It's another Friday night in dusty old King County. Halloween is coming and he's already sick to death of the decorations. The only thing he wants out of life, after a hard day working Hershel Greene's farm, tending the animals and fixing farm equipment that should've been put into a compactor ten years ago, is a hot shower followed by a cold beer while he watches some TV and falls asleep in his big comfy easy chair.
"Don't leave without this," Hershel says, coming up to Daryl while he's climbing into his beat up old pickup. He hands Daryl an envelope with that week's pay inside. Daryl takes it and nods a thanks and a goodbye.
With his check deposited, Daryl is all ready to settle in for the night. He stands under the hot spray of the shower and feels it wash away a day of sweat, dirt, oil, and ease his muscles. There's tension in his body, though, that has nothing to do with work. He remembers the las last time a woman touched his dick. He remembers how badly it ended, but that doesn't matter anymore. It's all water under the bridge. All he needs is the release, even if he has to get there himself. He thinks about beating off in the shower, working out some of that tension and letting it wash away down the drain, but before he can make a decision he hears someone banging on the door.
"Dixon!"
"Shit," Daryl grouses, and tries to ignore it. He rinses soap from his hair and armpits and listens to more impatient banging.
"I know you're in there! I hear the water."
"Damn it, Walsh, I'm in the fuckin shower!"
"Well hurry up! We ain't got all night, man."
The last person Daryl ever thought he'd befriend was a cop. Shane Walsh was the asshole who'd arrested his brother, Merle, on an assault against a black man. A man Daryl had caught his brother beating almost to death after he'd insulted the man's sister. The worst part was that guy was a friend of his, Ty, who had done nothing but refuse to stand back while Merle insulted his sister for being with...
No matter. Walsh did his job, and Daryl couldn't fault him for it. Didn't even want to, in all honesty. When Merle was away Daryl could relax, be himself, and if he was being honest, he wanted Merle in prison. He wanted him punished for what his idiocy and his hate had cost him. Now, with Merle gone, probably for the rest of his life, since he'd be too old to raise hell by the time he got out, Daryl didn't have to go along just to get along. He had his house to himself and peace and quiet.
Well, he did until Walsh comes banging on his bathroom door, talking about they didn't have all night. All night for what?
With a towel wrapped around his waist, Daryl yanks the door open. Walsh is there, out of uniform and with a shit eating grin plastered on his face that can only mean he's in the mood for trouble.
"We're going to Mama's tonight," Walsh says.
"Like hell," Daryl counters. "You maybe, I ain't."
Of course he knows he will be at Mama's later, because Shane Walsh is an annoying fucking prick when he didn't get his way. Whenever he shows up on Daryl's doorstep, or in this case, at Daryl's bathroom door, saying they were going out-they were going out. They both knew it.
"When's the last time you got some ass?" Walsh asks.
"Nunyan, now get out," Daryl answers, angry at the question since Shane knew perfectly well when's the last time he got laid.
Shane just cocks his head to the side in a 'Really, Dixon? We gonna have to do this song and dance?' look, and Daryl caves. He'll go, have a beer, and then come home to relax just as soon as some girl gets Shane's attention. He has to tell himself that so he doesn't feel like Shane's bossing him around, but it's all bullshit.
"Fine. I'll have one beer then I'm comin' home," Daryl concedes. "I'm tired, Walsh. Don't feel like it."
"You say that every time I try to get you outta the house, Dixon."
Daryl shrugs. "It's 'cause I'm too old for this shit."
"You always say that, too," Shane says, laughing. Then he grips Daryl by the shoulder. "Something tells me you won't regret it this time."
Mama's is so fucking loud. Daryl's head threatens to start throbbing in time with some country song on old fashioned juke box. Though it's against the law, the air is so thick with smoke he knows he'd be choking on it if he wasn't already a smoker. When Shane appears, though, people start snubbing out cigarettes like naughty kids caught behind the dumpsters at middle school, all on the orders of Ms Harold, the owner of the place. Mama herself. When cops come in, snuff the smokes and don't light up again. Nobody disobeyed Mama. Daryl shakes his head and takes a seat at the bar and surveys the room, looking to see who all is here.
