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Disclaimer: I don't own The Walking Dead or any of it's characters. All I own here is the plot and the OFC :)
"How, then, can I tell you of my love?
Strong as the eagle, soft as the dove.
Patient as the pine tree that stands in the sun,
And whispers to the wind - You are the one..."
(Native American love poem, author unknown)
...In the aftermath of the claimers attack and the violence that had ensued, Daryl piled the bodies of the dead along the side of the road. Michonne kept watch over a sleeping Carl in the back seat of the broken down SUV parked on the berm, and Rick sat by the front tire, trembling and staring into space as the reality of what had happened, what he had done, the night before sunk in.
She approached him just as the sun was beginning to rise up above the towering tops of the loblollies, a mixture of what appeared to be relief and concern etched on her brow.
She didn't speak as she slipped her slender hand into his, gently tugging him toward the woods, leading him into the shadow of the trees and following a deer trail hidden just beyond the narrow road.
The pair came into a small clearing, stopping on the bank of a shallow creekbed cutting it's way through the woodland, clear and cool in the pale shafts of morning light peeking through the leafy green canopy above.
Cheyenne looked up at him, releasing his hand and pulling a bandana from her coat pocket before turning her back to him and dropping to her haunches by the water's edge, dipping the cloth into the bubbling stream.
"Sit..."
Her tone was soft, that one word coming out sounding more like a plea than an order and Daryl obeyed without hesitation, plopping himself down on a rock and sighing quietly as she straightened, turning to him before dropping to her knees in front of him.
The blonde tenderly applied the cool, wet cloth to his battered face, gently wiping the blood and dirt away, frowning slightly at the cuts and bruises she could do nothing for.
"Are you hurt?" she asked, voice full of concern as her eyes searched his face. "Anything broken?"
" 'm fine..." he mumbled past his thumb as he brought it up to his mouth, shyly worrying at the digit.
"That's not what I asked you. Don't lie," Cheyenne chided gently, continuing to bathe his face. "No more 'tough guy' act. You know you can tell me if you're hurting..."
The hunter sighed again, head bowed slightly as if he were ashamed of admitting to any weakness before he repeated himself, tone just above a whisper. "I'm fine."
"You took a pretty good beating last night," she pressed, left hand coming up to cup his chin lightly and turn his head to the side while the right continued to move the cloth gently over a scrape near his jawline.
"I've had worse," he retorted, eyes downcast.
Cheyenne frowned slightly, a disapproving look crossing her face. "Lift up your shirt."
He glanced up at her, surprised at how stern her tone had become.
Slowly, hesitantly, Daryl lifted the layers of clothing hiding the damage they both knew was certainly there.
Cheyenne gasped softly at the sight of the dark bruises that littered his rib cage and wrapped their way around his torso to his lower back.
"Is anything broken?" she reached for him, causing him to flinch back slightly, shoulders tencing at the thought of contact.
The blonde looked up at him, a reassuring look in her eyes as she reached for him again, slender fingertips brushing over his bruised skin lightly, pressing gently here and there, checking for any signs of breaks or cracks.
He cringed as she pressed on an especially tender spot, biting his lower lip and forcing himself to swallow the whimper that nearly escaped his throat at the pain.
"Sorry..." she apologized, sharp eyes catching the discomfort eteched into his rugged features.
He sucked in a soft breath, trying to ignore the pain as she finished checking his battered torso.
"I don't feel anything broken, no cracks. Looks like mostly just bruising. You're lucky," she sighed, sitting down in the tall grass beside him.
Once he was certain she was finished with him, Daryl slowly got to his feet, taking the cloth Cheyenne had used to clear his face of the crimson smeared across his flesh and dipped it in the water, rinsing the blood stains from the fabric before turning to her and kneeling beside her like she had with him.
Silently, Daryl wiped the blood from her cheek, marveling at her lack of a tan. She had grown up in Georgia, been out in the sun like the rest of them for months, but still her skin remained pale, smooth as porcelain, reminding him of the china dolls his mama had collected before his daddy had destroyed them in a drunken fit of rage.
She looked up at him through her long, dark lashes, those clear blue, doe-like eyes landing on his lips for the briefest of seconds before dropping shyly as she began picking nervously at the sleeve of her jacket. As if she were trying to rid herself of some forbidden thought.
On sudden impulse, Daryl leaned forward, gently pushing loose strands from her side braided hair back from her face, taking in the ugly bruise marring her porcelain skin, forming just under her right eye and across her cheekbone. With a gentleness even he hadn't realized he could possess, the hunter took her chin between his thumb and index finger, drawing her closer and kissing her rosey pink lips tenderly.
The kiss was soft, chaste and quick. Daryl pulled away shyly, eyes downcast, the tips of his ears matching the color of his cheeks as he blushed in embarrassment at the stunned look Cheyenne was giving him.
"Sorry," he mumbled, worrying the side of his thumb once again.
"Don't be," the blonde murmured, grasping his coat collar and drawing him close, gently planting a butterfly kiss on his lips and smiling at the confused, almost childlike, look he was giving her in return. "I've been waitin' for that for a long time, Daryl Dixon."
The faintest of smiles ghosted over his lips as he looked up at her, a shy, somewhat innocent look in his eyes as he spoke.
"We should get back..."
She hummed in response, standing up and taking his hand, helping him up.
"How long?" he asked hesitantly, barely able to meet her eyes when she turned to look at him.
"A long time..." she murmured, standing on tiptoe and kissing his cheek gently before taking his hand again and leading him back to the leaf strewn back road where they had left their family.
Later that morning, while they were walking along the tracks, watching Michonne and Rick flirting subtly with each other, Daryl felt Cheyenne brush against his side and he smiled faintly.
The girl looked up at him, also smiling, blue eyes dancing in the sunlight.
They didn't speak, somehow able to read each other's thoughts by the look in their eyes.
I love you, Daryl Dixon, a bird seemed to sing for the blonde.
I love you, too, the wind seemed to whisper as the hunter's response.
And somehow, they understood. They knew how much the other cared, how much they cherished one another. And at that moment, that knowledge seemed to be enough...