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The truck jostles back and forth as we drive across the uneven ground that separates the Greene family home from the road. The rocky, grassy ground with its small hills and valleys shakes Daryl and I back in forth as we head back towards the road and towards the old town just a few miles away. Hershel reluctantly let us take the truck for a supply run. Glenn went last time so I volunteered to go this time.
I haven’t exactly felt right on the farm, tension has been high, I can tell secrets have been formed and we’ve more or less invited ourselves into the Greene’s lives without permission. It makes me uncomfortable that we just live there now.
In times like these we just have to get along, there isn’t much of an alternative when there isn’t a single place that is safe in the world anymore, but this wasn’t our home, and up until this point they’d been relatively safe and well-guarded. Thanks to us they’ve already lost one of their own and now they suddenly have to share their resources.
It’s why I’m always first to volunteer on runs. I was already more than willing to pull double my weight when the group was just us on the road, but now that we’ve impeded on the safety of someone else’s home I have to make sure I do what I can for everyone. To show Rick I’m still useful, and to show Hershel that we are worth keeping around.
Being useful. It’s what I’m good at
My thoughts must be too loud because Daryl grabs my attention with a sound
I turn my head, his left hand is resting over the wheel, not holding onto it in any meaningful way but enough that he can correct any movement. His right hand is up near his face, the back of his finger rubbing back and forth under his lip as his eyes flick between me and the road. He stares at me longer than I would like but with nothing else on the road he doesn’t need to pay as much attention.
“Whatcha thinkin’ bout?”
I don’t want to explain to him what I was thinking but can’t think of a convenient lie quickly enough so I say, “Nothing”
I curl in on myself, slouching down in the seat a little and bringing one of my knees up, which I lightly rest my clasped hands on. I can tell he doesn’t believe me but it’s not important so I’m not going to bother to say anything else.
I pull the list from my pocket, all the necessities we need, the special, less likely to be found requests from a few of our group and a few medicinal things for Hershel. Some of these things should be easy enough to find. We only take what we need when we need it, it makes sense, since we can’t always take all these resources with us, but I wish we didn’t leave it behind in case when we next come back it’s gone.
We haven’t run into anyone. Yet. That doesn’t mean we won’t
Which is why my gun is holstered comfortably on my thigh, full clip. And my knife rests inside my vest. Quite handy this thing and I’m really happy to have found it when I did; even if I had to pull it off a dead body. The vest is comfortable and worn, with several inside pockets and it’s warm – keeping the wind off my back.
I watch the open plains that previously held flourishing farmland roll past us, the trees occasionally blocking out the sun already setting down in the west. I watch the way the patterns flicker across the dashboard, getting lost in the simple things. Since I’m always waiting for the next thing to come and ruin my day, I take the small things where I can.
Thankfully I actually feel more peaceful out here than I do back at the farm…
And I feel bad saying that. But knowing I’m next to someone I can genuinely count on and not having to look over my shoulder every five seconds I can actually breathe. It’s all overthinking, the idea that I’m being watched without proof, but it keeps me from properly relaxing around the group. And with Shane, Rick, Lori and Hershel constantly going back and forth I always feel like the hair on the back of my neck is raised. Not that I’ve told anyone that.
…
It doesn’t take us long to get to the town, and for the most part it’s empty. No walkers have wandered anywhere near where we need to go, and I keep my ears primed for that characteristic groan and stuttered shuffling walk.
I pull my gun out regardless when I exit the truck, shutting the door relatively quietly just in case. Daryl grabs his crossbow from the truck bed as well as a bag, he throws me mine and we both sling them on. We head to the convince store first, it’s small with all its windows broken but it’s served us so far.
Daryl makes a ruckus outside the front, drawing out any potential walkers, I keep my gun lowered but with the safety off. Ready.
Nothing comes out, so we head inside.
“What’s on the list again?”
I pull it out of my pocket and give him a few items to go look for and I look for the rest. I manage to get a few food items, cans that will keep forever, a few packaged things that are probably stale but will most likely still be edible. I check a few bottles, but the liquids are discoloured or out of date and inedible.
