04 November 2016

Home Again Chapter 3

Oh, fuck, Merle's here.
Daryl hears yelling and runs to the door just in time to see Sasha on the ground with a split lip, and his brother beating the shit out of his friend, Ty. He stands there, frozen, and suddenly he's nine years old again, when Merle beats another friend of Daryl's, a Mexican boy, screaming racist hate.
That's not all Merle, does. He tells their father Daryl's befriended a "wetback," and then takes off so he doesn't have to witness the consequences of having told Will Dixon about his friend. Merle's rated him out and it gets him a beating with a leather belt, the buckle, and fresh cuts on his back. It's one of the worst of Daryl's life.
"What's the matter with you, boy?" Will shouts, spittle flying in Daryl's face. "Why you always hanging out with niggers and wetbacks, and chinks! How many times I gotta tell you not to mix with their kind?"
Merle, the big brother who always supposedly looked out for Daryl, had betrayed him to their father, then abandoned him to a beating.
When Daryl pulls out of the memory, he realizes he's not nine years old anymore, his daddy is dead, God don't rest that bastard's soul, and he doesn't have to stand by while Merle costs him another friendship. He also realizes he's just standing there like a useless lump.
It takes everything to defy Merle. He had a deep-rooted fear of his brother, but it's time to man up, take a stand, especially since Merle's about to fucking kill Ty.
"Merle!"
He hauls Merle away from Ty. He ignores Merle's hate speech about how he's dirtying up their pure white blood with nigger filth, and he hates his brother.
"Sasha…"
There's mistrust and loathing in Sasha's eyes when she looks at him. He feels like he's worth less than a wooden nickel. She thinks he's a coward. She's right. He's always been cowed by his brother. She thinks he's a racist and that's why her didn't step in, but she's wrong about that. He can read her like an open book. She's done with him.
"Stay away from me."
She wants out. This is her chance, she's grading for it. He's gonna let her go. He backs away. He stays between Merle and Ty until the cops come and listen to his drunken rants full of old southern hate and prejudice. He wants them gone. He wants them all gone.
Daryl's frozen in place, torn between a desire to part his lips and deepen the kiss, or just pulling away from her and leaving. The smart thing, he's sure, would be to leave, because they may have finally said why they broke apart but he doesn't feel they've said enough.
"I ain't no racist," he finally manages.
"I'm not a snob," she counters. "I didn't want out."
They're breathless, both from the fight and the kiss, and she's still got her arms around him. He's standing with his back ramrod straight and his chin up, but he's starting to cave.
"What do you want?" he finally asks.
"I wanted to know why you didn't come back," she answers. "Now I know, and you were wrong. I've never thought I was better than you. I loved you."
He swallows hard and he starts to soften in his stance. He leans forward just a little. She actually said she loved him. At one time that had been true. Not now, but at least he knew she had.
"I was scared of Merle," he says. "I hesitated because I was a coward, just like you thought."
"You overcame it," Sasha counters. "You stopped him from killing Ty and hurting me. You didn't come to court and try to argue for leniency."
"I lost you 'cause of him. I didn't want leniency for Merle after that," says Daryl.
He leans forward when she urges him into a hug. He puts his arms around her, feeling her warmth, her softness, every curve. She smells like flowers and fresh air. Daryl's sure he's making a mistake right now, by not fighting when he feels her lips against his ear, and hears her voice whisper.
"I'm sorry," she whispers.
"Me too," he says.
A second later they're kissing again. This time it isn't closed-mouthed and awkward. It's hot and fiery, like their kisses had been before that terrible day, when he'd let her down. Daryl pulls back, needing to get some air. He's almost dizzy with the euphoria of kissing her, holding her again, feeling her against him and tasting her on his lips.
"I started to come by a few times," Daryl admits. "I always pussied out."
"We're both guilty of starting to reach out and then giving up out of fear," she says. "What do you say we don't make those mistakes again?"
He no sooner nods than he's kissing her again, pushing her against the wall while their hands fumble to get clothes out the way. He's got just enough presence of mind to make sure the bathroom door is still locked before he shoves her jeans down and helps her get one leg out of them. Sasha's hands are busy, undoing his belt, unzipping him, shoving down his jeans and pulling his hardened member free from his boxers. She strokes him, stares him in the eye.
"I'm ready," she whispers in a lust-choked voice.
A low growl of need escapes Daryl. He hoists her up, which isn't hard to do considering how light she is, and feels her fingers grip his shoulders for balance, but he hesitates before pushing in.
"I loved you too," he says.
"Baby," Sasha whispers, her lips against his. "I still love you."
Daryl can't wait another second. He pushes into her, hard, deep, hearing her hiss as she takes him inside. He's home again. Finally, after a year of loneliness and missing her, he's finally home again. He squeezes his eyes closed, tries to fight the swell of emotions that threaten to finally crumble his already fragile heart.
"Me too," he whispers, over and over again while he moves inside her.
She's got her fingers tangled in his hair, she moves her hips, squeezes her thighs, drives him crazy while he drives into her. She whispers his name, kisses his face, holds him close until the moment comes when he can't hold back. She's already climaxed, he's already felt the flutters of her orgasm around him. When she says it again, Baby, I love you, he can't hold back. He opens his eyes and stares into hers as he comes.
Home again. He's finally come home again.
Daryl and Sasha emerge from the bathroom, and he sees a 'Out of Order' placard hanging from the knob, and snorts. That had to be Shane Walsh. Nobody else would do something like that to ensure he and Sasha worked things out in peace.
"Wanna dance?" Sasha asks.
"Maybe another night," he says. He was tired when he got there, and now he's exhausted. Plus, he just wants to be alone with Sasha. "Wanna get out of here?"
She watches Shane in a dark corner, kissing some blonde woman, and Rick and Michonne are still swaying slowly on the dance floor. She's not in the mood to party, either, and she knows what Daryl really wants: Her, alone. She wants the same thing, too just have him all to herself, in some peace and quiet. None of their friends will notice them disappearing together for some time, or care when they do.
Sasha takes Daryl's hand in hers and squeezes.
"I thought you'd never ask."

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Home Again Chapter 2

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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Home Again Chapter 1

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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