I'm so sorry I've kept you all waiting this long. Some how this chapter ended up taking me over a month. I don't know where time went, & I certainly don't know how I managed to get slapped with writer's block this bad. This chapter became PAINFUL to write at one point. It was all in my head, but it just wouldn't come out. So I hope you all understand & know that I honestly do apologize for the wait.
I have a few 'thank you's that I need to say. So, bear with me for a moment.
To my loyal readers, who have been reading and reviewing all along: I've missed you all, & I'm glad you've hung in there & waited this long for this chapter. You guys make my day with every single review, Fav, & Follow. I just hope some of you have stuck around!
To my new readers!: You poor things. You guys started reading this & then a lot of you, apparently, hit this wall just as hard as I have. I'm sorry for doing that to you, & I swear, it's not typical of me. There's more to come! So read, review, & stay tuned!
Last & most def not least(& the rest of you guys should be thanking her ass, too!): An insane, crazy, sloppy THANK YOU to the incomparable SimpleWickedWriter for being my personal cheerleader over the last month as I struggled with this chapter. I can't tell you how much your advice & encouragement helped.
Also, speaking of this BADASS BITCH, ya'll are DEF missing out if you're not reading her stories, "New Meanings To the Word: Safe", "A Thousand Words", & "New Meanings To the Word: Love". I she & I share a good deal of readers, but SERIOUSLY. IF YOU'RE NOT READING THESE STORIES THAN IDEK, MAN. IDK. So do yourselves a favor & get to that.
Okay. So anywhoozle. When we left off last time, Daryl was a month away from leaving our beloved group because Pru had wrongly & selfishly pushed him away. Here, we're skipping ahead a good deal, but once you start reading, I'm sure you'll all be pretty caught up.
As always, questions, comments, & reviews are FUCKING LOVINGLY WELCOMED. PLEASEANDTHANKYOU. Hope you all enjoy! Next chapter is...Gunna be very different.-LAUR
DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN TWD. I ONLY OWN A HANDFUL OF CRAPPY OCs \0/
Pink.
And blue. And green.
Blacks, browns, yellows, white. A few faint splotches of purple. Two different reds. One the color of the dye, the other, a few spots where her skin was slow to heal. The infection had rebounded a bit at one point some weeks back, taking advantage of her eagerness to go without bandages or her sling, but after another round of mild antibiotics, the bacteria that tried for so long to bring her down was finally giving up the ghost. Around that sore and angry red, and mostly throughout though, her left bicep was now mostly pink. Pink with healthy, healing skin.
She looked up into the mirror as she slowly unraveled the bandage, peeling back the small patches of gauze padding that lay beneath as she went, exposing more and more fresh, pink, puffy scar tissue.
"I look like a goddamn Jackson Pollock painting." She muttered to herself, a bit of a disgusted smirk at her lips as if trying to ward off every unwanted emotion that was tugging at her with a bit of humor. She wadded up the last bit of dressing and pitched it into a small pail in the corner as she turned a bit to inspect her skin directly. She slowly raised her arm as she ran the tips of the fingers of her opposite hand lightly down the thick ridges, pits, and rough scabs and winced a bit at the gentle pull the movement caused at the new tissue. She turned back up to the mirror and continued to move and flex her still sore arm in small, delicate stretches, getting used to being active again.
She stopped after a bit and huffed, deciding that she'd had enough of standing there like that, so she turned, gathered up her sweatshirt and pulled it back on. The feeling of the material moving over her new skin, little pilled beads of cotton blend catching on the still sore, scabbed over spots made her growl as she finished yanking the hoodie on. When she finished the task of getting her arm in and settled, she shook her head and neck out, blowing off the little prickles of pain that had yanked at the healing bits and zipped herself up. Her arm sagged into its place and she released another relieved sigh through her nose as she looked back up into the mirror, catching the eyes of the person staring back at her.
The rush of air as she breathed in and out through her nose was no longer agonizing, she realized. That had stopped weeks ago. The bright burst of color around her eyes had faded back to her skin's normal porcelain even before that. She pushed gently at the thin bone and pliable cartilage in the center of her face, now a different shape than what she was familiar with. She winced, but only slightly. It still wasn't completely healed, but it was definitely getting there.
Her slender fingers trailed from their place at her nose, over her skin to her cheek and the puffy, pink scar there that matched her arm. She stared at it—that letter etched there—taking in its size and shape and texture. Grazed the pads of her fingers over it.
She felt nothing. There nerves there were dead. She lowered her hand to the metal fixtures on the pedestal sink as she continued to stare at it.
She felt nothing.
New face, new world.
A new face that she would just have to deal with. Just like she had to deal with this new world. She looked from her cheek back up to her own eyes and stared at herself blankly for a moment before coming to. She blinked and licked her lips, eyebrow cocked in judgment of herself. Huffed again.
Finally dressed and ready for a day of doing what she considered to be basically nothing, she turned to leave the large, private bathroom that was attached to the former office of Deputy Warden Gerald R. Padilla.
"You know I'd feel a whole lot better if you'd stick a bit closer to the rest of us. There's safety in numbers and if something happened and we all had to get out of here quick…"
It was the most he'd said to her in a week, and he'd ended the vague statement with a shake of his head as he watched her drag one thin mattress across the room with her good arm and stack it sloppily atop another. When satisfied with the locale of her new bed, she stood back to full height and brushed her free hand off on her jeans as she turned to look over at him.
"Well, Rick, I'd feel a whole lot better if the sight of those cells didn't make me want to vomit every time I walked in there," she replied frankly, annoyed that he was still trying to convince her to stay in that horrible fucking room, "It's better if he and I stay away from each other, anyway. Don't ya think?"
At that point, Rick had looked up at her with a blank, withdrawn sort of expression that made her want to close her eyes to it. She could tell he was taking this whole thing with Daryl priming himself to leave pretty damn hard. She was trying not to think about it, and for the most part, somehow, she was succeeding in it.
…That is until someone would bring it up, which would inevitably happen at least a few times a day. There was one more reason not to stay in that cellblock with everyone else. "Talk to him" had become the three most uttered words amongst the group to her lately.
"Yeah." He'd agreed quietly then, dipping to grab up another wad of blood-spattered stray papers from the floor. She watched him for a moment as he collected the strewn ream before turning and nudging the mattress towards the wall a bit more with her toe. She cleared her throat.
