I'm not big on long author's notes, but I feel it's necessary to explain the timing discrepancy between the show and my story. The show has, until this season, been deliberately vague about how much time was passing. They were trying to reconcile sticking to the comics with the fact that their child actors (especially Chandler Riggs/Carl) were growing up and attempted to split the difference by never saying exactly how old Carl was supposed to be and by repeatedly recasting the babies playing Judith to keep her from aging, which, to me, made things far more complicated than they had to be. But Season 9's time jumps locked the earlier seasons into a timeline that's pretty close to the comics.
TV Timeline
Year 1: Rick wakes up to apocalypse in late spring/early summer; by fall, Hershel's farm is gone.
Year 2: Judith's born in the prison, both Governor attacks, the prison falls. Late fall/early winter, they're back together and arriving at Alexandria.
Year 3: Carl loses his eye, Jesus shows them Hilltop, and Negan's reign begins.
Since Carl was ten years old when the apocalypse began, this makes Carl twelve, maybe turning thirteen. Judith is just over a year old.
Hero of his Own Story Timeline
Year 1: same as show
Year 2: Judith is born and the Governor attacks the first time, and disappears. Rick brings in the Woodbury survivors and they build a working farm that gets everyone through the winter.
Year 3: Everything's good until the summer, when the Governor attacks again and the prison falls. Everyone spends a couple of months in splintered groups. Late fall, Beth is taken from Daryl. The group reunites at Terminus. They head north and arrive at Alexandria just as winter sets in.
Year 4: After several months of trying to do things Deanna's way, Rick takes leadership of ASZ; walkers invade, Carl loses his eye.
Year 5: Alexandria's crops fail, making the group search for new food sources; Jesus introduces Hilltop; outpost attack at the end of the year, group assumes that Negan is dead (see Tyrese's thoughts in Ch. 2).
Year 6: Group rides out the winter with Hilltop's help, but the Saviors never stopped their weekly supply runs, so everyone knew the fight wasn't over. Chapter I begins in early March.
This makes Judith close to her 4th birthday and Carl 15, turning 16 sometime later in the year.
More importantly for the story's purposes, these communities are not the same as what we saw in the show. The show's versions of ASZ, the Sanctuary, etc. were barely getting off the ground. With additional years, everyone is now established, ways of living will have evolved. One example of this were the backyard gardens described in Chapter 2. They didn't exist in the show. But there's no way that Alexandria (or any community) survived beyond the first couple of years without creating sustainable food sources. Likewise, relationships between communities, and the expansion of territories, would have changed and grown over time.
Long story short, changes in setting or people's behavior, personality, etc. are not meant to be out of character, but rather a reflection of the extended timeline.
And, yes, I know this is way too technical for something as trivial as a fanfiction, but if we all weren't super-crazy about how seriously we take The Walking Dead, there wouldn't be any fanfiction in the first place :)
Chapter 3: Arrival
Dear Luke,
I love you and Daddy so much and I'm so sorry I'm not there with you right now. Tell Daddy not to worry; I'm okay. It's been a strange first few days, but I'm settling in and making friends. Things here are a lot different from home, but just because something is different doesn't mean it can't be good. Since coming here was such a surprise, I wasn't quite sure what to expect…
The canvas-covered truck bed might have been letting in the cool morning breeze, but it was hot and stuffy under the bag that had been secured over Aaron's head once he was forced into the back of the transport. With his hands zip-tied behind him, there was little he could do but sit still and try to calm his breathing as they bounced down on the highway; the vehicle's suspension was in desperate need of had no idea if Daryl was being taken to the same location, if Maggie was already there or if she was even alive, or if Negan would change his mind and add even more hostages to his growing collection. The others in the truck with him mostly kept quiet, occasionally mumbling comments to each other that Aaron couldn't decipher.
After what felt like hours, the truck slowed to a stop, breaks squealing, but Aaron couldn't make out any of the words being exchanged in a muffled conversation at the front of the vehicle before it abruptly started moving again, going several more yards before maneuvering into its final destination. The truck bed bounced as the Saviors dismounted, the last ones grabbing Aaron on either side and pulling him along. It was only with their help that he didn't fall; the hood kept him blind as they moved across what felt like gravel to a smooth concrete, where the air around him changed and sounds closed in – signs they'd moved indoors. An awkward stumbling trip down a flight of stairs and a series of hallways that Aaron knew he'd never remember later, they stopped and the hood was pulled back from his face.
Aaron didn't know what he'd been expecting: a military bunker, or a series of cells in an underground dungeon maybe? Clean sunlight filtered through a row of windows along the top of a long, low-ceilinged room the length of a basketball court with pristine white subway tiles going at least seven feet up the painted cinder block walls and across the entire floor. Along the two longer walls and the short one at the far end of the room, six-feet high tiled divider walls separated the space into individual shower and changing stalls, with heavy cloth curtains in multiple colors providing additional privacy. Some were in use, steam rising behind the closed curtains and the occasional glimpse of a head or bare arms above the dividing walls.
The zip tie was cut from his wrists and he was nudged towards an open stall. On closer inspection of the space, he could see that the shower space was divided in two; a low tiled lip on the floor and a second curtain to keep the water contained and out of an outer changing area, which was furnished with a metal stool. Mounted on the wall under the shower head was a metal basket with a bar of handmade soap.
A worn towel and washcloth were shoved into his unsuspecting hands. "Five minutes. Strip and scrub yourself or we'll do it for you. Leave your clothes on the stool."
Aaron stood, frozen and uncertain, behind the hastily-closed curtain before mechanically beginning to remove his clothes. Just survive somehow, as Enid says. You don't know when you'll get the chance to be clean again. The water smelled a bit of minerals and, when he used some to rinse out his mouth, it tasted faintly of sulphur. The entire time he hastily showered, he kept expecting the curtain to be yanked aside, to be dragged out to whatever ridicule or pain Negan had in store, but he finished his shower in uneasy solitude. When he stepped back into the changing area, his clothes were gone, replaced with a used but serviceable set of hospital scrubs and nondescript tennis shoes in his size. Seeing nowhere obvious to put the used washcloth or towel, he bundled them together and took them with him as he slid the outer curtain aside.
The two Saviors were waiting by the door, with one using a head nod to indicate that he should follow. Aaron fell in step behind them. The hallways were dimly lit compared to the shower room, but still clean with fresh paint on the concrete walls and railings as they made a series of turns and up a flight of stairs.
The last corridor was wider than the others, with small clusters of chairs along one wall and four doors stretching down the length of the other. The nearest was open and the guards nodded for Aaron to enter what turned out to be a fully-stocked and well-organized medical exam room. "All yours, Doc," one of the called out to the room's sole occupant before going back the way they came.
Again, whatever Aaron had been expecting, this wasn't it. Petite frame with long blonde hair neatly tied in a twisting French braid that rested over her shoulder, the "Doc" looked more like a child playing dress-up than a medical professional. But the scars on her cheek and over her brow bore testament to past battles and her confidence moving about the room was proof enough that she was clearly in her element. Her smile was genuine as she welcomed him into the room and gestured for him to sit on the exam table.
