Sasha hesitates when she sees him at the bar, her smile falters.
She’s ready to kill Shane and Rick. Take them both out, right there in the middle of the bar with a hundred witnesses. She even wonders if her friend Michonne has anything to do with this rather obvious setup to connect them again.
Daryl Dixon.
He leans casually against the mahogany bar, his hand on a mug of beer, watching her, but she knows that easy, even blank, expression on his face is affected. Surely he feels something upon seeing her. Anger. Disappointment. Hurt. Disgust, even. He can't see her now, after what she did, and not feel anything at all.
God knows she feels something. Regret. Sorrow. Embarrassment. Remorse. Guilt.
She wants to scream at the top of her lungs two words: I'm sorry. They wouldn't be enough. They couldn't make up for her stupidity, but it'd be something . She forces herself toward the bar, feeling like she couldn’t possibly come in, lock gazes with him, and then ignore him. She’s done too much of that already. So Sasha walks up and places her ass on the barstool beside him and makes herself speak.
“Hey, Daryl.”
God, what's he gonna say? Sasha wonders. Will he say hi? Fuck off? She deserves a brush off from him. After all, isn’t that what she did?
Or would she?
Sasha often vacillates between deep regret and anger. God, she'd loved him. Loved him deep, and the moment she said something out of anger, or if stupidity, he just walked out of her life without a glance back.
Just like now. He slaps a five on the bar and walks away without a word spoken. She's ready to watch him leave and not come back, but he goes to the juke box and picks something. To her surprise he comes back and orders another Miller.
He can't say he loves her but Sasha doesn't need to hear the words right now. She knows what he feels. She knows he's not just screwing her. He wants more, just like her. He wants it to last, just like she does.
“You said your brother wouldn't like it if he found out about us,” she says. “We can't hide this forever, Daryl. At some point you'll have to choose between being with me in the open, or breaking it off so he doesn’t find out.”
There’s something in his eyes when she talks about his brother. Fear. He’s afraid of his brother finding out.
I know he’s all the family you have since your dad died--”
“I ain't giving you up,” Daryl answers. “I just gotta find the right--”
Her phone alarm goes off. She kisses him and then goes to take a shower. When she's out and dressed she sees her brother's truck parked outside Daryl's trailer, waiting to pick her up and take her to work. Something she hates asking of him, but it has to be until her car’s out of the shop.
I've got a 24 hour shift,” she says. “Pick me up after? I'll make steaks for dinner.”
Daryl kisses her. It's tender but reserved because he knows her brother can see them behind the screen door, and she feels a rush of affection for him.
Well, either he'd speak, or she'd have to go sit with Rick and Michonne, and Shane, who are watching them with tense expressions. Michonne nods encouragement and Sasha decides to try one last time.
“How you been?”
“Fine. You?”
She sags a little in relief. He's willing to talk, at least. Small talk was better than nothing, then again, Daryl isn't known for his conversational skills.
“I'm okay, I guess.”
“Who the fuck are you?”
“Excuse me?” Sasha asks, coming down the steps. She's got no clue who this asshole is, or why he's looking at her like she pissed in his cereal, but there's hate in his eyes.
“Don't tell me you're the bitch my little brother's puttin’ the wood to.”
“Who the hell are you?”
Rather than answer, he puts his beer down and spits in her direction.
“He's screwin’ a nigger?” he shouts. He thumbs in Ty’s direction. “This your pimp or what?”
Her brother opens the truck door, his face full of rage, ready to defend his sister from such an ugly attack.
“Don't you talk to my sister that way, you racist piece of--”
Merle grabs the door, Tyreese is only partially out, and slams it.
“Tyreese!”
Merle punches her brother, dazes him. Sasha moves to defend but Merle has no compunctions about hitting a woman. Or at least not about hitting a black woman. She falls to the ground just as Daryl comes out.
“Merle!”
Merle is in a rage. He beats Tyreese, calling him a nigger, and Sasha helplessly watches Daryl, who looks stunned. Or perhaps it's something else. Fear. She thinks he's a coward who won't fight for her. Then he's moving, hauling Merle away from Ty, screaming for him to calm down. Sasha dials 911 and finds someone's already reported. The cops are on the way.
“Sasha--”
She shrugs him off and tries to care for her brother. When she looks up she speaks just four words: stay away from me.
She looks at the dance floor but it ain't all that full. Some slow song comes on and Rick leads Michonne to the floor. The way he holds her...It's the way Daryl used to hold her. He couldn't smooth talk his way into a woman's pants, but Daryl could dance his way in. He wasn’t much of a talker, but his non-verbal communication skills were unmatched. The way he puts his hands on your hips and pulls you close. How he moves against you. It was like foreplay.
“I'm sorry.”