"…Besides, Andrea and T were thinking of moving into two of those other offices down the hall… Maybe Michonne… Maybe we're at the point where we can spread out a bit. The place is locked up pretty tight. I don't think there's much sense in not taking advantage of all this space ya've been able to clear out, right?" she mumbled as she moved away from the bed and shuffled to him, bending to help him collect the papers. He paused for a moment, looking off across the room, back in the direction of the bed as if she was still standing there and he was looking at her feet.
"I'll think about it." He breathed as he stood and made his way out, dirty hands ringing around and crumpling the stained papers into a tight ball. He left her squatting there, blinking at the bit of the mess that was still at her feet as Andrea and Beth walked in behind her with some of her belongings and fresh sheets.
Her eyes were to the grey floor as she moved from the bathroom to the heap of bedding situated in the far corner of the room. She stooped to retrieve her holster from the bed, slinging it onto her unhindered arm, and then wiggling her newly freed but seemingly atrophied arm into the other side awkwardly. She cursed under her breath as she bent this way and that, trying to maneuver her weak muscles into the thing so it could rest upon her shoulders when a voice came from behind her.
"Need help?"
She spun on her heel at the quiet voice, nearly losing her balance, tangled as she was in the leather straps of the gun holster. She managed to widen her stance enough before toppling to the mattress, which in that moment, she was glad to have at her feet. She turned to the direction the voice came from and glared at the blonde who was grinning at her like the cat who caught the canary.
"I'll get it." She snapped back as she straightened. After another couple of seconds of struggling with the thing, she managed to get it on and have it be relatively comfortable. For once, the fact that the thing hung off her frame worked to her advantage, allowing for extra room for her arm to settle into. She turned to Andrea without speaking as she dipped to retrieve her crowbar up off the bed.
"You gunna come down?" Andrea asked as she uncrossed her arms and pulled her back off of where she'd been leaning against the opposite wall. Pru simply shook her head as she began to cross the room towards the door, coat in hand.
"I told ya yesterday. Somebody's gotta be on watch while the rest of ya are…" she trailed off, pulling the door open with the one hand that juggled the crowbar and coat, and motioned vaguely around the room with her other hand in a frustrated fashion, tired of having the same damn conversation over and over and over. She caught Andrea's gaze and held it for a few seconds. She could feel the utter disappointment and sadness there. Unable to take the look for another second, she urged Andrea to take her leave without a word, but with a flick of her hand towards to exit. Andrea rolled her sad eyes and shuffled slowly from the room, allowing Pru to close the door behind her.
She stood there staring at the backwards facing letters that spelled the dead man's name on the other side of the frosted glass pane in the door as the guilt radiated through her. She knew Andrea was just trying to help, but she couldn't help but be annoyed. She'd told her and everyone else that she didn't want to be around for this. She didn't need to be there when he left.
Before she could pull her hand from the door, or pull her mind back from its wandering, there came a knock from the other side of old, oak door. It jolted her back to reality and at once she tore the door open again, ready to verbally rip Andrea a new one for beating that goddamn dead horse.
"WHA—"
Lori stood just beyond the threshold, eyes wide at the volume of the word meant for another. Five or some months into carrying the baby inside her, her painfully thin frame seemed to sag beneath the weight of her ever growing belly. In her slender fingers, she clutched a walkie-talkie, and she blinked over at Pru for a moment with her startled eyes.
"I thought ya were gunna be Andrea coming to harp on me some more." Pru finally sighed, stepping aside to grant Lori access to the room. Lori quietly nodded, smiling tightly as she entered. She was quiet for a moment, as she walked further into the office, her eyes moving about the space taking in the brightness of the room compared to the dull cellblock she'd been sharing with the others down on a lower floor.
"It's nice up here." She said quietly, causing Pru to realize that this was the first time she'd had been up here. Pru nodded as she tucked her crowbar between her legs and set to the arduous task of stretching her depleted arm out over her head enough to wiggle her way into her jacket.
"Yeah," she answered as she began to struggle, "I told Rick a few weeks ago that we should all, or at least some of us, move up here. There's more than enough space."
Lori didn't answer back. The room fell quiet save for Pru's groans of discomfort as she tried to stretch her tight arm forward and up. A second later she felt something tug at the jacket's material from behind, and she turned her head to see Lori standing directly behind her clutching the material.
"Let me help you." She spoke softly. Pru stilled and let her stretched arm go limp, momentarily giving up her need for independence and allowing someone to help her for once. Lori gently placed her arm into the coat and eased it up onto her shoulder before holding out the opposite arm and letting Pru slide it on the rest of the way herself.
"Thanks." Pru said without turning to the other woman.
"Anytime." Lori answered. When Pru finished zipping herself into the warmth of her jacket, she turned to Lori and saw her outstretched hand offering the walkie to her.
"Rick asked me to come up and give this to you. He's just come down from watch." She explained as she handed it over. Pru's brow furrowed as she reached out to take the device.
"He couldn't wait for me to relieve him?" she asked, a bit of an annoyed chuckle making its way past her lips with the words. She clipped the walkie-talkie to her belt and then looked back to Lori when an answer didn't come immediately.
"It'll be any minute now." The pregnant woman answered with a shrug and an averted gaze. Pru's eyes rolled to the ceiling and her lids snapped shut over them instantly, realizing that Lori, too, had come up here to hound her as well. She fled the room at a brisk walk into the hallway, lined with offices.
This stretch of corridor was long and only half as dark as the others in the prison. This hallway, which had been found and cleared a few weeks ago while Pru was still healing in the infirmary, had at one time been the prison's administrative wing; home to the offices of the Warden, Deputy Warden, members of the prison's parole board, psychiatrists, doctors, and the like. It was one floor up, through a door off the main corridor of their cellblock. Security here had been minimal. There weren't as many random check point gates along the length of the hall, and the windows, more common here than anywhere else in the building that they'd come across, were only lightly barred with a thick meshing. As Pru made her way towards the flight of stairs at the end of the long line of doors and windows, she heard Lori's feet, moving quickly and echoing off the walls behind her.
"Pru," the other woman called out. She turned, midstride, half-glanced over her shoulder to see Lori was hurriedly scuttling along the faux-marble flooring, one hand to her growing belly. The sight caused Pru to stop, jaw hanging open in mild disbelief.
