Daryl opened his eyes to the cracked ceiling of the cell. He sighed as he pulled himself into a sitting position and flung the purple quilt off his legs. He patted the empty space between him and the wall, feeling the coolness of the striped bed sheet. Anna must have been awake for some time now.
He rubbed at his face as he turned to press his socked feet into the deep brown area rug on the ground and pulled his boots from under the full-sized bed.
A few days after taking in the Woodbury survivors, they had returned to the town to bring back necessary supplies as well as creature comforts, like bigger beds for those sharing, side tables, shelves, and decorations.
Daryl had thought these extra little things were unnecessary. But then he saw the smile on Anna's face as she was folding their clothes into a light blue chest in their cell and he changed his mind.
It had been an adjustment, sharing a cell with Anna. The first few weeks she insisted on sleeping in separate bunks – until one night, after a particularly rough nightmare, Anna had crawled into his bunk and wrapped herself around him. They got a bigger bed after that.
He looked around the room, taking in the assortment of knick-knacks and pictures Anna had collected – some of them Daryl had picked up – while out on runs. She displayed them proudly on the small bookcase pushed against the wall just inside the entrance of their cell.
Daryl had never really stayed in one place long enough to have clutter, but Anna seemed to love it – having things. She'd once told him, as she fell asleep curled into his side, that it made it all seem more permanent. More like a home.
Shaking his head, Daryl stood from the bed and knelt in front of the light blue chest in the corner and flipped the lid open. His clothes were folded neatly on the right side, a clean pair of socks resting on top. He changed into the fresh clothes and shoved his feet into his boots before he pushed past the floral bed sheet that served as a privacy wall and door for their cell.
.
"Mornin', Daryl!"
Daryl nodded at Dr. Subramanian as he walked by the tables filled with people conversing over their breakfast. As he passed, they too greeted him. He continued on his way to Carol standing at the grill, grinning cheekily at him.
"Just so you know, Anna and I liked you first."
"Stop," Daryl grumbled, popping a piece of deer meat in his mouth as he picked up a white ceramic bowl Carol had made up for him. "You know, Rick brought in a lot of 'em, too."
"Not recently," Carol countered. "Give a stranger sanctuary, keeping people fed, you're gonna have to learn to live with the love," she smirked.
"Right."
"I need you to see something," Carol sighed. "Patrick, you want to take over?"
"Yes, ma'am!" Said a young dorky looking guy who rushed over to accept the tongs from Carol. Daryl went to leave with Carol when Patrick called out.
"Uh, Mr. Dixon." Daryl managed not to roll his eyes. "I just wanted to thank you for bringing that deer back yesterday. It was a real treat, sir. And I'd be honored to shake your hand."
Patrick held out his hand for Daryl to take, a nervous smile on his pale face.
Daryl sighed, looking between the hand and Patrick before he side-eyed Carol. He sucked the juices from his breakfast off his fingers before he slapped his hand against Patrick's and gave it a firm shake. With Patrick satisfied, Daryl stalked off with Carol.
All the attention and praise he received made Daryl uncomfortable. He wasn't used to it – he didn't think he ever would be. Carol and Anna, though, seemed happy to tease him about it every chance they got.
"About today," Carol began as they made their way to the outskirts of the courtyard. "I don't know if we're gonna be able to spare a lot of people for the run."
"That place is good to go. We're gonna move on it," Daryl insisted.
"Yeah," Carol muttered as they overlooked the field and the outer fences where people were attempting to clear the steady stream of walkers. "The thing is, we had a pretty big build up overnight."
Daryl grimaced at the sight. They needed more people on the fences, or some way to disperse the growing herd.
"Dozens more towards tower three." Carol sighed. "It's getting as bad as last month. They don't spread out anymore."
"With more of us sittin' here, we're drawin' more of 'em out," Daryl explained through a mouthful of food. "You get enough of those damn fence-clingers, they start to herd up."
"Pushing against the fences again," Carol agreed. "It's manageable, but unless we get ahead of it, not for long." She looked to him and pursed her lips. "Sorry, Pookie."
Daryl scoffed and bumped her with his elbow.