"Just toss those in the bin and we'll get started," she used a clipboard to gesture towards a waist-high industrial laundry cart along the wall and stepping out into the hallway to flip the sign on the door. She walked back over to stand in front of Aaron, who was perched awkwardly on the edge of the padded table, grabbed an expensive-looking pen from her pocket.
"Name?" She asked in her deep Southern drawl.
He hesitated before physically shaking his head as if to clear his thought, "Ah, Aaron. Raleigh. Aaron Raleigh."
Her nibbed fountain pen hovered over the page, which, from what Aaron could observe from upside down was a hand-written copy of some kind of medical information form.
"You have no earthly idea what's going on, do you?"
He shook his head, "I'm sorry, Doctor…um… ma'am, I—"
She held out a hand to stop him, "Just Doc, Mr. Raleigh, everyone here calls me Doc. Breathe. Calm down. This is my medical wing and my exam room, so when I say you're safe here, it's because you are."
"Okay, just Aaron, then. All this is yours, huh?"
Her voice was soft and pleasant, and Aaron found himself slowly relaxing despite his stomach still being a churning bundle of nerves, "Well, technically Dr. Carson has seniority and more experience, but he's only here when he absolutely has to be, so as long as everything is running smoothly, it's pretty much mine to do as I please. Even Negan himself has to behave when he comes in here."
"How does that work?" He didn't even realize he'd asked the question aloud until he saw the subtle shift in her demeanor. Her posture went from relaxed to near-battle-ready and the pleasant expression on her face turned hard, though she never raised her voice.
"I tell him to do something, and he does it." Her tone left no room for argument.
Oh, when she's angry, she is keen and shrewd! And though she be but little, she is fierce. The Shakespeare quote popped in his head unexpectedly but he thought he'd never met a person it fit better. "You're a little terrifying when you want to be."
Thankfully, she laughed, and the sweetness returned easily to her smile, "Years of practice. Wish it still worked on my younger daughter. Not even two years old and she's already completely unfazed by the 'Mom' look."
Okay, so definitely older than she looks if she's got more than one kid.
But she was already back in business mode, "So, what's going to happen is that I'm going to do a basic exam. It's the same thing we do for everyone new. And then I'll show you where you'll be working, and we'll just kinda go from there. When I told Negan I was short-handed, this is not the solution I had in mind, but all we can do is take it as it comes and make the best of it, yes? Hey," she put a comforting hand on his knee, "you're gonna make it, alright? You're gonna be just fine."
He nodded shakily, eyes still welling up despite his best efforts, "Yes, ma'am."
"Doc."
"Doc. Sorry, Southern upbringing can be hard to shake."
She gave his knee a quick but gentle squeeze before letting go. "No worries, I still hear my Mama's voice in my ear if I even get half-way to cursing. Language, young lady!"
There was an unspoken agreement between the two to get back to business, and she moved efficiently through the steps of the physical while they talked.
"I guess I should probably tell you, my last name is actually Slowikowski. Raleigh is my boyfriend's surname but, when we adopted our son, we decided one family name was enough and, since no one ever manages to spell or say mine right…"
She laughed and made the addition on the intake form. "Boyfriend? Not husband?"
"Well, no, I mean, we can't." At her raised brow he continued, "It's, ah, it's illegal for us to get married."
"Says who?"
Aaron was stunned silent for a moment. Oh. It's not as if he didn't know the old world and its legal system was done with. Everyone was always so focused on surviving in a lawless world, it just had never occurred to him or Eric what else that might mean for them. Brave new world, indeed. "So, people here, like me, if they…"
"Anyone who wants to get married, gets married. If they want a church service, they have one. If they don't, they don't. Making it official is as simple is going to the housing officers and registering for an apartment together. Maybe going to the labor officers to request that work shifts be on the same schedule so they have more free time together. Folks here are, well, let's just say more open-minded about what marriage can look like. Serious, mind you, there are rules about staying committed, about custody if you divorce and there's children involved. Punishments for cheating. But no one cares who gets married as long as they're old enough and they're happy."
"So," she rubbed her hands together and abruptly changed the subject, "A little blood-work and you're all set."
"You can do blood-work here?"
"Basic tests. Anything real complicated we send down to a community in North Carolina. They managed to keep a university hospital up and running and have a lot fancier equipment. But we can handle some things, blood sugar, nutrition issues, pregnancy, things like that." A slight pinch of the needle and the awkward pause of waiting for the glass vile to fill with blood, and Aaron was sliding off the exam table and following the Doc down the hall and around the corner.
"So, what you'll be doing while you're here is helping out with assisted living, older folks who need a lot of help with the day-to-day stuff. Most of them have family who look after them when they're not working, but a couple of them live in the hospital wing full-time."
"How many elderly do you have here?" They had reached the end of the short corridor and stopped in front of a closed door. Aaron sensed he was about to be left alone and was suddenly desperate to keep around the one friendly face he'd found.
"There's eight now. Six with families who only come down during the day and two who stay." Her smile was kind and knowing. "Jeffrey is the head nurse here, and he'll get you settled in. He's very good, this is what he did before the Turn, so he knows what he's doing. But it's still my hospital wing, understand?" It wasn't spoken as a threat, but rather as a reminder. You're safe here.
Still, he grasped at any questions he could think of to stall, "What do I do after?"
"When the day's over, someone will show you where you'll stay when you're not working."
"How long?" It was a loaded question. How long is the work day? How long will I be a prisoner here?
She grabbed his hands in hers, "It's gonna be okay. You're gonna be okay." The physical contact was steadying him more than her words. She seemed to sense that and sighed. "I know, it's hard to believe. This whole place was hard for me to take in when I first got here, and I walked in the front gate by my own choosing."
He nodded, "It is a little overwhelming. You've been wonderful, really. And I'm grateful, please, please know that. I'm just… it's like you said, it's a lot to take in. I guess I'm just used to being on the other side is all."
She cocked her head a bit in open curiosity, "Other side?"
"At Alexandria, one of the things I did was look for survivors, people out on their own, and invite them in. A kind of recruiting, I guess. We'd show them pictures, explain what our community's like, help them settle in if they decided to come with us. A lot of them, if they had been out in the open for a while, they'd get overwhelmed, not quite believing what they saw at first, or know what to do once they were inside the safe zone. I guess I'm just used to being the one to calm people down, not be the one who needs the calming."
She nodded, her lips pursed together as she thought before coming to a decision and dropping her voice to make sure the conversation stayed between the two of them. "Alright. I want you to think of it this way, then. You're here recruiting. It's like, how all you know about us is what you saw Negan do last night, but now you know me, and I'm not so bad, am I?"
Aaron couldn't help but smile at the small but determined woman.
"Okay, then. All anyone here knows about Alexandria is that y'all were a quiet community who kept to themselves until you one day up and decided to attack us and killed our friends. And as long as that's all they know, there's no reason for anyone not to believe Negan when he says this is the only way to keep everyone here safe. You show them different. Everything you say, everything you do, you put your best face on and your best foot forward. The more people get to know you, the more they get to know the real Alexandria, the more pressure gets put on Negan to back down, go easier on your friends and family back home."