"Right, Lori. Shake the kid right out of ya before it's done cooking. This is totally worth it." she snapped, turning back around again and continuing down the hall as Lori reached her and fought to keep pace. Shoulder to shoulder, they reached the gate to the stairwell and pushed through it and then on through the heavy doors. Pru took a small flashlight from her pocket and flicked it on to illuminate the dark flight of stairs so they could make their way down to the first floor without incident. Through the heavy darkness and the silence, Pru could feel Lori chancing glances over at her as they made their descent and it was just about making her blood boil in her veins.
When they reached the first floor and the more familiar length of the main corridor, Pru flicked the flashlight back off. Light, though uncommon here, was barely needed anymore to be able to navigate it. All that could be heard echoing through the space was the sound of their boots as they made their way towards the cafeteria. It struck Pru as odd. Usually the sounds of voices ringing through the maze of cave-like rooms were unavoidable. Today, however, other than the noises they were creating themselves, a pin could drop somewhere in the dark space and it would be able to be heard and then located with ease. She knew where everyone was, and she'd have to wade through them to get outside.
She swallowed thickly, trying to choke down the quiet bit of emotion that was threatening to burst from her. And as if Lori sensed that hole—the bit of weakness Pru was working to contain and force back down—she reached out and put her hand to Pru's arm, stilling her purposeful pace just before reaching the doors to the cafeteria.
"Pru," Lori begged quietly, "Don't you think this's gone on long enough? I mean, this is it… He's leaving."
"That's fine by me." Pru answered, words short and adamant as she and Lori stood there in the dark before she made a move to turn and continue on into the cafeteria.
"You've gotta stop acting like this. Like a child. You need to talk to—"
"Stop! Just stop!" Pru demanded stopping dead in her tracks and turning back to Lori on her heel, "All I told him to do that night was to 'get out', Lori. But to be perfectly honest, if he took that the way he did and decided on his own that he needed to turn tail and run off, then I can't stop him… And neither should anybody else."
The last part was accusatory. Pru had seen Lori and other members of the group trying to soothe his ego and reassure him enough to get him to rethink his decision over the past month. But it never worked though. No one ever came back from the rare conversation with Daryl looking like they'd had any amount of success. And for that, Pru was secretly grateful, because she knew she'd never be able to share the same space with him again, as long as he was going to look at her the way he had. Pru glowered at Lori for a silent moment, and watched as Lori shrank back a bit beneath the anger in her eyes. She turned from her again, done with the conversation, done with Lori, and done with Daryl's leaving making her out to be some kind of cruel monster.
She turned to leave, but Lori's hand slipped down and caught onto hers causing, her to spin back again. Lori's eyes darted back and forth between both of Pru's irises for a moment. Her face was barely visible in the dim light of the hall, her form backlit by the cloud filled yet bright morning pouring through the high up cafeteria windows beyond the door at her back. Lori's eyes were wet, searching, pleading, and urging. Her breaths loud and ragged.
"Don't push him away, Pru. Don't. You won't be able to take any of this back." The pregnant woman implored, squeezing Pru's hand gently as she spoke. Pru's eyes narrowed on Lori's as she tore away from her grasp and she backed up a step, scoffing a bit as she fit the pieces together in her head. For months, even after Rick's stress induced breakdown at the ranger's station, there'd been an odd and very palpable tension between the married couple. They always stuck close to each other and continued to function as a family unit on a very basic level; mother and father to their son, Rick the leader of their group, and Lori the first one to speak up in support of her husband's ideas. They honored and obeyed, but beneath that gossamer veil of solidarity it was very easy to see that Rick and Lori were still very obviously broken. They didn't talk the way they used to back at the Greene farm, all those months ago.
"Ya think that if ya fix us then ya can fix things with Rick? Is that what this is? ...Is that why ya keep pushing this?" Pru asked in disbelief. She watched Lori blink and swallow hard, as if maybe she was just hit with the realization herself. Like she'd pointed something out that rested deep within Lori's subconscious. Lips parted, she let out a shuttering breath as a tear rolled down her cheek, and Lori began to shake her head.
"I keep pushing this because we need to stick together. We're a family… All of us." She said as let Pru's clenched hand fall from her own. With a shake of her head, Pru made to respond. Instead, though, Lori's soft voice interrupted her words.
"What would Dale say," she asked, "…What would your sister say to you right now?"
Pru's heart seized up in her chest and caused her legs to shake and wobbled beneath her frame. Her lower jaw felt like it had come unglued from the rest of her skull by the way her mouth was hanging open. She stared wide-eye at Lori for a moment trying to look more angry than shaken, but it was no use. Tears well and flowed from her eyes faster than she could will herself unfeeling. The sound of the cellblock door's heavy steel frame closing down the hall jolted her, and she blinked once or twice at the feeling of the saline heavy on her lashes, working her fallen jaw and limp tongue to form words.
"They wouldn't say anything, Lori. …They're gone." She breathed as she backed through the cafeteria door. Head down, she fled through the large room as quickly as her shaking legs could carry her, past the group gathered there, out into the wind whipped yard. From the corner of her eye, she could see a figure leaning against the deep green body of one of the vehicles parked there. She ignored him and quickened her pace , making her way up into the shelter of the guard tower, fighting to keep the a sob from clawing its way out of her the whole way.
. . .
He rolled the worn canvas between the pads of his thumb and forefinger, staring off absently and pretending like he wasn't avoiding tucking the last of his meager belongings away into the rucksack. He'd wanted nothing more than to get the hell out of this suffocating hellhole for about a month, thinking every day between then and now, that when this morning finally came, he'd be up and out so quick it would make their heads spin. Instead, today, he found himself dragging his feet, trying to postpone the inevitable.
He'd discovered upon waking that the abnormally cold weather that had settled so heavily over the Southern state had gifted them with a rare snowfall. By his count, it must've been at least January now, but the chill that bit into his hide every time he'd exited the confines of the prison told him that it was much colder than any normal winter they'd had in a long time. As he and T-Dog had brought the first of his supplies out to his truck, he found himself hoping that the light flurries would turn a bit heavier, granting him an excuse to put his departure off. Unfortunately though, over the hours he spent wandering aimlessly, slowing collecting his things, the snow had kept its light, steady pace and remained nothing more than a slick and messy dusting. Not anything that would really stop him or slow him down.
He looked up from the canvas bag in his hand and with a heavy sigh, he turned and began gathering up the last few articles of clothing and affects that lay strewn on the mattress beside him. When he was finished, he stood, pulling a now full quiver of arrows onto his shoulder, tucked his Glock into his waistband, and grabbed up the bag he'd just finished packing.
As he turned to leave his cell for the final time, T-Dog came around the corner. Daryl's mind, occupied by everything but his current surroundings was knocked back a half step by the other man's bulk.