There’s a bottle of water behind the cashier counter which I snag since that can be useful even if the water is contaminated, or not water.
I find a single bottle of aspirin and though it wasn’t requested I grab all the sanitary items for the girls as I can, since technically I’ll need them too.
“Got it. Can’t find the other shit though”
I look at what he’s got as he stuffs it into his bag and it’s enough, for now at least.
We step over the boarder of the broken windows and head back out into the street. I look up and down the street to see if there are any other stores we haven’t raided yet but three of them are already marked off.
“Should we try some of the houses?”
“We could. Or we could just take a break”
“A break?” I scrunch my brows at him “We just got here?”
“Yeah, but it won’t hurt if we do something for ourselves for a little while”
“Like what. Go walker hunting? Dumpster diving? There isn’t exactly much to do here anymore”
“I dunno, could be something in there” Daryl says pointing down the road to a shop front that seems relatively intact. I look into the sun at it, it’s signed Robin’s Bar and Game Room
“Those won’t have power”
“Might have booze though” he says and turns his back to me to walk towards it.
I roll my eyes, readjust my bag and follow him. I’m not objecting to being out longer, I just feel like we should be doing something useful and productive. Not getting drunk, that’s if there even is any alcohol left.
…
The windows were in fact intact when we get inside, the door swings open with a creak and inside the small foyer there’s an old fashioned salon door that separates the entrance from the main bar. I quite enjoy the vintage appeal this place has and am silently entertained as Daryl steps through the doors. I let them swing shut before I walk through so I can dramatically open them with two hands as if I’m in a movie.
Right at that moment Daryl turns around to look at me and makes a face.
“I was an actor remember” when he just laughs, I say “Shut up Dixon”
“Almost an actor”
“Oh so is that how it is?”
He doesn’t answer but I can hear him still snickering a bit as he heads towards the bar at the other end of the room.
The chairs are dusty, several tables and chairs are turned over, the salt and pepper shakers still sit on the upright tables and there are even red baskets with mouldy food in them. It really is a classic bar and pub. I never really got to experience these in their pre-apocalypse form but I’m sure they would have been crowded and busy as hell, which was never my style.
I see the top of Daryl’s brown hair disappear behind the bar edge and walk up to the bar sitting on the dusty leather stool, placing my gun on the bench and resting my head on my hand.
“Jesus!” he shouts when he stands up, not expecting me to be so close and he nearly drops the bottles he’s managed to find.
I can’t help but laugh at him and I continue to smile at him all the while
He’s got four bottles of beers; their necks held between his fingers. He puts them on the bench and searches around for a bottle opener and cracks two of them open. They aren’t cool or crisp and frankly I’ve never much been into beer, but they’ll go to waste either way so I take a swig.
It’s not the best. But I’ll take it. Daryl seems to enjoy it much more than I do.
I spin around on the chair and take a better look around the room. I can see in the far corner there are a few old arcade cabinets and gambling machines tucked to the side, none of which will work without power, and I know for a fact a bar like this wouldn’t have an independent source of power so there’s no chance of getting those active.
But what I do spy is a pool table, and I’m immediately back on my feet
“Oh man I used to love playing pool”
“Really? Didn’t take you for a bar kinda guy?”
“I’m not. But we had one when I was a kid, my aunt and uncle had one, so did my grandparents actually… and my youth group…” It’s just come to my attention how many pool tables there have actually been in my life
“I used to hustle guys for these”
“The ol’ Dean Winchester eh?”
“What?”
“It’s a reference, doesn’t matter” I wave my hand when he doesn’t get it
Some of the balls are sitting on the green velvet and I search the pockets for the other balls. Somehow, they are all in the table and we have a full set. I can’t find the rack, but it can set them up good enough. Underneath the table are the cues, they’re both too tall for me but I can still use them.
“Wanna play?” I ask him, taking another swig of my beer, and realising I really don’t like it, and place it away on one of the other tables. He takes a mouthful of his own and ducks under the table for a cue
“Sure” a smile tugs at the edge of his lips in the wry grin of his.