Friends. Aaron's mind flashed back to the group who'd tried to get Maggie to Hilltop. I guess it's time to see if she's as much of a friend as she seems to be, "Doc, when I came here, were there others? Negan took two more of us."
She shook her head, "Only you and one other person came here. The other man was injured, Dr. Carson was assigned to treat him. But no one else came in. I'll ask around. Meantime, you'd best get in there. Go recruit."
Aaron nodded and turned to walk into the next room when the Doc offered one final bit of advice, "If you're looking for a good place to start, I'd make friends with Savannah and Trish. Savannah's one of the nurses, usually works afternoons. Trish just had her baby, so she's not working, but she tends to keep Savannah company, and the older patients love having a baby around. But more importantly for you, they're both Negan's wives."
"Wives? Uh, more than one?"
"Yep." And while her smile stayed pleasant, there was something that flashed in her eyes that let Aaron know there was more to the story than she was letting on.
Aaron nodded and took a moment to wrap his brain around the idea. "Right, marriage is an open concept around here. Got it."
She grinned and nodded towards the door, "Go get 'em."
And he had. Aaron had walked in with his shoulders back, chin up, a pleasant smile, and a willing attitude, and the hours had passed easily enough. He'd listened to Jeffrey and the other nurses as they showed him how to move, feed, and otherwise care for the needs of the elderly patients. He'd chatted with each one, trying to commit to memory particular details both of their personal lives and their individual needs. He'd even held Trish's newborn baby girl for a few minutes (a button-nosed beauty with a full head of black hair named Kelly Rose, though with all the names he'd learned today, Aaron fully expected to forget half of them by morning). And as the light shifted to warmer sunset hues, family members trickled in to pick up their loved ones and Aaron had watched, stepping up to introduce himself if it seemed they were curious and respectfully slipping into the background if their gazes were more guarded. When only the two full-time residents of the wing were left and the night-shift nurse had checked in, Jeffrey had been the one to escort Aaron down to a room with brass numbers 138 screwed onto the door.
"This is you," the balding, slightly heavy-set man had explained, holding the door open for Aaron to step through the threshold. It was one room, furnished like a studio apartment, with a full-sized bed taking up half the floor space, a small couch and end-table with a lamp under high-set windows, and a kitchenette lining the back wall.
"Most of the apartments are on the upper floors. But with your situation and you being assigned full-time to medical, I guess it made more sense to put you on the first floor." Jeffrey started puttering around, opening drawers as Aaron stood by and watched. "Looks like they've already got you set up with a standard week's worth of food rations. Sheets, bath towel, three sets of clothes, couple sets of scrubs for when you're working. Scrubs you can drop in the medical laundry whenever you like, but everything else goes in the laundry bag with your apartment number stamped on it. Wash is once a week, on Saturdays for first floor, costs two points per person, just set the bag outside your door that morning and it'll be back when you get off work."
"Points?" Aaron was confused.
"Everything here is on a point system. Each half-day shift earns five points. The first set of clothes and food is on the house, but anything you need after that, you'll pay with points. You'll get a log book to keep up. My advice, don't get behind. Penalty for going over on your points isn't worth it. See you bright and early, morning shift starts at 7."
And with that, Aaron was left alone. He'd thought he'd welcome the solitude, but the silence was unnerving. And all at once, it hit him. The road, Eugene, being dragged away from his family. He'd gone a day and a night and a full day again without sleep or much in the way of food, but he couldn't process enough to try eating now. Instead, he reached for the doorknob and punched the lock button with his thumb (a prison where the door locked from the inside was just one more in the laundry list of strange things he'd encountered today). Ensured a bit of privacy at last, Aaron sat on the edge of the bed, put his face in his hands, and sobbed.
Daryl was going to lose his mind. He had no idea how long he'd been in the dark room where the walls seemed to close in by the second. The air stank of sweat despite the cold and damp. He'd tried to keep track of how long he'd been here, but the light coming under the door was always on and guard changes had no set pattern he could pick out.
It didn't help that he'd passed out shortly after their doctor had started poking at his gunshot wound. That'd been the final straw. After hours of slowly bleeding while kneeling on the road, then being forced to stay on his hands and knees in the back of the van, it had taken nearly all the strength he had left in him to walk into the small exam room, three Saviors keeping their weapons handy, though not pointed directly at him.
It had been Dwight who ordered him to strip while they waited for the doctor. "All of it." But Daryl had already mentally prepared himself for the humiliation and pain he'd known was coming eventually, so he didn't let himself hesitate and tried his best to keep stoic about the fact that his shitty childhood was about to be put on display. He barely managed to keep a smirk to himself when he surprised at least one of his captors by dropping his pants first. Thankfully, the doctor had come in while he was peeling the bloody shirt from his shoulder and had almost immediately stood behind him to start debriding and bandaging the open wound. Then his vision was fading and, when he woke up, it was in darkness, so, as long as he didn't think too much about how he'd gotten to his cell, the embarrassment wasn't as bad as it could have been.
He'd been fed twice though not enough to stave off the hunger pains in his gut, but that might have been as much about the emotion-laden memories as it was physical discomfort.
He'd recognized the filling between the stale slices of bread for what it was when Dwight had shoved the dog-food sandwich under his nose. When he was five years old, Daryl's mother had once broken the old man's rule about not taking charity from the "no-good churchy bitches" who offered canned goods from food drives to those in need. But she had gotten desperate and had quickly taken whatever she could from the box behind the Southern Baptist church near their trailer park. His old man had come in from a liquor run to find her on her knees trying to hide the cans in the bottom kitchen cupboard. He'd grabbed a large one with the label ripped off and slammed the shiny aluminum down on her hand before telling her to cook up whatever was inside. Daryl remembered his father's raucous laughter when his mom had finally managed to open the can with her trembling, injured hand only to discover it contained dog food. Old Will Dixon had made them choke down full bowls of the ground mush before taking his belt to both of them, his mom for daring to defy his warped sense of pride, and Daryl just because he could. Daryl knew that Dwight and whoever else was guarding him had no way of knowing that, but it didn't make swallowing with a straight face any easier. At least the second sandwich had also come with a set of clothes, a dingy, sour-smelling sweatshirt that was ridiculously large on him and sweatpants that were high-water even if he wore them low on his hips, but at least they provided a layer of protection from the concrete floor and walls.
But the time crawled between distractions and, the longer he was stuck with his own thoughts, the more twisted they became. Past memories swirled with imagined horrors – normally, Daryl could stave off the worst of his dark musings by getting lost in physical labor, but now, he had no means of escape. And given his reasons for letting himself be locked up here without a fight, it was no surprise that most of his thoughts centered on Beth. Every time he tried to focus on the happier memories of their weeks as an unlikely pair on their own against the world, his mind would stubbornly return to the day he'd given up searching for her.
"The hell can you say that? The hell can you even think it?" Daryl was furious and wanted no part of Rick's calming hand on his shoulder. He aggressively shrugged him off and pushed away to put more space between them as they stood just beyond the tree line of the woods near the church where their group had taken refuge after their harrowing experience at Terminus. The bodies of the hunting party that had pursued them from the train yard were in a haphazard pile not far from where the two men argued.
