in a dark meadow -- daryl dixon

from the past

word count: 7208

five months later

"Any woman under all that dirt?"

Avery smirked softly to herself, but her heart leapt up into her throat at the sound of his voice. Carefully removing her muddied gardening gloves, she peered up at him over her shoulder, dustings of dirt spread across her cheeks and forehead. Daryl stood over her, blocking the sun that had been mercilessly hot on her all afternoon. She had been busying herself in her flower garden, combing over the rain-washed earth with a shovel as she planted her newest seed findings. Rising to her feet, she swatted her hands along her denim overalls before facing him.

Daryl had been out with Michonne for the past few days. The woman had been adamant on locating the Governor. She opted to go alone most of the time, usually on horseback. She kept a map with all of the places she'd checked, the topographic plots covered with frustrated, dark scribbles. Daryl offered to join her this time, part of him still scorched after what the Governor had done to his brother. She was relieved to see he was back, seemingly unscathed, even if he'd looked like he spent the nights sleeping in the dirt (which he probably had).

"You're one to talk," She ignored his quip and examined the man standing before her, eyes falling from the stains on his jeans to the spatters of walker blood on his shirt. "You're filthy."

He smirked, eyes falling over her attire. "'Ya look like 'ya should be helpin' farmer Rick in that getup."

"Don't act like you don't love my overalls."

He stared at her, taking in her features. Behind her slightly pursed lips was a smile ready to be tempted out. Strands of hair popped out of her long braid, the ends frizzing from the Georgian heat. Her eyes, as green as her garden after a rainstorm, shone. Reaching out, he used his thumb to gently wipe away a spit of dirt on her cheekbone. He was only gone for a few days, but God, did he miss her.

"C'mere,"

Pulling her to him, he leaned forward and pressed his lips against hers. She hummed affectionately against him, returning the kiss briefly before pulling away, grinning.

"No more until you shower."

He grumbled something under his breath, pretending to be annoyed, before Avery changed the subject.

"You find anything out there?"

"Nah. Dead ends." Daryl sighed. "'Ya been out here long?"

"No longer than Rick has."

Their gazes fixed on the ex-officer who worked nearby, as he buried the end of his shovel into the dirt. The prison field had been transformed into a designated space for their crops and animals. They used the expansive area to assemble separate pens for their chickens, pigs, and horses, while strips of raked fertilizer homed stalks of green herbs and vegetables.

A square of land had been claimed by Avery for her garden. She'd dug up the grass (with Daryl's help), and planted the seeds or unearthed plant bundles she'd encountered over the past few months. She'd kept her plants nourished with a makeshift rain water reserve, knowing her garden was the lowest priority when it came to watering, and filled the space with native plants mostly - the ones strong enough to thrive in the Georgian weather. She admired the splashes of orange, gold, and purple for a moment, pleased to see a sprouting of white wildflowers had recently pushed through the dirt.

She bent over, wiggling a bristled leaf loose from its stem.

"Try it,"

He examined the tiny leaf pinched between her fingers. "What is it?"