Scraping By, Chapter 14: Off Kilter
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.
Author's Note: Filler filler filler...
Chapter 14: Off Kilter
The wood stove ticked as it warmed up. They'd been settling in the house for most of the day and, after a pantry raid, started cooking up a celebratory meal. Daryl had quietly taken over prep duties from Carol after getting dressed in the only set of completely clean clothes he had left (a pair of jeans and a faded old Motörhead shirt that, surprisingly, still had sleeves) and was teaching a curious Sophia and Carl how to make canned tomatoes into an appetizing sauce. Spaghetti boiled in an enormous pot on the back burner.
He was still flinching away from anyone who watched a little too long. Most of them couldn't quite understand why them seeing Daryl in a towel would bother him so much.
It wasn't like he had anything to be ashamed of. In fact, Glenn was actually a little envious of him.
Carol, on the other hand, knew why the scrutiny made Daryl twitch. The shape of one of the burn scars on his back was a familiar one. She saw almost the exact same mark every day when she got dressed. Someone had been creative with him as well. She made a point of talking quietly with him and keeping a respectful distance that she herself employed when things got uncomfortable. Daryl's comfort in the kitchen seemed to help him relax a little more.
Zeke's sudden whining pulled everyone out of their quiet conversation about favorite foods and Daryl handed Sophia the wooden spoon with instructions on how to stir.
"I got this," he said and strode into Whitney's room. She was finally awake and looked a lot less like someone kept stabbing her with an ice pick.
"Y'alright?" he asked.
Whitney smiled softly and pointed at her knee. "The ibuprofen and ice packs knocked the swelling down. It hurts a lot less, too."
Daryl absentmindedly rubbed his thumbnail against his eyebrow and stared at the angry blue bruise that already covered Whitney's knee. "Think you can make it to the den to eat somethin'?" he asked.
Whitney chewed her lower lip, something Daryl hadn't seen her do before, and nodded after a few seconds. "I think I can if I've got someone to use as a crutch."
She gave him a pointed stare.
Daryl smirked and held out his hand. "Okay, gimpy, grab on."
Whitney carefully grasped his hand and he let her use his arm for leverage to get out of the bed. The move sent her hopping into his side and he wrapped his free arm around her ribs to lift her onto his left foot, leaving her injured leg dangling in the few inches of free space between the top of his foot and the floor. Whitney laughed and hugged him around his waist to keep her balance on his foot. The awkward penguin-like walk to the den was long enough that Whitney relaxed into Daryl's hold and tucked her cheek against his shoulder. Zeke walked behind them with his tail wagging back and forth.
When Daryl reached the den with her, Whitney was content to just hang on to him for as long as possible. His shirt was soft, he was warm, and he smelled like a bar of Irish Spring soap.
Andrea put her book down, helped him situate the injured woman on the sofa, and shooed him back to the kitchen. The irony of the action had her stifling yet another laugh and she made herself switch gears by digging through the first aid kit for another chemical ice pack.
"Something smells good," Whitney said. "Where is everyone?"
"Carol and the kids are with Daryl, Shane is gathering firewood, Dale and T-Dog are cleaning up the RV, Glenn just went into the fruit cellar for dessert, and I'd rather not think about where Lori and Rick are off doing," said Andrea. She finished breaking the crystals and carefully laid the ice pack on Whitney's exposed knee.
The dark blonde woman leaned back against the couch cushions and looked around the room. There were two long sofa sets situated around a fireplace with a coffee table centered between them. There was no television. Instead, the walls behind the sofas were covered in bookcases that almost overflowed with novels ranging from trashy romance to Vonnegut and Austen. Andrea had a copy of The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy tucked between her fingers.
It was strange to be surrounded by so little noise after spending day after day with nonstop violence and unrest.
"Chow's almost done!" Daryl shouted from the kitchen.
Whitney wondered how long this quiet domestic situation would last. A grinning Carl walked out of the kitchen with a plate piled high with spaghetti and tomato sauce and Sophia followed with a glass of something that looked like tea.
"Whitney gets to eat first. Daryl said so," said Carl.
Andrea dog-eared her book and went to find something for the Doberman mutt to eat. She thought she'd seen a bag of dry dog food in the laundry room when Carol checked to see if the washing machines were hooked up.
