A/N: I have been working on this character for a long time, inspired by a character I once roleplayed in TWD verse. I've tweaked her so that she's not a Mary-Sue, but she's wounded. Hell, it's the end of the world. Everyone is wounded, you know? Maybe not physically, but socially, psychologically, spirtitually, and definitely emotionally. She's also not a female Daryl, but she is a fighter. She is also my property. As always, reviews are much-appreciated, but be nice-I'm fairly new at writing TWD fanfics. I've written for roleplay, but not so much in fanfiction. It's a work-in-progress. :)
This fanfiction contains subject matter that may be disturbing to some readers. Reader discretion is advised.
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"You wanted your brother back, you got him," the seething voice of the Governor could be heard across the crowd of cheering onlookers.
A young woman arrived on the scene and pushed her way through the shrieking citizens to get a closer and better look at the onslaught about to occur. The sounds of the grunts and groans of the walkers chained in the arena was enough to chill her to the bone and rile her up at the same time.
Seeing the desperately insatiable glaze in the eyes of the undead, the woman's wide brown eyes drank in the scene before her eyes. The arena was clutteredwith cheers and chants and that's when she could see the Governor - or as she dangerously called him Philip - less than fifteen feet from her and ahead of him was Merle Dixon.
She had never really cared for Merle, save for the stories he told about his brother Daryl. Her sister had been lost amid the chaos of the hell-begotten world they now lived in, so she felt for his loss - at least to a certain degree. Merle was still an asshole, and she never forgot that.
Beside the asshole stood another man, one she knew could be associated with the Governor, but next to him was a mystery man, one with his hands bound behind his back. Not only were his hands wound too tightly together, but the man appeared to be crying - from fright or from stress she couldn't tell, but either way this was a man who wanted to live.
In a flash, she watched with wary eyes as Merle struck the man, knocking off the binds around his hands as he tackled the man to the ground and pinned him there. She pushed her way closer in an attempt to hear what the two were saying to each other. All she could make out were the words "lost" and "brother".
The woman instantaneously knew that this was Daryl Dixon, Merle's kid brother and he was going to be walker-bait if she didn't act quickly.
"Governor, let me see that man," she said loudly over the sound of the roaring crowd, knowing without looking that each of the brothers were probably at the other's throat.
He turned to face her, glowering. "You finally itchin' to have Merle, eh?" he taunted, the shimmer of his eye patch giving her chills.
She shook her head. "Not him. His brother."
"That squirrelly son of a bitch ain't your type."
"I say he is, and I say you hand him over or else I'll walk over there and fetch him myself. You know I will."
Contemplating on this, she could see the rage behind his good eye soften a bit before a heavy sigh escaped his lips and a pert nod gave his consent in spite of how angry he would be about this later. Fingers crossed.
"Martinez, get Merle off his brother and bring him to me." Martinez looked at him in shock, so the Governor gritted his teeth. "Now, I said." The crowd went silent as the fight was ripped apart and Daryl viciously torn away from his brother. "Baby girl's gonna have her fun with him, folks." The Governor sounded almost proud of the young woman, who blushed deeply as some in the audience cheered, and some jeered. Daryl's hands were re-bound and he was handed off to her.
In silence, she led him away from the aftermath of her actions, walking hastily towards the building wherein she found shelter, taking in inside of her apartment and bolting the door behind them as he took a seat in her desk chair.
"What the hell is goin' on?!" he demanded, voice flustered as he watched her close the curtains and lock the door chain.
"Couldn't watch you fight your brother anymore," she confessed, peeking out at the street below.
"So you brought me here...why? What did that bastard mean by sayin' you were gonna have your fun with me?"
She sighed and paused and, in the silence, Daryl got a good look at this woman as she had been a blur the whole way here, but he was coming down off of the worst kind of adrenaline rush. She looked just shy of thirty years old, but she didn't look like she belonged here. Her wavy-curly light brown hair fell just past her broad shoulders. She was averagely-weighted, save for her proportional curves and what appeared to be ample cleavage - the fuck are you thinkin' about that for, man? Focus, bro. Her boobs ain't important.
"I'll tell you if you won't judge what I have to say," she said over her shoulder.
"Do I look like I'm in any position to judge ya?" he asked, shifting a bit in the confines of the chair.
"This whole settlement things I'm a whore."
"Are ya?"
She scoffed. "Hell no."
"Then why do they think that?"
"Because I let 'em." She turned to face him, leaning her palms back on the windowsill. "The Governor convinced everyone that I was one because I refused to sleep with him. Got so pissed off he gave me a bad reputation." She paused. "I don't do anything like what he tells everyone I do - I swear. New guys come into town and are handed off to me. All I do is exchange some decent food and shelter for a night for information on the world outside these walls."