"Sorry, man." T-Dog said, reaching out to steady him until the ever surly hunter reflexively brushed his hand away. Realizing what he'd done after the fact, Daryl shot him an apologetic frown and then nodded his thanks up at him.
"This the last of it?" T-Dog asked after a beat. Daryl took a step back and looked over his shoulder, letting his eyes run over every last bit of the now vacant cell.
"Can't wait to get rid of mah ass, can you?" he joked morosely as he turned back to his friend. He looked up to see T-Dog glaring half-heartedly at him, and he couldn't help but answer his expression with a bit of a snort despite the feeling that his chest was about to cave in.
"That ain't even funny, man. Really." He scolded before turning to allow Daryl past him on the narrow walkway. Daryl made his way in front of him and began to walk as T-Dog finished, "Me and Maggie got the rest of that water in the truck. Everything's ready."
Daryl looked back over his shoulder & grunted out a thank you as he came to the top of the stairs. As he descended, he realized he was only hearing one set of boots clanging off the steel steps beneath him. He slowed to a stop and looked back up to the man standing at the top of the flight. T-Dog huffed and cocked a single brow at Daryl's questioning expression. He raised a hand tentatively as he began to descend to meet with the other man on the first landing.
"Listen," he began, "I know you're tired of this, but you know you don't have to do this, right?"
"I know I ain't gotta do it," Daryl replied tersely, "…I wanna."
T-Dog eyed him skeptically, sadly, and silently for a moment. "Yeah," he said finally, turning to continue on down the stairs, making his way past Daryl, "…Alright, then."
Daryl slung the pack over his shoulder next to his quiver and let his hand slide along the strap and rest in that comfortable spot at the center of his chest where he usually clung to his crossbow's band. He sucked in a breath and followed T-Dog down the rest of the stairs. As they pushed into the hallway and closed the cellblock door behind them, they heard hushed voices down the hall. Daryl turned to his left, following the sound with his ears, leading his eyes to it. He caught the sight of the two women arguing just before Pru hissed something at Lori and backed into the next room.
T-Dog stood next to him as he struggled to breathe for a moment. He winced as he listened to Lori try to stifle her crying, knowing full well that more of the same thing awaited him on the other side of those doors. He cleared his throat and began walking towards Lori, who turned once she heard them approaching.
He didn't know what to say or what to do, ever the emotional cripple, so as he drew near he figured the easiest way to deal with all of this would be to just pretend like none of them were there. Pretend he was just walking through the place, just like he had so many times before. Pretend that he wasn't leaving. He reached the door, T-Dog at his back, and put a hand to it and made to push from the hall way into the bright, open room.
"Daryl." She called to him, quietly as he made to pass her. His feet stilled on their own, and despite telling himself not to stop, he found himself turning to face her. The light that poured in through the thick tempered glass of the doors shone over his purposely squared shoulders and lit her face just enough so he could make out the redness that lined her teary eyes. He chewed at the inside of his cheeks and looked to the floor quickly, then back up to her, feeling as if, for some intensely odd reason like he at least owed it to the woman to look her in the eye just then.
"I- I'm sorry. I am." She choked out as she wiped at her cheeks with the back of her hand. He suddenly found himself becoming angry. Not at Lori, however, but at himself for stopping and allowing this ridiculous display of emotion to play out. His expression contorted into a grimace as he shrugged, brushing her off as he turned away from her and T-Dog.
"What fer? Never was yer problem, Lori." he ground out quietly as the door swung shut behind him.
As he walked into the room he could see members of the group scattered among the tables that sat permanently affixed to the floor. With every step he took, his chest drew tighter and tighter. A few of them began to stand, making like they were going to walk over to him; Like they were expecting this to be some big sendoff complete with hugs and well wishes. He eyed them without looking directly at them as he passed through the room.
Their eyes: Andrea's, the kids', Glenn's, Carol's—God, Carol's—all of them pulled at him from their respective spots, causing him to feel as if he was dragging a dead weight behind him. The room seemed wider than it ever had before, stretching out in front of him in taunting as he trudged forward, eyes cast to the floor. He wouldn't—couldn't—look over at them. Looking at Lori just then had been harder than he'd imagined, and he found the woman insufferable half the time. Instead, he pushed on over that vast, grey floor and into the last stretch of black hallway.
As he walked away from the door, he finally allowed himself to breathe again. He was back to being eager to leave this place behind. Nearing the door to the loading dock outside, he tightened his grip on the straps of the bag and quiver slung over his shoulder and picked up his pace. He pushed through the door and exhaled roughly as the cold winter air rushed over his body. The weight in his gut seemed to lift a bit in that instant and he turned to his left to walk down the ramp.
But his legs locked suddenly as he looked up and across the yard to where his truck was parked, full of supplies and waiting for him. Rick stood, arms crossed and back against the driver's side door, waiting for him to disembark, apparently. The keys to the padlock that held the security gate chained closed dangled from Rick's weather-chapped and reddened fingers. Daryl stood there for a moment before dipping his head and continuing forward, down the ramp and to the truck. He stopped in front of Rick and they regarded each other for a silent moment before Rick allowed his arms to fall from their place at his chest and he pushed off the body of the vehicle.
"I'll let you out." He said quietly, the bitterness and anger evident despite the volume of his gravelly voice. Daryl followed his back with his eyes until he had just made it half way to the gate. He suddenly felt compelled to say something to him as he realized that for the second time in a matter of months he'd be losing another brother. He turned in place, shrugging the rucksack from his shoulder and called out quietly to his friend.
"Rick," he hailed the slightest bit of a quaver in the back of his throat. Rick came to a stop, turning his head only a bit to look over his right shoulder. And suddenly Daryl realized he hadn't anything to say. Nothing good or fucking poignant. Words and thoughts escaped him under the expectant sideways glare that had been shot his way. He floundered for a moment before he hoisted the heavy canvas bag back onto his shoulder and found himself uttering the same useless words Lori had just said to him.
"M'sorry."
Rick stood silent for a moment before Daryl watched the man's eyes seemingly glaze over as gave him a curt nod. "Yeah," Rick replied quietly with that acerbic edge still cutting at his words as he turned away and continued on towards the gate, "Me, too."
Daryl's breath rattled from his chest at that and he crossed the last bit of distance over the grey pebbled lot to the door of the truck. For the first time since this all started he was beginning to feel like what everyone had been saying to him over the last few weeks was true. That he was running away, abandoning these people, his friends. But he was in over his head now, he figured. He'd talked this all up to himself and everyone else for so long now that there were no other options.
