Ok, so today I was listening to Romeo and Juliet by Dire Straits and well, this little plot bunny just would not leave me alone.

As usual I own nothing, although I wish I did own Daryl. And Rick.

The satellite phone lay untouched on the table and, in the name of all things holy, it was pissing Abraham off something fierce. He wasn't used to being ignored, wasn't used to repeating himself. Because when Abraham spoke, people listened. Always had. He liked to think they always would.

At first, it had just been his physique. There's a certain misplaced respect that comes with being built like a brick with more muscles than sense. But the truth was he knew it was more about his demeanour. He'd spent ages cultivating his own special brand of swagger, a persona that mixed just the right amount of serious with just the right amount of fun. Like almost all human interaction it was a compromise and he liked to stack the odds in his favour with a little flirtation, a little sweet talking.

It became easier over time. Fake it until you make it and all that.

Yeah, Abraham Ford had presence. Even before the military he was the guy people gravitated towards, the guy who told the tall tales round the barbeque, beer in hand, winking at all his buddy's wives as if his heart was breaking that they were already taken.

Alpha male.

That was what Rosita called him but even she didn't know how much effort it was, how much work he put into it. But it had it's benefits.

He spoke.

People listened.

Which was why he was getting so damned frustrated as he stood over the roadmap to Washington. Why he was so frustrated that that damn satellite phone was being ignored.

Everyone else was busy. Busy and paying attention, how he liked it. Rick was plotting out a route for when they left Terminus. Maggie and Glenn were making a list of the supplies they would need. Bob and Sasha were inventorying the guns.

Everyone was listening. Everyone except that damn bowman. Because Mr Damn Bowman never listened when she was around. Because Mr Damn Bowman was so fucking whipped it would actually be amusing to watch if it wasn't the middle of the apocalypse. Because apparently Lady Bowman had the skills to make Mr Bowman go deaf on the spot. Her superpower seemed to be walking into a room and making all the sense in his head walk out.

It pissed Abraham off. Sure she was a pretty little thing and he knew all about pretty little things, but come on man, get a room or something because this was just embarrassing. He was surprised no one said anything. They all had this overwhelming respect for Daryl, thought he was some kind of boy scout they could rely on. And sure he was, Abraham had nothing against him. Man knew his stuff, well until she was around. Then he knew nothing. Like absolutely nothing.

Abraham had mentioned it to Rosita one night and she'd looked at him incredulous. Told him he was being a moron, they weren't together. He said they absolutely were and she rolled her eyes, made some snarky comment about how his mind needed to get out of the gutter even though he really hadn't meant it that way. Apparently, the girls all spoke and no one had even mentioned a hint of anything, not a whiff. There was nothing there. She would know, she said, Rosita Espinosa does not miss shit like that.

He thought of firing her at that point (however you might do that in the apocalypse) because it didn't feel responsible giving a visually impaired person a gun and putting her behind the wheel of car.

Feminine intuition, his ass.

Usually, he wouldn't let it worry him so much but fuck, this was important. Daryl was supposed to scout ahead now that they'd found him a bike after all that bellyaching he did about his old one. Hence why he needed the satellite phone, hence why he needed to know how to use it. Hence why it was so fucking important that he listen.

But he wasn't listening.

Because he was too busy eye-fucking Lady Bowman.

Realising this and not wanting to piss anyone off - Abraham had to keep reminding himself that he couldn't order these people around, they weren't his soldiers - he'd tried every technique he knew to draw Daryl back into the conversation. He'd said his name a few times, made a few jokes, even made a quip about Rosita's boobs which earned him a sharp poke in the ribs. But Bowman? No, Bowman may as well be at the North Pole for all that he'd heard.

No one else seemed to notice either, that was the bit that really got him. Sure, strong silent type was one thing. He could respect Daryl's whole "man of few words and he's said 'em all" persona he had going. Probably worked quite well for the most part, having a listener instead of a talker. But that didn't change the fact that right now, right now Bowman. Was. Not. Listening. Because Lady Bowman was breathing. Because Lady Bowman had a pulse. Because Lady Bowman was in line of sight.

"So Daryl, if you wouldn't mind just picking up the phone…" he said pointedly.

I talk to the fucking trees.

