Scraping By, Chapter 12: Take What Amusement You Can
Title: Scraping By
Fandom: The Walking Dead
Rating: M
Disclaimer: All rights for The Walking Dead go to Robert Kirkman and AMC. This story takes place strictly in the TV show 'verse.
Chapter 12: Take What Amusement You Can
Shane checked the attic and fruit cellar twice before he felt safe enough to let the others know that the small ranch house was clear. The building was surprisingly clean and only smelt a little stale. He found an desk calendar in one of the bedrooms that had April tenth exposed. T-Dog had mentioned over the radio that he hadn't seen any cars as they were pulling in.
"Looks like they left a while ago," Shane muttered to himself.
He pulled his radio off his belt and said as much to Rick. As he waited for the others to come inside, Shane cleared off the bed in the master suite and checked the taps. The water was a little rusty at first but cleared when he turned both hot and cold knobs. There wasn't any hot water, but it was water. That was all that mattered.
Daryl and Rick came in first with Whitney over Daryl's shoulder. She'd taken an oxycodone not too long ago and looked quite out of it.
That is, if staring at and describing Daryl's ass from her upside-down view was any indication on her state of mind.
Shane smothered a laugh as soon as he caught the flaming red tint to Daryl's ears and, grinning, smacked Rick's arm in amused passing as his longtime friend snorted.
"…And when you put your weight on your left foot, the left cheek gets all tight, and I wanna squeeze it. But if I let go of yer waist you'll drop me fer sure," Whitney rambled.
On Shane's second trip back inside with a load of his things, he nearly ran into Andrea coming outside. She was almost bent over completely and was laughing so hard that her face was turning purple. He stopped, mostly to make sure she was still breathing, and gave her a questioning look.
All Shane could understand was something about "his face" and how she'd "never seen anyone's face look like that." Whatever is was didn't matter. All that mattered was how Andrea was laughing for the first time in a very long time.
Daryl stalked past after a few minutes, shot Andrea a dark look, and grabbed his and Whitney's bags from his truck. Zeke trotted after him, now content in their surroundings since he preformed his own property check.
The group set themselves up in the house and, upon the revelation that the water was working and there was a shower and tub combination in the bathroom, immediately started discussing who needed to shower the most in order to go first.
Watching Daryl walk back inside, the women made an executive decision. Carol handed him a bar of soap from her bag of things, Andrea threw a beach towel over his shoulder, and Lori pointed authoritatively at the open bathroom. Daryl rolled his eyes.
"I suppose I get yer subtle-ass point," he drawled sarcastically. "There's a hose outside, ya know."
Glenn shrugged at this ("water was water," he said) and threw his hat at T-Dog on his way out.
Daryl felt absolutely worn out by the time the shower head stopped spitting out rusty water. His clothes were stiff with dried sweat and blood and the shirt was a lost cause when the frayed seams started to fall apart in his hands. He'd been pissed enough when he was forced to cut the sleeves off to avoid the heat early on, but this had been one of the shirts he wore to catering jobs at work. It was his nice shirt.
"Fuck," he grumbled and tossed the shirt onto the floor with his pants. Standing in his socks and shorts, he almost didn't recognize himself in the mirror. He was much skinnier than usual and he had no idea that he'd put on as much muscle as he had since the end of civilization. The scar across his chest was much lighter than it used to be and he quickly looked away from it and focused on his arms. Curious, he raised his right arm and watched his tattoo jump when he flexed.
Rolling his eyes at himself, Daryl pulled off the rest of his clothes, stepped into the tub, and ducked his head under the cool shower spray. He watched the water turn brown and scoffed at just how filthy he was. It took three lathers of soap before the water ran clear.
Daryl had been successful at keeping his mind on the task of getting clean up until the point where he started soaping up his hair. Without wanting to, he thought back to a couple days ago when he looked up from cooking rabbit and potatoes to see the new woman wearing one of Lori's oversized tank tops and the same beach towel Andrea just handed him was looped around her neck. With her hair braided over one shoulder and her face lit up by the fire pit she struck him as the kind of woman who had no idea how pretty she really was. She wasn't self-conscious about her scars and when she laughed he felt that annoying snag of emotion low in his gut.
That night in the truck had not helped his imagination any. He'd never been more happy to be tired beyond measure than that moment Whitney pulled his arm across her waist.
This wasn't helping.
Daryl groaned and rinsed his hair. The faster he got out of the shower and into clean clothes, the better he could focus on important things. Like what he was going to do with the surprisingly nice kitchen.
Unfortunately, no one thought to let him grab a set of clean clothes to change into before the women pushed him to the bathroom.
For a long moment, Daryl debated the merits of hollering for someone to get him something out of his bag and just walking down the short hallway to the office he'd left his stuff in. He could hear the others talking in the bright living room and decided he could make it unnoticed even in a neon green striped beach towel.
Daryl opened the door and ended up with a majority of the group turning in their positions gathered around the fireplace so they could see what was taking him so long. They looked a little shocked by his appearance and Daryl didn't like the expression that was starting to soften Andrea and Carol's faces. He felt his ears burn with an involuntary blush and tried to cover up his embarrassment with one hell of a frown.
"Good Lord, people. Don't y'all have nothin' better to do?" he grumbled. His blush spread down his neck as he turned his back to them all and padded barefoot down the hall into the office.
Unfazed, T-Dog claimed the open shower and threw Daryl's dirty things in the hall.
The shock of seeing the normally very private Daryl Dixon nearly in the altogether with those horrible scars across his chest and back had everyone digging for something to say to break the tension.
Glenn eventually cleared his throat and ran his hand through his still-damp hair. "Well… I didn't know he had that many tattoos."
Andrea rolled her eyes.