"Daryl, calm down. Look, you've got to listen – "
"No, you listen! Beth's out there. She's family! We don't even know these people, and you're gonna follow some strangers up to fucking D.C. for no goddamned reason! Risk our family, your kids, for what? Some pipe dream you already know ain't real."
Daryl had turned away then, the emotions becoming too much for him to be comfortable facing anyone. The idea of giving up on Beth was unthinkable, and Rick's objective, rational stance about the whole thing was only pissing him off more.
"She's gone," Rick's voice was quiet but confident. "You said it yourself. Beth is gone."
"She ain't dead." Daryl's voice and certainty matched Rick's. "She's strong. She don't look it, but… You don't know."
He could hear Rick shifting behind him, knew he was about to offer some logical, well-reasoned argument for abandoning the search for Beth, but Daryl'd had enough. He was tired of holding back his pent-up frustration and worry, and Rick with his cool, calm, collected attitude was as good a target as any.
"She's the mother of your child," Daryl whipped around aggressively and got inches from Rick's face. "You thought of that? Beth is the only mother that Lil' Asskicker has ever known. The only one who was there for late-night feedings, diaper changes, singing her to sleep, getting her through teething and fevers, calming her down when no one else could. Lovin' her when you could barely stand to look at her, much less hold her. You think that was easy for Beth? Bein' a mama to a child that wasn't hers? Weeks and months when Jude didn't want nothin' to do with anyone else but her. The fuck does that say about you, just givin' up on someone who gave her whole life to your little girl, someone who never once gave up on us?"
"Alright." Rick put his hands up in surrender and stepped back, taking a breath, choosing his words. "You're the best tracker I've ever known. So you look at me and tell me you can find her, that you've got a plan. We'll all go. You look me in the eye and you tell me you can get us back to the last place you saw her, that there's a crushed leaf, a broken twig that says 'this is the way they went', and we'll follow you. We'll do it together. You tell me you can do that, after however long it's been, and we'll do it."
Daryl's breathing got heavier and more erratic as Rick logically laid out the truth of their situation.
"Seventeen days. It's been seventeen days since they took her." Daryl spoke more to the ground than to Rick, the fight gone out of him for the moment.
Rick stepped forward but wisely kept his hands to himself. "Daryl. Brother." He paused to gather his thoughts, to prepare himself the way he'd done as a sheriff's deputy delivering impossible news to hopeful family members. "She's gone. Beth is gone. I know you don't want to hear it. I don't want to say it. You found… something… out there, the two of you. I don't pretend to understand it. Maybe you don't either. You can tell me, if you want to talk—" Daryl's derisive snort cut Rick's offer short. "It's been seventeen days. And it's not as if she's a kid who wandered off in the woods somewhere. She was taken – "
"She ain't a kid," Daryl objected.
"I know that," Rick acknowledged. "She was a beautiful young woman. And you know what kind of sick bastards are out there. Were out there long before all this. And what they'd do to a young, pretty girl given half a chance. And however strong she might have been on the inside, she's not physically able to fight off someone our size, and that's assuming there was only one person in that car." Rick raised his voice above the hushed tones they'd been using, in part, at least, to give Daryl the illusion of privacy as the man's shoulders started to shake and he bit his lip to keep back any sobs. "It is an awful thing, and God forgive me for saying it. But I hope Beth died sixteen days ago."
"Fuck you," Daryl snarled darkly. "Fuck…" he turned away to stop himself from punching Rick in the jaw for even thinking something like that, and also for the tears that were streaming down his face by this point. No way he was going to show that even to the man he called Brother.
"I hope she went fighting," Rick continued, "but more than that I hope she went quick. For her sake, for everything she was to our family, to Judith, I hope she didn't suffer. I hope she's at peace now, with Hershel, with her mother and brother. I hope, wherever she is, she knows what she meant to all of us, and that part of her will always be with us." Rick's hand was back on his shoulder, a tentative touch, but what Daryl really, desperately craved in that moment were too-skinny arms locked around his waist and a bony chin jutting under his shoulder blade. Beth was the only one he had ever truly trusted with his tears.
The silence stretched for several minutes before Rick tried a different approach, "There's nothing for us here. The days are getting shorter and we can't stay. We need to find a place, for Judith and the others. And I need you. Carl and Judith won't make it without you hunting for us. I can keep them safe, maybe, but I can't put food in their bellies. I never could," he confessed ruefully. "Please, Daryl. Please. Help me keep my children alive."
"Fine." Daryl wiped his face and picked up his crossbow, which he didn't even remember dropping. Only then did he turn to face Rick. "But you're wrong."
They headed North the next morning and Daryl never spoke another word about Beth to their group. Carol and Rick both tried occasionally, trading off walking beside him and attempting conversation, but Daryl was having none of it. He did what was needed, scouting ahead, finding fresh game when he could, but whatever closeness he'd built, whatever walls he'd let down to open himself up to the idea of family, was gone. It was the only way he could keep putting one foot in front of the other, keep walking away when all he wanted was to turn around.
He'd held himself together right up until he saw the signs, white letters on a bright blue billboard, "South Carolina Welcomes You". He turned back; sure enough, on the other side of the highway, "Welcome, We're Glad Georgia's On Your Mind" with a brightly colored peach emblazoned next to the state name. Ain't never been outta Georgia before. The memory of their moonshine-induced "never-have-I-ever" game seared through him, swiftly followed by her now-prophetic proclamation, You're gonna miss me so bad when I'm gone.
Daryl walked off the road without a word to the group. He'd gone straight into the woods, far enough into the trees that he couldn't see anything else around him, dropped to his hands and knees, and retched. Eating hadn't been high on his priority list since Terminus (not that there was much food to go around even if it had been), and the bile burned his throat as he spat it onto the ground. He was sobbing, shaking, completely falling apart, and kept dry-heaving long after his stomach had emptied.
The sun had sunk halfway below the horizon before he managed to drag himself to his feet and stumble drunkenly back to the road. From there it was an easy bit of tracking to find the group holed up in the abandoned South Carolina Welcome Center at the rest stop, Rick dutifully standing watch outside the door. Rick tried to reach out to offer both a bit of food and comfort, but Daryl side-stepped him and wordlessly waved him back inside. Standing watch alone all night, Daryl had lit one of the few cigarettes remaining in a pack Beth had gleefully presented him on one of their last finds before the funeral home. He'd stared at the smoldering embers and, without thinking, had pressed the fiery end against the tender flesh of his left hand at the juncture between his thumb and index finger. He hadn't quite known what to expect. Pain, of course. But the release that came with it was almost cathartic. With the sizzle and foul stench of scorched skin also came her words whispered on the wind, You gotta put it away, Daryl. Put it away, or it kills you.
That night, and every time since that he couldn't bear the weight of her absence, he'd slipped into the woods and practiced his self-destructive ritual, each time hoping it would somehow be what he needed to put his past failings behind him, always knowing deep down it wouldn't last.