It makes my stomach do small flutters when I see him like this. Having to fight for your life constantly with no guarantee of food or safety or shelter sucks the life out of you, but here he looks like some of his humanity has come back to him. It’s more than nice and my brain is going into overdrive analysing his every movement and expression.
Daryl and I haven’t exactly talked about what happened that day I was injured in the forest. And nothing has happened since, but nothing hasn’t happened either. He kept his promise, about nothing changing or telling anyone anything about me, and I can tell through his actions that he still cares about me. Although it’s not just a trait he exhibits to me, it’s a very obvious, very public trait of his. Especially for Carol after Sophia…died.
But we continue to share a tent, he shares his space, his time, his voice, his ears, his heart with me. We just…don’t really talk about what happened exactly, and we don’t continue anything of what happened before.
Maybe in the normal world I would be upset, I would feel lead on or run around by him. But the world isn’t normal, and connection is hard to come by. The connections you do form are formed out of desperation, trauma, necessity or a combination of the three, that’s not to say they aren’t genuine, they just aren’t traditional and that in itself is a curveball.
But considering Daryl and I continue to remain close whatever feelings I might have felt are satiated, I’m just glad to be near him. Even if he makes my heart flutter and my stomach knot; that doesn’t matter. For now he’s the best thing I’ve got, and I’m not going to ruin that by pushing for anything.
I let him have the first hit. The balls clack together and spread across the table in a rapid scatter; there’s power in his shot. I take my shot after him; my form isn’t great, I haven’t played in years and since the cue is too tall and I’m comparatively too short against the table I don’t exactly have an advantage. But I do my best all the same and manage to sink one of the solid balls into the pocket.
“Nice” I say under my breath, honestly expecting to have done worse
“Jokes on you, stripes are my lucky ball”
“Stop running your mouth”
“You’ll see”
He walks around the other side of the table and lines up the end of his cue, resting it over the top of his hand in between his knuckles, keeping it steady as he twists his other wrist to point the cue at the right angle. Two of the balls clack together and he manages to sink his own ball; he moves to take his next turn. A casualty of his last shot positions another one of his balls right in front of the further most pocket.
A long shot but a clear one, I don’t doubt he can get it. But he overshoots the angle and the ball bounces back off the softened corner of the pocket and sits just shy of it, tantalisingly close but not enough to fall back in.
I smile but don’t taunt him, even though I want to.
I line up my own shot, but the angle is difficult and I can only just reach for where I’m aiming so my shot is off, I scrape the table more than I hit the ball.
He takes another shot, and then two more as he sinks two more of his balls into the pocket. My turn again but I botch this shot as well, he’s smart, not moving any of my balls into better positions for me by accident on his turn and it’s making it increasingly difficult for me to aim.
I start to feel slightly self-conscious; I’m not bothered by losing. I’m just bothered by how bad I’m doing. I suddenly don’t want to play anymore but I won’t tell Daryl that.
He takes his shot, and follows it up with another success, then two more. Leaving only one of his left and the 8-ball
It’s my turn again and I botch my shot for the second time in a row and this time I let out a sound of frustration.
“Your form is terrible”
“I haven’t played in ages, layoff”
“You want help?”
“No” I say, feeling slightly pathetic
He walks rests his cue up against the table and walks around the table to where I’m standing ignoring my objection.
He puts his hand on my shoulder and guides me over slightly, forcing me to step further aside than I would have thought necessary for the shot. He pulls up the cue in my hands, and I put them into position, but he corrects me
“Try puttin’ it in between your thumb and your finger”
So I shift the cue from my knuckles to the crease of my thumb, and it settles much better. I feel more in control
He stands behind me, his right arm comes around underneath mine to show me how to hold myself. His left arm holding the cue over my own hand, essentially turning his arms into mine. His chest is pressed against my back, and I feel him lean forward against me as I press my stomach into the table in order to get myself closer to the shot whilst keeping leverage on the table. His breath rises and falls against the curve of my spine and I can hear him breathing so close behind the shell of my ears
“You don’t need to be so crowded when you aim”
The warmth of his chest against my back is comforting but it also sends sparks across my spine, and it takes a lot of self-control to not tic the way I want to.