Chapter 11: Floating | Chapter 13: The Reception
Fandom: The Walking Dead
Rating: M
Disclaimer: All rights for The Walking Dead go to Robert Kirkman and AMC. This story takes place strictly in the TV show 'verse.
Chapter 12: Take What Amusement You Can
Shane checked the attic and fruit cellar twice before he felt safe enough to let the others know that the small ranch house was clear. The building was surprisingly clean and only smelt a little stale. He found an desk calendar in one of the bedrooms that had April tenth exposed. T-Dog had mentioned over the radio that he hadn't seen any cars as they were pulling in.
"Looks like they left a while ago," Shane muttered to himself.
He pulled his radio off his belt and said as much to Rick. As he waited for the others to come inside, Shane cleared off the bed in the master suite and checked the taps. The water was a little rusty at first but cleared when he turned both hot and cold knobs. There wasn't any hot water, but it was water. That was all that mattered.
Daryl and Rick came in first with Whitney over Daryl's shoulder. She'd taken an oxycodone not too long ago and looked quite out of it.
That is, if staring at and describing Daryl's ass from her upside-down view was any indication on her state of mind.
Shane smothered a laugh as soon as he caught the flaming red tint to Daryl's ears and, grinning, smacked Rick's arm in amused passing as his longtime friend snorted.
"…And when you put your weight on your left foot, the left cheek gets all tight, and I wanna squeeze it. But if I let go of yer waist you'll drop me fer sure," Whitney rambled.
On Shane's second trip back inside with a load of his things, he nearly ran into Andrea coming outside. She was almost bent over completely and was laughing so hard that her face was turning purple. He stopped, mostly to make sure she was still breathing, and gave her a questioning look.
All Shane could understand was something about "his face" and how she'd "never seen anyone's face look like that." Whatever is was didn't matter. All that mattered was how Andrea was laughing for the first time in a very long time.
Daryl stalked past after a few minutes, shot Andrea a dark look, and grabbed his and Whitney's bags from his truck. Zeke trotted after him, now content in their surroundings since he preformed his own property check.
The group set themselves up in the house and, upon the revelation that the water was working and there was a shower and tub combination in the bathroom, immediately started discussing who needed to shower the most in order to go first.
Watching Daryl walk back inside, the women made an executive decision. Carol handed him a bar of soap from her bag of things, Andrea threw a beach towel over his shoulder, and Lori pointed authoritatively at the open bathroom. Daryl rolled his eyes.
"I suppose I get yer subtle-ass point," he drawled sarcastically. "There's a hose outside, ya know."
Glenn shrugged at this ("water was water," he said) and threw his hat at T-Dog on his way out.
Daryl felt absolutely worn out by the time the shower head stopped spitting out rusty water. His clothes were stiff with dried sweat and blood and the shirt was a lost cause when the frayed seams started to fall apart in his hands. He'd been pissed enough when he was forced to cut the sleeves off to avoid the heat early on, but this had been one of the shirts he wore to catering jobs at work. It was his nice shirt.
"Fuck," he grumbled and tossed the shirt onto the floor with his pants. Standing in his socks and shorts, he almost didn't recognize himself in the mirror. He was much skinnier than usual and he had no idea that he'd put on as much muscle as he had since the end of civilization. The scar across his chest was much lighter than it used to be and he quickly looked away from it and focused on his arms. Curious, he raised his right arm and watched his tattoo jump when he flexed.
Rolling his eyes at himself, Daryl pulled off the rest of his clothes, stepped into the tub, and ducked his head under the cool shower spray. He watched the water turn brown and scoffed at just how filthy he was. It took three lathers of soap before the water ran clear.
Daryl had been successful at keeping his mind on the task of getting clean up until the point where he started soaping up his hair. Without wanting to, he thought back to a couple days ago when he looked up from cooking rabbit and potatoes to see the new woman wearing one of Lori's oversized tank tops and the same beach towel Andrea just handed him was looped around her neck. With her hair braided over one shoulder and her face lit up by the fire pit she struck him as the kind of woman who had no idea how pretty she really was. She wasn't self-conscious about her scars and when she laughed he felt that annoying snag of emotion low in his gut.
That night in the truck had not helped his imagination any. He'd never been more happy to be tired beyond measure than that moment Whitney pulled his arm across her waist.
This wasn't helping.
Daryl groaned and rinsed his hair. The faster he got out of the shower and into clean clothes, the better he could focus on important things. Like what he was going to do with the surprisingly nice kitchen.
Unfortunately, no one thought to let him grab a set of clean clothes to change into before the women pushed him to the bathroom.
For a long moment, Daryl debated the merits of hollering for someone to get him something out of his bag and just walking down the short hallway to the office he'd left his stuff in. He could hear the others talking in the bright living room and decided he could make it unnoticed even in a neon green striped beach towel.
Daryl opened the door and ended up with a majority of the group turning in their positions gathered around the fireplace so they could see what was taking him so long. They looked a little shocked by his appearance and Daryl didn't like the expression that was starting to soften Andrea and Carol's faces. He felt his ears burn with an involuntary blush and tried to cover up his embarrassment with one hell of a frown.
"Good Lord, people. Don't y'all have nothin' better to do?" he grumbled. His blush spread down his neck as he turned his back to them all and padded barefoot down the hall into the office.
Unfazed, T-Dog claimed the open shower and threw Daryl's dirty things in the hall.
The shock of seeing the normally very private Daryl Dixon nearly in the altogether with those horrible scars across his chest and back had everyone digging for something to say to break the tension.
Glenn eventually cleared his throat and ran his hand through his still-damp hair. "Well… I didn't know he had that many tattoos."
Andrea rolled her eyes.
Chapter 11: Floating | Chapter 13: The Reception