Author's Note: I do not own any part of The Walking Dead Franchise. No infringement or profit is intended or actually transpiring.
Here's a little story present for gotopsy. It's another one I wrote very quickly with minimal editing so please excuse any clunkiness.
Wishing everyone a great 2015! Thank you to everyone who has supported me through your PMs and reviews and alerts. Thank you for reading my little stories and for letting me know you enjoy them (or when you constructively let me know you didn't). I'm incredibly grateful for the opportunity to share my diversions, and I hope to keep it up in the new year as long as there are people out in the world who want to read it. And I promise I'm still around and still on the Daryl/Michonne love roller coaster, just very, very, very, very busy these days. I'll try to sneak in some updates when I can!
From where she stood quietly at the edges of the camp, Michonne watched Daryl move around, everything about his demeanor screaming danger, caution and warning. Most people heeded the signs to keep their distance, all but Carol and Rick who checked on him and kept him company when he allowed it. They were still working out their own emotional and physical traumas of late, and misery loved company.
It had been like that for everyone the past week, ever since Atlanta and that damn hospital. But it was really about everything since the prison fell: the separations, Terminus, the coming together and getting torn apart again. Bob and Beth gone.
Daryl took both hits pretty hard—the man he'd saved and the woman who'd saved him, in a way. It all got mixed up together.
The last few days had been about grieving and getting their situation in order, heading to Virginia to get Noah back to his people, maybe find some refuge of their own given the dashed dreams of Washington D.C. With everyone exhausted and demoralized for various reasons, this was the only course of action the group had the energy to focus on.
It was strange for Michonne. She had spent so much time on the edges of their group, protecting herself from attachments. Yet now, she was the most functional of everyone, the most hopeful. She'd buried a lot of her demons in those first post-prison days; her worst losses were behind her, no matter how much she'd come to love and cherish her current family. She'd committed herself to going forward and she intended to keep that promise to herself no matter the circumstances.
She spent a lot of time supporting Maggie, the closest thing she had to a traditional friendship. They'd all experienced loss since the world had taken a slide, but of everyone, Maggie had been the most untouched, with her father and sister and husband close to her for longer than anyone had a right to ask. Despite having reunited with Glenn against all the odds, losing Hershel and her sister as she had hurt her in ways she struggled to handle. Those shattered pieces of herself remained next to impossible for her to pick up and put back together.
Mostly, she kept her eye on the group, on Carl and Rick, especially as was her habit. And she looked out for Daryl, although she wasn't sure he even noticed. She'd kept her distance along with most of the others but for different reasons. He had enough people hovering right now and her added presence would only make him feel crowded. Besides, that's not how the two of them operated. In fact, her entire relationship with Daryl was very different than the ones they had with the others, even with Rick who they were both close to.
Instead, she bided her time—stood silent watch with him at night, suggested a couple of mini-scouting trips where they communicated only in calls and hand signals. He may have thought it was business as usual, but she knew better. It helped to stabilize him, make him feel useful and normal in the ways she knew mattered to him.
They didn't talk about anything. He wasn't ready. No one understood that more than she did.
Catching Daryl's eye, she nodded and jerked her head towards the far tree line. The sky was dim with the promise of day close by, but not for another hour or so. She was always the first to be up and about out here, the only one in their group accustomed to living out in the open and being on the road early. Daryl nodded, understanding her request that they do a little hunting before most of the group awoke and prepared for the day. He turned to quietly grab what he needed and her eyes softened in a way that she'd never let him get close enough to see. He hated the idea of people pitying him, not able to discern empathy from condescension. She held onto his image for a moment and then moved away.
Michonne approached Rosita, quietly but conspicuously so as not to startle her as she held watch with Abraham. She whispered a few words to let her know that she and Daryl would be out hunting and then moved again towards the far tree line. It didn't take long for her to sense Daryl at her side, crossbow at his shoulder and shrouded in the dark cloud of grief and frustration that had become his albatross.