Sitting in the dark cell of Negan's stronghold, Daryl knew the truth. He'd abandoned Beth. Whatever Rick's logic or Daryl's good intentions for protecting their family might have been, he'd known in his heart and gut, with everything in him, that she had been out there, alive, and he'd left her to fight alone. Of all the bad choices he'd ever made, this was, by far, the worst thing he'd ever done. And there was no putting it away, no punishment he could suffer, to ever make up for whatever horrors he'd left Beth to face by herself. Even now, whatever Negan decided to do to him, Daryl knew it would never be enough.
Aaron could not get over the number of children in this place. Three days in, and every time he turned around, it seemed there were more of them. Little ones especially, infants and toddlers with almost every family at the midday communal meal.
He'd missed lunch on the day he'd arrived. (He tried to keep positive thoughts by rephrasing his experiences in his mind – arrived instead of captured, apartment instead of cell, neighbors instead of guards – it was a mildly-successful mind trick). But the next day, his eyes had been opened to the staggering odds his family back home were facing if they tried to fight the Saviors again. At noon, all non-essential work stopped and everyone ate a communal meal with their families, no points needed. The entire ground floor of the factory-turned-Sanctuary traded out its market stands for rows of long tables and benches like a strange blend of backyard barbeque meets high school cafeteria.
And every seat was taken – nearly 500 men, women, and children filling the space with a cacophony of sound, forks scraping plates, children chattering to their parents about what they'd learned in school that morning, plastic trays hitting each other as people dropped off empty plates and cutlery at the rolling carts near the doors, where kitchen workers would later pull them to be washed and prepped for the next day. Aaron had frozen mid-step when he saw it for the first time. Alexandria had 73 people, including the eleven children (if Carl still and Enid still counted as children) spread throughout their walled-in subdivision. The Sanctuary had more than double that number in children alone. And this is just one of Negan's bases. His biggest one, but who knows how many outposts there are, and how many live at each one? How are we supposed to fight back against all these people? And why didn't Hilltop tell us what we were really up against?
And the food was good. Aaron was man enough to give credit where it was due, and any outsider would be thrilled to settle at the Sanctuary on the basis of this meal alone. It was simple fare – the first day had been a hearty salad with thin slices of roasted pork, and today's meal was a thick vegetable stew with some kind of whole grain bread – but filling and flavorful, more than what he'd had at Alexandria in months (and that wrenched a guilty twist in his stomach as he thought of Eric and Luke barely scraping by on whatever Hilltop was able to spare). And tea. Both days, tea had been served with sweet and earthy flavors Aaron couldn't quite identify.
Part of his new job, Aaron had learned, was to get the patients wheeled to the staircase and help carry them down to the ground level to join the group for lunch. Their family members often took over from there, except for the two who had no living relatives; Aaron was expected to eat with them both to help and keep them company. Aaron didn't mind. People stared, of course, when he showed up the first day. But that was to be expected, and Aaron took his "recruiting mission" seriously, making sure to be his most pleasant and agreeable self no matter how much the attention might have otherwise unnerved him. Everything you're doing helps Eric and Luke. Plus, being in the main room gave him time to sweep his eyes around in search of Daryl or Maggie. So far, though, he'd had no luck finding either of them.
His two constant lunch companions were not always the best conversationalists, but Aaron hadn't built a friendship with the surliest redneck in Alexandria on luck alone. Mrs. Abbott (and no, they were not on a first name basis, that would be terribly improper, or so she'd informed him) was a 76-year-old who'd never married or had children, but she was an independent soul who had fought to stay alive as best she could until Alzheimer's had hit her hard, leaving her frequently confused and forgetful, making it impossible for her to live alone. Father Donovan might have been a few years older, but his mind was as sharp as ever; a stroke had left him with partial paralysis and a feeding tube, which kept him bound to the hospital wing. His lack of family stemmed from his vows as a Catholic priest, but what he lacked in blood relatives, he made up for in parishioners. Two in particular, twin brothers close to Aaron's age whose Irish accents had caught him off-guard when he first heard them praying with the bedridden priest, were at the old man's side whenever they weren't working. Aaron found them to be good company, easy to talk to and eager to share what they knew when he asked questions.
"Everyone contributes," Connor, who was decidedly calmer and, Aaron thought to himself, more mature than his fraternal twin, explained when Aaron had inquired about the number of children. "One of the more interesting side-effects of the Rules."
Murphy took over, chewing his food around his words, "Aye, fucking amazing what they can cover."
"Um, no one's actually told me anything about any rules."
The brothers had shared a look before turning back to Aaron, decidedly more serious than a moment ago. "Well, that's something you definitely need to know. You'd be punished for breaking them whether you know them or not." Connor gestured with his eyes to someone off to the side, a Savior whose name Aaron had yet to learn but was easily recognizable for the heavy burn scars over half his face. There were several with similar marks throughout the dining hall.
"So, there are plenty of small rules that are more like guidelines, common courtesies, procedures, that sort of thing. And then there are the Rules. Fuck around with them, well, it had better be worth dying for. 'Cause that's a real fucking possibility."
Murphy nodded sagely, "The Iron, at the very least. They're simple enough to remember, even the little ones can say them by heart." He held up his open hand and counted down beginning with his pinky, "We don't lie. We don't cheat. We don't steal." He turned his hand forward, the index finger in a clear "number 1" shape, "We don't harm each other." Now only his thumb stuck out, "We respect everyone." Closed fist, "And everyone contributes."
Connor picked up where his brother left off, "Straightforward enough on the surface, yes? But then you get to thinking, and you realize that for a few little phrases, they apply a shit-ton of possibilities. No cheating sounds a lot like 'Thou shalt not commit adultery', and it is. But it can also mean, 'don't show up late for work', because you'd be cheating the community out of the time and effort you'd promised to put in."
"Aye, and what if your contribution is more of a good rather than a service? Take Claire, for instance," Murphy added, pointing across the room to Negan's table, where a willowy woman with waist-length mouse-brown hair was attempting to break up a squabble between two young girls. "Now, being Negan's wife means she doesn't have to worry about points as much as the rest of us, but she was a jeweler in the old world and still does repairs and makes new things from time to time. Really good work, too. Let's say you commissioned a piece to send on to your love back home. How many points should she charge you? Who decides what's a fair price? And if she does a shoddy job, are you going to go to Negan and tell him his wife cheated you out of a fair deal?"
Aaron nodded. For a simply-worded code, there was a lot of potential gray area with any of the so-called Rules. "So Negan decides who's broken the rules and what the punishment should be?"
"Yes and no," Connor replied, "There's a committee, they're all former Feds. A lot of them are our neighbors, actually, we claimed the top floor once all the upper levels were finally cleared, and there aren't many who want to haul themselves up five flights of stairs at the end of the day. But they worked together before and wanted to keep their families close, sixth floor has the most open spaces. If someone's accused of breaking a Rule, it goes to them and they investigate. But Negan has the final say, and he's the one to do the punishing if it's called for."
The illusion of impartial justice, Aaron thought but wisely kept to himself. "And these Rules, they somehow mean everyone feels safe enough to have families."
Both brothers chuckled. "Suppose that's one way of looking at it," Murphy supplied. "But you're a smart man. Try breaking it down yourself."
Aaron thought back to the off-hand comment that had started them down this rabbit hole of a discussion. "Everyone contributes. Sounds like everyone does their fair share."
