"We'll all turn in our guns," Rick sets down his gun on top of the truck hood. "This is your farm."
Hershel nods his head but still looks unsure at their group being on his land. He glances over nervously at his own daughter, Maggie, in reassurance. He doesn't want them to be here but Natasha can tell he isn't the kind of man to go back on his kindness and word.
Shane huffs out a low chuckle. "You gonna be able to handle that, Red?"
She smirks at him as she places both of her guns next to theirs. "I happen to work very well with my hands…and a knife."
It's midday already and the heat is thick and humid against their skin. Natasha can feel the sweat roll of her neck and stick to her uniform. She wondered if she would ever truly be used to this southern heat. Clint had always teased her about her aversion to the heat even when she had had never actually complained, he had just always known. Natasha clinches her jaw and ignores the sinking feeling in her stomach. How long has it been since she last saw him? It was a strange thing to work with anyone else when she had grown so close to him over the years.
"You comin' or not?"
Natasha looks up at Daryl. He is ready to move as always. She doesn't think she's ever seen him seem truly settled, ready to stay any longer than he needs to be. He is not someone who is used to be wanted past their usefulness. Natasha checks her blades, making sure each dagger is in its proper place one last time. In her younger days, she had been quite fond of close combat; a blade in one's hand made everything much more personal, the stakes higher. She swipes the borrowed machete as well. It never hurt to be over prepared.
She nods and starts towards him. "Let's go."
She follows his lead through the woods. She might know her way around but she knows when to use someone else's skills to her advantage. Daryl is smart, capable. He could survive out here better than anyone else in their group could. They don't speak much for the most part. There isn't much to say and Daryl doesn't ever seem to feel the need to share his spill.
The first place they come across is an actual cabin, seemingly abandoned, the windows are busted out and front door ajar. Daryl heads in first signaling her to follow him with a flick of his fingers. She watches him from behind, quiet and observing. He is every bit of a hunter and a tracker. Each step he takes is planned and does not let the seemingly empty cabin think he can put his guard down. He would've done fine in spy work if he had put his skills somewhere in life.
There isn't much in the cabin beside trash and rotting food. There is no blood or foul smell in the air to signify something more sinister. Who had lived here before, Natasha thinks. How long did they last? Daryl stops his study of the cabin to look at the trash left on the floor. He picks up an old can of sardines, smelling it before promptly dropping it. He turns and shakes his head. Not eaten anytime recent. The pantry door is cracked open but there are only an old sleeping bag and no sign of the girl. Daryl's shoulders sag and his steps become heavier as he opens the front door and calls out Sophia's name. His only response is an echo.
Natasha has no high hopes for the girl. It has been almost four days since and Natasha knows enough about this world that a girl without a weapon is as good as dead sooner rather than later. It is a heavy thought but she knows hope is one too. She thinks about her own tryst with the woods when she was young. It is an old, blurry memory but she remembers the cold and the fire burning behind her as she was walked deeper into the woods. Natasha shakes her head from the memory. She purses her lips into a fine line. How strange, it had been years since she thought of that night.
She heads to where Daryl is next to a small patch of strange flowers. Their round white petal and yellow center stand out against the woods. Daryl plucks one from the ground with careful fingers so not to damage it.
"Do you know the flower?" she asks, watching him as he inspects it.
He nods slowly, holding the flower up to her to see. "Cherokee Rose. Story goes that on the Trail of Tears the mothers were crying so much because their babies were dying and going missing and so the elders asked for a sign to uplift the mother's spirits. These bloomed where the mother's cried."
She smiles. She is pleasantly surprised as the knowledge of such a thing and his willingness to share it. Under all that roughness and brash, bruising words there is something else more gentle underneath it. Daryl is more surprising than she would have thought. He meets her eyes and she can see his shoulders go tight and grip on the slower rougher than before.
"What?" his voice is gruff and quick as before. His softer tone now gone.
Natasha shakes her head and lets her smile go. "Nothing. Thank you for telling me the story, Daryl."
He gets up quick, still holding onto the flower. "We're not going to find anything else out here. Let's head back."
Daryl makes it a point not to say anything else. They head back the way they came. It has been oddly quiet as of late. Natasha is surprised they have not come across more walkers even if there is mostly only farmland. The woods should have attracted more people looking for escape and of those things looking for a meal. It does not sit well with her. A whole town dead and no bodies to show for it.
They're only about half a mile out from camp when Natasha supposes she should have 'knocked on wood'.
"Shit."
There's five of them, all in different stages of decay and horror. Natasha pulls out both daggers with skilled ease and goes for the closest one. They're too close for anything else but blades. Natasha weaves through them and shoves her blade in the man's skull and kicks another walker back as she pulls it out. One down, four to go. Daryl is at her back his own knife drawn. She can hear him growl louder than any of the walkers as he drives his knife through and through their skulls. The sound of steel and bone echoes throughs the woods.
"Daryl!" Natasha grabs the walker closing in on him by the little hair left on its head. She can feel the scalp beginning to pull away, the skin separating and bleeding before she rams her blade in its eye.
