Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, ect., are the property of their respective owners.  The original character and plot are the property of the author.  The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise.  No copyright infringement is intended.

Summary:  Some only see the pain behind a scar.  For some they are worn in honor; proud badges of victory and bravery.  For Lillian James Harper, they are a mark of survival.  Every scar has a story, this one is hers.

Warning:  This fan-fiction is rated Mature for Language, Gore and Adult Situations.  Readers under the age of 18 are strongly discouraged from reading.

Pairing: Daryl x Lillian James Harper

Chapter Three

 

~All men, even the most surly are influenced by affection. –Samuel Taylor Coleridge~

My ass hadn’t even hit the makeshift bed of sleeping bags and pillows before Daryl started in with the questions.  I knew he would, I knew it before he even picked me up to take me to the tent; that’s just how Daryl was. 

All that being said, it didn’t make me any less fearful about showing him my face or telling him how it got that way.  From what I had gathered from Merle a few minutes before Daryl showed up was that Daryl had already seen my scars in the dark and that in itself had been enough to set him off into a blind rage.  I think Merle and I both knew that his reaction would be much worse when he saw them in broad daylight.

“You gonna tell me what happened or not?”  He grumbled, pacing back in forth in the four man tent that made up the Dixon camp.  I eyed it warily; it looked like it would barely fit Merle let alone the three of us…

“Well?”   He asked again testily.  Oh boy.

If not for the serious of the situation or the fact that Daryl was pacing the tent like a caged lion, I probably would have giggled at the expression on Merle’s face as his eyes darted to-and-fro exaggeratedly, keeping pace with his brother’s body.  The look on Daryl’s face however, made me think better of it; he was already irritated as it was and once I said my peace he was going to be pissed beyond all reason…

“No.”  I told him bluntly. 

His head jerked around, his frosty blue eyes narrowed and his jaw tight as he glared daggers at me. 

“I mean, not right now.”  I amended quickly.  “I’m just really not up for that yet, alright?”

He growled in frustration, running a dirty hand over his equally filthy face, but he nodded in agreement.  I knew this was only a temporary reprieve and that once he did see my face no amount of pleading would hold him for long.  I was gonna have to suck it up eventually and tell him.

“Lemme see.”  He commanded, his hand moving in to pick at the tape holding the bandages to my face.  “Got’ta clean’em.”

It was stupid really, the way my heart leapt in my chest at his demand.  I knew it was only a matter of time and that it had to be done; my bandages were weak and already wet from all my blubbering earlier.  So with tears stinging my eyes, I nodded.

Daryl nodded back, gulping loudly and looking a little green as he spoke, “Be back n’ a minute,” he murmured before kissing my forehead.  “Got’ta see if Dale’s got anymore tape.”

Unconsciously, I blew out a breath of relief that I would have a few more minutes to get myself together before all Hell broke loose.  I just didn’t realize that Merle was watching me like a hawk and took my huffy breath the wrong way.

When I finally caught his glare, I barked out, “What?”

He just shook his head and clucked his tongue at me like he was scolding a small child, “Don’t do’em that way, Sugar-tits.  Ya’know he ain’t gonna care about...”

His voice trailed off as he gestured to my face and I felt my anger and worry bubbling up like a volcano. 

“Really?”  I snapped, glaring in his direction.  “And just how the fuck do ya’know that, huh Merle?” 

Fed up with his accusing glare, I jerked the discolored gauze from my sore skin and pushed my tangled hair behind my ears, making sure he had an up-close and personal view of how much Daryl wasn’t going to care.

“Tell me; How’s he gonna look me now?  Tell me how he’s gonna look at THIS!?”

“Fuck…” he drawled, his eyes widening wider than I had ever seen them as he took in the jagged scar that ran the entire length of my left profile. 

He brought his hand up, his finger skimming across the puckered flesh without touching.  “I didn’t think—

Suddenly, he stopped talking and cut his eyes toward the opening of the tent.  I didn’t need to hear the strangled gasp or the violent curse to know that Daryl was already standing there, obviously just having witnessed my tirade.  The air was coiled tight with tension, damn near suffocating; like holding your breath while you wait for a delayed explosion that you still know is coming.  All I could do was hold my breath…and wait.

Cries of outrage and pain echoed in my ears as Daryl fled the tent, strung together by loud cursing and the sounds of things being turned over and destroyed.  You could barely make out the frightened gasps of that came back from the direction of the old motor home, but I heard them and I knew the other survivors were disturbed and terrified by Daryl’s outburst.  To be honest, so was I.  I had seen Daryl lose his cool many times over the years, but right now, I didn’t even know what to make of him.

