Walking Dead Ficlet: "Communication"
3rd of 5 unconnected stories for tv_universe's "Otherwordly" challenge.
Title: Communication
Fandom: The Walking Dead
Characters: Daryl/Glenn, Lori
Rating: PG
Word Count: 662
Summary: He sighs, slumps back in the chair. "Am I that obvious?"
Notes: Season One. Written for the prompt "aspectabund" (letting emotion show easily through one's face and eyes)
Communication
by Severina
Daryl's pulled a log over to the front of his tent. He's straddling the old wood, head bent, studiously cleaning his arrows.
Glenn knows this because he can't stop watching the man. Even as he packs his backpack, wrinkles his nose and discards the old cell phone that's long run out of juice, folds and refolds his meager supply of clothes. He keeps an eye on Daryl.
He can't help himself.
By the time he's finished it's been an hour and the only thing left in his tent is his sleeping bag and his pillow. In the morning all he'll have to do is roll up the sleeping bag, take down his tent and he'll be ready to head out in the caravan to the CDC.
Glenn drags one of Dale's lawn chairs to the front of his tent, sits down to rest with a bottle of water. His gaze flits over the camp, and part of him thinks that he should get up and help the others - Carol, sifting square-shouldered and determinedly through the remains of the tent she shared with Ed; Morales and his wife huddled with heads bent together in front of their car - but instead he remains where he is.
Daryl is still cleaning his arrows. Glenn's pretty sure he's already cleaned them each a dozen times by now, but Daryl still scowls over each one, picks at something on the shaft with a blunt nail. His arms flex when he works, and Glenn can't help appreciating the view.
He flinches when the hand comes down on his shoulder, mentally curses himself for getting lost in his own head. Tilts his head back to see Lori smiling gently down at him.
Glenn frowns, pushes at the brim of his old baseball cap. "I'm sorry, did you need-"
"Just go talk to him," Lori says.
He could pretend that he doesn't know who she's talking about, but his gaze has already flicked back to Daryl. He sighs, slumps back in the chair. "Am I that obvious?"
"Don't ever play poker," Lori says soberly. She squeezes his shoulder before removing her hand to tuck it into the pocket of her jeans. "Go on and talk to him."
Glenn darts a glance back at the man before looking at Lori, swallowing nervously. "I don't think that's a good-"
"He wouldn't leave you behind, you know," she interrupts. "He could have gone looking for his brother when you got taken, but he didn't. He went looking for you."
Glenn doesn't think he'll ever forget the heart-stopping panic he felt when the Vatos were shoving him into that car, or the wild half-crazed look in Daryl's eyes as Daryl threw himself against that fence trying to get to him. Since then it seems that there has been nothing but madness and chaos, but in the midst of it there has also been Daryl: watching him when they jogged back to the van, and covering him when they dashed into the fray at the camp, and listening to him when they were burning the bodies.
Daryl, who still hasn't stopped cleaning his arrows. Who sits in front of a tent he shared with his brother, filled with his brother's things.
Glenn wipes his hands on his jeans as he gets out of the chair, smiles weakly when Lori squeezes his arm as he passes her by. He makes a detour to the RV, doesn't respond to Dale's enquiring look. Then he makes his way to Daryl's tent, stands hesitantly to the side until Daryl looks up to glare at him.
"You want somethin'?" Daryl snaps.
Glenn wants a lot. He's pretty sure Daryl does, too. But for now he just takes a seat on the log. Picks up an arrow and wipes at the shaft with the rag he'd snagged from the RV.
They clean arrows for another hour before the sun starts to set, and Daryl starts to talk about Merle.
.
Title: Communication
Fandom: The Walking Dead
Characters: Daryl/Glenn, Lori
Rating: PG
Word Count: 662
Summary: He sighs, slumps back in the chair. "Am I that obvious?"
Notes: Season One. Written for the prompt "aspectabund" (letting emotion show easily through one's face and eyes)
Communication
by Severina
Daryl's pulled a log over to the front of his tent. He's straddling the old wood, head bent, studiously cleaning his arrows.
Glenn knows this because he can't stop watching the man. Even as he packs his backpack, wrinkles his nose and discards the old cell phone that's long run out of juice, folds and refolds his meager supply of clothes. He keeps an eye on Daryl.
He can't help himself.
By the time he's finished it's been an hour and the only thing left in his tent is his sleeping bag and his pillow. In the morning all he'll have to do is roll up the sleeping bag, take down his tent and he'll be ready to head out in the caravan to the CDC.
Glenn drags one of Dale's lawn chairs to the front of his tent, sits down to rest with a bottle of water. His gaze flits over the camp, and part of him thinks that he should get up and help the others - Carol, sifting square-shouldered and determinedly through the remains of the tent she shared with Ed; Morales and his wife huddled with heads bent together in front of their car - but instead he remains where he is.
Daryl is still cleaning his arrows. Glenn's pretty sure he's already cleaned them each a dozen times by now, but Daryl still scowls over each one, picks at something on the shaft with a blunt nail. His arms flex when he works, and Glenn can't help appreciating the view.
He flinches when the hand comes down on his shoulder, mentally curses himself for getting lost in his own head. Tilts his head back to see Lori smiling gently down at him.
Glenn frowns, pushes at the brim of his old baseball cap. "I'm sorry, did you need-"
"Just go talk to him," Lori says.
He could pretend that he doesn't know who she's talking about, but his gaze has already flicked back to Daryl. He sighs, slumps back in the chair. "Am I that obvious?"
"Don't ever play poker," Lori says soberly. She squeezes his shoulder before removing her hand to tuck it into the pocket of her jeans. "Go on and talk to him."
Glenn darts a glance back at the man before looking at Lori, swallowing nervously. "I don't think that's a good-"
"He wouldn't leave you behind, you know," she interrupts. "He could have gone looking for his brother when you got taken, but he didn't. He went looking for you."
Glenn doesn't think he'll ever forget the heart-stopping panic he felt when the Vatos were shoving him into that car, or the wild half-crazed look in Daryl's eyes as Daryl threw himself against that fence trying to get to him. Since then it seems that there has been nothing but madness and chaos, but in the midst of it there has also been Daryl: watching him when they jogged back to the van, and covering him when they dashed into the fray at the camp, and listening to him when they were burning the bodies.
Daryl, who still hasn't stopped cleaning his arrows. Who sits in front of a tent he shared with his brother, filled with his brother's things.
Glenn wipes his hands on his jeans as he gets out of the chair, smiles weakly when Lori squeezes his arm as he passes her by. He makes a detour to the RV, doesn't respond to Dale's enquiring look. Then he makes his way to Daryl's tent, stands hesitantly to the side until Daryl looks up to glare at him.
"You want somethin'?" Daryl snaps.
Glenn wants a lot. He's pretty sure Daryl does, too. But for now he just takes a seat on the log. Picks up an arrow and wipes at the shaft with the rag he'd snagged from the RV.
They clean arrows for another hour before the sun starts to set, and Daryl starts to talk about Merle.
.