•A DARYL DIXON STORY•
"I need you to listen to me. When we're out there together, if I say run, run. If I tell you to leave me, then damn it, you leave and you don't look back."
"Daryl," she sighed softly, shaking her head.
"No, I mean it," he argue...
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Churches always made Daryl uncomfortable. The ones he had been to were small, cramped, and they always smelled like a mixture of dust and geriatric women drenched in some high end perfume. Still smelled like shit to him.
The whole idea of religion made him uncomfortable, really. The notion that you could do terrible things and then simply ask for forgiveness didn't make sense to him. His father believed in God, and that never stopped him from committing sins.
He stood in the back corner of this church, observing the crowd of Alexandrians gathered around Rick as they discussed their next move.
To kill or not to kill.
Rick stood high at the podium, sunlight dimly streaming through the stain glass windows behind him. With his arms outstretched to them, he almost looked angelical.
"Maggie hammered out a deal," he continued his speech. "We'll be getting food- eggs, butter, fresh vegetables. But they're not just giving it away," he paused for effect, letting his gaze pass over each and every face. Some were tense and scared, while others perched on the edge of their seats, eager to hear his next words. "These.. Saviors.." the word was a spit through clenched teeth. "They almost kill our people on the road. Now, sooner or later, they would've found us. They would've killed someone. And then they would try to own us. That's what they do."
Daryl tried to focus on the words his brother was preaching, but all of his attention was solely drawn to her. Zeppelin leaned against the wall next to him, arms crossed and eyes narrowed. She didn't notice him, so engulfed in what Rick was saying that he could take the time to really look at her.
Her curls that were illuminated by the sunlight creeping through the wooden panels were swept to one side, baring her neck. He thought about what it would feel like to kiss that spot where her slender neck met her collarbone, on the tiny freckle that made it's home on her clavicle. If he was honest with himself, there was a lot more he wanted to do to her than just that. He wanted to snag her hand and pull her along behind him, throw her into the supply closet and let his tongue trace every inch of that golden skin.
Hell, these people could watch.
He didn't care, as long as he could touch her.
She must have been more aware of his staring than he realized, and he blushed when she smiled and elbowed him in the rib cage, though her eyes never left Rick's face. Daryl forced himself to tear his gaze away from her, back to the front of the church. Rick's friend Morgan was standing now, addressing everyone in the small, dusty room.
"We're not trapped in this," he cried. "None of you are trapped in this."
He felt Zepp tense beside him, the speech taking a turn. "Morgan..." Rick murmured. "They always come back." He pinched the bridge of his nose and placed his hands flat on the podium, like a professor who had grown tired of his student's outbursts.
