Author's Note: Empyrean Skies is an AU fic diverging from my main story Goodnight Love. This fic can be read as a stand-alone and is primarily Daryl/OC. It follows the basic premise of Daryl Dixon but with various changes. Videos for characters canon and original, can be found on my YouTube channel via the link on my profile.

CONTEXT:

My OC, Imogen Alford, was Negan's mistress before the world ended and they had a daughter, Tess. Imogen has an older brother called Kit whom she and Tess lived with at this time. They were close friends and neighbors of Carol Peletier, only to end up becoming separated during the evacuation. Later, they found Carol again, becoming part of her group led by Rick Grimes, whom Imogen eventually married and they had a daughter, Daisy.

At this current point of time in Empyrean Skies, Rick is now dead after blowing up the bridge, as is Carl who died several years before during the war with Negan. Following Rick's death, Imogen gave birth to their second daughter, Cassidy, and raised Tess, Judith, Daisy and Cassidy with the help of her family.

~*~

'Overcome the Empyrean; hurl Heaven and Hell out of their places'...

W.B. Yeats

~*~

...'(and I think silently: love is a bow-string pulled back to the point of breaking)'...

Marina Tsvetaeva

~*~

Your Love Stings Like Blood

Daryl gnawed on his thumbnail as he awkwardly took a seat, feeling like a fish out of water. Glancing around him, the sight of the brightly colored balloons and huge hand-painted banner hanging over the door only served to make Daryl slump down even further, earnestly wishing for invisibility. Birthdays had meant damn all growing up, only marking yet another year of hell at the hands of his father. Even now, after all this time, it sat ill on him that this fancy get-up was meant to be celebrating him. He'd even taken an extra shower and attempted to brush his hair, as well as making the effort to put on a clean shirt for this farce, donning a designer denim number Imogen had given him last Christmas. It had taken him this long to wear it, not just because not only wasn't it to his taste, but how it reminded him too much of Rick. He could still remember the alarm he'd experienced upon unwrapping it, thinking Imogen had given him one of Rick's old shirts as some kind of memento mori, until he'd seen the larger sizing, Daryl being broader across the back and shoulders than Rick had been.

The party had all been Carol's idea, his best friend coming over from the Commonwealth with the boot of her car packed with presents, crates of carefully prepared food, and the piece de résistance, several cases of expensive vintage wine unearthed from some rich bastard's cellar. As the guests started to arrive and circulate, hugging and greeting one another, Daryl deliberately avoided catching anyone's eye. Goddamn, he felt like a fool, he thought ruefully, dropping his worn hand to his side. Carol swept past, elegant in a grey shift dress and pearl earrings, her short hair freshly trimmed in feathered layers. She shot Daryl a pointed glance, raising her eyebrows at his show of surliness, Daryl scowling in return. But she just laughed, merely moving on to air kiss yet another proffered cheek, accepting compliments with easy grace.

Imogen Grimes then came into the lounge, three of her four daughters trailing at her high heels, their faces ranging from bored to excited. The girls wore matching kneelength party dresses in deep blue, with frilled collars and silk sashes tied around their waists, the style incongruously old fashioned. The second eldest, Daisy, was tugging on the lace of her dress, looking like she could cheerfully tear it off. She was the child who resembled Imogen the most, but with the coloring of her maternal grandparents who lay buried beyond the ocean. Daisy was as fair as Imogen was dark, with slanting brows and violet eyes, her grandmother's eyes, that tilted upwards at the corners in the same way as Imogen's did. Beside her, Judith stood with folded arms, looking self-conscious in the skirts she so rarely wore, golden brown hair pushed off her small face by a blue velvet hairband. Meanwhile, Cassidy absentmindedly chewed on her thumb, whilst clinging to her mother's hand, watching everything with wide blue eyes.

Daryl watched as Imogen then glanced down on reflex at Cassidy, Daryl amused despite everything at seeing her predictably annoyed expression. Just as he thought, Imogen once again began her neverending battle to tidy Cassidy's tangle of ebony curls, fingers gently but firmly trying to pat the ringlets back into place. Cassidy had inherited Rick's hair and shade of eyes, but physically, she bore a strong resemblance to Carl, the siblings sharing the same broad ruddy face and rounded cheeks with their faint smattering of freckles. Daisy and Cassidy were the last of Rick's line, whilst Judith continued to grow up unaware she wasn't a Grimes, Imogen adamant she would never know, only ensuring the child knew of her true mother and the sacrifice Lori had made to make sure her baby survived.

