Work Text:
(Timeframe: right after Glenn died)
(Relationship:foundational)
“Ssh, don’t go back there. Stay here, with me.” Sasha tried to comfort him, to reel his thoughts back before he got carried away with wondering ‘what if’ and how to avenge their friend.
He had been a walking poster of survivor’s guilt when he had first returned. And with Carol’s absence, and Rick’s strict ban on anyone else leaving unnecessarily, he had been confined to the walls of Alexandria – seeing his old friend in Maggie’s grieving face, in the walls and trees and manicured lawns in front of fairytale houses. He had never acclimated well to domesticity, so the confinement atop the stress and trauma they just survived, pushed him to the absolute edge.
Sasha had taken it upon herself to split her time evenly between Abraham and him. She had even asked Daryl to move into their home but he had refused, so instead she lived two half-lives: one with Abraham and the other with Daryl.
Abraham knew Glenn for a lesser time but equally well – their attempted journey to Washington having clued him in to the young man better. He was saddened by the passing, but the reality of being able to return to the woman he loved helped him heal. He also poured himself into the further construction of Alexandria – diverting his energy and mind into physical pursuits that didn’t leave him much time to wallow in sadness.
Sasha had sat with him to talk through her plan with Abraham. He was fully on board, happy to see her helping those who needed her special brand of tlc. Their days were their own but every night they belonged to each other.
It was a shocking reversal of fortunes, just as Daryl was making positive strides in reconciling having survived, that Abraham died and Sasha was the one flung into a tailspin. Daryl took it upon himself to pull her from her sadness.
She cried occasionally, usually late at night as she lay curled up in foetal position thinking the rest of the house of had gone to sleep. At first, he was unsure of what he should do. He knew he wanted to comfort her, but she wasn’t much for physical overtures of affection. It was too late to go outside and kill anything, so he settled on laying beside her, not touching, but reassuring her that she wasn’t alone.
She surprised him, but turning towards him and curling up into him. He figured then that she missed Abraham’s physical presence – something that was most acute when she went to bed. So he would wait until after everyone had retired to bed and he would slip into bed beside her, careful not to touch her, until she curled up beside him. But Sasha wasn’t trying to replicate Abraham’s physical presence. She was acutely aware of the difference between the two men: one large and all heavy muscle; the other lean and flexible in his lithe athleticism. She curled up to Daryl and cried for all that they had both lost: the prison; their brothers; hope that it could be ok in the end. It was his constant steady presence beside her that soothed and calmed her. He was not a replacement for Abraham, it was his presence that pulled her through her despair.
Daryl would never be able to pinpoint when he stopped pretending to sleep in his own room but wake in Sasha’s or when he continued climbing into bed beside her even though she didn’t cry through the night. It had been something gentle and subtle – the gradual move from roommates, grieving brothers in arms sponsoring each other through their pain – to a companionship all its own.
“Daryl...is it the same nightmare?” Sasha asked one night after Daryl had awoken with a start, reaching for his gun on the nightstand beside him, waking Sasha in his bolting upright.
She sat up slowly, her movements lazy from sleep. She reached out for him, hands brushing hair from his face and she patted his chest, willing his heaving breaths to sync with hers.
He sat shaking in silence, replacing the gun on the nightstand and covering her hand with his, willing his racing heart to subside. “It was before... when I was younger.” He said no more about it. She understood. “I’m sorry I woke ya,” he started to apologise, feeling weak for still being undone by mere trifles from a past long-gone.
“You don’t have to apologise.” She thought to say more, maybe say something about how terribly she still missed Tyreese but she held her tongue. “Can I get you some water?”
“Nah it’s fine. I’ll go.” Daryl scrubbed a hand over his face, relinquishing his hold on her hand.
He pulled back the covers and started for the door and wordlessly, Sasha followed him. He wasn’t talkative, but in case he did want to talk, she would stay with him.
Down the hall they walked, their footfalls barely making a sound on the wooden floorboards. They descended the steps quietly, awed by the serenity of the moonlit living room and into the spacious kitchen. Daryl reached for a glass in the nearest cabinet and headed for the tap, almost forgetting how extraordinary it was to have running water after everything they had lived through.
“It’s crazy I know...to still be sore about things that happened so long ago. I can’t explain it. I get scared like I’m that same kid again.
I kill Walkers no problem. I know they’re dead things walking around outside, trying to EAT US. I can handle that. But memories of my old man...”
Sasha stood at the door, looking at him quietly. She appreciated that he trusted her enough to share this with her, thus she felt no need to add superfluous words. He finished one glass of water and refilled the glass, downing half off before handing it to her.
“It wasn’t all bad. I mean, I survived it. And some of those shitty lessons helped me get here. But other parts of it...” he trailed off, not daring to give his childhood abuse voice in this new safe place.
Sasha grasped the glass, heartbroken at his pain. But she knew he didn’t need her pity and she couldn’t really empathise – her childhood had been magical and full of love. So until she could find the right words – if any at all - she took a long sip instead.
“I miss Merle. He was an asshole sure, but he was my brother. He was the only family I had...” Daryl turned to look at Sasha in the darkness.
He could make out her silhouette as a darker shade than the darkness, but then dapples of light from the living room and the kitchen windows filtered through, highlighting the baggy nightshirt she wore, her hair in two untidy plaits and the shapely curve of her thighs. Her eyes though – they were clear and bright – and shone such kindness, he lost his train of thought.
“I uh...” he started but failed to continue. “Thanks for staying up with me. We can go back to bed now.” He reached for her glass.
“Ok.” Her voice was soft but the definite nod of her head conveyed so much. “Anytime Daryl.”
Their fingers brushed as she handed back the glass, a moment sparking between them. Daryl placed the glass in the sink to be washed in the morning. As she turned to lead them back upstairs, he couldn’t help feeling some kind of way when he noted their overlapping set of lip-prints on the rim of the glass.