Daryl passed her in the short walk with a plate in hand and pasta piled high. He dropped onto the sofa beside Whitney and started eating with a smile when he saw how she'd already eaten more than half of her meal. Glenn came by when Daryl had his mouth stuffed full of pasta and showed off a few jars of pear preserves before he went to tell the others that dinner was ready.
It was blessedly quiet with just the four adults and two kids (and a dog).
Whitney finished eating and thanked Sophia when the little girl voluntarily stood to collect her empty plate. As she wiped sauce off her face and sucked on the end of her finger, Whitney observed Daryl.
He chewed with his mouth closed and didn't talk while he ate. Carol and Andrea were starting to chat a little as the others trickled back from the places they'd gone off to, but Daryl remained quiet.
Shane was the last to make it back and he stacked new firewood next to the hearth before he went to get the last of the pasta and sauce.
Lori gave a happy sigh when she finished her last bite and gave Carol a blinding smile. "Thank-"
"Oh! No, Daryl cooked again."
"Mom, I helped," Sophia protested.
"Right. Daryl cooked and Sophia helped."
Lori nodded and turned all of her attention toward the appropriate person. She still had the recently hard to find real smile creasing the corners of her eyes and her tone was so sincere that it threw Daryl off a little bit.
"Thank you for cooking dinner, Daryl."
The others all raised their glasses of room temperature tea and belted out a rather dorky 'here, here.' Whitney just patted Daryl's knee when she saw his ears turn bright red.
Glenn grinned. "Seriously, man, is there anything you can't do?" he asked.
Daryl sighed and resigned himself to making conversation. "I can't miss," he quipped.
Shane rolled his eyes.
The kids started bombarding Daryl with questions about hunting and how, exactly, one shoots a squirrel without missing it. Their constant questioning saved him from a lot of the more personal ones that a lot of the adults were dying to ask him about his brother, about how he ended up working in a country club as a butcher and chef (though knowing his former profession alone answered Rick's question on how Daryl got his hands on a pair of professional grade string knit butchering gloves), and about his past in general.
Everyone knew so much about each other-even Whitney was very open about stories of her past with her school counselor mother and her father who was a retired Air Force security policeman. The fact that Daryl kept his past to himself felt almost insulting to one particular member of the group. While he respected Daryl's ability to keep them alive and well fed, Shane was getting tired of the clam routine.
"Daryl, seriously, how in God's name did you end up working a chef's position at a country club?" Shane interjected over Whitney's voice as she told Glenn what counted as dessert in an MRE.
Daryl had been smiling sheepishly at Sophia's admiration for his skills (and that he answered her questions without talking to her like she was "a kid"), but the look swiftly vanished at Shane's interruption. "Does it matter?" he asked.
"To tell you the truth, it's been buggin' me somethin' fierce."
While he didn't much care for the attitude Shane would give him from time to time (lately the man shifted moods more than a woman on her period), Daryl could see the supportive look Whitney was giving him. He managed to keep from jerking his leg in surprise when she closed her hand around his knee and squeezed. The gesture was new to him and the sentiment behind it was rare in his life.
"I used to spend most of my time in the kitchen as a kid. Ain't like my uncle or Merle would make it a habit of spendin' more than two minutes in that room."
"So, what, you've been cookin' since you were a kid?" Shane persisted.
"Yeah, I have," Daryl said. He didn't expand on the topic anymore, but something else was nagging at T-Dog.
"Hang on-back at the CDC you didn't help out once in that kitchen," he said.
"Y'all had a handle on it," Daryl excused with a shrug.
"What was your take on the eggs?" Andrea asked.
"Could have used some of that chili powder."
T-Dog pointed his fork at him. "Hey! I worked hard on those things. Used just the right ratio of water…"
"I ain't disputin' that. They were just…" Daryl shrugged one shoulder. "Plain. That's it."
"I don't get you, Dixon," Shane grumbled.
Daryl scratched the back of his neck. "Shit, you're the one who asked."
Lori's mouth twisted a little to the left and she glanced at Carl's face. "You know, kiddo, I'm thinkin' we might have to start up the swear jar again."
Rick laughed.
Chapter 13: The Reception | Chapter 15: Heart to Heart
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.
