Aaron scoffs, a quiet little sound, more of a breath than anything. It's another in a long line of testaments to Daryl's apparently indefatigable kindness, and he appreciates that, really, but- it makes him feel stuck. Trapped in a tiny spotlight. A petri dish of mourning.
"I don't-" He shakes his head, biting back something pointless and hollow. No, doesn't Daryl deserve honesty? "I'm not sure I really need anything."
Except, of course, the one thing. But that, no one can provide.
Calling it kindness might be overstating it. That plays a part in it-- for all his uncertainties about Alexandria in the beginning, Daryl considers them part of his group now; and for all Alexandria's uncertainties about him, Eric and Aaron took him in without a second thought. Gave him a purpose, a way to fit himself into that world-- hell, even the simple gift of dinner without too much side-eyeing or fretting about whether he was tame enough to be let indoors. Of the Alexandrite still with them, Aaron's his oldest friend.
But he's also, in a simpler sense, just one of the group; which means they can't afford to lose him, which means he's gotta work his shit out. Chances are one way or another Daryl would do his best to help any of them. It's just with most of the others, the best thing he could think to do would be to stay out of the way.
"Time," he suggest. It's bullshit what they say, it doesn't heal a thing, but it helps. "Gettin' shitfaced, gettin' mad. I dunno." Healthy coping is beyond his reach.
The fact that he's trying, more than anything, inspires Aaron to try in return. He'd been content to let the feeling slip away until it disappeared from him completely, but he doesn't want Daryl's effort to be in vain. Aaron has always hated waste.
"What works for you?"
He never asked what kind of lives they lived, before they came to Alexandria. It never seemed like his place. People need a secret part of themselves, something to keep for their memories, not to be trotted out and made to dance for others' amusement.
It's just that these days, Aaron always assumes everyone's lost someone.
He resists the urge to dismiss the question; turning things back on someone else, it's a good tactic. Daryl's a good listener mostly because he hates to talk. Aaron's casting about for something, though, and he deserves an answer.
"Go off on my own a while," he answers, lifting a shoulder.
And you cry like a bitch, Merle's voice adds, still in the back of his mind after all these years. (The fucked up thing is, it's almost comforting, thinking it.)
"Find somethin' to do." A beat, and he adds-- feeling all too vulnerable, but pushing past it for the sake of offering the same honesty he's demanding-- "Somethin' to protect."
It would drive Aaron mad to be alone right now, he knows that much. He's never been a people person, exactly, but he knows he shouldn't be alone when he's upset. Eric was always there, always willing to set some time aside for him. He has no interest in proving a dead man wrong.
The idea of finding something to protect, though. Aaron smiles, and for once it's not strained. "Of course you would," he says softly. "That's what you are."
But me, I... No, Aaron has no ambition to turn the subject selfishly back to his foibles.
You can't quite call it a smile, the expression that twists the corner of his mouth. It's trying to be, maybe. That's a nice thing for Aaron to say. Daryl would like to believe it's the truth; at the least, maybe that's who he's become.
"You keep goin'."
It's an assurance. They do, because... well, they just do.
He is, he knows, pretty shitty at this advice thing.
It's a strangely comforting thought, that time will stretch on inexorably no matter what Aaron thinks or feels. He's just a speck in the grand scheme of life. His pain may feel endless, but it's contained only to him. He appreciates that, in his way. He reaches up to pat Daryl's shoulder, a pithy attempt at comfort, but it's all he has at the moment.
"I'll take a page from your book, then," he says with a tired expression. "No more dramatics."
Maybe it's just the way things are, Aaron is always going to be looking for some way to turn it so he's the supportive one, not the one in need of comfort. They're well-matched in that Daryl is terrible at offering anything of use, and Aaron's even shittier at admitting he needs it, much less accepting it.
"It's fine if you gotta. We can lit and go pitch bottles at the wall," he answers mildly. "If it helps."
Of all expressions of grief, destructive ones are the ones he understands best.
Aaron lets out a little huff, a fond expression on his face. He's never expressed anything that way, and he might never, but the idea has its appeal. He isn't sure he could pull it off, though. "Fire's the right idea," he says hesitantly.
"Maybe I'll light some candles. If we don't change it up soon, we're going to run out of room in the graveyard." Said with a sigh. It's good he didn't mean it as a joke, because it would have been an awful one.
He nods. It's a little somber; but then, all of this is more than a little somber. Fire's as good as anything. Makes him think too much of course-- about that time with Beth, about being in Atlanta with Carol; further back, the farm. Further back, his own home.
But this isn't about him, and there's been enough they've burned away to dull all the sharper pangs. It's clean and decisive, and more than anything, it's something Aaron is gravitating to, so it's a good first step.
"Bet there's some upstairs," he offers. Under better circumstances they could hike out a ways and have a proper fire-- find something worth burning, maybe-- but these days it's not safe to stray. Not that it ever was, really.
He's on the verge of offering to disappear, if that'd be better-- Lord knows he understands wanting to grieve alone-- but one thing at a time.
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what_wings_dare2014-02-14 08:31 pm
no subject
"I don't-" He shakes his head, biting back something pointless and hollow. No, doesn't Daryl deserve honesty? "I'm not sure I really need anything."
Except, of course, the one thing. But that, no one can provide.
no subject
But he's also, in a simpler sense, just one of the group; which means they can't afford to lose him, which means he's gotta work his shit out. Chances are one way or another Daryl would do his best to help any of them. It's just with most of the others, the best thing he could think to do would be to stay out of the way.
"Time," he suggest. It's bullshit what they say, it doesn't heal a thing, but it helps. "Gettin' shitfaced, gettin' mad. I dunno." Healthy coping is beyond his reach.
no subject
"What works for you?"
He never asked what kind of lives they lived, before they came to Alexandria. It never seemed like his place. People need a secret part of themselves, something to keep for their memories, not to be trotted out and made to dance for others' amusement.
It's just that these days, Aaron always assumes everyone's lost someone.
no subject
"Go off on my own a while," he answers, lifting a shoulder.
And you cry like a bitch, Merle's voice adds, still in the back of his mind after all these years. (The fucked up thing is, it's almost comforting, thinking it.)
"Find somethin' to do." A beat, and he adds-- feeling all too vulnerable, but pushing past it for the sake of offering the same honesty he's demanding-- "Somethin' to protect."
no subject
The idea of finding something to protect, though. Aaron smiles, and for once it's not strained. "Of course you would," he says softly. "That's what you are."
But me, I... No, Aaron has no ambition to turn the subject selfishly back to his foibles.
no subject
"You keep goin'."
It's an assurance. They do, because... well, they just do.
He is, he knows, pretty shitty at this advice thing.
no subject
"I'll take a page from your book, then," he says with a tired expression. "No more dramatics."
no subject
"It's fine if you gotta. We can lit and go pitch bottles at the wall," he answers mildly. "If it helps."
Of all expressions of grief, destructive ones are the ones he understands best.
no subject
"Maybe I'll light some candles. If we don't change it up soon, we're going to run out of room in the graveyard." Said with a sigh. It's good he didn't mean it as a joke, because it would have been an awful one.
no subject
But this isn't about him, and there's been enough they've burned away to dull all the sharper pangs. It's clean and decisive, and more than anything, it's something Aaron is gravitating to, so it's a good first step.
"Bet there's some upstairs," he offers. Under better circumstances they could hike out a ways and have a proper fire-- find something worth burning, maybe-- but these days it's not safe to stray. Not that it ever was, really.
He's on the verge of offering to disappear, if that'd be better-- Lord knows he understands wanting to grieve alone-- but one thing at a time.