There was no greeting, no commentary. They worked in tandem as they'd become accustomed to over their months of partnering closely together. She showed him the rabbit tracks she'd found half an hour ago and they set off on the hunt. An hour later as the sun threatened to break through, they'd scored enough meat for a good breakfast and then some if they took the time to prepare it right.
Through it all, they didn't share a word between them.
They sat side-by-side at a small stream as they skinned and cleaned their spoils. Daryl's attention remained far away, his hands working almost on autopilot. His fingers on his knife slipped and he sliced into the muscle of the rabbit leg he'd been working on and he cursed loudly.
Michonne glanced over but carried on with her task. He continued to have trouble until he finally threw down his knife in anger, along with the rabbit. He stood to circle the area for a moment as he calmed himself down.
When he returned to his skinning, he scraped harder than necessary. "It's not a big deal," she said. "It'll cook up all the same. Shake it off, Dixon." She kept her tone casual but firm. Nonjudgmental.
"What do you know about it?" he responded, a sharp retort. "You for damn sure aint no expert."
His words reminded her of that recent run with a grieving Tyreese, only a few weeks behind them. It seemed like another lifetime: her challenge, Tyreese's anger, advice offered and received from both of them.
"I know a bit. You're the one that taught me, remember? That's on you." He scoffed, and not kindly.
They sat in silence for long minutes, only the sounds of their gutting and ripping interrupting the quiet morning and the white noise of the stream's babbling. After washing and stringing together her final rabbit, Michonne rinsed her hands and stood. Daryl was still working on his and she left him to it. There were empty water bottles in her pack to fill for filtering and boiling back at the camp. Maybe she'd also have time to scour the area for any other edible items.
From father upstream, she watched him carry on with his skinning and his brooding out of the corner of her eye. Satisfied that he was fully occupied, she rushed to stock up on water. Afterwards, she circled their area and gathered some nuts and berries they'd spotted, storing the items gingerly in her backpack as well. When she returned downstream, Daryl was just finishing up, rinsing off his knife in the gentle flow of water and checking the ties on the rabbits he'd strung together.
Michonne took one last opportunity to wash off her hands and lingered to better assess her friend. The time had arrived for her to say something.
"I know what it's like to be too late," she said softly as she got to her feet.
Daryl turned his back to her, tense and tight. She couldn't tell if it was on purpose. But when he faced her once more, he held an expression of cold anger, part of his ever-present bad mood.
"Except we weren't too late." There was a bite to his words, every syllable laced with bitterness, but it wasn't directed at her. Michonne took that as a good sign.
She sighed and collected herself against her own bad memories. "Too late to save people from themselves, that is." Wiping her hands on her pants, she picked up her pack and headed back towards the camp. She caught his expression in profile as the first rays of light sparked above them.
Daryl shook his head and pursed his lips as if to cut off a rash response. Being careful about how he said things to her had become a habit from the early days of their friendship. He'd been one of the few people she'd given her trust to, and he'd genuinely felt terrible when a few careless retorts had prompted her to shut him out for days.
So instead of responding to her, he simply followed her, gripping his crossbow in one hand and shifting his pack and string of rabbits on the other.
Shuffling amongst the trees, they dodged broken branches and overgrown brush. Daryl stopped to grab more berries at one point. He grew distant again before collecting himself and storing the food his handkerchief that he then tied securely to his pack—probably reacting to some memory surfacing. He also glanced at her a couple of times as they veered and shifted back to the group's camp.
"Andrea," he said simply.
They'd talked of her during their runs together, the friendship of convenience that turned into genuine companionship. Over the course of several months, she'd revealed how the woman had helped heal her, even accepting the bad turn at the end.
Michonne paused, "Her too." She moved a branch out of the way and held it until Daryl could grasp it and pass through on his own. For the first time in a while, he looked her square in the face, into her eyes that held the same kind of pain as his, just more steely and controlled. Nodding, he finally reached for the branch and let her proceed ahead of him.
