"You won't." Daryl's not exactly the life of the party, under most circumstances - it's hard to imagine he'd horn in where he wasn't welcome or take up too much time and space. "I've got time enough for both of you, most days. Besides, Hershel likes you."
He's yet to voice a complaint about having moved in with his Uncle Daryl, anyway.
She smiles, and there's something a little sad there - a little tired, maybe. The possibility remains that he'll grow tired of sharing such close quarters; they're nearer, after all, than they were even in the prison. Hopefully, it won't come to that.
Hopefully, taking the occasional break will be enough.
"Take all the time you need." Maggie's quiet a bit, chewing things over. "You wanna hear my list?"
"Hershel's always gonna come first." That's the first thing, the main thing. The obvious thing, probably, but - "If it's ever a choice between you and him, I'm gonna choose him. I think you already know that, but I got to say it anyway."
"You're a good man." Neither of them should respect themselves, if that were the case. And frankly, Maggie doubts Daryl puts his life above any of theirs - he'd lay down and die for just about any of their people, if it came to that. She might've said the same once, but her son's made her more selfish.
There's only one more item on her list, and it seems far more likely to spook him. But there's no way to soften it, so she doesn't try, just says it with the straightforward kindness she's got available. "And unless you're interested in having a kid or two, we'd better look through Georgie's book for some birth control."
Daryl makes a strangled sound-- it's been so goddamn long, he wasn't even thinking about that. He shakes his head, sitting up in the grass. "I ain't fixing to."
He looks at her guiltily- "Are you...?"
Can she know after so little time? The idea makes him ache with a sudden, incalculable worry. He's no father, no matter what Aaron says. Not like that, never like that.
"No." The idea's ludicrous, but she doesn't laugh - not when Daryl looks like he's been put up at the gallows and handed a noose. "And if that changes, I'll take care of it. But I want things clear between us: I'd rather have one kid you don't mind having around than more you do."
It doesn't matter, in the end, whether Daryl'd be a good father or not. He's great with kids, always has been, and anyone with eyes can see it. But if he doesn't want their lineage to lead back to him, it shouldn't. It's that simple.
Daryl's relief is visible, obvious. He slouches back down on the grass, using Dog's side as a pillow. Dog wuffs quietly, happy to be included.
"I like Hershel," Daryl says. He wants to make it clear it's more than don't mind. "He's just..."
Daryl isn't sure how to say it. He fidgets with the twine still in his hands, another obvious tell, nerves and confusion.
"Don't wanna disappoint him. Don't know him so well." It's not like with Jude and RJ, who he's seen grow up. Hershel is an unknown quantity, and he doesn't know from where the boy's effervescence stems. Crushing that would be unforgivable.
Maggie stretches out beside him, lying on her side with her head propped on a hand, so she can see his face in the firelight. So much of what Daryl says is wrapped up in what he's not saying - it seems like a fool's errand not to pay attention.
"I don't think you will." It's not a kneejerk answer; she's taken a moment to consider it, and her explanation has the slow cadence of thinking aloud. "God knows he'll tell you all about himself, if you want him to - and you're good with kids."
They've already got an advantage - it's obvious that Hershel likes him. He's a kid who's used to spending most of his time with adults, and it makes him more inclined to talk with grown folks than most of Maggie's peers were. But beyond that, he's been asking Daryl questions, telling him stories - it's clear enough to her that he wants the man's attention and approval. Whether that'll change when he finds out his mother's in a relationship with him, she's not sure.
He's good with kids until he's not. He can hand them off, mostly, or have someone else stick by them. What ineffable quality that makes Hershel tick is a mystery to Daryl, and he suspects it'll take him a while to suss it out.
Nervous, needy, Daryl refuses himself the comfort of Maggie's touch, resisting the urge to reach out to her. This is something he needs to manage on his own. He stares into the dying fire.
"He's a good kid," Daryl says, though his appraisal means practically nothing. He clarifies. "Ain't seen a kid like him." He doesn't have Jude's quiet pain, or Carl's hard determination. He's more like Gracie, a cheerful child with a core of hidden, curious unknowns, something he can't begin to understand.
"How d'you mean?" She's got her own guesses, and they even align reasonably well with the truth - but she needs to know what's going on in Daryl's head if she really wants to answer it.
Daryl opens his mouth, closes it. His hands make vague shapes in the air, illuminating nothing. Better start from the beginning. He winds the twine around his fingers.