Author's Note: Filler filler filler...
Chapter 14: Off Kilter
The wood stove ticked as it warmed up. They'd been settling in the house for most of the day and, after a pantry raid, started cooking up a celebratory meal. Daryl had quietly taken over prep duties from Carol after getting dressed in the only set of completely clean clothes he had left (a pair of jeans and a faded old Motörhead shirt that, surprisingly, still had sleeves) and was teaching a curious Sophia and Carl how to make canned tomatoes into an appetizing sauce. Spaghetti boiled in an enormous pot on the back burner.
He was still flinching away from anyone who watched a little too long. Most of them couldn't quite understand why them seeing Daryl in a towel would bother him so much.
It wasn't like he had anything to be ashamed of. In fact, Glenn was actually a little envious of him.
Carol, on the other hand, knew why the scrutiny made Daryl twitch. The shape of one of the burn scars on his back was a familiar one. She saw almost the exact same mark every day when she got dressed. Someone had been creative with him as well. She made a point of talking quietly with him and keeping a respectful distance that she herself employed when things got uncomfortable. Daryl's comfort in the kitchen seemed to help him relax a little more.
Zeke's sudden whining pulled everyone out of their quiet conversation about favorite foods and Daryl handed Sophia the wooden spoon with instructions on how to stir.
"I got this," he said and strode into Whitney's room. She was finally awake and looked a lot less like someone kept stabbing her with an ice pick.
"Y'alright?" he asked.
Whitney smiled softly and pointed at her knee. "The ibuprofen and ice packs knocked the swelling down. It hurts a lot less, too."
Daryl absentmindedly rubbed his thumbnail against his eyebrow and stared at the angry blue bruise that already covered Whitney's knee. "Think you can make it to the den to eat somethin'?" he asked.
Whitney chewed her lower lip, something Daryl hadn't seen her do before, and nodded after a few seconds. "I think I can if I've got someone to use as a crutch."
She gave him a pointed stare.
Daryl smirked and held out his hand. "Okay, gimpy, grab on."
Whitney carefully grasped his hand and he let her use his arm for leverage to get out of the bed. The move sent her hopping into his side and he wrapped his free arm around her ribs to lift her onto his left foot, leaving her injured leg dangling in the few inches of free space between the top of his foot and the floor. Whitney laughed and hugged him around his waist to keep her balance on his foot. The awkward penguin-like walk to the den was long enough that Whitney relaxed into Daryl's hold and tucked her cheek against his shoulder. Zeke walked behind them with his tail wagging back and forth.
When Daryl reached the den with her, Whitney was content to just hang on to him for as long as possible. His shirt was soft, he was warm, and he smelled like a bar of Irish Spring soap.
Andrea put her book down, helped him situate the injured woman on the sofa, and shooed him back to the kitchen. The irony of the action had her stifling yet another laugh and she made herself switch gears by digging through the first aid kit for another chemical ice pack.
"Something smells good," Whitney said. "Where is everyone?"
"Carol and the kids are with Daryl, Shane is gathering firewood, Dale and T-Dog are cleaning up the RV, Glenn just went into the fruit cellar for dessert, and I'd rather not think about where Lori and Rick are off doing," said Andrea. She finished breaking the crystals and carefully laid the ice pack on Whitney's exposed knee.
The dark blonde woman leaned back against the couch cushions and looked around the room. There were two long sofa sets situated around a fireplace with a coffee table centered between them. There was no television. Instead, the walls behind the sofas were covered in bookcases that almost overflowed with novels ranging from trashy romance to Vonnegut and Austen. Andrea had a copy of The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy tucked between her fingers.
It was strange to be surrounded by so little noise after spending day after day with nonstop violence and unrest.
"Chow's almost done!" Daryl shouted from the kitchen.
Whitney wondered how long this quiet domestic situation would last. A grinning Carl walked out of the kitchen with a plate piled high with spaghetti and tomato sauce and Sophia followed with a glass of something that looked like tea.
"Whitney gets to eat first. Daryl said so," said Carl.
Andrea dog-eared her book and went to find something for the Doberman mutt to eat. She thought she'd seen a bag of dry dog food in the laundry room when Carol checked to see if the washing machines were hooked up.