"Daryl?" he tried again, voice calm, conversational.

Nothing. Nada. Zip.

"Daryl?"

He could almost see the damned tumbleweeds rolling by.

He sighed. This was exasperating and he really was at the end of his tether.

"Look Romeo, I'm pining here too but if you wouldn't mind picking up the phone." his voice wasn't booming, wasn't loud. Nowhere near as loud as the silence that followed.

Silence that went on so long he started hoping for the second apocalypse.

When he saw Glenn mouth "Romeo" at Maggie and every set of eyes in the room sway from him to Daryl, Abraham considered the possibility that Rosita could have been right and that maybe his broseph personality had been the wrong choice, his quip somewhat premature.

When he felt Rosita's boot coming down hard on his shin, this possibility seemed even more likely. But that was ridiculous, these people were all ridiculous. It was plain as day what was going on here. As his mother was so fond of saying "he was born on a day, but it wasn't yesterday."

The deathly silence, however, that was worrying, as was the nice hue of fire-engine red that Bowman's face turned, a shade Abraham was sure Lady Bowman probably found quite fetching.

The look that accompanied it was also a little worrying.

"You want to say something to me?" Daryl asked but his voice cracked a little as he did and that coupled with the blush just made this whole thing kind of funny.

"He can speak," Abraham said approvingly. "he can hear! Thank fuck for that! Was worried about you for a moment there brother. Now listen up you can look at your pretty girl after…"

Another sharp kick from Rosita.

"What woman?" he shouted. "Goddammit stop it with the kicking."

He turned back to Daryl. This really was ridiculous.

"Ok, Romeo, this satellite.."

"You watch your goddamn mouth sunshine. I ain't afraid to shut it for you," Daryl was suddenly in his face, voice a low growl.

And he wasn't joking. That was very worrying.

That was when Abraham realised that he really, really had been wrong and Rosita really, really had been right. But somehow she'd also been really, really wrong. And he'd just gone and let a really, really feral and really, really surprising cat out the bag and Daryl looked like he was about to kill something. And it wasn't the cat.

"Daryl, leave it," Rick was saying, his voice stern. "He doesn't know what he's talking about."

"Yeah, it's ok," said Glenn, voice wavering, nervous. "Man's just trying to get a rise out of you."

"Man's gonna lose his teeth. And his stupid ass mustache," Daryl answered.

That hurt. Abe liked his mustache.

"Just take the phone," Rick said. "Let's just do this and try and stay alive."

There was a second when Abraham thought things were going south. A brief moment when he started to worry that this might end in a brawl and then he'd never get Eugene to Washington.

But then Daryl glanced down, studied his hands and the tension started to ebb from his shoulders.

"Yeah," he said. "Yeah alright."

Scowling, he took the phone, pushed it into his pocket looking around at all of them, gaze resting on Abraham long and hard and not very friendly before he turned towards the door. Lady Bowman stood to the side, those baby blues so enormous that now even Abraham couldn't stop looking at them

Might be true. Could be that she had superpowers.

"I'm gonna take a piss and go to bed," Daryl growled as he went.

"Good idea," said Rick. "Get some rest."

Rick turned back to Abraham, face unreadable and he knew he'd overstepped some boundary. Knew that this was going to cost him badly down the line. Apparently the Bowmans were untouchable and unspeakable and Mark Twain's autobiography level of top secret, which made perfect fucking sense in a world when every day could be your last. But regardless he'd gone and poked the bear, pissed Rick's people off. That wasn't good. He needed to apologise, find a way to let Rick know he didn't mean anything by it.

"Look Rick…" he began but Daryl's voice interrupted him before he could continue.

"Rick, you walk the fence today?" Daryl asked, hand against the door.

"Yeah," Rick answered. "No breaches."

"Alright."

"Good night," Rick called, and Abraham scrabbled to find the right words, words that would heal the wounds and wouldn't make him look desperate.

And then he saw the small knowing smile on Rick's face as he glanced over to where Beth stood watching Daryl leave. Didn't miss the way she smiled sweetly, didn't miss the look that lasted forever between the two of them and the way Daryl's fingers twitched when she looked away.

"Yeah, good night Romeo," Rick said under his breath.