Imogen soon gave up trying to tidy Cassidy's curls, face now severely harassed. It struck Daryl as strange to see Imogen gussied up, having become used to seeing her in faded jeans and baggy plaid shirts. Once, her taste in fashion had ran to the common, wearing skimpy low-cut camisoles and denim cut-offs always that inch too short, reminding him of the trailer trash girls he'd grown up with. But after Rick's death, she had buried herself in her husband's shirts and other clothing that only served to swamp her. This was the first time in years Daryl had seen Imogen outwith her usual oversized uniform. He didn't like the way some of the men were appraising her, but he held his tongue, knowing it was none of his business. Imogen could handle herself, but it still made his fists clench by his sides nonetheless.

Outside, the sound of arguing could be heard, two women now haranguing each other whilst a child started to cry from overhead somewhere in the house. He watched Carol signal to Imogen if she should intervene, but Imogen shook her head warningly. She then shooed her daughters over to the spread of tables groaning with food, impatiently intimating for them to take a plate and help themselves. As they went, Imogen exhaled sharply, tiredly pushing a loose lock of black hair out of her face as she did. An old R'N'B number had started playing, 'More Than A Woman' by Aaliyah, the staccato beat blaring from the speakers making Carol sway on the spot, indicating for Imogen to join her. The latter laughed before reluctantly acquiescing, Aaron then forming a surprising third as they began to dance, with Aaron brandishing his wine glass, loudly declaring he 'fucking loved this song'.

Daryl leaned back in his seat, chewing his thumbnail again, face thoughtful as he watched Imogen dance, exaggeratedly raising her arms above her head before sultrily trailing her fingers through her hair, lips pulled in an exaggerated pout, making Carol crack up. The crimson red of her sundress set off her dramatic coloring, Daryl recognizing it from a recent supply run he'd headed, having been annoyed at seeing valuable time unnecessarily wasted on grabbing fancy frocks. Now he knew the reason why of course. The weather was still clement enough to wear such a thing despite it being fall now, but there was a distinct chill in the air sometimes, heralding the change in seasons.

Glancing up, Imogen abruptly caught sight of Daryl staring at her, his intent gaze capturing her attention. At being noticed, he froze, immediately tensing. Seeing his strange reaction, Imogen hesitated before raising her hand to him, Daryl jerking his chin at her in return, feeling the heat creep up the back of his neck. To his secret dismay, she then came over, looking concerned, leaving Aaron and Carol to dance alone together.

"What's with the long face, Dixon?" she asked, taking a seat beside him. Up close, Daryl could see she'd outlined her distinctive grey eyes with kohl, the effect momentarily mesmerizing him. "You're supposed to be happy on your birthday, you know."

Daryl bit his lip, trying to recover himself, only to distractedly wonder at how she'd never lost her English accent, even after all this time. "Look, I just ain't the marzipan and musical chairs type, Imo," he then said gruffly, gesturing around them with his palm. "All this don't make sense to me."

"Yet you're here regardless, right?"

Daryl shrugged, words failing him. He was here because of her, Carol, his entire family. They were more his family than his own had ever been. But when it came to Imogen, the situation wasn't so straightforward, his feelings having reluctantly come to run deeper than friendship, complicating everything. In the aftermath of Judith being shot at the Commonwealth, something had unexpectedly shifted in the balance between them, Imogen remaining oblivious to it, whilst Daryl had become all too aware. In that moment, he had finally realised he had drawn too close to Imogen, his heart now on the line, yet she wasn't his to lose.

But time was passing, Daryl drifting, with no roots put down to anchor him. Once, he had been happy to just hit the road, letting it lead him where it may. But now, the prospect of far horizons and freedom just weren't enough for him. That was the real reason why he was so uncomfortable at his own birthday party. It merely marked another year alone. He knew he should stir himself, maybe ask Connie out during his next visit to the Commonwealth, see where it went. In comparison to Imogen, his feelings for Connie were straightforward, if underpinned by insecurity, Daryl firmly believing her out of his league. But what Daryl desired most still belonged to the man he called brother, Imogen remaining resolutely married to a memory. Other men had approached Imogen over the years, but she'd ruthlessly rejected them all in turn, loyal to a man long gone.

"Earth to Dixon, earth to Dixon," Imogen teased, flapping her hand in front of his eyes, forcing Daryl to catch it.

