#earth angel — will you be mine? // ( stingslikeabee )

[backwaterscum]

So tell me, darling, do you wish we'd fall in love? Yeah, all the time. All the time.

@stingslikeabee

[backwaterscum]

It was heartbreaking to think that Melissa was counting on a trauma-infused childhood to pull off that birthday surprise, but it was nonetheless true. Given what she knew about the Dixons, the nurse was almost positive that celebrations were not their forte - Daryl spent most of his in the mountains, probably, alone instead of being surrounded by a caring family and friends.

And even if the boy he had once been was okay with that, the woman felt like it was now her job to make it up. To reward his kindness and patience with something nice, to acknowledge and spoil him as someone important - because he was. For Melissa, his role and importance couldn't be overstated - and while Daryl would probably not expect anything elaborate, she did try for a grandiose scheme.

The invite for him to come over to her place was not unusual - sometimes because Merle had plans, or they did it precisely to escape his vigilance. But on that night, when Daryl knocked on the door, his not-yet-girlfriend was behind it, dressed in a full uniform from the time she interned at a clinic and looking like the perfect picture of a model spa employee.

"Mr. Dixon, good evening. Please, do come in," Melissa waved the confused man inside, closing the door and letting him take in the environment. Her place had been converted into one of these wellness spas - with soft light, exotic and calming music playing and scented candles burning away, it was almost as if Daryl had been teleported to another part of the city. Melissa's professional behavior remained while taking his jacket and belongings, placing these near the entrance.

"It's your first time with us tonight, isn't it? I hope you enjoy your experience, Mr. Dixon. Your appointment includes a full mini-spa treatment, with ofuro, relaxing massage with lovely oils and reflexology. We will also provide you with dinner - our treat for your birthday, of course," Melissa bowed then - all a reference to that impromptu massage she once offered when they went to the mountains together for the first time. She was no experienced masseuse, but she knew enough to offer some pampering to a man who had not been used to pleasing touch.

It could heal, relax and soothe - Melissa wanted nothing more but to shower him with love and care, with her own fingers rather than those from a stranger at a fancy place where Daryl wouldn't feel welcome. But at her home, despite the little theatrics, he would be safe. Standing in front of them and breaking character for a moment, the brunette grinned at the survivalist next.

"Our spa comes with a special gift at the ending. You may kiss the professional tending to your needs today - hell, you can even take her to bed later," a wink followed, "In fact, she hopes you will. No other way to offer you a better happy ending and a happy birthday, right?"

Daryl knows enough now to assume that Melissa would have gone all out in one way or another. He'd seen the invitation, remembered quite significantly that it was his birthday (Merle got him a slice of sweetcorn cake for breakfast-- tradition, in one way or another, even if he'd left the house too early to share it with him), and then smiled at his phone because he remembered how unsubtly Melissa had asked for that information in the first place. She's nothing if not predictable, and Daryl means that in the fondest way possible.

So when he arrives, dressed comfortably like Melissa cheekily, faux mysteriously instructed him, the only thing in his mind is Mel's definitely up to something. And when the door opens, and he sees her in a uniform much, much different from the style of clothes he's gotten used to her wearing, the corners of his mouth pull up before he can stop it from happening.

If anyone else called him "Mr. Dixon", Daryl would have spoken up against it. But in Melissa's clearly affectionate charade, all he does is say-- "You sure know how to welcome the new guy."

Even if the pampering makes him feel a bit shy.

It's only towards the end of Melissa's spiel-- when she looks less like a person hired for his pleasure and more like herself-- that the heat prickling the tips of his ears subsides. One might assume the implication that Daryl could take her to bed would be what makes his heart skip a beat, but that couldn't be farther from the truth; the physicality of his desire is a fire that sears through him, but the way Melissa grins, bright and sweet and so very genuine, is the arrow that pierces his heart.

Sometimes he wonders what he did to deserve this. So used to receiving nothing, to being satisfied with nothing, that he's somehow caught Melissa's attention is a reality that never fails to overwhelm.

Daryl can't help it. He knows she'd specified the end for his permission, but his hand reaches for her waist, caught by the sound of happy birthday in Melissa's smiling mouth. She's lovely. She's silly. She's so full of affection it makes him hurt, and there's nothing Daryl can do except kiss her about it.

To his credit, the kiss isn't deep. He doesn't ask for anything more without permission. But in the thorough overflow of his affections, if he didn't do it he might've died under the expert touch of her hands.

"It's gonna kill me having to wait," Daryl whispers, eyes shutting as he bumps his forehead lightly to hers, "but I bet that's part of your evil plan, ain't it?"

He's smiling still, though. And he smiles even as he pulls back, fingertips gently leaving Melissa's side.