He pulled the door to the truck's cab open and it pleaded to him with a metallic creak. Tossing the last of his belongings onto the bench seat beside him, he let himself fall heavily into the driver's seat and closed the door behind him. Through the cold, snow covered windows of the cab hear the muffled clink of metal on metal as Rick unlocked and removed the chain from the gate. With a sharp exhale he reached up to the ignition and turned the key, bringing the engine to life.
He flicked on the windshield wipers, letting them free the frosty glass of the light and loosely packed snowfall. Through the glass he could see Rick wheeling the first, heavy gate open and walked to the second. He put the truck in gear and waited with his foot on the brakes. When the second and final security gate was unlocked and opened, Rick pushed it back roughly and began shouting at the three stray walkers that were gathered there on the other side. He hesitated for a moment, about to leap out of the truck and run to assist Rick like he always did, but within a few seconds he'd taken the first two out with his machete and was making for the final one. As Rick drove the blade down through the skull of the last straggler, cleaving its head in two, Daryl began to drive off, out the gate, sparing only a single glance to the rearview mirror and the sight of the lone figure high up in the guard tower. He made his way down the long, pothole laden service road that led from the back of the prison to the road that cut so garishly through the open land that surrounded the prison.
Once on that desolate road, he allowed his foot to fall heavy onto the gas pedal, eager to put as much distance between the prison and himself. It was already past midday. The sun would be setting in a few short hours and he didn't want to be out on the road alone.
. . .
She was fighting a losing battle, really. She didn't know why she was still trying to hold it together. No one was watching. He wasn't there. From her crouched position, back against the closed door of the guard tower, no one could see her there, weeping. She gasped, trying desperately to hold back the last bit of emotion that would send her tears over the edges of her eyes, but it was no use. Upon exhaling the sob she'd been holding onto broke free from her chest with such a force that she felt like what little food she had in her belly may be dragged up right behind it. She slapped her hands tightly over her own mouth as if trying to prevent the sound from making it to her own ears as she slid further down the cold metal.
What Lori had said had knocked the wind from her lungs. Why would she have brought them up other than to try and rip her heart from her chest? She knew just what awaited him outside these walls. The horrors of the world; the monsters, both dead and living. She knew that even though Daryl was better suited to this new world than all of them combined, he wasn't immune to any of the fates that were likely to befall him once he left. She pushed her head back against the door and swallowed another sob as she wiped at her wet eyes.
"Fuck." She groaned as she bumped the back of her head into the door as if to knock some sense into herself. Just then she heard the heavy door the led into the belly of the prison open outside. She stilled and sighed, watching as her hot breath turned to steam in the frigid air that surrounded her. She wiped at her face once more before she pulled herself to up to look out the window and down into the gravel prison yard. Daryl stood there in front of Rick next to the truck for a moment before she watched Rick stalk angrily towards the gate to let him out.
She looked back over just as Daryl ducked into the truck and closed the door behind him. She turned away from the sight in an attempt to focus on why she was actually up there. She walked to other side of the small space and grabbed up the binoculars and placed them to her eyes, sighting over the edge of the forest just beyond the fences and the long road out of the prison as she tried to push the current goings on to the back of her mind. In the fenced in yard, below the tower, the sound of his truck's engine coming to life made it to her ears. She sighed and sniffed out of frustration and scanned the perimeter of the area again.
As her eyes and body set to autopilot, slowly shifting around, watching the undead pace beyond the concrete walls & chain link fencing, her hand fell to rest upon the rifle that was butted up against the desk. The metal was cold and her fingertips almost stung as she absently ran them along the top part of the muzzle and the chill there ran up her hand, into her arm, and throughout her body. She shivered, crossing a single arm over her body, and lifted the binoculars back to her eyes again.
Her thoughts began to meander back a few months to when the air during the day stopped being heavy and humid, when she didn't mind being outdoors for hours upon hours. Before the weather made its annual shift to wintry and cutting; that perfect week or two just before they'd been forced to leave the farm. She quickly remembered waking one morning to a noticeably cooler sky and knowing that with the shift from summer to autumn, the weather would bring with it an unshakable heaviness.
That morning in the RV.
The memory was clear and easily recalled. Daryl smacking her out of a dead sleep with the ass end of a bolt, the RV, the soft sounds of Dale, Carol, and Andrea asleep at the back. The excuse he'd made for coming in to wake her. The sound of the door closing shut behind her as the cool morning air made contact with her skin.
She lowered the binoculars again and her eyes fell to the desk in front of her as the memory of the RV and her short time spent at the Greene farm collided with thoughts of what Lori had said only a few short moments ago. Those last couple tumultuous days spent there with the group crumbling over the tension wrought by Shane's erratic behavior and by the looming question of what to do about their captive, Randall, with Dale being as outspoken as he was in favor of the kid's reprieve.
What would Dale say?
The question left echoing in her mind by Lori's voice summoned up the early evening that they'd all gathered in the parlor to discuss the fate of the boy in the barn. God, the look on Dale's face when no one had sided with him. It was the look of disbelief and disgust once he realized that the group was being ruled by fear and pushed to do unspeakable things because of it. After seeing that he was making no headway in the matter, he'd made to leave the room, but he stopped just before exiting out onto the old, whitewashed porch. He'd stopped and said something to Daryl. Something that caused her to swallow hard upon recollection.
You're right. This group is broken.
The same heavy feeling that had settled over her chest as she'd stared down into Dale's grave the evening after he'd died welled up again. In that moment, she'd made a promise both to herself and to Dale that she wouldn't let something tear their group apart again, and now she was realizing that she was the reason for the current schism. What was more; she was causing the people who she loved to suffer from heartache. She'd lost both Meredith and Dale because she of her stubbornness. Now she was about to lose Daryl, too.
The rumble of the truck's engine was becoming quieter in her ears as she lifted her visage back to the horizon. As she stood there thinking about everything, Rick had gotten the gate open so that Daryl could be on his way. Her legs began trembling beneath her as she watched the green pickup fly down the beaten access road and turn east onto the county road that ran past the prison. As the vehicle picked up speed and disappeared out of sight, the tears in her eyes began to blur her vision.
