She smiles, letting him pull her hand close for an answer. It's as good as a yes, a gesture sweeter than she might have expected from Daryl, and it's enough so that she's about to stand up and make good on the offer to kiss him again.
And just as her hand drops again - there comes thunder, as six feet pound down the stairs like all three of these kids were born in a barn. (A barn'd probably have been a step up, at least in Judith's case.) "Mom!" Hershel's calling, and "Aunt Maggie!" from Judith simultaneously. RJ's quiet, following along behind them.
Maggie straightens up a little, picking up her cup like that's the entire reason her hand's up there in the first place.
"Can Jude and RJ sleep over? Please?"
"Didn't they sleep over last week?" she asks, as easily as if they'd been discussing the weather down here the whole evening. It's a relief to realize she still knows how to sneak around when she needs to, because this is nowhere even close to 'Hershel needs to know' territory yet.
"Yeah, but that was a week ago."
"Maybe," and this, she doesn't dare look away toward Daryl as she says it, "you should ask if you can sleep over with them. If y'all get permission, you can, but we're not having anyone extra over here tonight."
That, apparently, is all the encouragement the three of them need; they're tearing away again, this time toward the door in search of permission, and Maggie's draining her glass of wine in a single go.
And Daryl has always been quick with his reactions; the first sound of footfall has him straight-backed in his chair, facing away from the kitchen door the kids inevitably crash through. Their childish patter is enough to make him smile, enough to dim the embarrassment running through him like a live wire. He takes a breath. Maybe this can work, if he can face children like a normal human being after being something else entirely in Maggie's hands.
Daryl looks back, watching the kids go, watching them be kids. Completely alien children to his experience: normal, happy, excitable, even.
There's a smile in his voice when he speaks, "handled that quick."
When the door slams shut behind them - put the three of them together, and they're a little hurricane of energy, even without Gracie there to complete the group - she breathes out. "Yeah, well, I got a few years' practice."
And she won't say no to a night off, if Carol's up for keeping an eye on Hershel for the night.
"I'm not going to keep you a secret forever," she adds, finally letting herself look over his way. He should probably hear this much before they get too much further. "But I'm not...this isn't something Hershel needs to hear about yet. Not unless we decide we're in it for the long haul."
At the moment, that feels inevitable - Maggie's not sure she remembers how to want something casual - but there's no point trapping Daryl into anything he doesn't like the sound of. If he's ever had a relationship, she doesn't know about it; she's not about to ask him to make promises when it's possible neither of them know if he can keep them.
"Take your lead on that." He likes kids, likes talking to them, teaching them, seeing them happy. He has no idea how to step into the official parent role, and doesn't want to. "If the kid's angry with me-" A sigh. He doesn't want this, but- "wanna make this easy on him."
"If he is, I'll handle it." That's not something she's putting on Daryl, especially not at this point. However kind he's been about welcoming them both into his townhouse, Hershel's her son. She'll figure out how to explain things when the time comes.
God, she hopes so, anyway.
"And, uh -" The hesitation's less for her own sake and more for Daryl's. He's already ended up someplace miles away from his comfort zone. "If Hershel's out of our hair tonight, that doesn't mean we have to do anything different than always. I'm not expecting anything."
Daryl leans back slowly, hands awkward in his lap. He never knows what to do with them when they're not holding something.
"You spooked me," he grumbles, "I ain't your prom date."
He hopes he says it with humor, but sometimes things come out more bitter than he intends. Really, he's a grown man, so the world keeps telling him; it no longer sours his pride when people forget, but it is notable. Maggie, at least, is doing it out of some concession to his will, some kind of respect he doesn't quite understand.
A long sigh. Just say it- "Don't always like being touched. Just... need a warning, sometimes."
He's never had to say that aloud before. It leaves him feeling... lighter, unexpectedly.
The way she's smiling, she finds it funny. Daryl's right: he's a grown man, more than capable of making his own decisions and speaking up for himself. He's someone who seems happiest with a leader to follow, but she's seen him question things, when he thinks it necessary. If he's not happy with something, he can say so.
Still, she'd rather lay things out, where she can. She's too damned tired to deal with crossed wires.
