting and dangerous. The sounds of Walkers clumsily traipsing through the trees could pinball off every surface until they were right on top of you. So he'd been staying within the fences on days like today. They'd recently found a small truck half full of canned goods, so hunting wasn't the apex of the list as far a priorities. But over the last few weeks, with the weather being what it was, he was quickly becoming very acutely aware that the presence of all these new bodies they'd taken in was even more oppressive that this fog.
They'd done the right thing in taking all those refugees from Woodbury and some other survivors in. There was no doubt in his mind. The new leaf he was working on turning over made him see that, clear as day. He was trying something. Working at being a better person... But people were EXHAUSTING.
"DARYL, CAN YOU GIVE ME A HAND WITH THIS?!"
"DARYL, DO YOU KNOW WHERE I CAN FIND THAT?!"
"MR. DIXON!!!"
It was a lot to handle for someone who'd only recently started to get used to not feeling like an outcast everywhere he went. "Vital" someone had called him. He found it truly bizarre. It was nice to feel appreciated, but was also a very alien and there was a lot of pressure that came along with it all. Someone always needed or wanted something and his tank was perpetually hovering at empty.
But that's where the thick, moisture-laden chill in the air became a blessing. He could escape from the prison's blocks and find refuge from the mobs in the yards, busying himself with menial tasks because no one wanted to be out in it. His lungs felt like they could actually expand all the way out here. He could take in that thick, cool water vapor fully and it chased the nervous numbness right out of his fingers. Fingers that he was currently using to finish up another simple bench to partner with the communal dining tables they'd made. Sure, it didn't need done right now. Winter was about here and no one was gonna be cooking and eating outside any time soon. But it was something to do. It was an excuse to remove himself from the mess of well-meaning folks inside the body of the prison.
He was just finishing up hammering a wooden shim into place with a rubber mallet when his sixth sense picked up a presence approaching him from behind. For a flash, he felt like rolling his eyes. He'd been found. Tracked and located like like the creatures he hunted for food in the woods.
But then he'd felt her foot falls. He'd never experienced anything like the tiny vibrations that woman emitted out into the universe. That electric hum she had about her caused his hair to stand on end in the most pleasant way. She was silent as a wraith in her every movement, even when she wasn't trying to be. Not even he could do that. It was impressive and sad, all at once. He knew it had to be a learned behavior, likely having saved her life more than a few times, even before this world they now found themselves in.
Her energy pulled his head around, attention drawn over his left shoulder. There she was gliding over to him, a book tucked under an arm, her hips swaying beneath those very properly fitting cargo pants and that slightly too big jacket. Her eyes were to her boots until they weren't, and the act of her sight moving to connect with him caused his larynx to just about spasm.
"Hey," he greeted, just about choking to death on the single syllable. She smiled generously, the expression making it all the way up to her soft eyes.
"Hey yourself," she countered breezily, bracing herself with her arms as she came to pull herself up onto the top of the picnic table next to him, "I didn't see you this morning. Thought we'd finally chased you off for good."
She always had a way of poking at him in a good natured way and it made his stomach dip. The exaggerated pout on her lips for comedic effect gave it an extra kick, today. He tore his eyes from her, casting them out over the field and the woods beyond them, feeling like it he didn't look away, he'd get sucked into a whirlpool.
"Nah, not yet," he joked in his own, flat way. She furrowed her brow, rolling her eyes, thoroughly calling him in his bullshit. That pulled a genuine chuff of laughter right out of him.
"What are you up to?" she asked, turning to look down at her feet as she kicked them out in front of her. He shrugged with his shoulders and lifted the mallet a bit to show it to her. He reached into his vest pocket and pulled out a stale cigarette, bringing it to his lips to light it in an attempt to still his fidgiting hands. She turned back to him, looking fully contrite as her lips pulled into a thin line.
"Can I ask you a favor?" Her voice was small and so very apologetic. He could feel himself wince in response as a tightness found its way to his neck, hating very much that she felt like she had to just about beg him to help her with something. His heart leapt into his throat. For you? Anything. Everything. Any time. Always.
Despite that, his poorly controlled defensive impulse to play it cool won out over what he wanted to say.
"Guess so," he exhaled on a puff of smoke, immediately disgusted with himself, as he'd clearly caused her to second guess herself for asking. He turned to her then in order to make amends by providing her with his full attention, "You need help?"
