Daryl hadn't the faintest idea of what to wear for an art show.

He'd asked Aisling, but she'd airily replied with a "wear what you want! These things are very 'come as you are', so don't worry."

Huffing quietly, he'd turned to Google on his phone because it might help him, seeing as how his girlfriend couldn't be bothered to, and couldn't even tell that he was nervous about embarrassing either one or both of them.

Girl's supposed to love me but can't even give me a pointer about what kinda shirt to wear. She's busy n'all, but sheez… give a guy a break.

Life would be a hell of a lot easier for him if she knew that he was thinking… at times. Then, at other times she'd probably whip him into next fuckin' week if she knew all the dirty things he was really thinking about her.

Daryl's Google search came up with pictures of people wearing everything from evening wear to what he wore when him and Aisling slobbed out on the couch watching Netflix.

He wanted to ask Aisling what exactly she'd meant by her vague little note on Art Gallery Fashion Etiquette, but he was already embarrassed at having to ask her in he first place, and was inwardly annoyed that she didn't somehow get what he was worried about, and jump to his aid.

She was supposed to love him!

Couldn't that extend to reading his goddamned mind?

So, Daryl had resorted to calling Merle to ask Heather for advice. Eventhough Daryl wasn't her favorite person in the world, she had offered to bring some suitable shirts to New York with her for him to try if he wanted.

And that's how Daryl came to be knocking on door 306 of the small, but classy boutique hotel that had obviously been chosen by Heather, not Merle.

"Come in if ya like big Southern cocks!" his brother yelled out with a throaty chuckle from inside.

Daryl shook his head, sighed and pushed open the door to join his brother inside.

*.*

"I took the right fuckin' turn, Heather!" Merle barked out, interrupting as she explained to Daryl how their road trip from Goat Rock to Manhattan had taken an additional three and a half hours longer than it should have.

"'Next right', you said, an' I took the next damn right!"

"I said next right, Merle, not this right. Don't you think I would have given you a bit more notice than tell you to turn off on the road we were just passing? You damn near threw me out of the car you spun it into that turn so fast!".

Heather pulled two packaged dark shirts from her bag on the bed and passed them to Daryl, and winked at him before she turned back to Merle.

The gesture was half conciliatory, half teasing.

"You took the right turn, at the wrong time, old man."

Merle was practically snorting with annoyance, until he caught sight of Heather's smirk in the closet mirror and pursed his lips, and his face quickly softened.

He reached out and placed his large hand on her shoulder, squeezing gently in place of a verbal apology or acceptance of any blame.

"Hey, less of the old, sweetcheeks. Would have got the right exit if I had even an ounce of faith in your map-readin' skills," Merle paused to pull Heather close and pressed his lips just behind her ear "'Sides, those tits of yours is too distractin' for me to go analyzin' every word that comes outta that pretty lil' head a' yours.

"Y'all know I'm still here, right?" Daryl grumbled as he awkwardly fingered the plastic sleeves encasing the shirts Heather had brought for him.

Heather giggled as she reached up to curl her fingers around Merle's, and Daryl cleared his throat loudly, turning to stare out the window at the view of another window not ten feet away as he shoved the shirts under his coat and got ready to leave.

"Gonna go, Merle! See you an' Heather later, 'kay?"

Daryl heard a half-hearted reply

"If you're lucky, baby brother," Merle shouted the clarification over his shoulder before he hoisted Heather up over his shoulder with a loud grunt, and strode off towards the bed, with Heather squealing giddily as they went.

Accustomed as he was to having Merle's sex life thrust, sometimes literally, in his face, Daryl didn't take any offense from his and Heather's amorous display.

Hell, him and Aisling were just as bad when the notion took them.

So he shrugged, and left to make his way back the few blocks to his and Aisling's hotel.

*.*

The Daryl who saw in this past New Year resigned to his life and what little he imagined lay ahead of him, rather than hopeful for it's future with a promise of what could be, would have laughed at the idea that by the end of the year he would be standing in some fancy New York hotel room, while his hot actor girlfriend showered in the adjoining bathroom, with the door left open so he could enjoy the sight of warm water cascading over her naked body, as they got ready to attend her art exhibition.

The Daryl who now found himself plunged into this unexpected, and unnerving, change of circumstances as he stood in front of the mirror in the soft, dark shirt Heather had given him, had a mini freak-out.

Not because he didn't want this, but because he did want this.

He wanted this so much he found it hard to even think about it, because he'd get a lump in his throat when he spent too much time dwelling on the rib-crushing, gut-clenching, stomach-flipping feelings that enveloped him when Aisling was near, and when he thought about the possibility of her not being near any more.

The Daryl of last year would have ran. Hell, the Daryl of this past July would have been positively skittish at the prospect of the evening that lay ahead of him.

This Daryl though… he took a deep breath.

He fixed the buttons on his shirt, cast another glance through the bathroom door at the woman he loved, and exhaled slowly and deeply.

He could do this.

On the car ride to the gallery Merle quizzed his brother about the flight, asking if he 'was shitting his pants' and whether or not Daryl and Aisling had joined the Mile High club.

"What's the Mile High club?" Daryl quietly asked, innocently, while Heather swatted Merle with her hand and grumbled "We could have done that, instead of driving halfway round Virginia!".

"When people have sex on an airplane, that's called joining the Mile High Club."

"An' we didn't do that?" Daryl whispered to Aisling "why not?"

"You were kind of distracted, sweetheart. You couldn't breathe, nevermind have sex."

Daryl fixed her eyes with a stare "on the way home, we're totally gonna do that."

"Looking forward to it already..." Aisling whispered in his ear, then turned and whispered "Oh fuck, there's my Mum".

Daryl turned his head as the cab slowed to a halt at the curb outside the gallery, to see a statuesque brunette woman, dressed head to toe in black, posing for a small clutch of photographers on the sidewalk.

As Merle and Heather got themselves out of the cab, Aisling turned to Daryl. Her eyes were large and panicked.

"I hadn't thought about her being here! It's going to be nerve-racking enough as it is. And she's here! Oh God, Daryl… what do-"

Daryl cut her off with a kiss, soft and quiet in the darkness of the back of the cab.

"Gonna be fine, Ais. Gonna be right here, an' everything's gonna be jus' fine, 'kay?"

Aisling nodded, and smiled up at Daryl, rubbing her nose against his.

"I love you," she whispered, happily.

"An' I love you," he replied, placing one last soft kiss on the tip of her nose "now g'wan out there an' kick some ass."