I do not own anything to do with AMC's The Walking Dead. I do own my made up characters. Enjoy.
BlackRose851: Thank you again.
FanFicGirl10: He didn't decide to take her with him; he just decided that he couldn't leave her there by herself and continue to look for Sophia because of the condition she was in. Sorry for the confusion. But maybe that will change :O
Much gratitude to those who are following and have favourited! Sorry it's taken me a few days to update; I've been crazy busy.
We'll Be Coming Back
Grace's head was spinning and threatened to break out of her skull. She didn't want to open her eyes from fear that it would make her head throb even harder. She never liked this part. The morning was always the worst. A hot shower usually made it bearable, but Grace's mistake was that she stopped drinking in the first place. As usual, her friends Jim and Jack kept her warm and floaty all night, but failed to prepare her for the crash landing that was the morning. She groaned slightly and something shifted beside her. Her eyes flew open as she almost scrambled off the bed, her whole body aching at the quick movement, before letting out a breath of relief. It was just Daryl. She was terrified that one of those things had managed to find them in there. That would be an interesting day. She would put money on it happening when she was either in a deep, dead sleep or high, out of her clear and sensible frame of mind – past bouts of bad luck often had her head in a negative place.
Grace moved away from the edge of the bed and crossed her legs; cradling her aching head in her hands with a sigh. Daryl shifted again, grunting and rolling onto his back, one arm under his head and the other bushing against Grace's thigh. Her bare thigh. She looked down and, to her relief, was not naked. But she lacked most of the items of clothing that she knew she would have fallen asleep in. Her matching blue pair of light blue, polka-dot bra and panties stared at her, filling her throbbing head with question upon question.
How did this happen? Did he..? Did we..? No, he wouldn't – would he? Not after saving him. He couldn't. That wouldn't be something someone would do to someone who saved them. Right? He didn't seem like that kind of person. But she didn't have the slightest clue on what he was really like; she met him yesterday and just grunted a lot. Daryl had said his name, asked her to share her drink and called her a light weight; that was about it. But, really, did any of it matter anymore? The world has gone to shit and she was worried about the possibility that Daryl, who was fully clothed and completely exhausted, had...
Grace didn't want to think about it. She couldn't get distracted by something like that, especially not so early in the day. Last night had had quite a large impact on her because she got distracted and she couldn't afford a relapse.
Before she could do anything, she started her morning routine of checking the grounds for those things. She grabbed the nearest and cleanest items of clothing she could find: a pair of worn denim shorts and a black singlet. Didn't near her gear in the morning on her rounds; just her weapons and clothes she could move freely in, just in case there was a herd.
It had happened once.
Usually she covered a perimeter from her house: she starts off heading a half mile west, then that again south, east a mile, north, west, you get the gist. She'd started heading south that foggy morning, crossbow in hand, machete strapped to her thigh, vigilant, when she had heard loud scraping of lazy feet on the ground and senseless moaning. It would have been okay, she could have ignored it. But when she diverted from her routine to find the source of the noise, she'd come across the herd, quarter mile south-east from her house, slowly heading west. Although she found it hard to see, she could guess that there were close to twenty of those things all bunched together. They had not seen her or smelt her, thankfully, and kept going on their way. Grace's heart had raced a million miles a second, and as soon as they were out of her sight, she raced back home and locked herself inside. The windows and doors were closed, covered, not a slither of light made its way through. She'd sat on her bed, clutching her crossbow for dear life, her knuckles whiter than snow, and just sobbed until she had fallen asleep. Grace never wanted that to happen again. She'd had some pretty shitty days in her life and, although not at the top, it had made the list.
Regardless of the fact that she'd taken some pain killers before she left, Grace's head throbbed the whole way around in the hot Georgian sun. She hadn't come across any of those things, and she didn't want to. It would not have been pleasant to fight off one of them with a hangover. Although it would have been a good chance to practise fighting – the one thing she liked about them is she could beat the shit out of it until the cows came home and perfect her sparring technique (not like they could fight back either) and just shoot them when she was tired or bored – but she didn't feel like her body would comply today. Every step made her ankles and knees ache. There was really no reason as to why her body ached so much. Guess it's not every day that she has to save someone. Could have been a side effect from the sleeping pill. She skimmed over them sometimes, looking out for anything that would seriously affect her. Nothing ever really caught her eye, occasionally she would put a container back down. But that didn't happen too often. She couldn't afford to be picky in the situation she – and every other living person – faced. And she was going to live to see the end of it. If there was an end to it.
She came back around and made her way home. She closed the door behind her and placed her crossbow on the dinner table, cocking her head when she heard the sound of running water. The towel on the dinner table was gone. It stopped just as soon as she'd heard it, so she went to the kitchen for some coffee. It was nice having someone there, she admitted, even if she does prefer to be by herself. It had been a long time since she'd had company.
She sat down at the dinner table with the mug of coffee, accompanied by a bare slice of bread. She always preferred the taste of bread without spreads and never needed much to get her by, but she was willing to cook if Daryl wanted something.
