Disclaimer :The Walking Dead, Michonne, Daryl, Carol and all the other characters on the show (and the other characters) are the property of Robert Kirkman and AMC. Sadly, I do not own these characters. This writing is for pleasure only. No profit is intended.
"Are you heading back out? I packed you some rations."
Michonne paused from packing her messenger bag. She was surprised that anyone would bother her. So far, she had been left completely alone. It was the way she liked it.
Raising just her eyes, Michonne took in the presence of Carol standing respectfully outside the gloomy cell. In her hands rested a partly filled flour sag. Michonne guessed it contained 'rations', whatever the hell that was.
"It's not much, but it should keep you going for a few days," Carol offered, raising the bag a little.
"That's mighty nice of you," Michonne said, as she remembered her manners. It had been a long while since she had pulled out and exercised those. The ghost of Andrea laughed in her head and prompted a better response. "Thank you," she said finally.
Taking that as acceptance, Carol smiled brightly and entered the cell. Placing the bag on the bunk next to the sheathed katana, she folded her arms over her chest and paused.
"Something else on your mind?" Michonne didn't really want to know, but she was trying to be polite today. She picked up the bag and was surprised by its weight. Hefting it a couple of times, she ventured, "Seems like a lot for one person." Glancing out of the corner of her eye, Carol looked guilty.
"The food is for you. I really did mean to bring you some," Carol temporized, biting her lip. "It's just….well…..I was wondering if you could also do me a favor?"
Damn. A bribe. Michonne stared at Carol's big, blue, hopeful eyes. She knew there had to be a catch.
"What's that?" she asked, stuffing the food into her bag along with a fresh pair of socks and 'lady stuff'. Bribe, or no, she could use the supplies.
"I was wondering if you could keep an eye out for Daryl?"
Michonne didn't bother to look up this time. She knew what she'd see, big blue puppy-dog eyes. "He gone missing?"
"I don't know."
That one got her attention. Michonne stowed the sack and picked up the bag. Slinging it over her shoulder, she turned to Carol. The woman was looking at the floor worried. Michonne studied her face. Mid-forties. Short grey hair. Nondescript, unless the woman smiled. Michonne remembered Merle's brother making her smile a couple of times. It was nice.
"Something I should know about?" Michonne picked up her katana and slung it over the other shoulder. A languid shrug and the two items settled comfortably into place.
Soundlessly, Carol picked up the last item on the bed, a knife, and twirled it in her hands. After a long moment, she finally spoke. "Daryl isn't taking his brother's death well," she said, looking up ruefully.
"There a right way to grieve?" Michonne asked, becoming impatient. Daylight was burning and she had a powerful desire to get on the road. She held out her hand for the knife.
"No, I don't mean that," Carol shook her head. "He's pulling away. It's not good for him to pull away." Wiping her eyes a little, Carol handed over the knife. "He's done it before...when he thought things were his fault."
"Is it?" Michonne asked, honestly curious.
Carol snapped cold, blue, hard eyes on the woman. "No. It wasn't his fault then and Merle's death isn't his fault now."
"And that's my cue to leave," Michonne muttered, backing away. This really wasn't something that she had any intention of getting involved with. She had her own plans with death and they didn't involve saving Merle's brother.
"No, please," Carol pleaded, two tears running free. "He's important." She grabbed at Michonne's arms. "To all of us." A long pause, then quietly, "To me."
Michonne felt the two tears roll off of Carol's face and land on her arm. She didn't have it in her to snatch the limb away. "That's an understatement," Michonne snorted, understanding the truth in the words. "Alright, I'll see what I can do," she said, grudgingly.
For Merle, Michonne told herself, although she didn't understand why she felt that way.
She found Daryl later that evening, dressing out a eight-point buck. The prison would eat well for at least a week. Content that she had earned her bag of rations from Carol, Michonne settled in to keep a watch out for biters while the man worked.