"Shit!" she hissed as she whirled around and made for the stairwell. She ran down the steps as quickly as her legs could carry her and threw the door open by slamming into it. She quickly spotted Rick standing across the yard, back to the fence with machete in hand, blackened with soured blood, and staring blankly at the ground a few feet ahead of him. She turned to where her jeep was parked and called out over her should to him as she made for it.
"Rick!" she shouted trying to get his attention, "RICK!"
Her strides shortened and eventually halted as she realized that he was ignoring her. She turned back to look at him and saw that him standing in the same position with the same glacial look on his face. Her feet crunched against the gravel underfoot as she ran back towards him and skidded to a halt at his side.
"RICK!" she cried as she grabbed a hold of his jacket and shook him, trying desperately to get him to look at her, "Rick! Open the gate! I have to go after Daryl! Rick, please!"
He turned to her slowly as his head shook back and forth with the force of her pushing and pulling at him. She finally managed to grab his attention, and as he stared at her his face changed from lost and expressionless, back to angry. He grabbed her by the shoulder and fixed her with a glare.
"This isn't a game." He ground out and she found herself losing whatever shred of control she had left over the emotions that were tearing at her. She pulled free from his grip and backed away.
"I know this is my fault! I know it! But I'm gunna go get him! …I can fix this! Just please, give me this keys so I can open the gate, Rick? Please?!" she sobbed as she stumbled back from him. His stony gaze fell from hers after a tense moment and he shook his head almost imperceptibly as he regarded the cold, wet pebbles at their feet.
"I can't let you leave, too. It's too dangerous out there …It's too late, Pru. He's gone." He said weakly, almost apologetically, but with a hint of a stall there, as if he was saying it just wasn't worth it now. Despite the underlying pain she heard in his voice, she felt her blood boil. She howled loud and pained and frustrated as she tore at her now damp curls. Her knees went out from under her, but she managed to clamber back to her feet as she turned around and headed back to her jeep with a loud growl. She tore the door of the jeep open and threw herself inside in one motion. As she turned the keys in the ignition, she screamed out again to Rick.
"Open it, Rick! Or I swear I'll go right through it!"
He stood across the lot from her for a moment, chewing angrily at the inside of his mouth. She revved the V8 engine and the truck lurched a bit threateningly towards the gate.
"Rick!" she screamed once again on a sob, and as she readied to shift into gear and bulldoze through the two gates that held the outside world at bay, Rick finally cracked. He stormed back over to the padlocked gate, opening it and pushing it aside as quickly as he could and then made his way to the second, checking this way and that for any approaching walkers. He turned back and shouted angrily over his shoulder.
"You make this fast," he ordered, "…You find him and you fix this and then you hurry back here!"
He turned back to the fence to throw it open, and without acknowledging him, she floored the gas pedal and tore off, wheels kicking up the tiny stones as she left the prison's yard in pursuit of the man she'd hurt.
. . .
He'd let the hum of the pickup's engine draw him out of his own mind. His actions—the shifting of the manual transmission—were robotic as he kept his unseeing eyes on the long road ahead of him. Somehow he was able to reel himself in and turn his overthinking mind into a blank, emotionless canvas. There was nothing ahead of him, and certainly nothing behind him the last time he checked his mirror.
The quiet sound of the tires droning against the wheels on pavement was suddenly broken by the sharp sounding of a frantic car horn. Daryl's first thought was that the he'd somehow leaned on the horn without realizing it, but as it continued, he looked up into his rearview and saw a pair of fast approaching headlights behind him. His hand immediately went to the gun that had been stashed at his waist until a few moments ago. He picked it up off the bench seat next to where he sat and readied himself for what was to come next.
"What the fuck." He breathed as he watched the vehicle behind him pick up speed, going from a breakneck to a downright dangerous pace on the winter-slick road and veer around to his left. He raised his gun in anticipation of first shot when his eye caught the color of the beastly vehicle that flanked him. The tan body of the jeep along with its height from its lift was unmistakable. He found himself lowering his weapon even before he saw who was driving the damn thing.
"Goddammit" he growled to himself as he stowed the gun and pushed the truck harder in order to pull away from the jeep. He chanced a glace over to his left despite his mind telling him not to, and saw her waving wildly at him to pull off to the side of the road. His guts knotted and grit his teeth against the feeling, turning his eyes back to the road, and hoping that she'd eventually tire of dogging him once he got a bit farther out.
They continued on like that for a good distance. He could hear her screeching his name through the rolled up windows of the cab and over the dual motors of both trucks. Just as he was about to acknowledge her presence by shouting at her through the driver's side window, she finally relented and began to fall back behind him. He watched through the corner of his eye as the massive jeep shrank back over his shoulder and eventually pulled back behind him. His nerves began to settle as the lights grew smaller and smaller in his mirror, and he felt his white-knuckle grip on the steering wheel begin to loosen.
Just as he exhaled, relieved that she'd given up the chase and he wouldn't have to face her, the roar of the jeep's powerful engine began to grow louder again. He was about to look back up at the mirror that hung from the center of the windshield when he felt the impact.
THUD
"Shit!" he cried out as the pickup jolted forward. He held fast to the wheel and managed to keep it from spinning out of control despite the way the wet road tugged at the tires. She pulled up next to him again, and this time he couldn't fight the urge to shout at her. He rolled the wet window down and leaned out of it, flicking his eyes from the road ahead to the woman that was driving like a homicidal maniac alongside him.
"You out yer goddamn mind!?" he yelled at her as he fought to keep the truck steady.
"Pull over, Daryl!" she demanded. There was no way in hell he was about to do that, though. Especially not after what she'd just done. He snarled again and turned away from her, flooring the gas pedal once again in effort to get away from her.
The sound of metal on metal was the next thing he heard as she turned the wheel just enough to push gently into the side of his truck. He turned the wheel, fighting the weight of the other car, but tires, meant for off-roading on Pru's jeep found purchase much easier on the wet asphalt. As the truck began to bounce over the soggy mess that was the grass and refuse lined roadside, he decided it was time to give this up before one of them ended up dead. As he went to slam on the brakes, he felt and heard something beneath him snap and grind, and he skidded to a stop on the uneven turf as her vehicle scraped loudly past him and came to rest ahead of him.
He sat there in his truck stunned into silence for the better half of a minuet before he thought to worry about her or himself. For a second as his spinning head came back down to earth, he made to get out and run to her to make sure she was alright, but as soon as he saw her door pop open and watched her climb out onto steady feet, that bit of worry was swept away by rage again.
