onlyonezen (onlyonezen) wrote in zombieslogs, @ 2013-06-28 20:10:00 |
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Entry tags: | carol peletier, daryl dixon |
Who: Carol and Daryl
What: meeting up after the trip
When: now
Where: walking Carol back to her cell
Warnings: none
The raid had gone off without a hitch but now it was time to divvy out the things he'd gathered. Having Sookie with him made it more than tolerable to be around so many people he didn't know. For every person he didn't trust, Sookie loved three of them...it comforted him to have someone vouch for his travel companions. The stores in Bothell were stocked decently enough and he made sure to stop into the bookstore to grab some new paperbacks for Loki. The man had been a friend to him in a way he hadn't experienced since Rick and they would be bound by the death of Merle for as long as Daryl lived. He owed him at least to pick up some damn books.
Another store, filled with clothing and knickknacks, had drawn his attention in his free time. Sookie walked in on him one day deliberating over trinkets and noticed his eyes catch on the scarves. She knew better than to let him walk out and had confronted him on getting one...after some irritated conversation with her she traded out what he'd picked with a green one and he stormed off. He didn't know why the damn color of the scarf mattered, all that should matter is that it would be functional and maybe give her something to call hers. Daryl had his vest, and while he wouldn't risk his hide over it, he did like that it was his. And that was coming from a man with no real need for a bold identity.
As he returned to the prison and paced the halls looking down at the message he was writing up he realized something. It's not like he could just hand her a scarf and not expect some stupid awkward exchange. He didn't want to handle it even more than he didn't think he could. He pulled out his pistol, the same one he'd held on to since he was back with their old group, and wrapped it up in the fabric. Okay, getting her a gun wasn't nearly as weird as getting her a present. It just happened that the gun was in the present. He grimaced at the thought but it was going to work because he wasn't going to give it to her some other way.
Minutes later he was walking to come and pick her up from her shift in the kitchen. He loitered around the entrance, not wanting to draw attention to himself from the other workers or interrupt them by stepping in. When Carol came out he'd nod to her in greeting, as promised he had come back safe and sound other than a couple scratches and bruises. He waited until she caught up with him to start walking, holding the gun wrapped up in the scarf in his hands and looking them over "Busy night" the comment slipped out in lieu of anything useful, but it was a start.