The words leave Sasha's lips before she even knew they were in mind. God, she's waited so long to say those words. Now that she has she knows it's too little, too late. Daryl won't even look at her. He just stares at his reflection in the mirror behind the bar while the music plays. That song fades and they drink beer, sitting side by side. Quiet.
“I'm an idiot, Michonne.”
“How so?”
They're in the ER at St. Mary's, sipping awful coffee that's cooked too long, and came out of the vending machine too hot, and waiting while Ty is treated for his injuries. She tells Michonne what happened. What she said to Daryl.
“You weren't thinking clearly,” Michonne says, rubbing her back. “Call him up and tell him you're sorry. He'll forgive you.”
“He won't.”
Sasha's convinced he won't speak to her. Not after what she said. Not when she said it with such anger in his eyes. She had allowed herself to wonder if Daryl hesitated because he shared his brother's bigotry. Now, looking back on the times they'd shared, remembering the scars on his back, she felt like a fool to doubt him.
She spends most of the night puking out her phone and staying to press the 2 key to speed dial him, but she never quite manages it.
Daryl still hasn't said anything. Six minutes and two songs later she's starting her second beer.
“Well...I just wanted to say that,” she says.
“Why now?” he asks, when she gets to her feet.
She hesitates, can see a couple of people trying to listen in without appearing to do just that. “Wanna dance? Keep our talk private?”
“Wanna dance?”
Sasha’s shocked Daryl would ask, he's so damn shy, but he looks good in that plaid shirt, and Mama's is a little chilly. It's not the chill, though, that hardens her nipples and makes them poke at the thin material of her shirt, it's him.
“Sure,” she says.
Once they're on the dance floor, and she's flush against him, smelling the scent of pine and tobacco, Sasha decides she's going home with him tonight if he asks. There’s something about the way his hands are on her body, the way he touches her and guides her around that tells her he’ll be a good lover, if they go there.
No words are necessary now. No small-talk, no flirting. Well, not verbally, at least. The music is slow and Daryl’s got one hand caressing her lower back while the other holds her hand. Their fingers entwine. He’s looking her right in the eye and as the lights dim she’s sure she can feel him hardening against her. One hand slips to her ass and pulls her close and fuck it all if she wouldn’t screw him beside the dumpsters out back, right now, if he wanted to.
“Wanna get out of here?” asks Daryl.
“I was afraid you’d never ask,” Sasha says, and loops her hand with his. They leave Mama’s and climb into his truck, their breath fogging the air as he starts it up.
“Heat don’t work,” he says, looking so embarrassed.
“You warmed me up plenty on the dance floor,” she tells him, and scoots across the seat to kiss him, hot and deep, pulling a moan from his lips that she soon matches. A moment later, with her hand high on his thigh, Daryl peels out of Mama’s parking lot, taking Sasha home for the first time.
Daryl downs his beer and stands up. She's not surprised when he looks at her and shakes his head.
“I gotta piss. Then I'm goin’ home.”
A moment later she's following him to the bathrooms, where the thud of the music isn't so loud.
“I was scared you'd reject me,” she says, in a rush. “I picked up the phone a million times to call you but always put it down because I was scared you hated me. Then, so much time had passed that I just...”
“What did I even do to make you break things off?”
He's got his hand on the bathroom door, waiting for an answer.
“When you came outside you just stood there while Merle beat Ty. You just watched. Why did you do that? Why didn't you jump right in?”
Daryl shakes his head and heads into the bathroom, his face full of anger and something Sasha can't name. Before he can shut the door she's inside, angry now.
“Why didn't you fight for me after that?” Sasha questions. “Why didn't you at least try to come talk to me? I never understood that, Daryl.”
“You tell me to fuck off and wonder why I didn't come back?” Daryl asks, incredulous.
“Yes! Why didn’t you?”
She needs to understand. She's told men to take a hike before but they at least tried to work it out, win her over. With Daryl, it was different. With Daryl, he was just gone. He reached behind her and locked the door before he turned to the urinal and unzipped to take a piss, getting her first look at his dick for the first time in a year.
“Because I knew,” he said sadly, “you wanted out. I wasn't good enough for anything more than a lay. That was your chance to get out. You took it, I let you.”
He shook, zipped up, and stared down at her.
“Move.”
“You're wrong, Daryl. I never thought I was better than you.”
“You just thought I was a coward.”
“How could you think I ever thought I was superior to you?” Sasha demanded.
“Same way you thought I was a racist,” he countered. “I could read you like an open book. Now move.”
Sasha held firm. She had no intentions of moving. “I said I was sorry.”
“Fuck you,” he said bitterly. “I don't owe you shit.”
She wanted to slap Daryl, shake him, cry on his shoulder. In the end she threw her arms around his neck and pressed her lips to his.
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