She nodded apologetically and wordlessly moved to unsheath the knife that had come to be an ever present fixture on her person. He worked to suppress the smile that was threatening to give him up.
He'd found the knife a few months back while on a run with Rick and Maggie. When he'd returned her old knife to her after she'd gotten lost in the Tombs during the summer, it had stuck him that, with her skills growing, she'd be better suited by having a better knife. At first, upon finding it, he almost laughed at himself. It was a lot of knife and rather garish. But the more he thought about it, the more it seemed perfect for her. It was two weapons in one, and she was progressing in leaps and bounds, far outpacing the learning curve within the group. And not just within the realm of hand to hand combat, but also with pretty much any firearm she was handed. In the past year she'd demonstrated that she never really had been just a helpless housewife. She'd always been a fighter. She just never had the tools to put her skills to use.
He'd been so excited and so proud to give it to her. He could remember coming through the gates, asking Carl where she was so he could go straight there. He found her reading in her cell. And her face that day- God, her face. She'd looked puzzled, at first. She didn't realize, as he'd passed it to her, that he'd meant it for her, as he'd been digging clumsily through his bag, sorting through the spoils. He'd just handed it off and turned to stuff the odds and ends back into the bag. As it dawned on her, a smile unlike any he'd seen from her materialized on her soft features.
And now she was staring at him, questioningly. He'd zoned out completely. He shook the memory off with a nod.
"Can you sharpen it for me again? I feel like it dulls so quickly." She asked. And there in was the one flaw to his gift. The knife, though formidable, was made of a cheaper steel. It was heavy, but the blade, soft. And so, it ended up being a bit of a needy thing, asking to have its belly sharpened and honed at least twice a week with heavy use. With the world the way it was, it did see a fair bit of mileage, even while she was within the walls of the prison. He didn't mind, even for a second, her coming to him to have its edge resettled. In fact, he realized that he, rather selfishly, enjoyed that he could count on spending these few small moments with her.
He couldn't keep it that way, though. She was such an independent creature, and having her continue to rely on him felt like it was a sin. She needed to know, not just how to defend herself, but how to maintain her weapons. She wouldn't be able to continue to thrive without good knowledge of the basics.
"Do ya one better," he breathed out, smoke billowing into the cold air. He ground the cherry off his cigarette, pinching it between his thumb and pointer fingers before tossing it away. He patted his vest pocket, opposite his squashed pack of smokes, locating his small whetstone. He always kept a small one on him, but had a larger one in his cell as well. He passed the rough little rectangle to her nodding to emphasize that he intended for her to do it herself this time. She took it, but blinked for a moment, clearly not really knowing where to start. She went to press the blade to the stone but he stopped her with a gentle corrective grunt.
"Check it first. The blade have any chips in it?" He asked her. She paused and drew it closer to inspect it. Her delicate profile was exaggerated as she tilted her head to cast her eyes over the metal blade in search of dings and chips. The graceful way she arched her neck as she scrutinized it sucked the breath right from him. He had to turn away for a moment to gather himself otherwise he felt he'd be sucked right in by her gravity.
"I don't see any," her soft, thoughtful voice declared. He nodded again, peering back over at it.
"Clean?" He verified. She confirmed it by tilting it in his direction for him to see. He didn't need to see it to know that it was impeccably clean. She was a very tidy person and she always kept that blade spotless.
"Spit," he instructed. She paused and slowly looked over at him. She'd watched him go through the motions, sharpening knives, dozens and dozens of times by now, but for some reason she faltered a bit. She blinked a bit at him and an incredibly small, roguish tilt to her lips hinted to him that she'd latched onto the innuendo within the word.
"Swallow, usually. But for you..." She trailed off. And he could feel her eyes on him, waiting for him to turn red, then polka dot, checkerboard, and plaid. Oh, he just loved and hated how she could twist him up in such a way. It seemed like it was her favorite game. He buried his flushed face in his hands and rubbed at his cheeks.
"On the stone," came his muffled clarification from behind his hands and it shook a belt of honest to god giddy laughter free from her. Despite his mortification, he couldn't help but smile a bit at her dirty sense of humor and just how delirious her laughter made him. Peeling his rough palms from his chin as her heard her damped the stone with her saliva and turned as she proceeded to pull the blade across the knife at the incorrect angle. He tutted, and gently reached out to help correct how she'd gathered it against the course stone.
