A/N: So before you guys burn me alive just please realize that I'm the only person that can finish this fiction… so if you kill me it will never get done. Haha… Happy Thanksgiving!

MacDixy

Warnings: foul language, idiot men, emotional roller coasters.

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters from the Walking Dead and I make no profit from this fiction other than all the cuddly feels.

The Stray.

Chapter 6 Panty huntin'

Daryl pulled his heavy Carhartt coat on hoping to get some mild protection from the blistery air. Merle had fallen into a drug induced, drooling half coma soon after Daryl's shower, successfully leaving the younger alone to his thoughts. Not that being alone was all that great in his current mood (foul if you hadn't guessed) so he ended up sulking for half the evening before finally pulling on some clothes and huffily leaving for work.

As much as Daryl hated to admit it, Merle had been right. There was no way anyone would- or could- ever care about him like Merle did. He'd learned that a long time ago but had forgotten as the years grew in number and the bloody beatings lessened. Blood always seemed to bring a good old Dixon family reunion.

Being so wrapped up in his thoughts for the hours after his shower, he had forgotten about work again. That surprised him being that he was always jumpier than a jack rabbit never inclined to sit around and usually happy to do work. Maybe not happy, Dixons didn't really do happy all that well. Neither would his boss when he showed up twenty minutes late, he thought in malcontent. Depression was an extremely inconvenient thing always jumping in at the worst of times. Anger was much better, he liked anger a lot more than that depression shit he'd been experiencing in random boughts all morning.

He just needed Merle to shout some sense into him like always. That never failed to screw his head back on just right and send him marching of into war. He traded his grimy white t-shirt for one with the bar's insignia on it. He blanched a bit when he realized the shirt was gray but the flame-like black leaf decal cut the shade in a way that made it much less morbid.

The word of the day seemed to be morbid, so Daryl just went with it as he tromped down the colorless street. Everything was really just pissing him off now that he'd gone color blind and all. He'd be cussing out songbirds for singing so lovely or punching babies for laughing so adorably if he didn't man up soon. He was being a man in the only way he knew. The man Merle had raised him to be. He was angry because men were angry. He should lash out at those pussy emotions he'd been feeling. Real men didn't cry. Real men didn't talk about their feelings.

Daryl throttled the Black Leaf kitchen door open with a deep scowl on his face and nearly body checked Glenn "Watch out, Asia" he snarled as the dish boy struggled to regain his footing with his bin full of dirty drink glasses. The kid looked terrified as usual but that was the first time Daryl had caused that look. Whatever. He just shoved on heading deeper into the sweltering kitchen and flinging his coat in the direction of the saw horse that for whatever reason Mike had deemed necessary for a bar's kitchen.

Daryl liked the bar's owner/ manager/ janitor. He was a good classic American man with a gravely voice, hands that had built a deserving life and deep set eyes. Mike didn't broadcast his emotions over the loudspeaker, he never over praised, just a nod or a hand on the back had his employees giddy. Mike was a man that demanded respect and Daryl quietly gave it, even if the man was a Yankee.

Mike didn't however tolerate lateness. It had never been a problem before in the two years Daryl had been working at the Black Leaf. Unlike Merle, Daryl respected the privilege of having a job. He didn't mind having to work two or three of them knowing it would keep Merle somewhat safe with a roof over his head and himself something to ear.

Now that he was late due to his little depression episode his whole job security was in jeopardy. Really, could he be any more of a fuck up?

"Yo Dixon, your lady couldn't find her panties?" he waved off the fat cook T-dog's greeting with a silencing hand as if he could physically push the sound waves away form his ears. The bastard always said the weirdest stuff like the guy was on his own personal mission to make Daryl blush to death if possible.

"Always check the ceiling fan, you wouldn't think they'd get stuck up there, but I'm telling you it'll cut back on all those hours spent panty hunting." He hurriedly shouldered through the second door before T-dog could see his bright red face, entering behind the bar.