"Hey, cut that out, man," he complained, but the corner of his mouth quirked upwards despite himself.

"Are you actually smiling, Daryl?"

"Shurrup," Daryl mock growled, her hand surprisingly somehow still in his, Imogen making no attempt to pull it away. He could feel her rings digging into his flesh, rings had Rick had slid on her finger so long ago, the ruby engagement ring and plain gold wedding band with toujours la votre engraved on its underside. Tensing again, he tried to casually loosen his grip, but the panic beginning to rise in him made it impossible to act naturally, forcing him to fall still.

Imogen rolled her eyes, unaware of his inner turmoil. "Some party this is turning out to be," she then said, exhaling sharply, "with you acting all maudlin and WWIII unfolding out on the terrace. What a waste of good fucking wine."

"Huh, I'd say the occasion calls for it. Means we can drown all our sorrows," Daryl said with heartfelt feeling, wishing fervently for something strong enough to stun him into insensibility. His palms were starting to sweat, and he had to fight the insane urge to fling Imogen's hand aside, knowing it would just draw the attention he was trying so desperately to avoid.

"Is it really that bad?" Imogen drawled, raising a pointed eyebrow.

You have no idea, sweetheart. But Daryl just grunted instead, flexing his fingers slightly as he did, hoping she would get the hint. But Imogen merely made herself more comfortable, hand now resting by her side, fingers still loosely knotted through his. The gesture was telling, Imogen obviously considering it innocent, whilst he was sitting there sweating buckets, feeling like he was caught in the throes of hell. As they sat there in silence, one of the women outside began shouting, drowning out the old disco record that had started. "What the hell's goin' down out there, man?" he suddenly snapped, his vehemence taking Imogen aback. "Ain't they got the memo it's a goddamn party and not a pissin' contest?"

"You certainly changed your tune," Imogen said sarcastically, countering Daryl's withering glance with one of her own.

"So what's the score, then?"

"Some woman Kit's been counselling threw a fit because her ex-husband turned up here with his new lady," she explained wearily, "but it went from bad to worse because they had the child with them. She – Elaine - had wanted to bring the child to the party and he'd put his foot down over it."

"Why?"

"Well, apparently the new girlfriend has been pouring poison in everyone's ears - trying to muscle Elaine out of the picture and all that, playing happy families with the child, and the ex is going along with it for his own benefit. But the ex told Kit how Elaine's unstable; that he and his new lady are just trying to create a stable home environment."

"Is she really as mad as a box of cats, then?" Daryl said, not really interested in Elaine's outbursts, being more concerned with extricating his hand from Imogen's. Truth be told, he found Elaine goddamn irritating, with her bleating voice and victim mentality. Not that she ever went out her way to engage with him, Daryl more than happy to keep her at a distance.

"I just don't know," Imogen said tiredly, too distracted to upbraid him for his insensitivity. "Elaine's got problems, any fool can see that, but she's trying to sort herself out. It's the child – Becca - that's caught in the crossfire here. Kit's out there right now, trying to calm it down. My brother believes Elaine for some reason, that the ex is trying to screw her over, but it's Michonne who has the final word and she just thinks the woman isn't fit to have full custody, full stop."

Daryl mulled over this, knowing not for the first time that Kit and Michonne Alford's marriage would be put under pressure by their opposing roles within Alexandria. Kit counselled and strove to calm situations whilst Michonne led fiercely from the front, ruthlessly resurrecting Alexandria from the ashes. "Where's the kid?" he then said as Imogen finally removed her hand from his, much to his terrible relief. "It ain't good for it to be hearin' all that shit."

"I told Tess to take her upstairs to the playroom," Imogen said, reluctantly getting to her feet as Michonne appeared in the doorway, face furious. "Duty unfortunately calls, Dixon. For God's sake, get yourself some grub and cheer up."

At this, Daryl jokingly flipped her the middle finger, making Imogen return the gesture. He watched as she made her way through the throng, before exchanging a few abrupt sentences with Michonne, the other woman then taking her leave, elaborately braided hair swinging out behind her as she headed out onto the terrace. A now increasingly tipsy looking Aaron then tapped Imogen on the shoulder, Imogen turning to answer him, one hand now resting on the antique locket hung around her throat that contained a faded photograph of Rick and a lock of his hair. Unbidden, Daryl's gaze drifted over Imogen's voluptuous profile, her tight red dress hugging every curve, his stare lingering on her long legs too long.