“I’m too short to reach half the time” I say, setting my jaw hard in order to keep my voice straight. I feel like a school girl and mentally chastise myself for being so stupid and giddy internally.
“Nah ya ain’t, the stick’s enough”
He pushes my hand lightly across the table so that it’s further right of the ball as we line up the stick against it’s shiny surface.
“You can make it go in a different direction without movin’ around s’much”
He guides my hand back slowly, pulling the cue back across my hand until the cool metal of the tip rests just shy of my hand
“Relax or this won’t work” he says
I feel completely locked up but force my muscles to stop contracting so he can guide my arms the way they need to go. He pulls the stick back slightly more before he jolts it forward, quick and sharp, like a snapping motion and I watch as the ball slides smoothly off the table and into the pocket. Despite it being offside from it, hitting it from the side moves it perfectly into place.
He doesn’t let go of me though, doesn’t move back or away, and instead guides me to a second ball. Tapping the inside of my leg as a signal to get me to swivel and I do, moving to where he wants me to. Making no objections, not daring to pull away at all.
He moves my hand across the table again, to the next solid ball, this time it’s a trickier shot and might not make it but at least it will get me to a better position by hitting it. His right hand is still wrapped around mine, but his left hand leaves my arm that’s guiding the cue and rests it on my waist.
And I’m so glad he can’t see my face because I have to squeeze my eyes shut to hide any other type of reaction. Those sparks turn into a flame inside my stomach and feel like my insides are clenching on themselves.
This is normal and not at all anything intentionally sexual even though it very much feels like it. His body is so flush against mine I can feel his muscles against my back, every defining curve and even the outline of the bulge in his pants. Which I shouldn’t be focusing on at all, because that’s indecent, but I can’t help it when it’s pressed between my legs.
“Relax” he says that his lips close to my ear as he whispers it. I’m sure he’s meant to be calming but with the drawl in his voice it is anything but. Once again, I force myself to at least seem relaxed even though I very much am not.
I honestly don’t even think he realises what he’s doing, any form of inuendo that’s been thrown at him in conversation has either gone over his head or made him shut down. So, I doubt this is intentional.
He lines up the next shot, and completes the same sharp motion, the ball does get close to the pocket but doesn’t sink. Still, it’s better than I was doing on my own.
He lets go of my hand and my waist and stands back, and I feel so much cooler and lighter all of a sudden without his warm weight on my back. A small voice in my brain cries for it to come back but I shut it out instantly and stand up straight.
“You think you got the hang of it now?” he asks me, returning to the other side of the table to retrieve his own cue
“Yeah” I say with a mouth that is dry
“Give it ago”
“It’s not my turn”
“Just do it anyway. I wanna see how you do”
It’s cheating but whatever…
I purse my lips at him and line up with the ball I just shot. I don’t crouch as low over the table this time, rest the cue between my thumb instead of my knuckles and allow the length of the cue to bring me close to the ball. I line it up, take the shot, and sink the ball into the pocket.
He gives two sharp claps, and I can’t help but smile at him. Teeth and everything. Because yeah, the validation feels good, sue me.
“That’s more like it!”
I lean on the cue as I watch him line up for his next turn, feeling warm and fuzzy all over from the simple words of affirmation. He takes the shot at his last ball and of course he makes the shot, even knocking one of mine further away and into a difficult spot in the process.
Now it’s only the 8-ball left for him. But he manages to miss that shot, aiming for the middle-left pocket results in him hitting the rounded edge causing it to bounce away from the pocket into the small cluster of my balls still left on the table
“If you manage to get this, I’ll give you two sticks of gum”
“You have gum?” my ears perk up at the mention
“Maybe. But only if you win”
“And if I lose?”