His eyes took a few seconds to adjust to the dimmed down lighting and pink glaring splashes from the neon signs. The first person he saw was Mike who he was prepared to get torn apart by but the owner gave hi a smile instead. That was more than a little rare. Had the guy been diagnosed with cancer or would he just punch Daryl's teeth down his throat later?

Mike glanced back over his shoulder in the direction of the bar counter where only a couple of patrons had decided to camp tonight. His eyes swept over the face of the guy sitting closest, smiling meekly over the brown liquid in his glass. His short curly hair looked surprisingly light tonight though it seemed a bit unkempt like he'd been running his hands nervously through it. He was wearing a casual looking plaid shirt that fit his shoulders nicely letting their rigid shape peek under the thin cloth. Daryl liked the color of his eyes, the way they mixed with the false glow of the numerous neon signs in the establishment. He never thought a person could have lavender eyes, but Rick did.

The smile that the cop wore looked like he'd just seen a strip show for free at one of Vegas' most expensive clubs. He was so entranced that he didn't register Mike's palm patting his back. Why did Rick smile like that for him? It felt like Daryl was intruding on something private that a lowlife like him shouldn't see. He didn't deserve to have someone smile like that for him.

"What you doin here?" even to his own ears he didn't sound right. He sounded mean and just down right scary. Though he really felt almost happy that Rick was here. But he needed Rick to get out of here before something bad happened. Before he managed to suck the color out of those lavender eyes and turn them that haunting gray.

"Um," Rick chocked uncertainly on his words before holding up his barely touched beverage. "Hard day. Thought I'd have a drink." Bullshit. He couldn't figure the other man out though and found himself toying with the snaps on his thin jacket avoiding eye contact with the officer. He didn't like all this barking and snapping he knew he'd need to do to just get Rick away. He'd do it though.

"No, Rick, I mean what are you doing here." Eye contact. The lavender circles shone with confusion and worry. He didn't like this game, no, but he'd play. He was good at pushing people away. "Did you come looking for me?" okay, so he was also a little curious. It wasn't every day someone sparklier than fine crystal walked into the Black Leaf. People like Rick didn't go seeking out Dixons unless they wanted to lock them up. Maybe Merle had over dosed again and didn't make it this time.

Oh shit. Daryl's heart pumped painfully, the worry of losing his only relative far too pressing to let him think rationally. He never should have left the apartment. He knew better than to leave Merle alone with that many drugs. He knew that his brother had just bought more, his couch wasn't that plush so it was obvious when another sack of narcotics got shoved into one of the cushions. He felt so awful for ever wishing that he had been an only child. He cursed Merle for his fondness of the drugs.

He steeled himself for the bad news nearing a panic attack. He didn't have the money for a proper funeral, or burial prices, or any of that stuff. He knew that there was always a possibility that Merle would die but he never thought it would be so soon. Living with a junkie had its dangers. Selling Merle's stash wouldn't get him anything and he couldn't take out another bank loan. Damn, he was so screwed.

"Yeah," Oh, fucking thanks Rick. Damn mind readers. Hang on, Rick couldn't read minds so what had he said yeah about? "I did come to see you." Oh. Come to see…? Him? Daryl Dixon? He was tempted to do a quick one-eighty and make sure there wasn't someone standing behind him. He felt a little light headed with relief along with obvious bafflement. "Look Daryl I'm worried about you." About him? Like he was worried about him robbing a store or something? Or worried about his well being? He wasn't a fan of looking people in the eyes but with Rick it was becoming a habit. Yeah, Rick was worried for him, but not in the pitying way the social workers and foster care people had. This was all new.

"Whatcha mean?" He floundered, struggling with his own tongue.

"I just wanted to check to make sure you're okay" Rick must have been tapping into Merles stash too. "Look, I need to talk to you." Shit. looked like he wasn't out of the danger zone yet. Tendrils of dread pierced his midsection making his stomach hurt and his head spin. He felt small, woozy, and vulnerable. Something bad was coming, it had to be.

"Bout what?" he stared down at Rick needing a reply and royally pissed when he didn't get it. He let out a breath sharply and threw the bar cloth he'd been playing with to the side. The man was beyond annoying.