"That's a big deer," Michonne called out softly from her cover in the bushes when it seemed like he was done. To her irritation, Daryl didn't even twitch. She had a sneaking suspicion that he knew she was there all along.
"Probably gonna be tough, old as he is," Daryl said digging out a hole to bury the guts.
Michonne didn't offer to help. Guts were nasty things. She preferred keeping her distance. When he was done, Daryl knelt again and started sawing off the head.
"What are you doing?" she asked, grossed completely out.
Daryl never paused his work. "The woman back at the prison have an awful sympathy for Bambi here," he said dragging the head apart by the antlers. "The eyes gets them all upset. I guess they don't like it lookin' at 'em. So, I hack off the head before I go back," he sighed, obviously tired. Deep circles darkened his eyes. He shrugged and continued to work.
"Very considerate of you," Michonne agreed, still repulsed. "Are you gonna bury the head, too?"
Stopping mid-stroke, Daryl looked up surprised. An instant later, he barked out a laugh. It was a strange, strained sound. "Aw, hell," he chuckled. "Didn't think of that a minute ago."
The look of amusement took years off his weathered face. Michonne studied it a moment, returning the small smile. Not a large man, but not small either. There was something there in his expression that was appealing. Before now, she hadn't given his looks a second glance. Maybe it was because she now knew that this man was important to Carol as well as Merle.
In the end, Michonne helped Daryl dispose of the buck's head after sawing off the antlers and cracking out the brain. It was all disgusting, but Daryl insisted they were useful. The antlers could be used for a dozen different things. In payment for her help, he promised to make her a carved handle for her knife one day. The brain was to be used in curing the deer hide.
"Whatever," Michonne responded with distaste to that last bit. For some reason, the phrase made Daryl still. They were trussing up the cleaned carcass to a long stick, to carry it between them back to camp.
"He talked about you once," Daryl finally said, finishing the knots.
"All bad, is my guess," Michonne replied. She straightened up and cracked her back. It was sinful, how good that felt.
"He felt bad for trying to kill ya," Daryl said, dropping heavily to the ground. "He didn't say it outright, but I could tell."
Squinting against a beam of late afternoon sun, Daryl looked up and spoke again. "Said that you reminded him of one of those warrior women in them Greek stories. Amazons. He said you and Andrea were both ones."
"That's quite a ...um.. compliment," Michonne mused. "I'm surprised that he didn't say we were both from the island of Lesbos," she laughed.
Daryl joined in. "Different story, but true 'nough for Merle."
The laughter died off, and they both looked around, thoughtful. Each deep in their own memories. After a time, Daryl climbed to his feet. He shouldered his crossbow and the picked up the heaviest end of the deer. "When we get back, you gonna after the Governor again?"
"Expect so." Michonne picked up the other end. It was heavier than she thought, but bearable.
"I'll come with you, if ya like," Daryl offered. "Got some skill at trackin'. Figured that there's a good trail out there."
"So I've heard." Michonne thought about the idea and liked it fine. "What about the prison? I've also heard you're important around there."
Daryl gave her a sharp look, then reluctantly nodded. "Expect so, at least to some." He started moving at an even pace. "Ain't good for anyone to be alone out there. Ya need someone to watch ya back."
"And you?" Michonne couldn't help but ask.
Around them, the woods glowed with the coming afternoon sun. It was easy to imagine that this was just another afternoon, another day. She'd be bringing back some meat for Andrea to char into blackness. That woman never could cook worth a damn.
"I want to run the bastard down and take his other eye," Daryl growled. "You can have the rest."
"Tomorrow morning then," Michonne agreed, hearing the honest admission in Daryl's words.
"But first you've got to get rid of those brains. That's about the nastiest thing I've ever heard." Behind her, Daryl snorted, but kept silent.
They'd make a good team out there.
Merle, Michonne thought to herself. We're even.
tbc…
AN: Michonne is an interesting character, full of depth. She and Daryl seem like an unstoppable team. I hope you drop me a line and let me know if I got her voice right.
Thanks for reading! Surplus Imagination