"Here, lemme show you," he said, as his much larger hand enveloped her finely boned fingers to adjust how the knife was making contact with the tool. His other hand boldly found its way across her lap as he attempted to steady the stone resting in her hand so he could apply the proper amount of pressure. He guided her hands, making a few passes before he realized that he was just about on top of her. His face was merely inches from his own and he could feel a bit of panic rudely rushing from some outside source into his body. He resisted the urge to pull away like he'd been stung by a hornet and felt his hands slowly go slack on his grip around hers. As he backed off, he felt her turn to him and those exquisite blue pools of hers expressed to him genuine thanks and, almost, maybe, reflected back a bit of his own bashfulness. He chewed at the shy grin that was forming on his bottom lip.
"Yer doin' good," he choked, trying so desperately to push those words of encouragement out.
He watched her quietly for few moments, interjecting only when he really needed to. As with most anything, he was finding she was a quick study. She was even compensating for the blade's unique Tanto shape, dragging both planes, gently and evenly across the surface to sharpen it. He relished the way her seemingly fragile fingers wrapped so firmly around the handle.
He didn't understand why he found this sight so absolutely intoxicating. In the past, when he found women to be attractive, it was only ever based on superficial things like how their tits sat in a low cut tank top or how they'd suggestively bring their lips to the mouth of a beer bottle while they made eyes at him from across the bar. But watching her angelic features as she concentrated on cleaning a rifle, skinning a possum, or sharpening a knife; It just did something to him.
At first, he wasn't sure what it was about her. Maybe it had been that they were both two lost souls that had experienced the worst kinda shit the world before had to give. Maybe it was that he was intrigued by how similar someone so different from him could be. Maybe it was just that he was hurting and he found a safety in her soft gaze and quiet voice that he'd never experienced before.
But now, over the last year, for the first time in his life, a woman's mind and skill was the thing that he found drawing him in. He was floored by her wit and strength and perceptiveness multiple times a day. She ran circles around everyone else in their group. Her thoughts were vast and deep as the sea and he felt like the undertow had come out of nowhere and was sucking him deeper and deeper into the mysterious void that was Carol Peletier every damn day.
"There," She offered quietly but with an air of pride, "Both sides."
It yanked his mind back to the surface, but took him a moment to center himself. His eyes found hers and she offered the knife handle to him.
"Did I do okay?"
He gathered the knife into his hand and softly pressed his thumb to the blade, nodding in approval as he turned it over and over checking it very edge for any hint of a shine indicating a dull spot. And then as he looked it over, it occurred to him that his strop was up in his cell. He really didn't want to go inside and be pulled in twenty directions when all he wanted to do was sit out here with Carol.
"Uhhhm," he vocalized absently, peering behind her back at the entrance to their cell block as he debated telling her to wait right here or...
"Did I screw up the edge?" she asked. He could here in her tone that she was a bit embarrassed and disappointed.
"Huh? Oh, nah. No." He reassured her immediately, "Just... Need'a strop it still."
He stood then, looking between her and the door again for a moment, chewing at the cuticle on his thumb. Finally he just decided he'd rather just stay. He reached for his belt buckle and then became profoundly aware of how lewd this must look to her. Spinning on his heel, he undid his belt buckle the rest of the way and pulled the leather strap free of the loops. He regretted it almost immediately, as these jeans were a might too loose around his waist. He hitched them a bit before turning back to her with the apples of his cheeks red hot again.
"Here," he muttered, taking his seat next to her so his pants wouldn't fall to his ankles. He had a confused grin on her face this time.
"What am I doing with it?"
"Just finish the edge. You seen me do it. You got this." He offered, his nerves making him probably seen a bit more curt than he'd intended. He nodded gently to her in an encouraging fashion. She'd not seen him strop a knife with his belt before, but he figure this would benefit her more in the long run. She'd always be likely to have a belt on her even if she found herself stranded, lost, or if they became displaced again. The thought of that; Her out there again, on the road, made him nauseated. He hoped it never happened, but he felt much better knowing she was more prepared now than she'd ever been, should it ever come to pass.
He watched as she sat there for a moment trying to figure out how to work the knife over the soft, unfinished side of the leather. Within a few seconds she'd looped it around her left leg and was buffing the blade to an impressively sharp finish. It only took a few passes before he asked her to pass the knife back to him. He inspected it again, testing it with the edge of his thumbnail.