"Do you think Anna's figured out how Woodbury dealt with walkers?" Carol asked as they turned away from the field and headed back to the main courtyard. "Where is she anyway? She didn't stop by for breakfast."
Daryl shrugged lightly.
"Where do you think she is?"
.
.
The library was Anna's favorite place in the prison. Ever since they had cleared it, from the crack of dawn to late at night she spent every spare moment there, her work spread out in front of her on the table.
Today, like most days, she had woken up before the sun and quietly dressed, leaving Daryl to sleep as she snuck off to the library.
She couldn't deny that her reasons for coming in so early were in large part due to the nightmares. She had admitted as much to Daryl, who hadn't been exactly helpful. But she didn't fault him for that. It wasn't like she even knew what she needed.
So, rather than address the problem, Anna threw herself into Milton's journals, jotting down notes in the margins of his research, searching for solutions to problems the prison faced increasingly every day, or sitting with other survivors and talking about their problems.
At the moment she was alone, scouring through the notes Milton had taken about Woodbury, searching for an answer to the prison's current conundrum – pileups of walkers at the fences.
That was one thing she missed about Fort Benning – the defenses. It had been a compound made up almost entirely of soldiers who had established a secure perimeter with wooden spikes, barbed wire, chain-link, and sheets of metal scavenged from the surrounding area. To top it all off, they had constant patrols. At any given time, there had been four people – two in a group – that circled the perimeter for a few hours, took out minor threats, and alerted the rest of the compound of bigger ones.
She'd tried to bring these ideas before the council, but they had dismissed her on the grounds that they simply didn't have enough resources or people capable of the task. They had at least taken the wooden spikes idea, but it wasn't enough for Anna.
Anna groaned as she tossed her pencil onto the table, leaning back in her chair and rubbing at her tired eyes.
"I need to start getting more sleep," she grumbled to herself.
"Hey, Anna."
Anna looked up from her hands to see Tyreese standing at the door to the library, awkwardly taking up the entirety of the threshold with his bulky frame.
"What's up Ty?" She asked, relaxing her posture as she waved for him to come in.
Tyreese slid off his cap and clutched it in front of him as he lumbered over to stand in front of her. Anna hated the way he always stood there, hovering over her until she ordered him to sit down. But he was getting better at not hovering, seeming to realize how uncomfortable it made her.
"What's on your mind?" She asked again as he sat across from her. She pushed the journals out of the way, showing him he had her undivided attention.
"I don't want to do the fence anymore. I—I can't," he stuttered.
"You don't have to," she assured.
This was a regular occurrence – and not just with Tyreese. After the prison started receiving a steady stream of survivors, Anna made a point to talk to each new arrival, mostly in an attempt to interview them as Milton had done at Woodbury. This put her in an interesting position at the prison. It seemed, as a consequence of maintaining such a relationship with the survivors, she had become a sort of make-shift therapist.
It hadn't been her intention, and she always made it clear that she had never been a board-certified therapist in the slightest, but it didn't matter. The citizens of the prison still shuffled into the library, or wherever they could catch her alone, and talked to her about whatever was bugging them, the memories that haunted them.
Eventually, Anna decided to host a nightly group session – jokingly calling it Survivors
Anonymous.
"It's just not the same as when you're out there," Tyreese sighed, pulling Anna from her
thoughts. "On the fence… I can see their faces. See who they were before." Anna nodded along, encouraging him to continue. "But I still want to contribute."
"What do you think you should do instead?"
"Well…." He trailed off. "There is that run today. Sasha says it should be easy," he explained with a shrug.
Anna smiled. "And it's not the same as the fences."
Tyreese nodded slowly. "I don't know how to tell Karen. I don't want her to think less of me."
"She won't," Anna said, slipping her hand into Tyreese's, giving it a gentle squeeze. "Just be honest with her, she'll understand."
Tyreese wiped his free hand down his face. "How do you feel when Daryl leaves on runs?"
"It's not fun," Anna sighed. "But it helps seeing him before he goes. Actually, he's going
again this morning."
Tyreese jumped to his feet, pulling his cap back on. "Right! You'd better go
then," he said, heading for the door.
"Tyreese!" Anna called after him as she stood from her chair. He looked back at her. "Talk to Karen."