Disclaimer-I do not own The Walking Dead.
a/n: I have to confess my nervousness submitting this. I have not written any fan fiction for a number of years, but this one kept me restless until I just had to start to write. It wasn't the voice that has been whispering in my ear the last few weeks, begging to be written, but I thought I would start with this one, try to test the waters so to speak, and hope my writing measures up. I only hope that I have done some small justice here.
...
Alone
Crisp leaves crunching underfoot. The smell of ozone in the air. The trickle of sweat beading it's way down fevered skin. The sound of a deafening heartbeat, pounding. The taste of her own tears, salt and grief united. And always, the smell of blood, congealed, rotting, despising and taunting her to her core.
She felt all this and more.
The crossbow she bore on her back weighted her down, as if it spoke of a multitude of crimes. As if to say how many times she had failed. She thought her heart would shatter, her only beacon of hope...gone, just like the rest of them, withered leaves of an empty life.
She ran her hand through thick grime coated hair, and suppressed a laugh. Perhaps, all those seemingly long years before, he had been right. She was nothing.
She had tried to save them, to save them all, even though deep in her heart she thought that redemption was just a notion that had high tailed it's ass back to hell, rather than offer her any small comfort.
Their names were a litany that seared itself on the dark recess of her heart. Ed. Sophia. Karen. David. Mika. Lizzie...so many.
She choked back a sob. It felt that no matter what she did, she couldn't seem to do the right thing. After she had...lost Ed...lost Sophia, she had tried so hard, even though she felt like she was dying inside. Living, but not breathing, just going through the motions...The moment that barn door had swung open, and her baby, Sophia had stumbled out on shuffling undead feet, she had wanted to die. To give in, become one of them, if anything to share that common ground with her undead daughter, but he had stopped her, held her back, and she had thought her heart had shattered into a million pieces.
But, humanity was stronger than that. Time numbed the distance between her old life, and her new one.
A twig snapped, and she shouldered the rifle in her hands, her eyes narrowing, sweat trickling an unwelcome bead down her brow. She shook her head, and turning sharply she focused, letting the slight sigh of relief whistle softly through her teeth. It was nothing, just a squirrel making its way hurriedly through the undergrowth. She felt a pang as she thought of him, how he would have shot a bolt through that poor animals unfortunate hide, marking it as a small yet important part of their diet. Lunch.
At that moment, she allowed herself one small grace. His name. Daryl.
She fervently hoped, that if anyone could forgive her, it would be him. Her heart constricted tightly in her chest, but she couldn't allow the tears to fall from her eyes. No, not now, not when she had lost herself.
Sighing, she thought that maybe...just maybe Rick was right after all. She was becoming something that was so far removed from her old life, that she barely recognised herself. She had deserved exile, banishment.
Redemption sat in an old shack, along with the gentle man whom she had wronged so badly, yet had forgiven her. At least, she had saved one. Judith.
But, at what cost? At the cost of Mika, Lizzie? Had she done what she had done, to save the baby, to curry favour with the very man that had exiled her?
Yet even as she thought this, her heart hardened, rebelled at the thought, Lizzie...had not been right. She had never been completely in the picture, it was like she had always been in soft focus...she had never been truly there, not like little Mika, whom had shone like a bright fragile star. She had had to kill one to save another, how could a wrong make a right? But, after losing Sophia, she would fight hell on earth to save another, she was a mother, first and foremost, and despite losing her own precious girl, she would never dream of fighting against the maternal instinct that coursed through herself.
Voices, muffled reached her through the thick foliage, and she clamped her hands tightly to the gun in her hands, bowing her head as she slunk back into the undergrowth. She scanned to her left, to her right, listening intently. She poised, weapon ready as the sounds approached her, swallowing thickly. Idly she thought back to when she had last had a drink, and her throat rebelled at her, threatening to bring back memories of acrid smoke, burning flesh...she shook her head, fighting back the nausea of what she had done. Again.
Peeking through the bushes, she felt her heart still in her chest. Then it surged into life, and above the deafening boom of her heartbeat, she saw him.
He looked...battered, beat down, and she could not stop her hands from shaking, her feet from inching forwards as they took her unbidden towards him. He stood there with others, some she did not recognise, some she knew as family. Fresh tears coursed down her cheeks as she stood before them. She did not look at the others, could not take her eyes from him.
He didn't look at her. His head was bent down, his hair hanging limply in his face. He looked lost without his crossbow, she had borne the weight of it, just simply for him, because he was her only beacon in this dark and decaying world.
And then suddenly, when she thought that she had lost this right, blue eyes slowly looked to hers, blinking widely in surprise. Then he was near her, his footfall crunching rapidly through the undergrowth, all care and stealth forgotten as he shortened the distance between them.
Then he was there, and she fought against the sob that rose in her throat as his arms engulfed her, and she thought the life was being squeezed out from her. His face was pressed to her neck, and she felt the hot tears against her skin as he nuzzled her. Her arms banded around him, her fingertips trailing against the rough outline of wings on his vest, and she bent her head to his, her lips brushing against his ear as she rested her cheek next to his. At that moment, she thought her heart would burst.
The sweet smell of leather, sweat and tobacco, the feel of his arms wrapped around her, the touch of his hair against her cheek, gave her some small hope, that she could come home.
...
