Author's Note: I don't own any part of The Walking Dead franchise and don't intend any profit or infringement.
I got to tinkering with this today after working on my pending stories and got a little carried away. I started this a couple years ago based on the notion that Michonne shows up at the beginning of season 2. I wondered how that would change things in that storyline and what effect it would have later on. It's been an interesting exercise. It's kind of a trip having to revisit the season 2 version of these characters being on season 6. (Jacqi Kennedy-season 2 Daryl is indeed a treat.)
This is multi chapter and pretty much done so I'll post as I clean it up and work on my other updates. All feedback is welcome and helpful so drop a word if it seems worth editing and sharing. Thanks so much for reading!
Chapter One
All kinds of thoughts passed through Daryl's mind as he climbed the jagged wall of the ridge. What if he fell again? How was he going to find Sophia if he got himself killed? Did the image of Merle mean he was losing his mind out here?
He curved his hand into a groove right above his head and pulled himself up. The vegetation under his fingers gave a bit and he felt himself slipping before getting a firmer handle on the hard earth beneath his fingers. Energy was rapidly leaving his body and it was unclear how much longer he could go on like this. He chanced a brief glance up, seeing that he still had about a third of the way to go. Sighing, he rested his head against the rock face and steadied himself to push forward.
Crazy or not, tired or no, he hadn't survived this long in life being a punkass weakling who gave up when things got hard. Even before the walkers invaded, he was a tough sum'bitch, maybe not as tough as Merle but he wasn't no pansy. He didn't need anybody to get him out of a tight spot, not even his older brother. He'd been taking care of himself since he was in single digits and damned if he'd get his ass kicked by the vary same kind of woods he'd cut his teeth on growing up. He pulled himself up another half body length and leaned into the ravine to catch his breath.
The extra weight on his right side must have caused too much pressure on the crevice he'd worked his foot into because it began to crumble and his footing slid back down the rock face. Daryl swore and braced himself even harder against the leverage he did have. If he was going down again, this ravine was going to have to practically push him off; he couldn't afford another attempt.
The rocks and leaves kept tumbling underneath him and soon the strain on his left side started compromising his grip as well. It wasn't looking good but Daryl held on, willing himself to find his footing as the soles of his boots scraped against the slick, rocky surface.
As if he needed another distraction, something hard and in motion smacked him across his face and he almost let go of this hold to bat it away instinctively. Knowing better than that, he steeled himself against whatever critter or debris had landed on him; he had bigger problems right now. The object hit him again on the side of the head and then moved down to his shoulder and swung away. From the corner of his eye, he thought it was a snake or some displaced vine. Turning his head, his full attention revealed that it was neither.
It was a dangling rope. A tip of his head upward revealed nothing of its owner except a pair of dusty boots, a gloved hand and figure shrouded in a protective cape.
Daryl hesitated for a moment. He didn't know who the hell this person was and it wasn't in his nature to accept help from just anyone. But then his senses returned to him: he was hanging from the side of a steep ravine about to plunge to its depths for a second time. Beggars couldn't be choosey. So he grabbed the damn rope. He'd deal with the consequences when he wasn't about to fall hard and break his ass.
Slowly he inched his way up to meet his mysterious savior, learning nothing new about who it was as more and more of the figure appeared above him. With each pull up, they took a pull back. What Daryl could confirm was that it looked like just one person and he wasn't very big, even if he was impressively strong for his size. The odds were good that he could overpower him if it came to that, rescue be damned. He didn't have time for foolishness with him still burning up sunlight and Sophia out there somewhere.
Finally, he reached the edge and dropped the rope to pull himself up from the ledge. The rope receded quickly and the figure took several silent steps backward, raising an arm to draw a weapon.
Daryl brushed the dirt off his pants and arms checking for injuries as he went. When he raised his head there's a sword pointing at him by the figure still mostly covered to the waist and a hood obscuring his face.
No, make that her. He hadn't been around the block much but he knew enough to recognize the shape of a woman when he saw it.
Raising his arm to reach for his crossbow, Daryl thought better of that and simply held his arms out defensively. Woman or not, she held that sword like she knew how to use it.
A sound diverted his attention, the clanging of metal against itself.
"Holy shit," Daryl muttered putting even more distance between himself and the woman with her weapon trained on him.