"Might be my birthday, but I'm all yours." Daryl cocks his head in a brief gesture for Melissa to lead the way. For all that she'll be spoiling him, it feels like he's offering himself to her, too.

"I know you'll take care of me."

And, really-- even with a deathly energetic chihuahua like Melissa, Daryl knows he'll never be in better hands.

[backwaterscum]

There was no hesitation from Melissa's side - testing the marker on her skin felt like second nature, as well as then scribbling over Daryl's hand next. The nurse inched closer to the man without prior warning, gently drawing a little sun on the back of his left palm as if that was a normal thing to do. For each little ray of sunshine, Melissa's smile grew - until the woman was satisfied with the work of art like a mischievous five year old, capping the marker and winking at Daryl for good measure.

Daryl only makes the slightest motion of surprise when the marker meets his skin, and even then the feeling doesn't last for more than a moment.

It's easy turning his head, looking away from the book in his right hand and taking in Melissa's profile. He'll never get tired of it-- the way her hair falls, the line of her nose, the way her lashes look with her eyes cast downward. The look of her as she works is reverent and youthful all at once. The marker tickles, but not quite as much as the affection that scratches idly at the casket of his heart.

Daryl doesn't even realise he's started smiling to match her.

When she finishes, his gaze finally drops from her face to the gift she's given him. The sun is nothing more than a doodle-- a circle, simple sticks for rays-- but it's one of the prettiest things he's ever seen. Daryl half-entertains getting it inked for real (and adding a moon in there, crescent-shaped like Melissa's smile).

"Didn't know you were an artist," he murmurs, fingers stretching out and curling back in towards his palm. The sun on his skin flexes with it, and Daryl moves as well to kiss Melissa on those lips that taunt him so.

His voice is warm, coming deep from his chest: "Thank you, darlin'.

"It's almost as cute as you."

[backwaterscum]

Somehow, he knew. He always knew. Now that Melissa had paused to re-examine their entire life together, it was almost as if divine providence had intervened time and time again. The way he started working at the place where a co-worker had the nurse's contact details for Merle; the way he seemed to have guessed how much she missed nature and the importance it played during Melissa's childhood; the quiet comfort and the warmth of kindness in a world that moved too fast and turned cruel that brought them together.

And when the worst came to pass - when it felt like the universe was punishing mankind for all their selfish deeds with nothing short of an apocalypse, he was the one who saved her. It was as if Daryl knew where to go and look, saving her skin time and time again. If not for him, Melissa would have died (or turned) long ago; if not for that man, she wouldn't have been blessed with continued life or giving that gift to another.

He wasn't just a good hunter - Daryl Dixon was something more and Melissa never figured out what, but it fascinated her. It took the woman long enough to see it, though - under the colored light filtered through the broken windows made of tinted glass in a dilapidated church. The angle was perfect, the eerie silence of the place muted all other whispers and Melissa suddenly felt her eyes stinging with tears. Finally - an answer, at long last, and it felt a lot like a miracle.

Daryl hasn't stood in a church for a very long time.

Truthfully, what comfort he might have derived from it was tainted, anyway-- destroyed by the influence of his father, his mother, and everyone else he knew who used religion for power instead of love. God was a faraway concept, spoken of more out of habit than true belief, and there was nothing an otherworldly Father could provide him that he couldn't find himself.

Even now, in the end of the world, he doesn't really want for anything. As far as his soul is concerned, what was something lofty like God's gaze in comparison to the eyes of a woman who loves you?

Daryl looks up, staring at the half-shattered glass window before him: the pristine image of Jesus Christ in Gethsemane, miserable as his apostles sleep peacefully behind him. The windows may be broken, but they're also high, and after how easy it was taking care of the handful of corpses in the room, Daryl suspects the worst of the herd that moved through here must have already passed.

So: "Yeah, I think we can hole up in here for the night," he says. "I'll move some of these pews, barricade the door, and..."

Daryl trails off when, turning his eyes, Melissa looks at him like that. There's something in those honey-coloured eyes-- something shining, wet-- that grips his chest tighter than anything else could.

God's love could never make him move as quickly as he does now, taking his woman's face in his hands and furrowing his brows.

"Hey." His thumb catches a tear, warm and wet. "What's goin' on in there, darlin'?

"The hell you thinking about?"

But Melissa doesn't answer, at least not beyond a gentle shake of the head. Her hands only touch his, and her lips only form a soft I love you, and when he's kissed Daryl's eyes shut because it gets him every time.

"I love you, too," he mumbles when they part. Melissa's eyes are still wet, but the bliss in them is unmistakable-- whatever she's feeling, she's happy. And maybe that's all that matters.

Above them, the last vestiges of sunlight shine through a hole in the window. Melissa's eyes really are beautiful, and it's only through them that Daryl feels beautiful, too.