"Aye, we can't all do the same job, but everyone's job matters. That's the original intent. Keep going."
Aaron thought for several moments before shaking his head in defeat, "I'm sorry. I mean, children are an amazing blessing. I wouldn't trade my son for anything in the world. But when you're thinking about contributions, children need things, they aren't working or giving back."
"Not yet," was Connor's quick response. "But we're not thinking about the here and now. Best anyone can figure from the size of the herds compared to living communities, we lost, what, eight out of ten people in the outbreak? And more since then. Let's say there's 10% of the population living. Just to keep those numbers, there needs to be at least one child for every adult."
"And that's just to maintain, mind you. You want to grow, build a new world that can outlast the dead one. Having children is contributing to the future."
Aaron's mind whirled and his food was suddenly sitting like rocks in his gut. He couldn't help but look at the center row of tables, where Negan sat, flocked on either side and across from him by at least a half dozen women and even more small children. Nothing about the room had changed, but Aaron's worldview was all out of joint – suddenly, it seemed to him that every woman with a child in her arms was a potential prisoner. Yes, everyone seemed to be getting along happily enough as they ate together, but were their smiles just a little too bright to be real? How many of these people had been forced into parenthood all in the name of following Negan's Rules?
Aaron realized he'd been staring just a bit too long when he noticed both brothers and his elderly patients watching him with considering looks. Can't freak out, never know who might go to Negan about this and what they would say… Aaron cleared his throat, and his thoughts, "So, is it like a quota? Have x number of children and you earn so many points?"
To his surprise, both men and the old priest burst out laughing. "Jesus fucking Christ!" Murphy exclaimed in between hearty chuckles.
"Lord's fucking name," his brother admonished.
"Sorry, sorry," Murphy quickly crossed himself with a muttered Hail Mary, mother of God, "It's just that I had no idea you'd take it that way. It's not that fucking serious, man."
Connor put a calming hand on his brother's arm but directed his words to Aaron, "No one's going around putting guns to people's heads, telling them to get a room, fuck around, make a baby. Consent is a big fucking deal, especially to Negan. Put your hands on a woman without her permission, well… let's just say he won't bother waiting for the furnace to heat up. It's more of an understanding."
"No, it's the gossips. Nosy biddies who can't mind their own fucking business," Murphy grumbled.
"The world may have ended, but small-town gossip never dies," Connor agreed.
"Oh, I just can't believe you're not married yet, handsome young man like you, and with that accent, the girls must be flocking to you!", Murphy jumped in with a high-pitched sing-song voice. "Or, the ceremony was just lovely, dear, and just think, this time next year it'll be the pitter patter of little feet!"
Connor couldn't resist adding his own impressions, "Still no children? That's such a shame, dearie! Have you seen the doctor about it? Perhaps there's something he can do to help."
"Are you at least on the adoption list? Poor little ones go through so much, and the two of you would give them such a good home."
"Or have you thought about a surrogate? My niece and her husband, they wanted a child so badly, but he was having a little trouble, you know, 'down there', but they asked around and found themselves someone willing to help, and now they have the cutest little girl! And they're thinking about having another, don'tcha know?"
Murphy reached out and poked Aaron's forearm, who was by now softly chuckling at the brothers' antics as they tried to one-up each other's silliness, "You've got one son, yes, but doesn't the poor lad get lonely without a little brother or sister to play with?"
"There's plenty of bachelors and bachelorettes around. See, no rings on these fingers," Connor waggled his left hand. "It's just an unspoken expectation. If you are married and you can have children, why wouldn't you? No one pays for doctor's visits, and the mum gets a lighter workload for full points for the last month or so of her pregnancy and doesn't work at all for the first six months after the little one's born."
"Well, there are exceptions…"
"Right, Jesus, poor Doc! Doc Carson was laid up with a nasty bit of flu right when she was set to give birth. Had to go to Towers to deliver, twins mind you! And then was back here working full time just a couple of days after."
Aaron's ears perked up at the first mention of the place where Maggie had been taken. He wanted to ask more, but the twins had already moved on to a new topic and Aaron wasn't sure how safe it would be to circle back. But now he knew of at least three people he felt semi-comfortable talking to who knew something about Maggie's location, and that was more than he'd had before.
And while the twins had done what they could to assure him that everyone else was here and living the way they were by their own choice, Aaron couldn't help his eyes wandering back to Negan's wives, sitting together, most with at least one child to manage. Two in particular stood out, in part because they were the only two at the table without any little ones in their immediate vicinity and in part because they were sitting as far away from Negan as they could without being overly obvious. One woman with shorter auburn hair had her arms around a forlorn-looking blonde who stared blankly at her untouched plate and seemed oblivious to whatever comfort was being whispered in her ears. However much anyone said about the rules being for the people's benefit or how high a priority was placed on everyone being willing and choosing freely, Aaron was highly skeptical that all the women surrounding the Sanctuary's leader were thrilled by their supposed choice in marriage partner. Someone like Negan might go through the motions of asking, but once he did, who here could really afford to say no?
Daryl stared at the doorknob for what could have been the better part of an hour without moving. Was he really supposed to believe the fat bastard who'd brought his third meal – another dog-food sandwich and half a bottle of water – was stupid enough to leave the door unlocked on accident? And then abandon his guard duty by loudly thudding down the hall in great clumping steps? Bullshit, Daryl thought to himself. Ain't falling for it.
Except the longer he sat there, the more tempting it became. If it had stayed totally silent, he would have been more suspicious. But there was occasional foot traffic outside his cell. And for all he knew, there could have been plenty of times when no one was posted directly outside his door. Having been unconscious, Daryl had no idea where he was in relation to the rest of the compound, or even how extensive the compound was. If Negan kept multiple prisoners, and Daryl wouldn't be surprised if he did, then they wouldn't likely waste a guard for each individual. Maybe this was just normal procedure. Maggie could be here, could still need help. And Beth is here, somewhere.
He waited for another minute. Fuck it. He was tired of sitting on his ass getting nowhere. And searching for Beth had been put on hold for long enough.
The doorknob twisted easily and the hinges were blessedly silent as Daryl risked glances down either side of the hallway. But there was no one to see him ease the door shut again and begin creeping stealthily towards the more well-lit end of the hall. The light, it turned out, came from the window on an exterior door, and covert glances revealed a kind of outdoor garage area – a row of motorcycles flanked on either side by clusters of convoy trucks and personal-sized U-Hauls. Not where Daryl wanted to be. But also no one visibly approaching to cut off his potential escape, should it come to that.
Heading back the way he'd come and going past his cell to explore other halls, he almost didn't notice the other person approaching from behind until the feminine hand was within reach of his arm. Last place you want to be off your game, Dixon. Get your shit together.
He'd wanted it to be Beth but wasn't surprised to not see her eyes staring back at him when he turned. He was mildly startled, though, to recognize the face as the woman he'd met in the woods with Dwight, the one who'd helped tie him up and steal his bike. On second thought, he should have guessed she'd be here; Dwight obviously had come back (or been forced back); why wouldn't she?
"Go back," she whispered.