Just then, he remembered she'd carried a book out with her. A small paperback, like the kind he'd secretly read those summers when he was a boy and Merle was off in Juvie or when he'd final run off to join the army. Those ones the teachers sent home and expected you to read. Carol had been reading to the kids a couple of hours every day for the last few weeks and it wasn't unusual to see her toting them around. There had been a fleeting thought about her a couple nights back as she passed him on one of the catwalks outside their respective cells, a couple books tucked into her chest. That fleeting thought had gone from him making a joke in his head about "naughty librarian" types and he ended up having an impromptu date with his hand a while after making his way into his cell.
...He suddenly became very aware that there was a stirring below his waist that was dangerously close to betraying his train of thought.
"There any blank pages in that?" he blurted out, pointing at the book with the tip of the knife, hoping like he he could distract her. She nodded, immediately picking it up to thumb to the front few title pages. She tore one out gingerly and passed it to him. He turned to partially face away from her, relieved that she seemed not to notice what he was experiencing. He brought the now sharpened knife up to the paper in his hand. The blade, with the most minimal pressure, glided through the paper as If He was just running it through empty space. The blade was so sharp there was no resistance at all. Satisfied with the result, he backed into the table and took his seat next to her again, passing the knife back into her hand as coolly as her could manage with his flag at half mast and his pants too loose.
And this woman... This perfect creature, graceful, alluring, and wonderful as she was, without turning to him, removed the belt from her leg and handed it over while just considering the knife's blade. He felt that she knew he was embarrassed. She had this amazing ability to seemingly have him completely figured out even before he had any idea what was going on in his own mind. He hoped beyond hopes that she didn't know the whole reason why he was embarrassed. But she didn't mention it. She said nothing for a while.
They sat quietly. He ran his belt back through the loops on his pants. Daryl could hear crows calling to each other in the distance and the odd Walker banging against the chain link way down across the prison yard by the main gate. Soft pattering sounds from tiny sprays of drizzle hitting his leather jacket whispered to him that the weather was turning. He sucked in a breath.
"It's gettin' shitty out."
"It's been shitty out," she countered, finally seeming like she was done inspecting the blade. She placed it back its sheath. He nodded.
"You should go inside, 'fore it gets bad," he suggested, turning his eyes from the cement to the grey sky above him. She agreed silently and drew herself up off the table, gathering up her book, and turned to walk back towards the building... Until she sensed he wasn't right behind her. She stopped in her tracks and spun on her heel to face him.
"Are you coming?" she asked squinting to shield her eyes from growing drips and drops of rain. He wrinkled his nose.
"Nah." He said simply without looking over at her, instead turning his eyes back downwards. The answer had apparently not been to her satisfaction. She began to walk back over, coming to stand immediately in front of him. As he looked up from the ground, she moved and a shadow drew over his head. She was holding her book over him to keep the rain out of his eyes as he looked up at her.
"Gonna ruin yer book," he said.
"Gonna catch your death," She came back with, fixing him with a look. He blinked up at her wordlessly, entranced by her.
"I know you've been feeling trapped lately. Come on inside. I'll cover for you. You can hide out in your cell. Besides, I owe you. I'll come bring you dinner later." She smiled. A beat passed and her hand suddenly dipped into his field of vision and he watched her card a strand of his damp bangs away from his eyes. The action stole the breath from his lungs.
"C'mon, don't make me beg... Pookie?" She whined with an exaggerated pout to her lips and a teasing tone to her voice. He snorted.
"Pookie?"
"Muffin?" She smirked, cocking her head to the side. He rolled his eyes wordlessly, pulling himself to his feet. She stepped back a bit, giving him room to move. He feigned annoyance, but knew she was game and wanted him to play along. A part of him hated to admit it, but he looked forward to their little back and forths. He began walking away trying desperately to hide the smile that was fighting to crack across his face.
"Pudding? POOPSIE?!" she continued, falling into step along side him.
"First one was bad enough," he groaned.
"Pookie it is!" she chirped as they climbed the few steps to the heavy security door leading into their cell block.
"Stop" he croaked, a chuckle just behind it as he watched her mischievous smile disappear into the dark hall in front of him. If he was gonna be trapped within these walls, it was good to know he had at least one person he didn't always want to escape from.