Several feet away, stood two walkers, or what was left of them. They were missing the lower parts of their faces. The arms were gone yet they both had bags strapped to them like pack mules. They were chained at the neck, the tether wrapped around the tree they were pulling against, more agitated now that he'd made such a ruckus scooting away. When he turned back to the woman, she had removed her hood to reveal herself. If the sword hadn't been warning enough, the glare in her eye would have told him she was not someone to fuck with.
Now that he wasn't worried about falling to his death, he picked up more details on her, the brown arms peeking out from her cloak, the golden-tinged dreadlocks that swung off of her shoulders. The rope she'd used to pull him up was coiled and hanging from her hip like some kind of crazy, Samurai Wonder Woman. From what he could see of her, she was muscular and trim, her tight clothes revealing a figure he'd probably do a double take on in old times. Her body language screamed that she was on her guard.
But Daryl was also in no mood for a stalemate. His head was pounding, his leg and side were pretty fucked up and he still needed to find his way around this crazy, sword-wielding woman and back to the others.
"What? You gon' save me just to cut me up with that damn sword? Aint got nothin' worth stealin' so you might as well back the fuck off."
He had expected her to put up a fuss but she looked him up and down, probably assessing his weaponry and injuries, and then dropped her sword. She didn't re-sheath it though, not that he expected her to. Instead she let it hang at her side, a reminder of how quickly she could strike if need be.
She cocked her head and smirked. No, he hadn't expected that reaction at all.
"It's not a sword, it's a katana." Her voice was low, husky, maybe a little hoarse from lack of use. Was she all alone out here like a damn fool; her and those walker buddies that obviously belonged her?
They stared at each other, assessing, strategizing and filing away bits of information to get them through the next few minutes. Either they were going to go their separate ways or tear each other to shreds, and honestly, Daryl was eager to get the second option off the table.
"Those things belong to you," Daryl asked pointing towards the walker mules, straining against their restraints.
The woman raised an eyebrow at him. "You're welcome by the way." She took several more steps back until she was at the tree with the bound walkers. They didn't seem to react much to her, even when she circled behind them to access her baggage.
Maybe he was still hallucinating because this shit was just weird.
"Uh, thanks," he responded wondering what she was doing. He didn't have long to ponder before she walked back towards him with a small pouch in her hand and a container, presumably of water.
"Are you hurt? I've got some first-aid stuff. No offense but you look like shit." She pointed at his side that was still oozing blood. He was covered in a sickly combination of mud, grime, and guts and his clothes were ripped to shreds. "That bump on your head is no joke either." Her eyes wandered downward. "Might explain your choice in accessories, though." He'd forgotten about his souvenir ear necklace courtesy of the neighborhood walkers association.
Rather than dwell on the last hour of his life, Daryl's eyes dropped to the pouch she held; he saw gauze and a few tubes of something peeking out of the bag. Damn, this woman was prepared.
"I don't mean to sound ungrateful or nothin' but what the hell are you doin' out here?"
She frowned. "What the hell are you doing out here?" She threw the pouch at him and retreated a comfortable distance away. Daryl dropped to the ground to grab it and started rifling through the contents. He winced at the pain the movement caused. He'd definitely messed up his leg good and his side was starting to throb where he'd pulled the arrow through.
"Lookin' for a little girl," he replied, poking around until he found a large gauze patch and some tape. "She got separated from me and my people and we think she's out here somewhere hiding."
When he looked up, she was kneeling down to roll the water bottle towards him. She tensed after the container left her grasp. "You got a little girl lost out here?"
"Yeah, why? You seen somethin'?"
She looked around as if a trail would pop up out of nowhere. He glanced up at her wondering if she'd come across something he'd missed.
Her gaze met his. "No." There was something in her expression that held his attention. It was difficult to put his finger on it.
By this time, he'd untied his shirt from around his waist and applied some ointment to the gauze. He tore off some tape with his teeth and pressed both to his sides until he'd effectively stopped up the wound. For now.
"What's with the chain gang over there?" he asked using the water and a strip of gauze to wash off his head wound.
Her movements were minimal as she kept on her guard while he tended to his wounds. She didn't offer to help but she did check out his patching like she was a teacher looking over his work. They were silent for a long time as he wiped mud from his face and eyes and Daryl figured she wasn't the sharing type after all.
"They keep my hidden from the dead; their scent that is. No jaw so they can't eat me or bite me. No arms so they can't grab me. And they're even nice enough to carry my gear. Who said chivalry was dead," she offered with a steely grin. "Terrible conversationalists, but who needs that anymore."