He emerged from the bedroom and sat across from Grace as she bit into the bread, in front of another coffee. He took it in one calloused hand and held it to his face. He closed his eyes and smelt it; Grace saw a half smile tweak at his lip.
"Been a long while since I've had coffee."
"Plenty more if you want it," Grace said with a smile, "hungry? I'll fix you some eggs if you want. Two eggs a day for one person is way more than enough."
"Anything is good."
She remembered he'd said that the night before and smiled at her coffee. "Eggs it is."
He'd grunted in response as Grace got up and made her way to the kitchen.
"You don't have to do this, you know."
She turned around to face him, her brow furrowed slightly. She nodded, "I know."
"So why're you helpin' me then?"
"You weren't exactly in a good enough state to head back to wherever you came from, or keep looking for the little girl."
His eyes widened, then his usual scowl set on his face. Oh shit.
"How the hell do you know about that?" He raised his voice slightly.
"When you were out of it, you started muttering stuff. You sounded like you were talking to someone."
He snickered, looking down at his coffee. "Merle." He shook his head.
"Who's Merle?" She asked, already knowing the answer.
"None of your damn business." He said, shooting her a rotten look. He saw her roll her eyes before getting back to the eggs. He looked back to the photos he'd seen the night before, cute Grace, empty Grace. "Where's your family?"
"So I can't ask about your family, but you can ask about mine?" She shot him a look, thin eyebrow raised, then checked the eggs. "You're a piece of work, Daryl Dixon." She shook her head slightly.
He sighed. He was indebted to her for helping him, so telling her what she wanted to know was the least he could do. "Merle's my big brother."
"And? Where is he?"
"I don't know," He said quietly, staring into his coffee as if it would give him an idea of where he was. He looked up to find Grace staring at him, eyebrows raised inquisitively as if to ask him what the hell he meant by that. "He went with a group to gather supplies in Atlanta," Grace focused on the eggs again and listened quietly, "when they got back, Merle was gone. They had a new guy with them, a cop – a real good guy. They told me that they'd left him there in Atlanta, and Rick – the cop – had handcuffed him to the roof because he was bein' as asshole and they went back to camp and left him to the Walkers."
Walkers. Grace liked that name.
"Rick and me and a few others went back to go get him. All we found was a whole lotta blood, his belt and his right hand."
Grace's eyes widened as she stared at the eggs. She swallowed dryly, her stomach turning. His hand? She recollected herself and focused on the eggs.
"What about the little girl? How old is she?"
"Sophia's twelve. We'd come from the CDC a few days ago, driving on the highway toward Fort Benning. Abandoned cars were all over the road and Dale's RV broke down so we stopped to look for supplies in the cars and wait for it to be repaired. A herd came through so everyone hid," Grace tensed at the idea of a herd. She dished up the eggs. Daryl ate slowly as he continued, "Sophia came out of hidin' too early. There were two Walkers laggin' behind the herd and they spotted her, so she ran off into the forest. She was meant to head back to the highway, but somethin' must've spooked her because she'd run off in another direction. I was out lookin' for her yesterday when you found me." He nodded towards Grace.
She swallowed her eggs. "Do you think you'll find her?" She looked up at him under her lashes.
"I know I will. And she'll be just fine." He folded his arm on the table, digging at his plate, finally finding the time to eat.
Grace looked back down to her eggs. She didn't suggest the highest possibility that she could be dead or a Walker. She was twelve, for Christ sake. It would be a miracle if they found her hiding out somewhere scared for her life. But Grace could tell that it meant a lot to Daryl to find Sophia, so she kept her mouth shut. If she was in Sophia's situation she would be able to look after herself. She was by no means a timid child, not much spooked her. Whether it was the fact that she didn't completely understand the dangers in the world or something else, Grace didn't know. But she did know that she would have found something that could be used as a weapon, maybe a long stick or two, and would head straight back to the highway. She'd try her best to kill or immobilize any Walker that tried to get her and then run. Worst came to worst, she'd find somewhere safe to bunk for the night, probably climb a tree just to be safe. But twelve-year-old Grace wasn't the one missing, she thought dryly. This little girl was born and raised differently. She'd be hungry and scared and lost and not know how to fend for herself. Poor thing.
"Now you."
Grace looked up, snapped out of her thoughts. "What about your family?"
She played with her eggs. "Never had one."
"You're lying. I saw the photos taken down from the walls."
She snickered, annoyed that he'd been prying in her business.
"My dad, Michael Dwyer, was nothing special. Just a man who hunted every day of his life. His dad had taught him how to fight hand-to-hand, and then he taught me. 'A girl should know how to protect herself in case a fella got too friendly', he'd always said. So by the time I was in middle school I was a fighting machine. I could beat the shit out of you with my eyes closed. I didn't seem to understand the fact that just because I knew how to kick the shit out of someone didn't mean I could do it because they called me a bad name. I was removed from school eventually, too much hassle. Michael took me hunting every day, taught me how to hunt, track, use a weapon. Crossbow was my weapon of choice; I have the one he always used. Not like he needs it anymore. Michael and my mother never got married; I was the bastard child that everyone laughed at. Mom's name was Hope Porter. She was the most beautiful woman I have ever met and I loved her with every bone in my body but... she died when I was eight."
