Fight With You - Daryl Dixon TWD

Chapter 13

Suck on that Jess, I've already replaced you.

Rick hopped in the back and Daryl pulled the door thing closed, and then we were off. At one point, Rick had asked for the front seat and I'd said 'no', but as I held a cigarette in my hand, an idea popped into my head.

"Hey, Officer Friendly," I called, turning in my seat. He looked over to me, a signal for me to continue. "If you let me open the back a bit so I can have a cig, I'll give you the front seat."

He didn't reply, but when he stood and chucked open the back, I knew it was a 'yes'.

"Sweet!" I cheer quietly, jumping out of the seat and high-fiving Rick as I pass.

T-dog - ever the gentleman - held his hand out for me as I passed him, and I take it gratefully as he helps me sit down.

"Thanks." I smile as he lets go.

---

As inhale smoke from the cigarette, I can't help but look at the redneck.

This man, not two hours ago, came at me with a knife. Yet I can't stop looking at him, as if I've already developed a crush.

Like. A. Damn. Teenager.

I guess that's some kinky shit. Never in my life have I been attracted to someone so fast, or reacted this way to any man. Women, sure, yes definitely, women are amazing. But a man? A stupid, self-centred, ill-mannered, aggravating, loud-mouth man? It's like a high school crush all over again.

That's probably it, yeah. A silly little crush that stemmed from him accidentally defending me.

That's all. Nothing more.

"I left my glasses in my bag," I grumbled to T-Dog, rubbing my warm face awkwardly.

Daryl snorted across from me, to which I glared at him.

"What's so funny?" I snapped, folding my arms over my chest.

"Imagined you with glasses." He drawled, "Y'looked stupid."

"Oh, ha ha. Fuck you." I sneer, pulling my legs to a criss-cross position as he glares at me.

---

The rest of the drive was relatively quiet, and T-dog and I ended up playing some kid's games like slaps and tic-tac-toe - both of which I had to explain the rules to him and how to play - and regular rock paper scissors.

[From here on, I have picked this story up after about a year :) so sorry in advance cause my writing ain't any better. Gonna start writing from the top of my head rather than prewriting in my notebook.]

By the twelfth time I slapped him, T-dog had had enough.

"Man, how do you win every damn time?" He groans, leaning back against the side of the cube as he rubs the back of his sore hands. He clearly didn't understand the game. He'd only pull his hands back the slightest bit when he saw my hands move. He also flinched way too easily, taking his turn every time.

"It's a science," I winked, leaning back on my palms victoriously. "Y'gotta watch the forearms, people subconsciously flex when they're about to strike." I hold out my right arm to him and bend it, as a sort of example, but T-dog instead tilted his head and pointed at my tattoo.

"What's that say?" he asks, "No what?"

"Says 'No Matter Where'," Straightening my arm back out and angling it toward him, I set to answer the question he'd undoubtedly ask, "Got it when I was 17, me and an old mate got them matching. Said we'd always be there for each other. Funny how things turn out, huh?"

He nods solemnly as I move my arm away. Promises like that are stupid, now and when you're a kid, and I'm guessing he understood that. "You got more of them? Tattoos I mean, not old friends. I've seen three so far."

I looked down to my wrists and noted the two there, along with the 'No Matter Where' just under the crease of my elbow. Then there were three on my back, two on my leg and one on my ankle. Didn't realise I'd got so many.

"Nine," I recount, watching his eyebrows raise. "And eight piercings - I think so, at least. I lost my left first, so I'm kind of uneven."

His eyes skimmed over my legs for a second before meeting my own, probably realising how creepy that looked. "Didn't take you for one of those girls." He muttered, leaning his head back against the wall.

"What do you mean?" I blink at him in confusion. "I mean, England has its stereotypes for tattoos and piercings but they're not that bad. Loads of people have them."

T-Dog looks at me for a second before crossing his arms, " Now, I don't personally believe this shit, but I had a bunch of dudes preaching at me in college, saying tattooed women are risk-takers, heavy drinkers, bed bouncers, and druggies."

"Bed bouncers? You must be joking." Scoffing, I turn away from the man and lay my head against the cube. "I'm not a heavy drinker, but I can hold my alcohol. Not a druggie, definitely not a bed bouncer, and who isn't a risk-taker in the apocalypse?"

The van falls into silence, only the sound of the wheels on the road and the wind as we glide down the streets.

For Merle's sake and ours, he better be alive.

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A/N

Man I haven't a clue what I'm doing. It's been way too long since I've done this shit.

Hope its ok ✌😘

Bye

-IWriteStoriesNotSins