Daryl found it rather terrifying and damned impressive. If she'd been alone all this time, well, hell, that was something. He went out on a limb.
"Got a group a few miles off. You help me get back there, least I could do is offer you a meal and some better company."
She stiffened. "Who says I need either." This woman was hard. It annoyed him. Intrigued him too if he was being honest.
But she had helped his sorry ass and while she was dangerous, she wasn't exactly a threat. She just struck him as someone who'd been on her own for a while. Hell, that could have easily been him, He recognized the resourcefulness of her survival.
Daryl shrugged. "Aint nobody said it, just offerin'." He leaned over carefully to pick up his crossbow and while she watched his movements, she made no indication of stopping him.
Despite their exchange, she now scrutinized him through narrowed eyes. He didn't blame her. You really couldn't trust anyone these days and, as far as she knew, he could be leading her into some kind of ambush.
"I'll make sure you get back to your group and then take my leave. But I'll keep my eye out for your girl and circle back to you if I find anything."
Daryl shrugged again. "Suit yourself. And she's not my kid. She belongs to a woman in our group. She's the last of her family and I wanna get her back for her."
The woman's eyes softened and she nodded. "That's real nice." She turned away to unhook her two walkers, her words sounding sincere but cold. Sad. Daryl briefly wondered at what this woman had left behind if it had her wandering this mad world by herself.
He looked up at the sky and the terrain surrounding them and mentally configured the quickest way back to the Greene's farm. "This way," he gestured, waiting until she re-sheathed her sword. No her "katana", he thought rolling his eyes.
She handed him a long, thick branch to use as a walking stick, which he gratefully accepted. "You gotta name?" she asked.
Daryl tested out his gait and figured it wouldn't get any easier so they may as well get going. He walked a few paces and heard the clink of the chains as her walkers shuffled along behind her.
"Daryl. Daryl Dixon," he called over his shoulder. When she didn't respond in kind, he paused and turned back to her as much as his wounded side allowed, expectation clear.
She flashed him that enigmatic grin of hers. "Michonne."
Michonne. It wasn't a name he'd ever heard before. Maybe it was a black thing, not that he thought much of that one way or another anymore. He wasn't Merle or his old man. She'd just helped him out of a tight spot so it was cool between them, on his part anyway.
They walked for a while, listening for walkers. When they reached a cluster of overgrown brush, she halted them and tied off her two friends before disappearing into the greenery around them. When she returned, she was leading a horse. His horse, or at least the one he'd borrowed that morning.
"Well, I'll be damned. Found my horse too. You're like a goddamn fairy godmother or something." She flashed him a small grin but said nothing. She passed him the lead, wrapping it around his arm so he didn't have to grip it too hard. When she went back for the two walkers, she made sure to give a lot of slack to the chains so as not to startle the already skittish horse.
While they waked, he was too wrecked to check for signs of Sophia but he had caught Michonne veering every now and again to check for signs of activity. The only thing they'd encountered was his trail from earlier.
"Your buddies behind you; your pets or whatever? They got names?" His head was pounding and the pain across his body was catching up to him. He needed some sort of distraction and although neither of them seemed like the chatty types, it was the best option for him at this point.
He heard her sigh. "They had names. Not anymore." Fair enough.
As the sun retreated they kept their pace, Daryl pointing out some areas that they hadn't gotten to in their search and Michonne silently following and nodding when appropriate. She spoke only to ask for the child's description and how she got to be missing. Even though his energy was waning she didn't offer to assist. On the one hand, he appreciated her respecting his personal space. On the other hand, he wouldn't mind a shoulder to lean on.
Before long, a clearing could be seen in the distance. The farm. He could see their camp across the field and a bit of activity off of the house. They stopped at the edge of the treeline.
"Well, there it is." She stepped up to stand beside him. "You sure you don't wanna stop by? It's almost dark and all. Where you gon' go?"
Michonne assessed the area, presumably analyzing her options. As they stood there, Daryl saw people running towards them, weapons gleaming off the setting sun. "You better decide quick," he added with a smirk. She'd raised her arm to reach for her katana but she didn't pull it out.
"Is it safe here?" she asked softly.
Daryl did laugh at that. "Safe as anywhere these days. Come on." He hobbled towards the group leaving Michonne to follow as they met the three armed men.
TBC...