When they reached a clearer stretch of forest, she slowed until he walked beside her. "I couldn't help Andrea, and I'll always carry that. But I accept that the Governor and her own decisions got her killed. That man stole our home, killed Hershel, all on my watch. I'm not responsible for it, I know that too, but I have regrets."
"We all do," he muttered, head down and a little more listlessness to his shuffle. He didn't wallow too long before straightening and slightly brushing against her. "But he didn't get you and I'm glad for it."
"You're practically gushing, Daryl." She always considered it a gift that he shared things like this with her, on his own without her prompting. Yes, he was struggling right now, but he wasn't completely checked out. He didn't smile but he did slightly jab her with his elbow for the dig.
"It's all strange to me, you know," Michonne added. "Having all of this after being alone like I was. All that time being closed off, even after I found the prison." She made an effort to catch his eye and hold his attention for a brief moment after sensing his tension. "Hey, I meant what I said to you. I'm done running off."
Looking around, she thought of how it would be to live out here alone like before. If she hadn't gone back to follow Rick and Carl, would she still be wandering around, dead inside? That seemed grotesque to her now.
A few large branches littered the ground and Michonne periodically collected the ones that would yield a good fire to cook up the meat they carried. "Before this, before the prison and Andrea, before I was alone, I'd been too late to save someone from himself and it cost me everything: him, my home … my son."
She'd been honest with Carl that she hadn't told anyone about Andre. She hadn't, not Andrea, not Rick and not Daryl. But Daryl knew. You don't travel that closely with someone and have them not notice the nightmares, or the melancholy over finding items for a child while also knowing precisely what the little girl needed.
And then there had been her reaction to putting down a father with his young child, the two still at each other's side even after death and reanimation. Daryl hadn't seen her initial panic, only her kills, as efficient as any other day. However, he had witnessed her walking away from him right afterwards, hands at her ears as she tried to block out Mike's voice in her head, a rush of memories that bombarded her at full force. He ignored how she checked out on him for the better part of an hour, sometimes quietly sobbing but mostly just off in another place so crippled by her grief and loss. Daryl had let her be, but he stayed close to watch out for her. When she returned to his side, he'd handed her a bag and they resumed their scavenging of the area, not a word of acknowledgment needed.
After that day, she had called Daryl Dixon her friend, if only in her mind.
"Just don't go away, at least not for too long, okay?" Michonne continued. Daryl looked over at her as they walked, thinking whatever he wanted to think about their conversation. It surprised and pleased her that there was no tension over her words.
"I won't," he finally answered. "Just …" He shook his head not knowing how to explain what he was going through.
She offered what she thought he needed to hear. "It's okay to be mad at whoever you have to be mad at. The people at the hospital, Beth, the world, whatever. It'd be worse if we didn't get mad sometimes at how things are now."
He let out a long breath and kicked at the rocks and brush at his feet. "She used to joke about me missin' her after she's gone and I hated it when she said that. And I hate that she's right. I don't wanna be mad at her. But we coulda walked outta there. I didn't wanna leave Noah either, but he made his choice. She didn't have no cause going off like that," he spat out. "They shouldn't 'a taken her and kept her in the first damn place, but we came for her. I came for her."
The way he talked about her, about losing her, confirmed what Michonne had suspected: something had gone down with the two while they'd been together those weeks after the prison fell. She hadn't asked any questions. Daryl had never wanted to talk about it and truth was, she didn't particularly want to know.
"I was real messed up after everything at the prison and losing Hershel, losing my people and you and everything we worked hard for. Blamed myself for it, still do. I know you think it was just on you, but it wasn't. It was on me too and I let y'all down."
Michonne gave him one of her signature "don't bullshit me" looks and he turned his gaze away. It wasn't worth wasting breath to argue a point that he already knew in his head, even if not in his heart.
"Those first days, I kept thinkin' 'bout that last big run we did together, just us. That last time at that cabin."