He threw himself against the door only to find that it was smashed just enough to seal him inside. After slamming against it twice to no avail, he grabbed his gun off the seat and began pulling himself out the window, slinging profanities into the open winter atmosphere as he did it. Just as his feet touched the ground, he saw Pru, looking teary-eyed, shaken, and a bit disheveled making her way over to him.
"You tryin' to get us both killed?! Huh?! Wasn't enough I was leavin'?" he shouted at her as he got his bearings, steadying himself on the hood of the car.
"Ya were running off to die alone like some sick fucking animal! What's it matter if ya die now or later?" she challenged as she stormed up to him and pushed him hard against the body of the truck. She'd done it once before, taken her frustration out on him with a good shove or two, but this time he wasn't gunna stand there and let it happen. He tore himself away and grabbed her by her wrist.
"Don't." he growled dangerously as he shoved her arm down and away. She stilled at that and stared up at him for an impossibly long moment as they both panted hot puffs of anger into the freezing air. He watched her back towards the truck and lean against its wet side.
"Ya can't leave." She said quietly. He wanted to laugh in her face. Was that a request? A demand?
"Yer damn right I can't leave! The goddamn axel snapped just now thanks to yer crazy ass! …I should take yer fuckin' jeep an' leave you out here fer what you jus' went an' done!" he shouted in her face as he paced back and forth in front of her like a wild animal.
"Will ya shut up before ya call every fucking walker within a mile over here!" she hissed at him angrily.
"They already heard this whole mess!" he yelled, a hand wildly at the wrecked truck and then turning to reach into the cab of the truck. Through the window he'd just climbed out of, he grabbed for his crossbow, his quiver, and his pack, slinging what he could onto his shoulders as he pulled back out. Screw the rest of the supplies, at this point. He could find another truck later and come back for them later if no other survivors picked the damn thing over. He fixed Pru with a final look before turning to walk off to the opposite side of the road, into an open field.
"What are ya doing?!" she shouted after him, but he continued to walk away towards the field without a word, "Daryl! Daryl, stop it! I'm trying to tell ya that I'm sorry!"
He heard her breath hitch as she began to cry and he fought with himself, half of him breaking at the sound, the other half growing even more irate over how she was carrying on. Too little, too late.
"You got a hell of a way of showin' it." He scoffed as his feet fell to the snow dusted grass at the road's edge. He listened as she came up behind him quickly and felt her grab onto his arm. He wheeled around and glared daggers at her.
"Ya want me to beg ya, I will…Don't stay because I'm asking ya to. Stay for yaself." She pleaded to him as she hung onto his arm. He tried to pull away but she clutched tightly, desperately onto his jacket. He shook his head and glared angrily at the ground for a moment, trying to work the words over in his head.
"I wanted to stay fer you. This whole damn time. You had a month's worth of chances to pull yer head out yer ass…Now all'asudden yer sorry?" he asked incredulously as he gave his arm a second, more violent shake in an attempt to shrug her off, "Maybe I'm just too thick-headed to understand what the hell happened, but I'm pretty goddamn sure I didn't do a goddamn thing to warrant you actin' the way you been."
He stopped and locked his angry eyes onto her reddened ones as he felt a bit of the heavy press on his chest lift away. For a brief moment, he was reveling in how absolutely amazing it felt to call her out on what had happened. Her mouth bowed and contorted as she cried silently and tried to form the words that would make up her explanation.
"Ya didn't do anything… I just- I thought…" she struggled. He heard her swallow heavily as she wiped frantically at her wet cheeks.
"You thought what?" he dared, voice telling of how tired he was growing of standing there out in the cold, watching this woman try to pull herself out of the whole she'd dug. She wiped at her cold, red cheeks once more before sucking in a huge breath in effort to calm herself.
"When I woke up," she began, the tears rising up an threatening to spillover her lids again, "there was this one point where I looked at ya, and ya looked… So exhausted and so sad… But the way ya looked at me; it was like ya felt sorry for me. And there was something in my head that told me that no matter what happened, no matter how much these scars I have now faded… Every time ya'd look at me from now on, ya we're gunna think about what happened and feel bad for me. Pity me. I don't need to look at ya every day and be reminded of what happened to me. I was angry and afraid that I was gunna just have to live with the thoughts of what happened, and see it again every time I looked at ya."
She finished and the open field around them grew silent save for the icy wind whipping snow flurries around them. His face contorted as he took in her disjointed, rambling words, spilling out of her mouth raw and maladroit. He could vaguely grasp what she was trying to explain to him, but still, it wasn't an excuse for all the grief she'd caused him. He was about to open his mouth to come back at her with whatever was in his head when his keen ears picked up the sound of something tromping clumsily through the trees and dead underbrush just beyond the cars.
"Shut up," He warned as he grabbed her by her newly healed arm and pulled her around behind himself to face the woods. They both stilled and listened quietly for the sounds grow nearer. There was more than one pair of feet shuffling through the brittle branches and fallen leaves.
"Git in the jeep." He whispered to her as he pulled his knife. She turned to him for a fraction of a second before pulling one of her guns from her holster.
"I'm not going without you." She snapped back at him quietly. Just as she finished her sentence, a pallid grey corpse wrapped in dirty, ragged jacket and slacks came into view. It stopped just short of the lip of the brush covered slope before spotting them and clumsily sliding down net to the pickup's front bumper, gnashing its blackened, rotting teeth all the way. Daryl walked forward, low and ready to strike. As he reached the approaching threat and grabbed it by what was left of the corpse's Sunday Best, the woods seemed to vomit forth another large handful of shambling bodies.
The sound of his blade piercing the temple of the first walker was drowned out by the discharge of Pru's gun. He withdrew his knife and turned around with the walker's body still in his grasp and used it as a shield as the next two walkers bore down on him. He kicked the body of the first forward as its back made contact with the chests of the next two and the force sent all three bodies tumbling gracelessly to the ground. He went to back away and realized quickly that all the noise from the wreck and their shouting really must have attracted every walker for a mile. They were quickly becoming overrun, and with Pru using that gun of hers, more were sure to be on their way.
"Pru, git in the jeep!" he shouted again as he stabbed at the next approaching walker. He listened to her pop off two more rounds before he went to move around to the other side of the jeep and his heart stilled with each. When he went to move from the front of the wrecked truck's bumper to the passenger side of the jeep, he was blocked by three more walkers. They were more recently deceased, and not as sluggish and putrid as the first walker was. They lunged and grabbed for him and he was forced to back away from the only other way into the jeep.