Rick's lips pursed out in contemplation while he rolled his glass in his hands. After sucking up some liquid courage into his bloodstream he faced Daryl head on and point blank asked, "Wanna get a cup of coffee or something?"

A date. Rick had almost given him a heart attack because the guy didn't have any damned friends of his own to go out with. Wasn't that just lovely? He felt his eyes twitching as it usually did when he contemplated murder. The numbskull had his blood pressure on a roller coaster, if Daryl had a doctor he saw regularly the guy would prescribe anti-Rick or Grimes protection. He'd be dead if he hung out with the doofus for much longer.

It was a good thing Daryl like taking risks. Also it was never too late for a good caffeine injection. All thoughts of pushing Rick away had vanished.

Being too worn down from the fear of losing Merle and the compelling mystery of a date with Rick Grimes he wiped off his hands and made his way to the kitchen hopefully to convince Mike to let him have the night off. After busting through the door and almost killing Glenn again, he saw Mike with a very uncharacteristic smile that made him wary. Why was everyone smiling at him like that? Normally he got maybe a smile a week if lucky.

"Mike, look, I know-"

"Yeah kid. Just go have fun." The older man said turning away into the kitchen where T-dog was laughing at him.

A confused Daryl quickly followed. "Daryl, what the hell are you still doing here?" Mike seemed almost agitated as he tinkered with the leaking faucet.

"Mike I-"

"Take the night off." He didn't have any idea why his boss was so willing to give him the night off, or even so insistent. He hadn't even asked and Mike was practically punting him out the door. But the older man's word was law so Daryl quietly snagged his coat from the sawhorse and re-entered the bar.

Rick, of course, was no where in sight. The only remnant, hint or clue that he had been there was the empty glass sitting all by its lonesome.

The bar didn't seem nearly as bright.

Daryl was such an idiot that he had forgotten to accept Rick's invitation. He'd walked off without a word like the complete asshole that he was. What had he expected Rick to think? The poor guy probably thought that Daryl was giving him the cold shoulder.

Containing the urge to slide over the counter top like some high cocked cowboy he calmly crossed the bar. Most of the patrons didn't take fondly to sudden movement. Breaking into the brisk run that his legs itched for would likely end with him having more bruises and fewer teeth than before.

The air outside was a welcome relief though the cold made him scrunch his eyes trying his best to seek Rick out. It didn't take too long. The man stood out like a lit light bulb in a mine. All the brick and dark corners of the neighborhood couldn't be illuminated but Rick sure as hell seemed to be toying Rick was standing beside his car, keys in hand. Something in Daryl's apathetic mind just sort of shut down and he was stuck watching, frozen like a statue the road between them a yawning crevasse, forcing the two away from one another as the other man got closer to leaving his life for good.

A slip of Rick's fingers and his keys on the ground had Daryl right back in his mind.

"Rick!" he cupped his hands around his mouth attempting to possibly reach the man on the other side of the too wide roadway.

The other certainly heard, his head colliding with this door handle. Daryl felt a little remorseful for startling the man but was too happy to be wholly concerned.

It was a windy night and he could see Rick's face was flushed from the cold as he jogged toward him coming to a stand still only when standing directly In front of the officer. Even without the odd neon signs Rick's eyes looked lavender.

"Hey" he bit his lip and carelessly tumbled over his words not caring a thing for tact. "You, ah, want that coffee?"

Rick's face was worth all the embarrassment and awkward fidgeting. First he looked befuddled , then something close to awed excitement, finally he regained his composure and smiled slyly. The smug bastard.

The officer's face looked more than a little distorted, as if his mouth was slinking towards his nose trying to hide his smile and horribly failing. Without thinking he walked around the car's front and opened the passenger door for Daryl leaving both men blushing and shuffling awkwardly. The awkward blunder couldn't damper either's pleasant mood looking forward to the other's company and the opportunity to relax away from the nagging wife and to have an entire night off.

Securely fastened in the warm interior of Rick's car mere inches of plastic console separating the two warm bodies they ventured out into the cold night in search of caffeinated relief.