“Then I don’t have any gum”
I roll my eyes at him but line up for my next shot. I manage to sink the next ball but miss the shot after that. Which allows him to put the 8 ball in the pocket and lose me the match.
“Maybe next time Southside” he finishes off his beer and clearly seeing that I’m not finishing mine he downs that too.
I stack my cue back under the table and leave the balls where they are, no point in resetting it.
“We should get back” I say, I move back to where I can see the main street through the windows and the sun has already sunk lower than I would have liked. I’m getting better with the walkers, but they still hold an edge to them at night I’d rather not encounter right now. Daryl hums in assent and we both grab our bags and head back out, walking down the street towards the truck.
“Thanks, for teaching me” I say, looking at my feet as we head down the road
“S’no problem”
“Not as fun getting to play when your opponent isn’t a challenge, I bet. Or when there’s no money in it”
“Nothing to win anymore” is what he says at first
And I can’t help but feel a little disheartened at his response.
But he follows it up with “Playing for the love of the game ain’t half bad though, with good company”
I look up from my feet slightly and meet his eyes to find him already looking at me. A small smile on his face and I smile back.
Feeling some of my confidence come back I decide to taunt him a little bit.
“Do you teach all your friends to play like that? Or just me?”
“Like what?”
“Up close and personal” I smirk at him and watch him grow slightly uncomfortable, I see it dawn on him just how cozy he’d been with me back there
“Nuh-uh” he says that it’s more of a mumble than actual words and I throw my head back laughing.
“Shut up”
I keep laughing all the way back to the truck. We both get in and my laughing subsides and I quickly go back to enjoying the view as Daryl U-turns and leads us back to the farm.
“We’re not gonna tell anyone about this yeah? So, we can go back to it one the next run” I suggest, making it sound a lot more secretive than it needs to be.
“Sure”
“I’ll give you more of a challenge next time”
“I’ll still win” he says his face remaining blank, but the mischief clearly hinted in his voice
“We’ll see”
We fall back into a comfortable silence, the sun falling further and further behind the horizon line even across the open plains of the old farmland, there’s a few walkers littered here and there but I try my best not to focus on them. Drawing the cool air into my lungs as it leaks in through the air vents in front of my seat.
…
Daryl breaks the silence
“Carlos”
“Yeah?” I don’t look away from my window, my eyes flicking inside my skull at each tree as it rushes past us
“Thanks”
I lift my cheek from where it was resting against the window and turn my head to him, my brow furrowed as I glance at him, suddenly very confused
“For what?”
“For not treatin’ me any different”
“Why would I treat you different? Why would any of us treat you different?”
“I dunno…sometimes feels like the group looks at me different. After Merle…and Sophia”
I haven’t noticed any specific interactions that would confirm what he’s saying to me, I observe but I’m obviously not seeing every interaction, hearing every conversation so maybe he has reason to believe that. But in my eyes, he’s valuable and it’s a secret to no one how caring he is, and Rick clearly trusts him. I have no idea why anyone would treat him any different.
Well except for Shane, but he’s the most antagonistic man I’ve ever met.
“I don’t know what you think anyone thinks of you. But…you’re welcome”
And then I initiate an intimacy I haven’t really approached since my accident. I shuffle over just slightly in my seat and lean my head against his arm. I don’t do anything more, I don’t look at anything, I don’t expect anything
I just want to show him that I care. In my way
In a way that we seem to only do with one another.
I know that we haven’t really spoken about those few days together months ago, and we haven’t initiated anything since. But we are clearly different with each other than we are with the others. I’d never do this with anyone else, and I don’t think Daryl would let anyone else do this to him.
Except maybe Carol. But that doesn’t bother me, he’s been so sweet to her it’s endearing to say the least.
I watch as he switches his hands, the hand resting near his mouth takes the wheel and the one I was leaning on comes away from it and slides behind me, wrapping me in a loose hug.
One day soon we’ll need to talk about what we are, and what we’re planning on doing with whatever type of relationship this is. But just like before, right now, I’m content with just existing in the moment.
Offering comfort to the man I feel great fondness for and letting him return my affections.