Title: Ink

Author: GageWhitney

Rating: T

Pairing: Daryl/Andrea

Disclaimer: Very much not mine.

Summary: "Wait. How many tattoos do you have?"

Note: Trying to break through my writer's block with help from a prompt by cemeterydreamer: Andrea has a tattoo, Daryl finds out about it.

Norman Reedus fans will get where the inspiration for one of Andrea's tattoos comes from.

They're at the edge of a creek, washing up from a day spent hunting and tracking (or learning to hunt and track, in Andrea's case), when he sees it.

"I'm hot," she huffs, fanning herself, and proceeds to strip off her boots and socks.

She wiggles her toes and rolls her jeans to the knee, and Daryl catches a flash of inky skin on her ankle as she lowers her feet into the cool, clear water.

"Ah," she breathes, eyes screwed shut. "God, that feels good."

He nods, watching her, and tries to get another glimpse of her ankle while he busies himself with splashing water on his face and neck. She stretches her legs out, resting her feet on a rock, and he can see that the inky skin is a tattoo of a little bluebird, wings raised as if in flight.

"Didn't know you had a tat," he says, his easy, companionable tone masking his level of interest. She quirks an eyebrow at him, and he gestures to her bare leg. "The ankle."

"Oh," she says, like she'd almost forgotten it was there. She twists her leg to get a better look at the tattoo herself. "Yeah. I got it when I turned 18."

"Why the bird?"

"You know… 18 years old, that whole freedom thing," she says with a small smile. "Plus, bluebirds are supposed to be symbols of good luck and happiness, whatever that's worth anymore."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah. And I just thought it was cute," she says with a tinge of embarrassment to her voice. She looks down at the tattoo again. "Still do, actually."

Daryl leans a bit closer, and she adjusts her leg so he can see it better. "Nice detailing on it," he says with a nod.

"All that detail hurt like a bitch," she says with a chuckle. She smoothes her fingers over the bird's wings. "My best friend went with me to this fancy tattoo place. I had to hold her hand the entire time. Almost broke it."

He snorts. "Wimp."

"Oh, what?" Andrea starts, crossing her arms over her chest. "Yours were licked on by kittens?"

"They didn't really hurt," he shrugs.

"Okay," she says, and rolls her eyes. "How many do you have, anyway?"

He pulls at his sleeveless shirt and twists so she can see what he's talking about. "Got this one a few years ago… angel and demon on my back."

"So that's what that is. I have to admit, I like the dichotomy." She frowns, peering at the piece of the tattoo peeking out from behind flannel. "It's big. Take your shirt off so I can see the whole thing."

He unbuttons the flannel shirt and slips it off one shoulder. "Better?"

Fighting another eye roll, she hooks a finger into the armhole of his stretched-out undershirt and pulls downward so she can see the entirety of the tattoo. "It's a really beautiful design," she tells him.

"Yeah," he grunts. "Well." He twists his body again and her hand drops to her side. He turns his right arm over slightly. "Devil under my arm. That one… it was just cool, and I was kind of drunk," he admits.

Andrea giggles in response. "God. How about that little one on your hand? It always catches my eye."

His face turns a little pink, but he holds out his right hand. "It's a star," he says. "Kind of stupid."

"What's the story there?"

"Nothing, really," he says. "I was a kid, and I wanted a tattoo. Merle had a buddy who learned how to do ink in prison."

"Seriously?" She grabs his hand and pulls it closer, staring at the little star. "You let someone give you a prison tattoo?"

"Yeah, kind of." He shrugs. "Merle got one first. Didn't kill him, so I figured it was okay."

She shakes her head. "I actually do like it," she says. "Don't tell me this one didn't hurt, though." She prods at the ink with her index finger. "There's no muscle here."

"More than the others," he concedes. "Didn't show it, though. Merle never would've let me hear the end of it."

Something like sadness and pity clouds her features, and for a moment he's afraid she's going to comment on his upbringing, on the fact that he didn't have anyone's hand to hold, or, worse, ask if all the scars on his body helped dull the pain of anything else.

Instead, she brightens and says, "That was brave. I mean, I cried through every one of my tattoos, and that's as a grown adult."

He nods, intent on ending the conversation there, but cocks his head as her words sink in. "Wait. How many tattoos do you have?"

"Three," she says, and her face flushes.

He narrows his eyes. "The ankle. And?"

"My hip."

He glances at her jeans-clad hip briefly. "What's on your hip?"

"A fairy," she says sheepishly. He quirks an eyebrow, and she shrugs. "I know."

He waves his hand toward her hip. "Let's see it."

"You're going to think it's stupid."

"Probably," he nods.

"Jerk." Still, she tugs down the waistband of her pants until the little fairy, all delicate wings and swirling lines, is visible.

Daryl examines it for a few moments before deciding, "Jesus. You are such a chick."

"Shut up," she says, fighting a grin as she pulls her jeans back up.

"All right, so bird on the ankle, fairy on the hip," he says, ticking off on his fingers. "That's two. What else?"

Andrea shrugs, a grin pulling at the corners of her lips.

"Oh, it's got to be bad if you don't want to tell me."

"It's not that it's bad," she says. "It's just… where it is. It's awkward."

Unconsciously, he licks his lips as he rakes his eyes over her figure. "Do I have to guess?"

She considers it for a moment. "No," she sighs.

"Because if I had to guess –"

Daryl stops talking and his eyes go wide when she grabs the hem of her t-shirt and lifts the garment over her head. Before he can say anything else, she turns so that her back is visible to him.

Running vertically along either side of her spine, ending just above the edging on her bra, are two Latin words printed in small, clear letters: veritas and aequitas.

He moves closer to inspect the tattoo. "What's it mean?"

"Truth and justice," she explains, looking at him over her shoulder. "Got it when I passed the bar."

Tentatively, he trails a finger down each word. She shivers under his touch, and he pulls his hand away nervously.

"It's… hot," he finally says. His rubs his palms on the leg of his dirty workpants. "Shit."

She chuckles, watching his anxious movements. "Yeah? You think so?"

"Hell yeah."

She turns to face him fully, her shirt still in a ball on her lap. His eyes struggle to stay on her face, and she smiles wickedly when she grabs the front of his shirt and brings his face down to hers.

"I've thought a lot about that little tattoo on your hand," she confesses, her lips inches from his. "For what it's worth."

"Oh, yeah?" He lets his eyes flick down to her lips, her chest, before meeting hers again. "I'm having a few thoughts, too."

She leans up and kisses him, and it takes a moment, but then he's got an arm around her waist, dragging her half onto his lap as he kisses her back.

She pulls herself in closer, her palm pressed against the angel and demon on his back. He groans into her mouth and runs his fingertips along the ink on her spine.

She pulls back from him slightly. "I lied," she whispers against his lips.

"What?"

"I have one more tattoo." She holds her thumb and forefinger an inch apart. "A little one."

He stares at her with heavy eyes, then looks down the length of her body, sprawled against his legs. "Where?"

She runs her fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck and kisses him again. "Find it."