With a growl, Merle surged to his feet and darted out the door, yelling for Daryl to control himself.  He and I both knew that Daryl “controlling himself” at this point was a pretty useless thing to say, but it got the desired effect that I knew both Dixon boys needed. 

Like I expected, the sounds of scuffling and flesh pounding on flesh soon met my ears; a subtle heads-up that I would be patching up one if not both of them when they returned.  I hated it when they fought, I always had, but this was something they needed.  Neither one of them had an easy childhood, far from it…but this was how they dealt with each other…this was how they showed the other that they cared.  Was it wrong that I hoped Daryl would get a couple of good licks in for ol’ time’s sake?  Merle would certainly deserve it just for some of the shit he’s pulled since I’ve known him, never mind Daryl’s childhood.

After reminding myself that the boys used to do this all the time and that they would never purposefully hurt each other, I started chanting to myself that Daryl’s reaction to my face was anger…not rejection.  Rationally, I knew better to even think something so…dumb, but it was just one of those things that was easier said than done. 

Merle returned a little later with busted lip and what I was sure to be a descent shiner in the morning, his clothes were ruffled but he really was no worse for wear. 

“Boy had to think some shit out.”  He said plainly, taking up the seat across from me and handed me a bottle of Wild Turkey.  “He didn’t want ya ta see him all tore up.”

While I hated the thought of Daryl out in the woods fellin’ trees—or whatever he was doing to calm his anger, I totally understood.  Daryl Dixon had never been a man who handled his emotions well—especially fear—and believe it or not, Daryl’s temper had always been worse than Merle’s, it was just hidden behind Merle’s dirty mouth and bad attitude.  But bad temper or not, Daryl was a good ol’ boy, raised up on the strong belief that men took care of their “own”, and because of that, I knew he blamed himself for what happened to me; that he felt like a failure.  It was very fucked up, but very true.

~

It was after dark when Daryl ducked through the tent door again, looking worn out and distraught, though, he smiled instantly the moment he saw what Merle and I were up to. 

Merle, bless his junky heart, practically shoved pain-pills down my throat the minute Daryl was out the door, and then he told me to clean up.  As reluctant as I was to go out near the others again, I did what he asked and took a whores bath in Dale’s R.V. and met some more of the other survivors before returning back to the tent with a deck of cards I pilfered and suggested a friendly game.

A friendly game of cards?...with Merle? Yeah, that shit didn’t last long.

No sooner than the suggestion was out of my mouth did Merle get this gleam in his eyes and ran out of the tent, calling over his shoulder that he’d be right back. 

Well, at least he didn’t suggest strip poker.  But then again, what fun would it have been without Daryl there to get pissed. 

Sitting Indian style, I swayed in front of Merle was I tried to focus on the cards in my hands and not on the fact that I was shit-canned drunk.  Trying my hand at kicking Merle’s ass at poker probably wasn’t the best plan while sober.  Trying it drunk and high on pain-pills was just asking for trouble; but I still felt a little more like myself.

Daryl sat behind me, his knees cradling my sides as he pulled my back to his chest and resting his chin on my shoulder, most likely to peek at my hand.  He chuckled when he say my three aces and kissed my cheek. 

“Call,” I slurred.  Yeah, the odds were definitely in my favor.

Even with the slightly blurred vision, I cocked a brow in Merle’s direction, hoping to see something hiding behind his perfect poker face.  I was about a hundred pennies up but I was stupidly inebriated.  He just smirked at me.

Damn, I knew better than to play against a shark like Merle.  I was doomed to failure from the start.

Merle’s face scrunched up as if he was deeply concentrating before taking a deep pull off the bottle of Turkey we’d been sippin’ on since the game started and passing it to Daryl. 

“Lay down, beautiful,” Merle replied a moment later, his voice husky and the twinkle in his eye was asking for trouble.  At first I was confused by the action, usually Merle reserved this side of himself for wooing bar pussy...Ah.

Daryl growled from behind me and suddenly everything made sense again.  Merle—as always—was trying to rattle his little brother. What a jealous pig.  For fucks sake, this was Merle Dixon not Norman Reedus.  Irritated by their male posturing, I elbowed Daryl in the ribs and told him to hush-up. 

“Three aces,” I cheered childishly, happily slapping my cards out on front of me with a smug smile. 

Merle’s face fell dramatically, making me giggle and taunt the large man that could snap my neck if so inclined—not that he’d do it.  Daryl snorted behind me and scolded me for counting my chickens before they hatched. 

Maturely, I stuck my tongue out at him as a response. 

Honestly, I couldn’t help myself.  I had always been a competitive person and playing anything against a Dixon was a challenge in my mind.  Winning was even better.

Merle tsk’d at me as he began to lay down his hand and I watched entranced as his thick fingers began reveling his cards.  My heart stuttered in my chest with each snick of the slickly-laminated card moving with a deliberate slowness as he slapped each card on the rotting piece of plywood we had made our table.