"Jude... she's playing at tough. She is tough. But she still remembers Carl. Remembers- Remembers Rick. Still thinks Michonne is coming back. Carl was like that, too. Could only talk to the kid after Lori."
He can't elaborate on that. With Maggie, he doesn't need to.
"He's seen some shit, Hershel. Don't get me wrong. But the way he grins... I dunno what that is." It feels like it'll pop like a soap bubble.
It's a long moment before she speaks again - and when she does, it's with careful, measured words. "I don't know, either. I've tried to give him a happy childhood, and I've been lucky, I guess, because it seems like it's worked."
He's inherited Glenn's hope and her own better humor. And she's been able to find carefree moments for him, even in the midst of her own sorrows.
"Rick was - Rick is -" because whatever their differences, she doesn't want Rick to be dead - "a good father. Carl and Judith are both proof of it. But they saw so much of his pain, and his rage... Hell, if I'd already had Hershel when we were fighting the Saviours, he'd have seen the same thing. Maybe that's it."
Daryl stops winding the twine around his fingers, lets it loose. Yeah, that's about right. "Think it is," he says. "I ain't scared of it. Don't hate him or nothing-- never could."
He wants to make that clear.
"Just... feels like I ain't supposed to be there."
That white space, with clean cabinets and smiling children.
She nods, her lips pressing together. "I understand."
Or, at least, she thinks she does. He sees Hershel, happy and talkative, and doesn't recognize him. He's something different from every child Daryl's ever seen or been. The thought makes her chest ache.
"What'd make you feel more at home?" Maggie asks. That's the thing that matters most, ultimately. "Seeing as it is your home."
"S'yours," he clarifies on instinct. The twine in his hand begins to take shape, knotting around itself, a snake eating its tail. "Hilltop's freer. Don't feel like..."
A long sigh, heaved heavily. He hates having to say this, but now that he's found it, he has to. The crux of the matter is obvious.
"Before, I never would've been let a mile near this place."
"It's ours," is her compromise. Her rooms in his home: clean but not always tidy, decorated without getting too precious. Lived-in, in a way people might've thought of as respectable before the end of things.
And then there's Daryl, grimy with dirt and sweat, grease on his hands, hair in his face. He's not wrong, but as far as Maggie's concerned, it's not him that fact reflects on. "Before, the people living here wouldn't've been worth visiting."
"Some of them still ain't," Daryl says, but it's mostly reflexive bitterness, an attempt to hide that vulnerability displayed moments ago.
He sits up, handing Maggie the twine. It's twisted into a bracelet, fit for a child's wrist. "Give it a tug here, it'll unravel. If he ever needs string."
"Ain't saying they are." Maybe some of the people who've survived this long have made it purely because they're so nice to be around, but that's not most of them. And some of their neighbors are real assholes, when it comes down to it.
She takes the bracelet, looks at it for a moment before she offers it to Daryl again. "Give it to him at breakfast tomorrow. I want him to know it's from you."
He hesitates a moment before taking it back, stowing it away into an interior pocket. She knows best. He just figures- well. Everything's better coming from Maggie. The sun shines with her permission; on this, Daryl and Hershel agree.
But he doesn't say that. He says-- very quietly so Maggie can pretend not to hear if she likes-- "stay with me tonight."
She's made the decision before she thinks about it. "Of course."
It feels like a risk - the last thing she wants is for Hershel to find out by going looking for her at two in the morning - but it's one she wants to take. He's not likely to need her before morning. And she'll be up at dawn to fix breakfast and get the day started. He doesn't rise quite as early, most days. It'll be fine.
And it'll mean falling asleep to someone else's breathing, knowing even unconscious that she's not alone. She likes the idea of that better than climbing the stairs to an empty bedroom.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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He's yet to voice a complaint about having moved in with his Uncle Daryl, anyway.
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A vulnerable thing to admit, but she's owed it.
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He looks to her, catching her eye in the firelight. "Take a while." If it takes-- but he doesn't say it.
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Hopefully, taking the occasional break will be enough.
"Take all the time you need." Maggie's quiet a bit, chewing things over. "You wanna hear my list?"
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There's only one more item on her list, and it seems far more likely to spook him. But there's no way to soften it, so she doesn't try, just says it with the straightforward kindness she's got available. "And unless you're interested in having a kid or two, we'd better look through Georgie's book for some birth control."