Then he hurriedly glanced away, shame coursing through him afresh. She was Rick's goddamn widow. But it still didn't stop him from looking at her sideways. Yet he could deal with that, if that had been all it was. Sure, he had mostly lived like a monk, too scared to let anyone come too close, only letting Leah see his scars, but he was still a red-blooded man regardless. She wasn't the first woman he'd admired from afar, but this time it was different, too damn different for his taste. He was a wanderer by nature, but this scratch he couldn't itch over Imogen? Fuck no, he thought, running his hand down the side of his face.

Trying to distract himself, he watched Aaron then stagger off, holding his wine glass aloft in an impromptu salute to somebody on the other side of the room. Imogen's daughters were still at the food table, Daisy dithering over the alarming array of cakes Carol had baked, whilst Judith and Cassidy were arguing over the last pecan pie brownie, which had been a huge hit, disappearing almost as soon as Carol put the plates out. Everyone else was milling around the lounge, talking, laughing and helping themselves generously to the wine on offer, with others still arriving through the door in twos and threes. Singing tunelessly to himself, Aaron put on a new record, some indiscernible hippie number from the sixties. But the effort to maintain the convivial atmosphere was in vain, with the Alfords now loudly arguing, drowning out the pair of warring women, Michonne starting to shout at Kit.

"And off she goes," Carol observed, coming up beside Daryl, watching as Imogen took off out the door at a tottering speed, her high heels clattering across the floorboards.

"Pfft," Daryl scoffed. "Wouldn't be me, man. Michonne is as frightenin' as fuck when she starts ballin' like that. Hope she left her sword at home, or Kit's gonna wind up castrated, or sleepin' on the couch for a month at least."

"Oh, that's already a given after the baby came," Carol smirked, "especially after a thirty-six hour labor."

"Don't."

"Of course you don't want to know," Carol said airily, ruffling up his hair. "You're a man and babies just appear in cabbage patches, right?"

Daryl jerked his head away. "Kit's still gonna end up gettin' the worst of it either way," he predicted, pointing up at Carol.

Carol scoffed this time. "Wanna put a bet on it, Pookie?" she drawled, taking a sip of wine. "Odds of twenty to one?"

"Yer on, man."

Carol glanced down at Daryl, eyebrows raised again. "Nice shirt," she then observed, "it brings out the color of your eyes."

"Stop."

Carol took another sip, swirling the wine around her mouth, face thoughtful. "You know, it's not too late," she said innocently, swallowing. "The night is still young."

Daryl stared at her, askance. "What's not too late?" he asked, confused.

"To ask Imogen to dance, that's what."

Daryl suddenly snatched the wine glass out of her hand, downing its dregs before she could stop him. He needed it more than she did. Of course Carol would goddamn notice. "Hell would have to freeze over first," he growled, slamming the glass down on the sill behind him. "An' not even then."

"If you want wine, get your own," Carol retorted, clipping him around the head. "And get your ass into gear over Imogen while you're at it, or someone else will scoop her up."

"Really?" Daryl said sceptically, narrowing his eyes. "She ain't looked twice at anyone since – since what happened, man."

"You been keepin' tabs on that score?"

"Nah, I haven't," Daryl snapped, starting to get annoyed despite himself. "Just sayin' what I'm seein' with my own eyes, tha's all."

Carol waved at Elijah and Lydia who had just come in, Dog beside them, tail wagging. "Things change though," she then said cryptically. "It wouldn't be a bad thing if you two got together. Plus it makes sense as well – I mean, you're practically raising those girls as your own already. So why not make it official?"

Daryl just bowed his head, unable to give voice to the fears running through his mind. That he didn't want to risk what he already had with Imogen, knowing there would be no return from her rejection. Or the way she was still in love with a ghost. The guilt and grief that still haunted him after seeing Rick die. That he wasn't good enough for Imogen. Or how he had no right to give voice to his feelings anyways. How he didn't want to be unwanted, having already lived most of his life as that in some way or another. He hadn't anticipated having Imogen turn him inside out like this. She had always been Rick's wife, sacred territory that he had been prepared to sacrifice his life for to protect. He had never seen her in any other light but that until now.

"I've known Imogen since she was nineteen, Daryl," Carol then said quietly, all traces of levity leaving her, "she's had a hard time of it for most of her life. I just think she deserves to be happy, don't you?"

Young love don't always last forever

Wild horses can't keep us together...