friday night fire fight - oneshots

d. dixon

no love like your love
daryl dixon x f!reader
1.9k words

summary: you've been in alexandria for far too long for daryl to have not bathed by now. perhaps there's more to it than what he lets on.

warnings: swearing, baths/water, nonsexual nakedness, scars/evidence of abuse, mentions and stories of abuse involving water

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"I ran you a bath."

It was the first thing you said to Daryl when he walked through the front door. He didn't lift his head at your words, only continued kicking off his boots in the corner with the others. Here in the little white picket fence house you both lived in with Glenn and Maggie, the latter insisted all dirty shoes go on the mat she had placed out in the entryway. It was the closest he could have gotten to living the life he should have growing up.

He only gave one of his characteristic grunts, the one that meant he was acknowledging what you said, but he wasn't too keen on replying. You sighed gently, soft enough so that he wouldn't hear it, and stood from the couch where you had been reading.

You and Daryl had first met just after the fall of humanity, when you had followed Glenn's blaring red sports car to their camp at the quarry. He was a firecracker and a lone wolf all at once, one that took no shit and yet gave none that wasn't well deserved, either. He had begun to come around when you'd discovered the prison, when he had given you his jacket to wear because the night air was still cold enough to seep into your bones. Since then, he had begun to bring you little trinkets; necklaces, new clothes, anything you even offhandedly mentioned you desired. Whatever it was, he had brought it to you.

When the prison fell, you hadn't known whether or not he was even still alive. For what seemed like months, you had gone on by your own, searching, and eventually settling in a tiny little camp of your own. He had mistaken you for a deer hunting and nearly shot your arm clean through; it was the first time he'd ever hugged you, and he didn't let go for a long while.

And so here you found yourself, nervously thinking about the warm water upstairs cooling until it was ruined. You watched as Daryl reached up to scratch at the scruff on his chin, which had the whisper of a grey hair or two to accompany the stress lines beneath his eyes and along his jowels.

"It's still nice and hot," you said, attempting to coax him further into bathing. You had been here in Alexandria far too long for him not to; nearly two weeks now. Rick had at last deemed it safe, given you all the okay to settle down as you saw fit. And everyone had... all except the man standing before you.

"'S okay," Daryl said in that gruff, gravely tone of his. He made his way toward the kitchen, watching you from the corner of his eye as you followed him. When he went to drink straight from the milk carton, you reached out to grab it and pour it into a glass for him. He gazed at you rather curiously from under his dirty bangs.

He wasn't budging, and you knew he wouldn't if you kept at it like this. So you decided to try a different approach. "Your run was okay, I take it?" you poured yourself a small bit of milk and leaned back against the counter. You had been a first grade teacher prior to the fall, and you knew precisely how to work your way beneath flimsy walls. "I heard that you found enough chocolate for the shortage to be up."

Daryl replied with a low hum as he finished his drink and placed the glass in the sink. "'T was fine. Saw that horse Aaron was talkin' 'bout. Real pretty."

"And took down a few walkers, I see." You reached out to examine his vest and shirt, which were speckled in the telltale sign of a small struggle against the undead. "You should really let me clean these before they stain." You felt rather satisfied when he handed over the vest, and didn't push when he refused the shirt. "Come on upstairs and we can get you changed. I've got some leftover supper if you want any."