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He looks at her guiltily- "Are you...?"
Can she know after so little time? The idea makes him ache with a sudden, incalculable worry. He's no father, no matter what Aaron says. Not like that, never like that.
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It doesn't matter, in the end, whether Daryl'd be a good father or not. He's great with kids, always has been, and anyone with eyes can see it. But if he doesn't want their lineage to lead back to him, it shouldn't. It's that simple.
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"I like Hershel," Daryl says. He wants to make it clear it's more than don't mind. "He's just..."
Daryl isn't sure how to say it. He fidgets with the twine still in his hands, another obvious tell, nerves and confusion.
"Don't wanna disappoint him. Don't know him so well." It's not like with Jude and RJ, who he's seen grow up. Hershel is an unknown quantity, and he doesn't know from where the boy's effervescence stems. Crushing that would be unforgivable.
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"I don't think you will." It's not a kneejerk answer; she's taken a moment to consider it, and her explanation has the slow cadence of thinking aloud. "God knows he'll tell you all about himself, if you want him to - and you're good with kids."
They've already got an advantage - it's obvious that Hershel likes him. He's a kid who's used to spending most of his time with adults, and it makes him more inclined to talk with grown folks than most of Maggie's peers were. But beyond that, he's been asking Daryl questions, telling him stories - it's clear enough to her that he wants the man's attention and approval. Whether that'll change when he finds out his mother's in a relationship with him, she's not sure.
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Nervous, needy, Daryl refuses himself the comfort of Maggie's touch, resisting the urge to reach out to her. This is something he needs to manage on his own. He stares into the dying fire.
"He's a good kid," Daryl says, though his appraisal means practically nothing. He clarifies. "Ain't seen a kid like him." He doesn't have Jude's quiet pain, or Carl's hard determination. He's more like Gracie, a cheerful child with a core of hidden, curious unknowns, something he can't begin to understand.
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"Jude... she's playing at tough. She is tough. But she still remembers Carl. Remembers- Remembers Rick. Still thinks Michonne is coming back. Carl was like that, too. Could only talk to the kid after Lori."
He can't elaborate on that. With Maggie, he doesn't need to.
"He's seen some shit, Hershel. Don't get me wrong. But the way he grins... I dunno what that is." It feels like it'll pop like a soap bubble.
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He's inherited Glenn's hope and her own better humor. And she's been able to find carefree moments for him, even in the midst of her own sorrows.
"Rick was - Rick is -" because whatever their differences, she doesn't want Rick to be dead - "a good father. Carl and Judith are both proof of it. But they saw so much of his pain, and his rage... Hell, if I'd already had Hershel when we were fighting the Saviours, he'd have seen the same thing. Maybe that's it."
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He wants to make that clear.
"Just... feels like I ain't supposed to be there."
That white space, with clean cabinets and smiling children.
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Or, at least, she thinks she does. He sees Hershel, happy and talkative, and doesn't recognize him. He's something different from every child Daryl's ever seen or been. The thought makes her chest ache.
"What'd make you feel more at home?" Maggie asks. That's the thing that matters most, ultimately. "Seeing as it is your home."
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A long sigh, heaved heavily. He hates having to say this, but now that he's found it, he has to. The crux of the matter is obvious.
"Before, I never would've been let a mile near this place."
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And then there's Daryl, grimy with dirt and sweat, grease on his hands, hair in his face. He's not wrong, but as far as Maggie's concerned, it's not him that fact reflects on. "Before, the people living here wouldn't've been worth visiting."
More importantly: "I miss Hilltop, too."
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He sits up, handing Maggie the twine. It's twisted into a bracelet, fit for a child's wrist. "Give it a tug here, it'll unravel. If he ever needs string."
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She takes the bracelet, looks at it for a moment before she offers it to Daryl again. "Give it to him at breakfast tomorrow. I want him to know it's from you."
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But he doesn't say that. He says-- very quietly so Maggie can pretend not to hear if she likes-- "stay with me tonight."
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It feels like a risk - the last thing she wants is for Hershel to find out by going looking for her at two in the morning - but it's one she wants to take. He's not likely to need her before morning. And she'll be up at dawn to fix breakfast and get the day started. He doesn't rise quite as early, most days. It'll be fine.
And it'll mean falling asleep to someone else's breathing, knowing even unconscious that she's not alone. She likes the idea of that better than climbing the stairs to an empty bedroom.
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