Knife Edge [Daryl Dixon]

Chapter Twenty-One - One Still Strong Man (3/3)

     Daryl had been and gone and done it. He had knocked on Sarah's door. This wasn't going to find her on the road under the guise of getting some sleep. This was him waking her up at two am because he wanted to see her. No more, no less. 

It seemed a good idea until a light came on in the kitchen, but by the time the curtain twitched on the window by the side of the door, he was fussing with the strap on his crossbow.

Jackass, Merle mouthed by his ear, but while Daryl ignored him, he had to admit he had a point.

The door popped open and Sarah peered out, 'Daryl? Is everything okay?'  

What did he say to that? Replying with a vague, 'Mm,' he took the door from her, and climbed into the van. It smelled strongly of bleach.

Sarah went to lean against the kitchen worktop. Her hair was down around her shoulders, but she was wearing the same over-sized jogging pants and shirt she had changed into at the infirmary. The floorboards were bare beneath her feet, and without her boots, she seemed so much smaller than usual.

Daryl lay his crossbow on the table, 'We're goin' to Hilltop and the Kingdom tomorrow. Rick wants to start gettin' the news out. You up to comin' along?'

She flexed her hand, wincing when her thumb clicked, 'I'm not sure how much use I'll be, but I can come.'

He nodded, though she wasn't coming to be useful. Rick could do what he liked, but until they had seen the size of the problem on the other side of the mountains, where he went, Sarah would go too. The bruises on her face were a stark reminder of what was at stake if she didn't, as if he needed reminding.

The solar lamp on the worktop flickered and reduced to an island of light, barely enough for two. With a single step, he got closer to her.

'Let me see,' he said, as he tilted her head to the feeble light.

The undamaged skin above her cheekbone shone next to the purple-red bruise on her cheek. A scrape was at its centre, her scars lay hidden underneath.

And where was he when she was getting that bruise? Playing politics in the Sanctuary.

His stomach churned. After all he did to protect her, and they nearly took her from him when they were back in Alexandria. Why did he never learn?

'Don't, Daryl,' she said, suddenly pulling her face away from his hand, her voice thickening. 'Why do you always have to touch them?'

Not wanting to lose this closeness, Daryl turned too. Shifting his weight to stay with her. 

Touch them?  If it was her scars she was talking about, he had plenty of his own, and knew only too well that the ones on the outside were nothing compared to the ones on the inside, and while his instincts screamed the contrary, he was ready to share his hurts with her. Wasn't that what being together meant?

'Hey,' he said, cupping her chin and bringing her back to him. 

He wasn't the Daryl who took to the road to get away from his Dad's fists any longer. Or the Daryl who had found more kinship in the woods when he was growing up than any four walls and a roof. And she wasn't the Sarah who hid in the ruins of the world, or lay on the freezing ground hoping to die. 

'I don't touch them because I see them,' he whispered, tracing a finger over the thread-like scar on her cheek. He wished his hands were soft but they weren't and never would be. All that was soft was his gaze as he followed the scar with his eyes down to the shadow on her lip. 'I touch them 'cause I don't'

Whether she believed him or not, that was the truth. He touched them to take them away. To make them his. Wasn't that also part of being together?

His heart beating somewhere up around his throat, he leaned close to her, closer than he had ever been. Until they were face-to-face, with nowhere to hide.