"I can do that," Maggie tells him, regarding him with a sort of warm curiosity. She could probably make it sexy, even. The roots of a request like that are undoubtedly ugly - something to let him tell in his own time - but the results don't have to be. "You want me to start right now?"
"Uh-" He hesitates; it's his nature, with anything close and personal near another person. But a stop-start doesn't mean a start. He nods his head, momentarily bashful, before catching her eye. "S'your party."
And thank God for that. He wouldn't know how to make a first move-- if he did, hell, they wouldn't be having this conversation at all.
"In that case," she says, fixing him with a look that doesn't waver, "if it turns out the kid's gone for the night and you're interested in having sex, we can."
A rule, in love and war: Never call Maggie Rhee's bluff.
(It's hard not to think of that pharmacy, of Glenn and his box of condoms. Easier to think of it and set the memory aside for the moment. Everything that was true then, somehow, is true now, too: she's lonely, and the field of options is a narrow one. Who else understands everything that's brought them to this point? No one she's interested in screwing.)
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And just as her hand drops again - there comes thunder, as six feet pound down the stairs like all three of these kids were born in a barn. (A barn'd probably have been a step up, at least in Judith's case.) "Mom!" Hershel's calling, and "Aunt Maggie!" from Judith simultaneously. RJ's quiet, following along behind them.
Maggie straightens up a little, picking up her cup like that's the entire reason her hand's up there in the first place.
"Can Jude and RJ sleep over? Please?"
"Didn't they sleep over last week?" she asks, as easily as if they'd been discussing the weather down here the whole evening. It's a relief to realize she still knows how to sneak around when she needs to, because this is nowhere even close to 'Hershel needs to know' territory yet.
"Yeah, but that was a week ago."
"Maybe," and this, she doesn't dare look away toward Daryl as she says it, "you should ask if you can sleep over with them. If y'all get permission, you can, but we're not having anyone extra over here tonight."
That, apparently, is all the encouragement the three of them need; they're tearing away again, this time toward the door in search of permission, and Maggie's draining her glass of wine in a single go.
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Daryl looks back, watching the kids go, watching them be kids. Completely alien children to his experience: normal, happy, excitable, even.
There's a smile in his voice when he speaks, "handled that quick."
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And she won't say no to a night off, if Carol's up for keeping an eye on Hershel for the night.
"I'm not going to keep you a secret forever," she adds, finally letting herself look over his way. He should probably hear this much before they get too much further. "But I'm not...this isn't something Hershel needs to hear about yet. Not unless we decide we're in it for the long haul."
At the moment, that feels inevitable - Maggie's not sure she remembers how to want something casual - but there's no point trapping Daryl into anything he doesn't like the sound of. If he's ever had a relationship, she doesn't know about it; she's not about to ask him to make promises when it's possible neither of them know if he can keep them.
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God, she hopes so, anyway.
"And, uh -" The hesitation's less for her own sake and more for Daryl's. He's already ended up someplace miles away from his comfort zone. "If Hershel's out of our hair tonight, that doesn't mean we have to do anything different than always. I'm not expecting anything."
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"You spooked me," he grumbles, "I ain't your prom date."
He hopes he says it with humor, but sometimes things come out more bitter than he intends. Really, he's a grown man, so the world keeps telling him; it no longer sours his pride when people forget, but it is notable. Maggie, at least, is doing it out of some concession to his will, some kind of respect he doesn't quite understand.
A long sigh. Just say it- "Don't always like being touched. Just... need a warning, sometimes."
He's never had to say that aloud before. It leaves him feeling... lighter, unexpectedly.
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Still, she'd rather lay things out, where she can. She's too damned tired to deal with crossed wires.
"I can do that," Maggie tells him, regarding him with a sort of warm curiosity. She could probably make it sexy, even. The roots of a request like that are undoubtedly ugly - something to let him tell in his own time - but the results don't have to be. "You want me to start right now?"
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And thank God for that. He wouldn't know how to make a first move-- if he did, hell, they wouldn't be having this conversation at all.
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A rule, in love and war: Never call Maggie Rhee's bluff.
(It's hard not to think of that pharmacy, of Glenn and his box of condoms. Easier to think of it and set the memory aside for the moment. Everything that was true then, somehow, is true now, too: she's lonely, and the field of options is a narrow one. Who else understands everything that's brought them to this point? No one she's interested in screwing.)