"Why do you need to know?"
"I fucking hate it here. I want to get the hell outta dodge, but I haven't found the right niche."
"What're you gonna do with me here?"
She crossed the room, noting that he winced just before she untied his hands, so she proceeded cautiously. "Protect you here as long as I can."
"Then what?" Daryl rubbed his wrists, sore and raw from being bound.
"I'll get ya out of here."
Daryl nodded. Almost two years ago, he would have bitched at this girl till she slapped him across the face, and then he'd have bitched some more. But now, he was blindly trusting a woman he had jsut met and was placing his freedom - and his life - in her hands for safe-keeping.
He remained silent as she heated chicken soup for him and placed it into a bowl, handing it to him with a bottle of water.
"Bottled water," he mused. "That's somethin' I ain't seen for a while."
"I bet," she stated simply, once again peering out of the curtains. That tick fascinated Daryl. He pondered why she could be so paranoid, but said nothing.
Daryl finished his soup in silence, standing to place his dishes in the sink.
"You don't have to wash them," she interjected as she heard the bowl clink.
"It's the least I can do," he said as his hands worked to scrub them clean. The instant the hot water hit his flesh, it was as if life flowed through him anew. This was quite the luxury and he wondered... "Do you take hot showers?" She turned and looked at him as though she was both shocked and slightly offended. Realizing his mistake, Daryl reworded the sentence. "Is there hot water for the shower?"
She came out of her puzzlement and blinked a few times. "Door's right there." She gestured to a door by the open kitchen. "Use however much you need."
Nodding, Daryl went into her bathroom and looked around. It was fairly empty, save for a few items needed in there regularly. To him, it looked like she had never really settled into this place, but he also realized that it was, in all honesty, none of his business, so he decided on not asking her about it.
Grabbing her soap, a fresh washcloth and a towel, he started the shower and began to undress. Peeling his clothes from his skin, he realized that it was about time to find some new clothes, if at all possible. His clothes were sweaty and, undoubtedly, smelled of hard work, too much use, and sweat. Daryl hoped she hadn't been able to smell him, but it was inevitable, given the state of his wardrobe. He stepped into the tub, feeling the hot water against his skin as though the sensation it caused was brand new. They had decent showers at the prison but no hot water, so this felt like heaven. No place on his body went unwashed, so section was overlooked as he scrubbed away the impurities of the hell outside that had clung to his skin.
Inside of ten minutes, he had completed his shower, starting to redress when she knocked on the door.
"Hey," came her voice from the other side of the door, "if you want, I can wash your clothes for you."
"What am I supposed to wear till then - this towel?" was his reply.
There was silence on the other side for a moment. "I have a fresh set of men's clothes if you want them until yours are washed and dried."
Daryl thought for a moment, wondering why she would have a set of men's clothes in her apartment, but this question was countered with a question regarding why he was asking so many questions about this woman - why should he care?
"Hand 'em in through the door."
She did just that, handing him a clean black t-shirt, brown cargo pants about his size, boxers, and a pair of Army-issed socks. Closing the door once more, she took his clothes as he passed them to her.
Heading to the sink, she filled it up with hot, soapy water and examined his clothes. Every stitch was another tale he had yet to tell, and he fascinated her in a way his brother never could. She looked at the wings on the back of his vest, noticing that they had been hand-sewn to the leather, so she wondered if he had done this himself. The worn, cut-off-sleeved flannel shirt he had worn beneath the best had a small, poorly mended hole near the ribs on the left side - his left, that is - and she wondered how he had been injured and what had been done to heal it.
So many more questions with him lay in the reins, ready to spill from her lips as though she had been born to pose such intruding inquiries. Instead, she scrubbed every inch of his clothes and kept her ever-curious mouth closed.
A few moments later, Daryl emerged from the bathroom, watching while she hung his clothes on a line strung across that half of the apartment.
"Feel better?" she asked.
Daryl nodded. "Yeah, thanks," he answered, taking a seat in the desk chair once again. When she finished hanging his clothes to dry, she crossed the room to peer out of the curtains. "Why do ya keep doin' that? Lookin' for someone?"
She sighed and nodded her head, folding her arms across her chest before turning to face him. "Yes." She had spoken just then as though he should have already known the answer to that. "I know that once people start dispersing back to their houses, Philip will be up here and, I know he will, demand to know what came over me."
"What'll you tell him?"
"What else can an alleged whore say? 'Lust'."
Daryl found himself feeling sorry for her on a whim. He did not know anything of substance about this woman but he pitied her, a fact he couldn't merely overlook. Human nature doesn't work like that.
