ANGEL FACE ➵ DARYL DIXON [2]

Chapter Three: Never Have I Ever

Chapter 3

Fava waits impatiently for Daryl to pour the moonshine, sitting down at the kitchen table with three legs remaining.

The house reaks of damp and unknown moisture, the wallpaper falling apart and objects lying everywhere across the rooms. Even nature has taken its course, beginning to grow inside of the house. It looks like it hasn't seen people in a really long time. Maybe even before the apocalypse.

Daryl twists the lid off, making a pop sound. Fava adjusts herself on the stool, watching as he pours slowly into a small beaker. He fills only a quarter, setting the beaker down for Fava in front to access.

"That's a real first drink right there," Daryl says, nodding for her to try it.

But she's stopped, just looking at the beaker filled with the moonshine and biting her lip. This confuses Daryl, sitting down opposite.

"What's the matter?" He asks, "it won't do it any harm if that's what's wrong. Won't make it grow a third eye right in the middle of its forward or anythin'."

Fava traces her stomach, knowing her baby could come at any time. And it's stressing her out. What if they're not prepared? Or if they run into trouble and suddenly her water breaks?

"I know... And it's not that," she answers, Daryl replying with, "then what is?"

"It's just that my dad always said bad moonshine would make you go blind."

"Ain't nothin' worth left seein' anymore."

Fava gulps, his words hurtfully true.

"I see you."

Daryl awkwardly shifts in his stool, clearing his throat as Fava takes her first sip, the moonshine traveling down her throat. She crunches up her face in disgust, frowning her eyebrows. What did it taste like? Hell, she was too busy burning her mouth and throat, not stopping as it reached her stomach. But it settles, the burning turning into a nice smooth, warm feeling.

"That's the most disgusting thing I've ever tasted," she says as she drinks the last drop, tilting her head up.

She slaps the table on the way down like you would see in a western movie, the cowboy drinking strong shots. This makes Daryl smirk, knowing the feeling as he has felt it before. Long before he met Kendra.

"Second round is better," Fava comments, grabbing the rest of the moonshine and pouring another quarter into the beaker.

"Woah, slow down," Daryl says concerned, sounding like a strict parent.

"This one is for you," Fava explains, pushing the beaker his way.

"Nah, I'm good," he declines with the smirk still on his face.

Fava looks down to her beaker like there's something wrong with it.

"Why?" She asks, saddened Daryl won't join in.

"Someone's gotta keep watch," he answers, standing up from the broken table.

"What? So you're like my chaperone now?"

Daryl walks over to a broken window, removing the tattered curtains and picking up one of the floor boards that are stacked in a pile.

"Nah. Jus' drink lots of water when you're done," he declares, picking up a packet of screws from the kitchen drawer and a hammer.

He begins hammering the floor boards across the windows, already the light shrinking inside. He will have to do the entire house, but for now it's just the kitchen and the living room.