My eyes widened as each of the largely depicted characters came into focus. 

Ten of Hearts.

Jack of Hearts.

Queen of Hearts.

King of Hearts.

“Awe, poor Merle.”  I jeered sarcastically, reveling in the sound of Daryl snickering as I stomped his brother at something.

Or so I thought…

“Shut-up, girly, I ain’t done yet.”  Merle chuckled as he tossed his last card out onto the floor at my knees.  It was then I remembered that I had only counted four cards when I began my preening…damnit!

The Ace of fuckin’ Hearts.

“A royal flush…”  I murmured.

“Fuck!”  I cried, throwing my hands in the air and nearly smacking Daryl in the face as flailed around drunkenly. 

Merle bellowed loudly as he dramatically scooped up all his winning—Pennies that he had collected off the floor of Daryl’s truck—into his ever growing pile by his stash of pills. 

Daryl was shaking hard behind me, laughing at me but trying not to make a sound. 

“Go ahead and laugh, all the shaking gave yer redneck ass away anyhow.” 

And he did, yowling loudly as he tried to hug me.  I elbowed him again.  “Yer supposed to be on my side.” 

He only laughed harder, falling over to his side and taking me with him.  “Quit yer cry-assin’, woman.  He beat ya fair n’ square.” 

“Say’s you,” I replied spitefully, nudging him in the shoulder as I continued to pout.  “How do I know you two weren’t in on it together?”

He snorted, kissing the side of my head.  “Ya know I ain’t no cheater.”

Yes, I did know that…but in the moment I was less inclined to care.  I had been living like a man for the longest time; wiping my ass with leaves, bathing in creeks and under waterfalls.  So for the night, I thought I was entitled to cry-ass like the woman I was. 

I yawned loudly, trying to fight off sleep but knowing there wasn’t much of a point. 

Daryl chuckled, “How ya expect me to merry ya when ya can’t even hold yer drink.  Yer a Dixon, woman, suck it up.” 

His tease was very Daryl so I expected it.  However what I didn’t expect was for Merle to come to my defense.

“Shut up, piss-ant.  The shit I got’er on would have ya ballin’ in the corner.”  I looked at my brother-in-law, eyebrow raised in question.  He just winked at me and shrugged.  I guess the Dixon boys missed me more than I had originally thought.

Daryl scoffed at the sight, and scolded Merle under his breath about giving me something to strong with my condition.  I wanted to roll my eyes at him for the absurdity, but I held myself together.

“Sleepy?”  Daryl asked when I yawned again, pulling me closer to him despite the fact that it was boiling inside the tent already. 

I nodded, fighting back another yawn and curled into his side. 

It was late and despite the fact that I was sandwiched between two sweltering, sweaty bodies, I had already dosed on and off for a while.  While I had entertained Merle as a houseguest more times than I could ever count, I’d never thought I would see the day where I would have to sleep next to his rank ass.  Nevertheless, both men were adamant about the sleeping arrangements and I was too goofy from the morphine in my system to come up with a good argument. 

It was a good idea; safety in numbers and all that.  Well, it was either that or they didn’t trust my ability to react should we be attacked.  As much as the caveman thing usually bristled my backside, I bit my tongue and let the boys have their way.  It wouldn’t have done a lick of good to argue and the pills Merle had me on had me lying limp like a rag doll anyway. 

I giggled to myself as the thought I had earlier of the end of the world being like huntin’ camp resurfaced.  It was true; stinky man—and in this case women—cramped quarters, and predators.  Only instead of worryin’ about cougars—like normal—it was flesh eatin’ zombies that kept ya up at night.

Suddenly, one of Merle’s massive legs flew over my waist, nearly crushing me beneath it and startling me half to death. 

“God, Merle!  Move yer fat ass over!”  I grunted, shoving him over as roughly as I could.  The man didn’t budge a bit. 

Merle snorted out a little laugh, moving over as little as he could.  “Have ya always been this much of a bitch?”

“Yep.” My slurred response came with no hesitation.

“God, ya’ll ever shut up?”  Daryl grouched, pulling me closer, burrowing his face in my back. 

“Well G’night, Merle,” I yawned again lightly, then for the hell of it I nudged Daryl. 

“G’night, Darylina.”

“Shut up, woman.”  Daryl grunted but Merle was bellowing so hard the whole damn tent started to shake. 

After a few “Shut-up!”s from camp, Daryl growled and stuck his head out of the tent and yelled “Fuck ya’ll!”

Of course that only made Merle and I laughed harder. 

“See brother,” Merle snickered when everyone had calmed down, “I always told ya she was a mouthy bitch.”

“Love you, too, Merle.”  I told him.