There's the usual old drunks and their old ladies sitting at the tables, laughing. The dance floor has the same old couples moving across the sawdust strewn floors. Daryl's just not in the mood. He curses himself for being such a pussy and caving whenever somebody insists on doing something he doesn't wanna do and he tells himself that the man who scarred up his back, his own daddy, has nothing to do with him being so easily controlled by anybody he sees as an authority figure.
He's half way through a beer, hoping some girl comes on to Shane and distracts him, leads him to the dance floor for some indecent grinding, so he can run to his pickup and get home, when he sees Sheriff's Deputy Rick Grimes come in. That's rare enough to garner Daryl's attention. This is the first Grimes has showed his face outside of the job since his divorce. Here he is, coming in with a stunning woman. Dark skin, dreadlocks, beautiful. She's on Rick Grimes' arm. Was this Michonne, Rick's new girlfriend, and the woman Walsh was so damned jealous of for taking a shine to Rick over him?
Then the door opens again, just as Daryl's lifting his mug to his lips, and she walks in. He goes weak at the sight of her, his beer suddenly weighs half a ton and he sets it down on the polished mahogany bar with a heavy thud.
Sasha Williams. Her hair is down and braided, her eyes are shining, and her smile is as bright as the sun. Goddamn, he forgot how beautiful she was. How could he forget how fucking beautiful she was? How could he forget how his heart pounded every time he saw her? Or how his mouth dries up and he can't think straight? She's come in with Rick and Michonne because she says something and then starts toward the bar. Towards him. He's a liar if he's not so tense he feels he could implode into nothingness.
Daryl's never been a moaner in bed until her. Goddamned if he can help it. The way she feels isn't enough to pull these sounds from his lips. It's the way she makes him feel when he's with her, when her hips roll while he's inside her, and he's thumbing her clit. God, he's so close to being in love. Maybe he is. Daryl wouldn't know. He's never felt like this before. He's never wanted something so much as he wants Sasha.
She's in his arms after, her body feverishly hot against him. Her breath smells like the mint tea she likes to drink ever afternoon, even when it's hot as fuck. The air conditioner is in the window of his trailer bedroom, pumping out cool air. It feels good against his skin. She feels good against his skin, too.
"What?"
Daryl shakes his head. He was staring again. He doesn't mean to. "I...I"
Sasha's smiling. She knows what he's trying to say. What comes to his lips but never actually comes from them.
"Me too," she says.
It's only been six months but...she does, too.
As soon as her eyes meet his, Daryl wants to disappear. He can't believe his good fortune, that he'd get to see her again. At the same time he can't believe his bad luck, that she'd see him, and her smile would falter, and the shine in those beautiful eyes faded. She hated him, after all, since fucking with him had led to his brother damn near beating her brother to death.
Her last words rang heavy in Daryl's ears: Stay away from me.
Well, Daryl wasn't one to disrespect a lady. It wasn't like he'd ever fallen in love or any nonsense like that. He'd never do that. Swore he wouldn't and he didn't. So fuck her for coming in, and fuck Walsh for insisting he come here, and fuck this bar for even existing in the first place, where he first met her, and just...fuck it all.
He slaps a five on the counter and is about to leave when he sees her come towards him. Fucking hell, she just slid onto the bar stool right next to him, like so much shit hadn't happened, like she hadn't just destroyed him a year ago. He hears her speak. Two words that should've been easy to ignore so he could be the one to walk away, but still they put yet another crack in his heart. A heart that was already spiderwebbed with them. She could damage him with a look, much less a word.
"Hey, Daryl."
That's all it takes to make his feet freeze in place, if only for a moment. If only long enough to drag his eyes from the bar and up to the same eyes he used to stare into as he'd come deep inside of her, feeling her wetness, her warmth, wrapped tight around him as she came. Those thighs...God, she'd take him to heaven. Every time, she'd take him to heaven, like that paradise was home. Then she kicked him out, without mercy or regret.
Daryl downed his beer and then turned away, not even knowing he was going to the jukebox until he was standing in front of it. He slipped a dollar in and chose some song, blindly, and then went back to the bar and ordered another beer. He wanted her to leave. He wanted to cuss her out for hurting him. He wanted to shove her against a wall, pull her jeans down, lift her legs up, and go back home, if only for one night. After all, she was the last woman he'd been with. She was the last woman he thought he'd ever want to be with.
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