She lets it drops. Its blood splatters against her boots. Daryl grunts behind her, nearly on top of the walker as he repeatedly stabs its skull until they can see the white of its bone. Blood splatters up against his face and chest but he makes no move to wipe it away as he catches his breath. Natasha picks up the fallen Cherokee Rose, twirling it in her fingers before holding it out to him. Not a spot of blood on it.
Daryl nods his thanks and tucks his knife back into his pocket. "Come on, we're almost back."
The sun has changed position. It's much later in the day now, early evening at her best guess. They've been out here for a good few hours. The easy silence has settled back between them once more and it's almost like being alone. Despite all his similarities to Clint, Daryl didn't have his knack for constant chatter or running his mouth. It was strange, despite being around so many people since waking up in this world it was lonely and not one she was used to.
"How'd you learn to fight like that?" Daryl breaks the quiet. "I never seen no fed move like that."
Natasha gives him a coy smile. "I learned young. I'm an expert at hand to hand."
He snorts. "Could've told you that the first time you had me on the ground. Didn't see that shit coming."
"I'm very fast. And quiet."
The camp and farm are just coming into view. She can make out the RV in the distance and a few tents.
"What's with get up? They make you wear that catsuit doing whatever the hell you did?"
She smiles again, it's a usual question one she has long since heard a thousand times in many different forms. "It's tactical. No loose fabric to grab onto, waterproof, if some tried to cut me with a knife it wouldn't penetrate. Stabbing is a different story."
She pauses for a moment and then grins teasingly. "Why, you want one?"
Daryl looks her up and down from the dried blood on her boots to her face. "Hello no. Catch me dead before I ever put that shit on."
"It's not so bad." She shrugs. "I don't have to worry about one of those trying to take a bit from my arm or leg."
"You sweatin' in that?" Natasha grimaces and he laughs. "Point made."
Out of the woods now they begin to split away from each other, Daryl headed towards the RV and her the house to wash up. She stops when she spots an old brown beer bottle, wrapper peeled away and clean enough looking.
"Hey, Daryl."
He turns around. "What?"
"Catch!" She tosses the bottle and he catches it well enough with his free hand. He looks at it strangely for a moment before getting the gist.
She's already past him when she hears the soft yell of "thanks" behind her.
Later that night they eat a combination of squirrel and woodchuck and a few canned greens that they cook between their camp. It's mostly quiet, everyone too tired to really say or do much. The heat is stifling even after the sun has gone down and despite the food now they are still hungry. Natasha looks up at the sky, outside the city the stars are bright and she can see the Big Dipper and the North Star. She puts up her hand and closes an eye so she measures the stars.
Glenn looks at her strangely but curious. "What are you doing, Natasha?"
"I'm measuring the stars."
"What for?"
Daryl cuts her off before she gets the chance to reply. "She's checking the time, dummy."
"That actually works?"
Natasha smiles. "It's around nine. We're in the month of August."
"To think that two months ago everything was still normal," Dale mutters, looking up at the sky as well.
It's silent again, the mood shot. Time moves slower now; it had only been about a week or so since she woke up in Atlanta but it felt longer. Natasha could only imagine what the last two months felt like for these people.
"Hey, kid," Glenn looks up at Daryl. "You really let them put you down a well?"
He groans. "God, how many times am I going to have live through that?"
They spend the next morning looking back over another map. This time they have planned groups and sections to look through. Natasha watches the flash of anger pass through Shane when he hears the plan. He shakes head furrows his brow in discontent.
"I'll borrow a horse and head up the ridge," He nods to Natasha. "Natasha, too."
Natasha smirks. "You going sweet on me, Dixon?"
"You're the only one who knows how to handle a blade."
Horseback riding is one the few skills in her arsenal that Natasha rarely gets to implement. The last time she had ridden a horse was years ago in Russia. It was a fine horse in front her, obviously well taken care of despite the current state of the world. Daryl is quick to act having already saddled his horse and making a beeline for the barn doors.
"You coming or not?"
Natasha pulls herself with practiced ease. "Let's go, cowboy."
"Don't call me that," Daryl gives her an almost nasty look. Natasha snickers.
"What?"
"I ain't no officer friendly." He tells her as they trot towards the woods.
She laughs, "Careful, don't hurt his feelings."
He waves her off. "Yeah, yeah, yeah."
Up on the edge of the woods, the ground is much more unstable, slippery even. They haven't seen any sign of the girl or walkers for the matter. She wonders if they all fell off the edge. She can hear water not too far off.
"What's the deal with you and that ass?" Daryl is further ahead of her and she almost misses it.
"I'm guessing you mean Shane?"
"Yeah." He doesn't slow down.
"Didn't think you were one for gossip." She commands the horse to a gallop and paces herself next to him.
He sneers. "I'm not some damn girl."
She smiles and raises her brows at him. She's curious as to what got him interested in the whole mess. Most likely only for some sort of self-preservation.
"I'm trying to be a friend," that is the simplest way of putting it.
"He's losing it and you're working damage control."