Daryl passed her in the short walk with a plate in hand and pasta piled high. He dropped onto the sofa beside Whitney and started eating with a smile when he saw how she'd already eaten more than half of her meal. Glenn came by when Daryl had his mouth stuffed full of pasta and showed off a few jars of pear preserves before he went to tell the others that dinner was ready.
It was blessedly quiet with just the four adults and two kids (and a dog).
Whitney finished eating and thanked Sophia when the little girl voluntarily stood to collect her empty plate. As she wiped sauce off her face and sucked on the end of her finger, Whitney observed Daryl.
He chewed with his mouth closed and didn't talk while he ate. Carol and Andrea were starting to chat a little as the others trickled back from the places they'd gone off to, but Daryl remained quiet.
Shane was the last to make it back and he stacked new firewood next to the hearth before he went to get the last of the pasta and sauce.
Lori gave a happy sigh when she finished her last bite and gave Carol a blinding smile. "Thank-"
"Oh! No, Daryl cooked again."
"Mom, I helped," Sophia protested.
"Right. Daryl cooked and Sophia helped."
Lori nodded and turned all of her attention toward the appropriate person. She still had the recently hard to find real smile creasing the corners of her eyes and her tone was so sincere that it threw Daryl off a little bit.
"Thank you for cooking dinner, Daryl."
The others all raised their glasses of room temperature tea and belted out a rather dorky 'here, here.' Whitney just patted Daryl's knee when she saw his ears turn bright red.
Glenn grinned. "Seriously, man, is there anything you can't do?" he asked.
Daryl sighed and resigned himself to making conversation. "I can't miss," he quipped.
Shane rolled his eyes.
The kids started bombarding Daryl with questions about hunting and how, exactly, one shoots a squirrel without missing it. Their constant questioning saved him from a lot of the more personal ones that a lot of the adults were dying to ask him about his brother, about how he ended up working in a country club as a butcher and chef (though knowing his former profession alone answered Rick's question on how Daryl got his hands on a pair of professional grade string knit butchering gloves), and about his past in general.
Everyone knew so much about each other-even Whitney was very open about stories of her past with her school counselor mother and her father who was a retired Air Force security policeman. The fact that Daryl kept his past to himself felt almost insulting to one particular member of the group. While he respected Daryl's ability to keep them alive and well fed, Shane was getting tired of the clam routine.
"Daryl, seriously, how in God's name did you end up working a chef's position at a country club?" Shane interjected over Whitney's voice as she told Glenn what counted as dessert in an MRE.
Daryl had been smiling sheepishly at Sophia's admiration for his skills (and that he answered her questions without talking to her like she was "a kid"), but the look swiftly vanished at Shane's interruption. "Does it matter?" he asked.
"To tell you the truth, it's been buggin' me somethin' fierce."
While he didn't much care for the attitude Shane would give him from time to time (lately the man shifted moods more than a woman on her period), Daryl could see the supportive look Whitney was giving him. He managed to keep from jerking his leg in surprise when she closed her hand around his knee and squeezed. The gesture was new to him and the sentiment behind it was rare in his life.
"I used to spend most of my time in the kitchen as a kid. Ain't like my uncle or Merle would make it a habit of spendin' more than two minutes in that room."
"So, what, you've been cookin' since you were a kid?" Shane persisted.
"Yeah, I have," Daryl said. He didn't expand on the topic anymore, but something else was nagging at T-Dog.
"Hang on-back at the CDC you didn't help out once in that kitchen," he said.
"Y'all had a handle on it," Daryl excused with a shrug.
"What was your take on the eggs?" Andrea asked.
"Could have used some of that chili powder."
T-Dog pointed his fork at him. "Hey! I worked hard on those things. Used just the right ratio of water…"
"I ain't disputin' that. They were just…" Daryl shrugged one shoulder. "Plain. That's it."
"I don't get you, Dixon," Shane grumbled.
Daryl scratched the back of his neck. "Shit, you're the one who asked."
Lori's mouth twisted a little to the left and she glanced at Carl's face. "You know, kiddo, I'm thinkin' we might have to start up the swear jar again."
Rick laughed.
Chapter 13: The Reception | Chapter 15: Heart to Heart