He took a chance – it's not like Negan didn't already know why he'd let himself be brought here in the first place. "Where's Beth?" he kept his voice equally quiet.
"Negan's got eyes on her to make sure she doesn't come to you until he decides to let her. It's a test, you've got to go back."
"Why should I believe you?"
"She said to tell you she finally tried peach schnapps and that you were right, it would have been a terrible first drink."
That gave Daryl pause. It was something no one else would know, even in their family, and Beth had obviously trusted this woman, Sherrie, his mind finally recalled her name, enough to use her as a go-between.
He tried again, "Where is she?"
"She's alright, but you can't get to her. Not yet. He's testing you. And if you get caught it'll only make things worse. Go back."
Sherrie slipped back down the hallway she'd come from, leaving Daryl standing uncertainly in the middle of the corridor. It's not that he doubted Sherrie's words, Negan seemed like the kind of bastard who enjoyed playing mind tricks on people. But after 830? 31? days (and it grated on him more than he expected to realize that he'd lost track), he wasn't sure how much longer he could take being so close to finding Beth and not actually doing it.
There was nothing for it, he knew, except to go back to his cell and hope that no one had noticed his absence. That pipe dream was shattered, though, the second he turned the corner and realized his cell door was open.
No point putting it off, he thought as he closed the distance between himself and the windowless box he'd been stuck in for far too long.
He heard the sing-song whistle before he saw the flash of white teeth. Negan was in the cell, leaning casually against the back wall, Lucille swinging gently back and forth in front of him like a clock pendulum. Seeing Daryl pause a few feet from the doorway, Negan pushed off from the wall and stepped into the light with a full smirk. "You just cost a lot of people some serious points. But not me. I knew you'd be back."
He strode right past Daryl towards the door that led to the parking area, knowing without looking that Daryl would follow. He kept on talking as he led his prisoner outside for the first sunlight he'd felt in ages, "See, a lot of the boys thought you'd make a break for it, so they waited out here hoping to be the ones to catch you." Sure enough, more than a dozen armed Saviors emerged from their hiding places behind the trucks and surrounded Daryl and their leader. "A few others, they thought you might be broken enough to just stay put. Almost had them believing they'd called it right, with how fucking long you took to pop out of your little hidey hole. But me? Nah, I knew there was no fucking way you'd be trying to leave here without finding out the truth about your little blue-eyed Angel. And no fucking way you'd stay put waiting patiently for me to get bored enough to visit. You're an emotional animal, aren't you, Daryl? Showed that out there on the road with your admittedly well-landed right cross. Did NOT see that shit coming! I'm man enough to own it. But once you've lashed out, you get to thinking, and you make the smart choice. So I knew, you'd take the bait, do a little exploring, and then realize the error of your ways and tuck tail. And you did not disappoint."
Negan took a deep breath, "Jesus H. Christ, I forget how fucking awful that box smells! Fucking reeks in there, don't know how you stand it, really. I need some serious fresh air after that shit. Come on," he waved Daryl forward with Lucille. "Let's take a little stroll."
The rest of the Saviors took that as their cue to move on. Only Dwight followed a short distance behind as Negan led them around the corner of the massive concrete and glass building. Daryl used the chance to look around while trying to not visibly wince whenever a particularly sharp rock dug into his bare feet. The main building was several stories tall, but there were a few smaller, more recently constructed buildings within the walker-fortified borders. Behind them, near the northeast corner of the fence was a wood barn that, from the smell, housed at least a few horses. And bordering the open garage was a metal framework with plastic sheeting serving as a decently-sized greenhouse. But the south side of the building, where Negan was heading, seemed to be the front of the compound, with large plate glass windows and an outer stair case with a small, open-air elevator rigged to one side.
"Dwighty-boy, wait here. Daryl and I need to have a little heart-to-heart." Negan popped the latch on the elevator's waist-high gate and gallantly gestured for Daryl to step onto the metal platform first. It was a surprisingly smooth ride to the top, where the only way off the elevator was to maneuver over the stairway landing's railing. Negan immediately sat himself down on the landing with his legs casually dangling over the edge and rested his elbows on the lower rail, the ever-present baseball bat on his far side, while Daryl stood silently next to him, waiting for Negan's next move.
Negan sighed, "Oh, for fuck's sake, I'm not having this conversation staring at your crotch the whole fucking time. If I wanted you dead, pushing you off the six-story ledge isn't how I'd do it. And you're not going to push me, either, 'cause you're smart enough to know it won't do any good. So now that we both know this is going to be a civil chat, do us both a favor and sit your ass down."
With that, Negan began fishing in the inner pocket of his leather jacket until he produced a metal cigarette folio and lighter. Daryl used the time to situate himself on the platform, trying to find a position that allowed him to see Negan's face while not draping his bare feet over the edge, but ultimately resigning himself to mimicking Negan's stance.
"Smoke?" Negan held out a hand-rolled cigarette that looked suspiciously like a joint. "You look like you smoke." He chuckled, "Jesus, relax, it's just tobacco. Despite repeated requests, we haven't yet made room in the greenhouses for Miss Mary Jane."
Negan deliberately looked out over the Sanctuary's yard and to the open field and woods beyond the fence as he took a long pull from his own cigarette. "This is one of my favorite spots. Roof's good too, can actually see the sunset. But this elevator doesn't go all the way up and besides, big place like this, not a lot of privacy. And this conversation is just for the two of us."
Daryl also kept his eyes trained on the view rather than the man beside him, but he didn't have to look to hear the difference in the Negan's voice. The over-the-top sing-song cadence was gone, dropped in favor of a quiet, almost introspective tone. Made the man seem more human. To Daryl, it made Negan more dangerous – this was a man you could almost want to trust, and Daryl couldn't afford to let his guard down. Not with his family on the line. But he could play along, enjoy a free smoke and fresh air and pretend to be agreeable. The late afternoon light cast a warm golden glow on the open courtyard below. Daryl might have called it beautiful, if he weren't so keenly aware that he was inches away from his worst enemy since the Governor.
"We're not so different. You, me, even Rick the prick; we're all just trying to protect what's ours. You played the game and lost. Fucking sucks. Now we all gotta swallow that loss and get on with things."
"Where's Beth?" Daryl's voice was rougher than usual from lack of use and being unaccustomed to the unfiltered smoke. " What've you done with her?"
"You really should pay better attention. I promised she'd watch you die if you fucked up. I never promised anything about what would happen if you didn't. Gotta read all the fine print, my friend."
Daryl's free hand gripped the railing until he was white-knuckled to keep from throwing another punch or throttling Negan. Negan's soft laughter was the only indication that he'd caught Daryl's reaction.
"Alright, alright, bad joke is all. I can see you're not in the mood, so I'll get right to the point. Lay it all out there for you, no bullshit, no teasing, no dicking around." Negan turned to face Daryl. "I've got two offers for you: a deal, and a choice. So here's the deal. You want to see Beth, she very much wants to see you. I'm going to give you the opportunity to earn that reunion. First thing in the morning, you, me, some of the boys, we are going on a little road trip. Specifically, we're making our first official visit to Alexandria. I know, I promised them a full week to get their shit together, but I've just got this feeling that I would be much better off keeping tricky Rick on his toes, and off his game, yes?"