"When you told me you'd be staying at the prison next time I went out looking for the Governor? Tried to get me to do the same? I remember." They'd sat on the porch that night, him keeping watch and her bundling their supplies before going inside to get a few hours of sleep. They'd come as close to arguing as they ever had, Daryl in his own way begging her to stop looking for the Governor and to stay at the prison. Begging her to stay with him at the prison.
She'd kissed him. He'd kissed her back. But she hadn't been ready; she'd walked away.
Michonne had thought about that night a lot; she'd been scared to wonder if he thought of it too. Would things have been different if she hadn't walked away and, instead, held him close and given in to him? Or maybe he would have given in to her and they'd have had a little bit more time to find the man that had destroyed their lives. And maybe they'd have had a little bit more time of it being just the two of them, exploring new levels of intimacy in their partnership.
Another potential regret, for him too it seemed.
Keeping a steady pace, Michonne waited for Daryl to gather his thoughts. When he finally spoke, his voice held defeat.
"That night at the cabin was when it all started to go wrong. I didn't see it at the time, just saw how things were shapin' up at the prison, even with you gone all the time. When it got fucked up, I kept thinkin' about it, thinkin' 'bout what I missed out on, you know, what coulda been instead 'a the shit show we got. And Beth," he swallowed. He couldn't even say her name without the rush of emotions overwhelming him. "She snapped me outta that even though I was a total dick to her. She was all I had, all I thought I'd keep from when times were good."
They walked on quietly for a few moments, recognizing the path back to the others. Before they could turn in that direction, Daryl stopped at the incline they'd reached to watch the horizon brighten and the sun rise from beyond the treetops. Michonne halted beside him, leaning against a tree and enjoying the stillness of the early morning and the company of her friend.
"The day before it got down to just me and her, she was this kid I took care of. And then it was us lookin' out for each other, takin' care 'a each other." He glanced away, vulnerable and sad. "Then at that hospital, she was just a kid again. I thought she was somethin' else; she was somethin' else. But she was still a stupid, fucking kid too."
"Maybe she was, that's why you'll forgive her eventually. And also yourself for not saving her; saving her from herself like she did for you."
"Yeah, that's what Carol says too, but she don't even believe that for herself really. Not yet, anyway."
"Well, it takes time, and she's been through a lot too." Michonne didn't know much about anything that went on with Carol. They were friendly but not close, never had been for whatever reason—too similar maybe. But you didn't have to know someone well to identify how much they'd struggled. "And Rick? He puts more on himself than he has control over too."
Daryl nodded at that. They watched the sunrays continue to streak down amongst the trees and spread out across the clearing. "I do wish I could have been there for you guys. I'm not sorry for it, but I still wish it."
"Wasn't nothin' you coulda done. You were where you needed to be. Just in case, you know." Michonne agreed and knew he meant it; he had understood even when they were leaving, her last image of him giving his approval.
"It's not too late for everyone," Michonne softly uttered. "We'll still be here when you're ready." She pushed off the tree and turned to leave.
"I aint gone. I'm still here, I promise." She smiled and a hint of a grin touched his lips as well. They'd had a similar exchange but in reverse that night at the cabin. Before she'd walked away. As she recalled the memory of it, she reached up to squeeze his shoulder. His promise meant a lot to her, as hers had to him.
"Hey," Daryl called when she moved away. She stopped at his side, facing him. He cut his eyes away from her and bit his lip nervously. Daryl would never be much of a sharer and that was okay. That he tried his best made her proud. "Since when did you get all zen?"
Michonne laughed at him. Ever since that terrible night they'd found each other again, she'd pondered that as well. "Well, you taught me that too." This time he did grin and followed behind her, back to the others.
No, it wasn't too late. Not for the two of them. Not for any of them. Things had changed, but it didn't have to be for the worst, especially when they all had come so close to losing each other forever.
And even though things were different for the both of them, they were still a strong, unbreakable pair. Eventually Daryl would let go and so would she. And maybe then they'd have more success together than they had apart.
There was that hopefulness from her again. And for the first time in a while, she felt it from him too.
Fini