"So what's your name?" He noted to himself that she winced upon hearing him speak - whether it was the sound of his voice or the words he used, he wasn't sure. "I can't thank you properly without your name."
"I told you - no need to thank me." Daryl raised his eyebrows, an indication that he would have her name before they'd finish the conversation. She closed her eyes for a moment before reopening them and looking him straight in the eyes. "My name is Olive. Olive Norton."
"I'm Daryl." She smirked and stifled back a chuckle and he, too, smiled. It was almost too easy, the two of them there together, sharing more silence than smiles. "Thanks for saving me, Olive."
She was about to say "no problem" or something of the sort, but that's when a loud, thumping knock sounded at her door. "Shit! That's him." Her voice was a hoarse whisper, so he took that as a sign he should be silent. "Don't say anything, ya hear?" He nodded, turning away as she removed her shirt and pants, tossing them out of view of the doorway, leaving her in just her intimates. Heading over to the door, she took a deep breath and tousled her hair a bit and let one of her bra straps slip from her shoulder. Unlocking the door, she opened it slightly, the chain still fully operational.
"Hey," she said, turning on a bit of huskiness to her voice as she made contact with the brute's one good eye. "Whatcha need? I'm kinda in the middle of somethin'."
The Governor leaned into the door's crack to get as close as possible. "that was some smart-ass stunt you pulled back there," his gruff, pissy voice said to her. "Wanna tell me why?"
"I wanted him at my place all of a sudden, you know?" She shrugged, smirking softly. "It was lust at first sight."
He scoffed. "That habit of yours is gonna getcha in a whole heap o' trouble one day."
"Until then, I'll just kick back and enjoy the ride." Olive put a slight emphasis on the last word and the Governor grinned devilishly.
"How's he holdin' up for ya so far?"
"He passed out when I tossed him onto the bed. Once he wakes up, I've got a couple of ideas for him."
"Just a couple?" Clicking his tongue, he reached through the gap in the door and touched a finger just below her bellybutton and then then played with the ends of one of her wave-curls. "When are ya gonna invite me in there, Ollie-baby?"
Olive had been holding her breath, but spoke with ease in spite of her discomfort. "I told you I would when I felt experienced enough before I let you have a taste of my medicine."
The Governor let loose a low growl from down inside of his chest somewhere and Olive struggled not to cry. Given that he was a tall, gangly man who had mentally overpowered her once before, he had been physically dominating her since she had arrived in Woodbury. She was suddenly thankful that she still had the door chained.
"Sounds like a plan, sugar," he said, his eyes leering at her as if marking her as his territory, as if branding her soul with his name. Turning on his heel, the town's leader walked away, leaving Olive to shudder as she closed the door and bolted it again.
"Damn," Daryl said after a moment's silence. "That guy has some serious problems."
"You don't even know the half of it." Olive's voice was barely above a mutter as she grabbed a blanket off of the bed and wrapped it around herself, sitting down on the edge of the comforter.
"What the hell does he have over you? You should tell him to go to hell." She shot him a look that miraculously shut him up. It was an expression that was intended to tell him 'all in good time', that the answer he requested had to be earned first.
"Enough about me. Let's focus on getting you out of here."
Daryl nodded simply, yawning slightly. "Where do ya want me to sleep?"
Olive gestured to the bed. "You're welcome to it."
"What about you?"
"Don't worry about me - insomnia." The look she bore after she offered her explanation was enough to make Daryl's heart ache for her. He could practically read the nightmares as they played across her features. Standing from the bed, it was as if she had found her second wind, placing the blanket neatly onto the bed. "Help yourself to whatever you need to sleep." She headed to the fridge to grab a bottle of water. "I'll keep watch out of the window." She pulled the desk chair to the window, opening the curtain the second she saw the last person enter the apartments across the road.
Daryl crawled warily into the bed, finding it amazingly comfortably, even though he felt badly for commandeering her bed - insomnia or not, he felt remorse for this woman. He understood that there was so much more to her story than to the miniscule bits of it that he had learned so far, but the time would need to age them, easing them into that comfortability little by little.
There was also a lot of information about his life that she didn't know yet, and those, too, were stories that needed to be earned. Olive kept watch that night wondering why this particular Dixon brother was trusting her so blindly, making all of this so much smoother than she had anticipated, a fact she didn't expect from Daryl given the status of his brother. Daryl fell asleep wondering why Olive, a girl who had her own apartment with a bolted door and an alleged lifestyle, insisted on keeping watch from inside her apartment, regardless of how "safe" this place claimed to be.