Sitting around the fire, the flames the only light in the dark starless night. Beth sings softly, her voice holding something none of you had heard for a long time... A sense of joy.
Everyone ate slow, although you barely ate at all. Maybe it was because too much happened today, or you'd gotten too used to not eating for days at a time that now it just felt weird.
"Would you take this bit of meat over to Daryl, for me?" Carol asks holding out a small plate of what was left. You nod, grabbing the cold metal and making your way over to the turned over bus.
He stood up there, standing watch. As long as you'd known him he'd always been that way, not one to really join or sit with the group. But rather stand watch, or be off on his own.
"There wasn't much left," You say, as you finally get up there near him. "but you should eat."
He looks at you, then the plate, and ends up looking at you again. "You eat?"
Others before himself. That's how he was too, even though he could be cold and distant, he cared for his people. More than himself sometimes.
You hum a slight response, holding the plate out farther so he'll take it from you. But he stands there, still like a statue.
"I'm not hungry," You sigh. "but I ate enough. Here."
This time you practically shove the plate at him, he nods a thanks as you both sit.
Legs dangling off the vehicle, the soft breeze blowing through your hair. You can still hear Beth's faint voice, and it's still calming.
"You think this place is safe?" You find yourself asking.
Daryl lifts his head slightly, as he chews his meat."I don't know."
"Do you think it could be?"
He shrugs, his shoulder simply moving up then down. "Ain't no real safe places any more."
His answer; yet depressing is true. Each place kept getting worse, and the situation seemed to just keep getting worse. Death seeming to knock on your door everyday, just waiting for you.
"What bout you?" He asks, he mumbles the words but in the quiet night you hear him clearly.
"I don't know," You say looking over at him. "I think it could be something."
"What you see it bein?" Daryl asks, setting his empty plate to the side.
"Something safe," You explain, watching him adjust the crossbow that hangs over his shoulder. "someplace that can be secure."
"You think I'm being too hopeful?" You wonder, ending up asking the question out loud to him.
Daryl looks off into the darkness, but soon his eyes look to you. The blue shinning brighter than the moon tonight, and making up for the lack of stars in sky.
"Nah," He shakes his head, his tongue running over his bottom lip. "good to still have some hope every once and a while."
His answer surprised you for a moment, a good kind of surprise.
The wind blew harder, as it began to get louder than Beth's distant singing.
"Cold?" Daryl asks you, as he watches your hands shake.
"I'm okay." You lie, knowing it was towards the end of winter and you didn't want to sound like some sort of wimp to Daryl Dixon.
"Pfft," Daryl scoffs, shaking his head at you. "No you ain't, damn hands shakin like you been electrocuted."
With his comment, you watch him take his crossbow off setting it down beside him.
Then the beautiful patterned poncho being taken off his body, leaving him in a thin long sleeved shirt.
"No," You shake your head as he holds the clothing out to you. "then you'll be cold."
Rolling his eyes, he places it on your lap. "I'm fine."
You two sit close to each other, your left leg almost touching his right.
You want to give the poncho back, but you know he won't except it. So instead you shrug it on, the fabric instantly surrounding you in warmth and the scent of Daryl.
It's a smell that you'd never expect yourself to love, the mix of cigarette smoke and sweat. The faint tone of the woods, pine needles almost blended into the cloth. But as it wraps around you, you find yourself feeling relaxed and calm. For the first real time in months.
"Thank you." You whisper to him, not looking at him as you try to warm your hands. Rubbing them back and forth over your jeans.
Watching you do so, and fail to warm them Daryl grabs your small hands into his. Your frozen fingers instantly warming at his touch, the way snowflakes melt when they meet your skin.
He holds your hands tightly, scooting closer. Close enough as he rubs his thumb over the palm of your hands, to hear each breath he takes.
Because you can hear his breathing, you hope he can't hear how fast your heart is beating.
Looking at him now, as he stares at both your hands in his. You see not only the specks of life mixed into the blue of his eyes, but you look closer at all the features of his face.
The way his hair can still be soft, with the months of sweat and grease worked in. The way he can stay alert so long, yet the bags under his eyes scream for him to rest. And the way his lips can still look so lush after years of smoking and how chapped they are now.
But as you sit there in his poncho, your hands in his, both your bodies touching. You realize something, something you'd probably never realize if you hadn't sat up there with him.
This place, this prison... It could be safe. It could be a home.
But the way his hands touch yours and the way the simple smell from his clothing holds you and calms you... You realize that Daryl is your home.
It isn't some farm nor an abandoned prison. Your home is with him, the place you forever feel the most safe and secure.
A/N: longer one, and have to say I love this!😍❤