Natasha is surprised by him once more and she chides herself for brushing him and a few others off when it came to their observation skills. Daryl is a hunter, a watcher. He probably watches these people just as much as she does. Always looking; always ready.
"Something like that," she tells him. "If this group is going to last then the people in it need to keep their heads."
"Always lookin' out for yourself, huh?" This time he looks at her.
"We all do it," it's simple nature. "As do you."
"Got that right."
The sun is high in the sky shines down upon the woods, hitting them and casting shadows from end to end. If Sophia were to be wandering around Natasha hoped it would be now. The woods seem clear for miles. They've come across nothing, not even another animal. There was a reason Natasha never participated in search and rescue missions. They were hopeless the longer they took; they wore you down and broke people.
"Let's split up," Natasha trots forward and points out to the other end of the ridge. "I'll search over on this end and you over there. We'll cover more ground. No point in wasting daylight."
Daryl nods and turns his horse in the other direction. "We'll meet back here. Two hours before dark."
Daryl doesn't come back.
Natasha waits another half hour before looking for him. She back tracks on his steps. It's easy enough to find where the ground has been disturbed, branches broken and leaves crumpled and trotted upon. She hops off near the edge of the ridge and ties the horse to a nearby tree. There's blood here. She follows the strange, patchy trail down the slope of the ridge. A lone arrow sticks out of the dirt, arrow ends up.
"He fell," Natasha almost laughs at the ridiculousness of it. It was starting to seem like Clint's superstitions were starting to rub off on her. She pulls the arrow from the dirt and heads back up to the horse.
She slowly makes her way down the ridge to where there is water and the body of two walkers, freshly killed. There are splatters of blood all over the rock but she can't tell which is whose. This day is beginning to feel longer and longer. She wonders if that echo had been him earlier but it has been too faint to track in the woods.
"Daryl?"
She waits but nothing comes, not even another walker.
Just as Natasha is about to head back to the farm Daryl's horse runs past her, nearly knocking her to the ground. Her own horse whines at the sudden bombardment. Natasha runs and hops onto the back of the horse, commanding it to run until its neck and neck to the frightened mare. She pulls out the rope from the satchel and lassos the horse, pulling until the horse calms down and settles against the restraint.
"It's okay, girl. You're alright." She runs her hand along its mane in slow, soothing motions. "Looks like you gave Daryl a good toss, huh?"
The horse's saddle is loose and crooked. He must've tried holding on before he got bucked off. It's quiet again, except for the occasional whine from the horse. There is no more light in the sky, only milky gray and blue tones in the skyline left. Her body is taught the whole ride home.
Natasha rides in slow towards the stable. The light is still on, as is almost every light in the main house but the camp is silent and dark. She lets both horses be, careful to close the gate and nearly runs to the house. She follows the sound of chatter coming from the dining room. It is almost picturesque, all of them together, almost like the world outside is a fever dream. The chatter stops.
Being at the center of attention is always uncomfortable. It is one of her favorite tactics.
"Natasha, you're all right!" Glenn smiles in what seems to be disbelief.
Rick gets up and beckons her forward. He seems tenser than when they had split up this morning. "You alright? We thought something happened to you and Daryl out there."
Natasha shakes her head at their worry. "I'm fine. Where is he?"
"He got hurt pretty bad. Hershel fixed him in the room down the hall."
She stands there for a while as they fill her in on the specifics. It has indeed been a long day. She doesn't bother to knock when she finally makes it down to the hall bedroom. Daryl is laid up in bed, his head and torso bandaged and bruised. She fiddles with the arrow in her hand. Natasha closes the door, leaning against it.
Daryl looks up. He looks much smaller here, tangled in bed sheets and gauze. "What's that?"
She smiles teasingly, "Found it stuck in the dirt. I'm guessing you dropped it when you took that tumble in the mud."
He yanks it from her hand in one swift motion. "Yeah, yeah. Laugh it up."
"I brought your horse back."
"Good, I can kill it when I get outta here."
Natasha snorts, taking the glass from the nightstand and taking a good drink. Daryl squints at her in the dim light.
"What took you so long?"
"I was looking for you. Found your blood trail and figured you found your way back."
He looks almost confused. "What, you get lost? Took you that long?"
"I happen to be thorough," she pauses as if she needs to think of something. "Not only did you get an arrow through your side, you got shot too. I think you might have everyone here beat."
"Yeah, lucky for me Andrea can't hit shit."
Natasha leans over to get a good look at him. "You should clean up more often, it's not a bad look. Also, helps on not getting shot."
He turns over looking a little flustered. "Whatever."
She opens the doors and turns to leave just when she hears his voice. She looks over to him but he still has his back to her.
"Thanks for the arrow."
Thanks for all the continued support, guys. How are you liking the pace and plotting of the story so far? What do you think of Natasha and the other characterizations of the other characters? Anything you think might happen or want to happen?
Special thanks to users: moonligh, corrosionpanda, embellina, dayana1997, ed24555, vsncheze, and mako27 for favoriting this fic. I appreciate it.