Daryl, My Artificial Boyfriend (A Daryl Dixon Fanfic)

Chapter 4: Switch ON

DARYL, MY ARTIFICIAL BOYFRIEND

A WALKING DEAD Fanfiction

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Previously: While waiting for Glenn's delivery, Emyli had started watching The Walking Dead. One stormy night, just two days before Glenn is delivered, Daryl Dixon, lost and wounded, arrived at her doorsteps.

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Chapter 4: Switch ON

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I drag the unconscious redneck by his feet; I pull him to my room. I put him on a sitting position with his back leaning on my bed then I go to the kitchen to clean-up the muddy mess. My mind is browsing through the different possible reasons why a Daryl ended up on our backyard. The most probable answer: this is another prank.

I go back inside my room with a bowl of warm water and wet towel. I make sure my feet will not make noise; the last thing I want is a disoriented, angry hunter-android inside my room. I kneel in front of him and place the bowl of water and towel nearby. He's totally in a bad shape. His face has blood and mud stains, his clothes are ripped and blood's coming from his side.

Blood. I don't think I have heard of androids having blood. I know they have been installed with a synthetic beating heart. But blood. I never thought they have already gone that far.

I reach for Daryl's shirt and unbutton its front; it reveals the flesh of his chest bearing scars and dirt and hair. I have to stop and look. This is the first time I'm seeing an android without a shirt…I didn't expect them to be so alive underneath. Daryl's chest heaves and falls. For a brief moment I think I want to press my palm on it; to feel his beating heart. To check if it is real or not. But I stop myself.

I take his shirt off of him. He stirs...but did not wake up. I lean to get a closer look at his wound. Fresh blood oozes from it. I take the towel then dab it gently on the surrounding skin. The wound looks bad. Something punctured him and by the looks of it, whatever that something is, it was pulled out rather hastily. It looks very needful of stitching.

I take the mattress off my bed and put it on the floor. Very carefully, I lay the Daryl android on it.

I prepare my handy sewing laser. These things work better on something else rather than with cloth. I pinch Daryl's side, trying to close the wound. I put the laser a few inches from it and before letting it do the job, I make sure my end of the task is expertly done by adjusting where the ripped skin meets, making sure that once the wound heals, there will not be any unwanted flab or folds.

The laser hums softly as it zips Daryl's wound close. His face contorts into silent pain. The smell of burning flesh fills the room.

So real. Now I know why they charge arms and legs for these androids.

I clean his torso and arms with water and towel. I carefully rub the rug on his skin to not wake him up, but hard enough to remove the stain. I stop and pause for a while as the dirt on his pink flesh and white scars create an intricate design that I want to recreate on the canvass. I spend a moment studying the bumps of each of his wound mark and memorize how the red stains of blood and brown smudge of mud paint his chest. I trace the pattern with my finger. It's art. And it's beautiful.

I put the towel on Daryl's head which is dirtier than his chest have been. Using my palm, I cup his hair up, away from his forehead and start wiping the dirt off.

It's a pretty face. After the dirt has been done away, beneath the unkempt hair and etched lines, his is a pretty face. Clean, indeed, makes pretty faces and it reminded me why I like Glenn's squeaky clean look.