Georgia Boy & Pumpkin Pie
(The Walking Dead)
*Daryl Dixon x Wife O.C.*
He wasn’t much of a talker. In fact during the short time Rick found himself in the presence of the Georgia born Dixon he would be lucky to get a single syllable out of him, and even then the man rarely gave voice to intelligible responses.
This regardless Rick knew he was hiding something, and the moment he and the rest of the group found him beating the shit out of a dead walker, they way he swung the golf club in his hands, the way he let out an angered holler, the way every muscle in his body tensed with rage, and more so the way his eyes were overcome by that one particular look Rick knew.
Daryl had lost his wife.
It is not normal for someone to burst into tears the moment they catch sight of a Pumpkin Pie filling can, but in the aftermath of a Zombie Apocalypse, with the world having one to complete shit really anything can set someone off. Though it probably does not help that Pumpkin Pie was the nickname my husband always used when he spoke to me.
Pumpkin Pie. Daryl loved it, so much so that at a point I thought perhaps that the food was more a religion than a dessert.
Clutching the massive orange can I feel my knees go, my sobs echoing loudly throughout the tiny space. It is not safe here, especially when I am sobbing like this, but in this moment I cannot really seem to do anything about it.
After what seems like hours I am finally able to get myself moving again, my skull now gripped tight by a headache.
Daryl Red Dixon, I met him through his elder brother Merle. Well more like his elder brother was making a pass at me and Daryl showed up suddenly and punched him in the face.
With a watery laugh passing my lips I gently shake my head and move a little more down the road, my steps slow since I have sprained my right ankle pretty bad after I was forced to jump out of a window to get away from a group of walkers.
It has been a few hours since I have left Atlanta, the exhaustion in my body slowly crawling up to the point of being intolerable.
“What was her name?” Rick asks, sitting down next to the Georgia born man.
Daryl grunts in response, gaze snapping up suddenly when Rick adds: “Your wife, what was her name?”
Shock was not an emotion Rick had seen on Daryl’s face before, which it was quite a surprise when he saw it clearly written all over the mans face.
Rick gives a Daryl a partial smile, quick to respond to the mans silent question.
“I’ve worn that look myself Daryl. When I thought Lori and Carl had died. I had that exact same look you were wearing in the store today.
Letting out a shallow, though sharp breath Daryl Dixon allows his head to drop as he picks absentmindedly at the ground.
For an hour or so Rick questions Daryl about his wife, quick to learn that though he seems strong and unaffected when it comes to his wife Daryl is just like any other man.
Electric like pain continues to cut through my ankle, a few hisses of discomfort passing my lips as I make my way up hill, my movement ceasing the second I hear voices.
After a minute or two I determine that the voices I hear are indeed human and despite the voice in my head I call out.
Shaky my head I respond with an instant no, the man currently pointing his gun at me lowers his gun.
“What’s your name?” he then asks as he looks me up and down.
I follow slowly behind the stranger, becoming extremely self-conscious the closer we get to his group.
“You got a last name?” the oldest member of the group asks, my response causing everyone to freeze.
I step back, not liking how close everyone has gotten.
“Have I said something wrong?” I then ask, the group surrounding me continuing to stay silent.
They all decided on it. Wanting to make the reunion as wonderful as possible for the youngest Dixon. They had set her up in the bus and made sure to be extra quiet when they spoke around the fire not wanting to let either Daryl nor his wife know what they were planning.
The sun shown brightly, and for the youngest Dixon it was beyond irritating. With a growl Daryl lets the flap on his tent fall back into place.
“Daryl’s up” Andrea informs both Lori and Rick as they are talking over the clothes line.
With a nod Rick watches as his wife leaves her half finished work behind and heads toward the bus.
Knocking on the buses door Lori slowly enters the automobile, quick to find that their newest guest is already up and looks to be tightening things up.
A smile, soft and warm finds its way onto Lori’s lips as she makes herself known, the woman quick to turn about and attempt an explanation.
Informing the other woman that is perfectly fine Lori then tells her that breakfast is ready and to come and get some while it is still hot.
Their interaction was off, and though he hadn’t known Rick all that long Daryl could tell that instantly.
With furrowed brows the younger Dixon brother proceeds to give Rick a skeptical look and ask him why the hell he is acting the way he is but stops the moment he hears Lori’s voice.
He turns his head, expecting only one woman to be standing behind him.
Do fall into his arms or collapse right here? I have no idea. My breathing has picked up and I am not sure how long I can stay standing.
A squeak, sudden and sharp leaves my mouth as he speaks the name I have gone so long without.”Pumpkin Pie?”
Collapsing I am quickly caught, Daryl’s sweet, southern voice soon slipping into the confinements of my ears.
“Amelia, my sweet pumpkin pie, I gotcha, it’s alright I gotcha, your Georgia Boy’s gotcha.”
“Daryl!” I exclaim, happy to see my husband back at camp.
In a flash I am in his arms, holding tightly to his body as he proceeds to bury is face away in my neck.
He lead me away, the two of us soon sitting alone just to the left of our tent.
“Your chin looks a little dry hon.” I say as I brush a fingertip over it. “You been stress’n more lately.”
“I don’t want ya gett’n bite or lost on me Pumpkin Pie.” is Daryl’s response.
With a gentle smile and soft touch I bring my husband face closer, our lips touching in a matter of seconds.