"Daryl!" Pru yelped as she let fly another shot. The sound of mucky, black blood splattering against his back and the meager belongings he had stowed there made him falter for half a second. They were surrounded now, or at least he was, in the tight space between the two vehicles. To his relief, a second later he heard the door to the jeep slam shut, but he still needed a way out. With the passenger side completely blocked by the press of the dead, and the small gap between him and the very temporary safety of the pickup's cab, there was only one option left for escape. His back to the rear of the jeep, he put his heel to the bumped and hoisted himself up onto the spare tire as he heard Pru's frantic and muffled screams coming from the inside of the jeep.
As he pulled his upper body up onto the ragtop roof, one booted foot slipped off the wet rubber of the tire and was grabbed hold of by one of the reaching hands. He panted and kicked out frantically, trying hard to free himself, but with a second, more vehement yank he became aware of a second pair or hands on his foot, and the very short amount of time he had to free himself before his calf muscle ended up in the jaws of one of those dead bastards. With barely another thought, he did the only thing he could think of. He sank his knife into the soft canvas roof in the space between the back and front roll bars in one fluid motion. Weakened by the cut and the stress of his weight, the fabric of the soft top tore away and he let out a yelp as he fell backwards, down into the cramped back seat. Gravity having torn his leg from the walkers' grasp with a force he wouldn't have been able to produce on his own, he let out a relieved gasp for air as he scrambled to right himself.
"Are you alright?!" Pru screeched. He could hear the nails of the dead scratching at the plastic windows and the canvas roof, searching for a way to get to the meal hidden within. He turned his head to look at her from his uncomfortable inverted position and was met by worried and frantic eyes.
"DRIVE!" he shouted at her. A fraction of a second later, as she seemingly remembered what the hell was happening on the other side of those thin windows, and she popped the clutch into gear, sending the tires into a burnout. The engine growled as the jeep flew into reverse, and Daryl could hear the bodies of the dead being mowed down by the body of the jeep. A sudden jolt rocked the whole vehicle as Pru rammed into the front of Daryl's truck, crushing the last couple of walkers in between the two bumpers, and Daryl growled string of profanity that was unintelligible, even to him, as his crossbow was ground into his back beneath him.
"Hang on!" Pru shouted as she shifted again and punched the gas to the floor with her foot. The lifted body tipped as she made a hard left back into the middle of the road, and as it rocked back over, Daryl found the bit of momentum helpful in pulling himself out of the cramped space between the back seat and the front.
A good ten minutes passed tensely as they both breathed heavily, and tried like hell to get their heart rates back down to a normal pattern. He shucked the crossbow, quiver, and bag from his back and flopped limply against the seatback.
"Did they get ya?" she asked finally, looking at him through the rearview. He didn't answer for a moment as thoughts of why all of that shit had just happened floated back to the surface. He looked back up to her and cocked an eyebrow.
"Mah brain'd already be leakin' out the back'a mah head if they got me." He bit out as he sat up straighter. He watched her shamefully peel her eyes away from him through the rearview as he continued to catch his breath. The pain in her expression as she stared out the window, streaked with bloody handprints, was enough to make him regret the way he'd snapped at her before.
She'd risked her ass to come after him. She was sorry and he knew it. She wouldn't say something like that if she didn't meant it. But while he understood what would make her withdraw from him, had he actually felt the way she'd assumed, he was so intensely confused by what she'd said to him. How in the hell could she have come to that conclusion—that he 'pitied' her—that night, weeks ago? Did he pity her? Was there a possibility that he didn't even realize it? He almost shook his head as he mulled it over.
Hello no.
Sure, he felt bad for her on a physical level. Pain-wise, the girl had been through the ringer. But mentally—Good Lord—had the same thing happened to anyone else, he was sure no one else would have been able to come out of it and still be able to function. He didn't pity her. He was proud of her for being able to pick her ass up and keep moving.
She needed to hear it. And she needed to hear that he cared about her and that he didn't really want to leave.
He looked up at the torn cloth above him as it flapped in the cold wind and allowed the tiny bits of frozen water to drift into the interior and then back to the woman behind the wheel. He looked down to his feet, to the floor beneath the driver's seat where his knife had fallen after his crash landing. Clearing his throat, he leaned forward to reach for it and paused for a second as his face was just behind her.
"Yanno after Amy died Andrea tried to off 'erself, right?" He asked just loudly enough to be heard over the rush of the wind as his fingers closed around the hilt of his knife. He drew back from her and watched as the reflection of her face flashed back to meet his eyes again. He sat up and sheathed his knife, keeping eye contact with her for a long silent moment despite being jostled back and forth by the movement of the vehicle.
"An' you 'member when Beth just… I dunno, jus' clammed up for a few days? When we were still at the farm? An' then she tried to do 'erself in, too?"
"Yeah. I remember." She said quietly as her eyes moved back to the mirror and again back to the road again. He paused and looked back to the huge tear in the ceiling.
"…Neither a'them been through half the shit you been through, an' yer still here. Yer still fightin'," he said to her after a moment. His expression changed on its own suddenly. Lips quirked into a smirk, he continued, "Yer ass woke up that night, an' the first thing you did was pick a fight with me."
Upon hearing her stifle a bit of a choked chuckle, he looked back to the reflection again and saw her wetted, smiling eyes as they scanned the desolate road ahead. His small, crooked grin faded quickly and his air turned serious and sincere and he shrugged, not really knowing if anything he was trying to say was making sense.
"Can't pity someone you admire." He said quietly, hoping like hell that his words sounded better out loud than they did in his head. With that Pru let out a small, shuddering sob and reached into the back seat. After a second of searching around with her hand, to his surprise, she grabbed ahold of his and pulled him forward so his chest was up against the back of the seat and tucked his arm around her waist.
"Stay. Please." She whispered without turning to him. He leaned forward a bit more and rested his chin on his shoulder as all the fear, anger, and uncertainty he'd been burdened with for over a month lifted off his.
"Yeah." He breathed into her neck.
A moment later, he felt her breath hitch and heard he sniffle a bit. Confused by her tear soaked face, he leaned forward between the two front seats about to ask her what was wrong, when she turned to him. As the tears rolled down her face, she let out an odd laughing sob.
"Ya ruined my roof." She said as she smiled and cried. He couldn't help the smiled that tugged at the corners of his mouth at the look on her face. He tightened his grip on her waist as she turned her eyes back to the prison that lay ahead in the distance.
"Yeah, well. You ruin'd mah whole fuckin' truck."