Daryl watched her move the food around her plate. "I'm sorry." She looked up, a small smile on her lips. She admired the look in his eye and his delicate expression. She thought he looked very handsome.
"Why? It wasn't your fault." She looked down again, "I don't even remember how she died. All I remember is going to the funeral and then the next day it was like I had a new mom and a little brother on the way. At that time I didn't know what was going on, but when I was old enough to know what had happened, I had three little brothers who looked up to me. Before all of this happened, I was going to teach Reagan everything I knew. He'd be eighteen by now. I'd moved out when I was eighteen after a fight with Michael. But when I heard about the outbreak, I went to find them, make sure they were okay. But when I got here, they were gone. The house was how it is now, but they were just... gone."
They shared an uncomfortable silence for a few seconds before Grace spoke again. "I came to the conclusion that they were dead and that I'd be alone forever, found Michael's liquor stash and drank myself silly for the first few nights." She stared up at Daryl; she felt emotionally drained and he noticed that. "Now what?"
"Huh?"
"I fix you up, let you stay, we share war stories and then go our separate ways?"
Daryl took a deep breath and folded his arms onto the table. "...don't have to..." He mumbled.
"Don't have to what?"
"You don't have to be alone forever." He said firmly, "Bring some supplies and weapons with you and come back to the farm with me. Lord knows we need more people who can use a weapon. I think you'd be welcomed, especially with all of those meds."
"Whoa whoa whoa," Grace ran her hand through her hair. Daryl's eyes followed her hand, "I have lived on my own for years now and I like it that way. I work better when I'm alone. I don't have to look after other people when I'm alone."
"From what I saw last night, you can barely look after yourself." He snapped coldly, "and besides, if you hate lookin' after people so much, then why didn't you leave me by the creek? Why didn't you let me take my chances at gettin' back to my group?"
She was stumped. But she wouldn't admit it. She frowned, "that was different."
"How is that any different?" He was raising his voice, getting angry.
"I was going to leave you there!" She shouted, "But you weren't moving when I was making my decision. And you were bleeding. And I was so sick of all the dying and people getting eaten so I made the decision to help you."
Daryl took quiet, deep, even breaths in and out through his nose. Calming down. "You can't live here forever, and we need the numbers; we need the medicine and more supplies, Grace."
She did want to go with him. She really did. But she didn't want to have to deal with people. She worked so much better when she was by herself. She could do what she wanted, when she wanted, if she wanted, how she wanted. No one could dictate her life but her. If she joined up with a group, they'd make her pull her weight in jobs, boss her around, have to look after people. She sat back in her chair and crossed her arms. She'd have to bring a lot of supplies with her. She wanted all of her pills and alcohol, she could only think of a few items of clothing she would bring. And she had enough tins of food to hold a feast for a small country, so that would be fine. She'd be able to keep her weapons. Aside from her freedom, which she really didn't have much of in the first place, what else was there for her to lose? She had a lot to gain too. Protection. Company. She craved company. Having Daryl stay was something she had wanted for a very long time. Even if they'd fought and screamed at each other and tried to beat the shit out of each other, it was with another person, not one of those stupid fucking Walkers.
Daryl watched as she thought. Her brow was furrowed into a frown as she'd crossed her arms stubbornly. With Grace around trackin' Sophia would be easier; might even have a higher chance of findin' her. The group would appreciate the help so she'd be accepted without any trouble. He imagined the look on Carol's face when they found her daughter safe and sound – a small smile tweaked at his lips. Grace's hazel eyes flicked to the kitchen, not to anything in particular, and a piece of her dark fringe fell in front of her face. She flicked it out of the way, smiled slightly. Grace had a nice smile.
"Okay. I'll come back with you." She concluded, smiling at him softly. Daryl shared her smile. "I want to help look for your little girl." She kept the concerns of finding the little girl dead somewhere, or worse, to herself. It was better that way. Plus it would be easier to look for her and hunt at the same time, or to get away if being in the group became a little too overwhelming. She could look for some Walkers to kill when she got frustrated. Overall, it looked to benefit her survival more disadvantage her. She could always try to turn looking after people into a positive – she would try her hardest to make sure that the people she stayed with would survive. And the start of it was this little girl.
They shared a kind, beautiful smile and got to work. Grace gathered two back packs and a satchel Michael had always carried supplies with. She placed the two backpacks on the kitchen bench and went to collect her clothes as Daryl threw the tin cans and what other food he could find into one back and the medicine in the other. They filled every inch of each bag successfully. Daryl carried the heavy back pack with the tin cans in it while Grace quietly put all of the alcohol in her clothes satchel and swung the bags over her shoulders. They grabbed their weapons, collected their bearings and Grace followed Daryl to his group. She was secretly grateful to her mother for teaching her those morals and to Daryl for having a big heart, though he'd never admit it. Although most of them didn't stick, the most important ones had. She had been saved from herself by Daryl after she'd saved him. Things were starting to look up.