Daryl used the excuse of a long drag on his smoke to keep from having to respond. Negan smirked knowingly and continued, "You behave yourself, follow my rules to the letter, not let those nasty emotional outbursts get the better of you, and, tomorrow night, you and Beth get a private conversation. No supervision, no eavesdroppers, just the two of you. Good news is, even if somebody from your old crowd causes trouble, that's not on you. This is strictly about you. You do as you're told, at the end of the day, you get your gold star. Better news, this is just the start of an ongoing deal. Every day that you don't give me shit, you get to see her, talk to her. You get to check in on her, she gets to check in on you, everybody's happy. Well, happier."
Daryl kept his eyes on the horizon and mentally steeled himself. "What do I gotta do?"
"It's more about what you don't get to do. You don't communicate with anyone. No talking. No passing notes. No hand gestures, eye rolls, nothing. In fact, it would be best if your eyes never went higher than anyone's shoulders, just to be on the safe side. Zero interaction with anyone who isn't me or another Savior. Anyone tries, they call out to you, reach for a hug, handshake, what-the-fuck-ever, you do not respond. Step away, turn turn your back. If you've got nowhere to go, stand there and make it real fucking clear, to me and anyone else who might be watching, that you no longer have anything to do with any of them. Understand?"
At Daryl's nod, Negan added, "Other than that, just do as you're told. I tell you to haul shit, you haul shit. I tell you burn down one of their houses, you light that fucking match. I tell you to hold out your hand so Rick can take his axe to it the way I probably should have made him do to Junior, you keep that arm steady and do your best not to flinch. We clear?"
A nod wasn't enough this time, "Gonna need to hear you say the words."
"Yeah, I got it."
"Good, this time tomorrow, if you can keep your head on straight, I think we can both agree you'll be in much more desirable company." Negan flicked the end of his nearly-finished cigarette. Daryl's stomach churned at Negan's choice of words and the deliberate insinuation behind it.
"So that's the deal. Here comes the choice. And I want you to keep in mind, one has nothing to do with the other. You behave, you get your daily Beth-time. Clear-cut, black and white, it is what it fucking is. The choice I'm about to give you, that might be a little more complicated. Which is why I do not want an answer from you tonight."
Negan leaned forward so his lips were mere inches from Daryl's ear, and he did his best to not pull away as he quietly spoke, "I need you to know, really know, in your heart, your gut, your soul, your dick, whatever the fuck it is that drives your thinking, that your time in Alexandria is over. Done. No matter what happens, there is absolutely nothing that Rick or any other the others can do to get their pet redneck back. They don't know that yet, but you? You need to know it, really take it in. Accept that Alexandria is your past and this place is your future. This is your new normal. Take a look down there," Negan pointed to the courtyard in front of them. It had been virtually empty when they first came up to the stairway landing, but now the doors to the one-story brick building on the left-hand side of the compound were open and dozens of children were streaming out of what was apparently a schoolhouse, laughing and playing, running to greet parents emerging from the main factory building. All of them oblivious to the two men watching.
"Those people, they're now your people. They're Beth's people." At that, Daryl sat up a little straighter, his eyes alert as he scanned the crowd. But they were too high up and, though he spotted a few women with long blonde hair, he couldn't say for certain whether one of them was her or not.
Negan knew what Daryl was doing, "I told you, you'll see her tomorrow. Not before. Pay attention. What's important here is that these people are important to Beth. She's important to you. And you're a protector. You proved as much on the road, throwing yourself on the chopping block just to spare what's-her-name's feelings. All those innocents down there, are they somehow less deserving of protection than the people behind Alexandria's walls?"
He let Daryl stew on that for a moment before getting to the point. "Your life is here now, but that doesn't mean it has to be a prison sentence. In a few minutes, you're going to go back to your cell and spend the night thinking long and hard about what you want your life here to be. And in the morning, when that door opens, you're going to give me your answer. You have two choices. You can choose to stay loyal to Rick and his people, in which case that box you've been holed up in, it becomes your whole world. A lifetime of solitary confinement, except for Beth's visits, of course, for however long she's willing to put up with the stench. We'll take you out every so often, hose you down, parade you in front of Rick so he knows I haven't killed you. And that's it. That is the rest of your life."
"Or. Tomorrow morning, I open that door, and you bend the knee. You swear allegiance to me. And your world opens up. You get your clothes back, your shoes, your crossbow. Your dignity. You never have to see the inside of that cell again. There's plenty of jobs around here, and you strike me as the kind of guy with a pretty diverse set of skills. We'll find you something. Not just mindless grunt work but something meaningful, something with purpose, where you can make a difference. And after tomorrow, if you want, you never have to set foot in Alexandria again, if a clean break is easier for you. Or maybe you want to be included on those runs now and then, check in on things, that's fine, too. Those daily conversations with Beth, wouldn't they be a whole lot nicer if you were, say, taking a walk through the woods? Or sitting on the roof, watching the sun go down? Pretty girl deserves a pretty view, don't you think?"
Negan stood up and flicked the last of his cigarette over the railing and stretched. "I know, it's a lot to take in. I imagine, you'd greatly prefer it if you could talk to Beth before making your big decision. Too fucking bad. This isn't about her, it's about you. It's about what you can live with. You can spend the rest of your days as a hostage, nobly sacrificing yourself on the alter of your own loyalty to Rick Grimes. Or you can be Negan."
He stepped back onto the elevator before making one last comment, "When you're done, Dwight's waiting for you downstairs. You know, today, this afternoon's little experiment, I had you pretty pegged. But this, I honestly don't know which way you'll go. So I guess tomorrow we're both gonna be surprised. Enjoy your smoke break."
During the day, Aaron was fine. He could get lost in the tasks and the mostly-friendly chatter and he could forget, push everything else to a private place in the back of his mind and play the part of the upbeat, likeable guy he was expected to be. But the second he closed the door to his room, the emotional dam would burst and all his fear, worry, and grief would come flooding back to drown him again.
He was barely able to choke down a few bites of food between broken sobs and sleep was all but impossible. The full-sized mattress was simultaneously smaller and emptier than the queen-sized bed he shared with Eric. The sheets didn't smell of him, the pillow wasn't flattened or marked with stray ginger hairs.
And they both must be going out of their minds with worry, too. Aside from a few day trips, he and Eric hadn't been apart since the dead started walking and the walls went up. And Luke was too young, had already lost one set of parents and seen his home taken over and destroyed by the Governor's raiding party. Now Negan's men would be swarming the cul-de-sacs and yards where he played, and who knew when or even if they'd ever let Aaron go?
Aaron didn't know what to do. He was physically and emotionally exhausted, always on edge, waiting for the other shoe to drop. Any day now he was sure this pleasant facade of a work detail would be pulled away and Negan would swoop in to reveal his real plans for Aaron's imprisonment. He could already feel the lack of restful sleep taking its toll on his ability to function during the day, and if he slacked in his work, what would that mean for his family back home?
He hadn't gotten more than a passing glimpse of the friendly doctor since his initial meeting with her, which meant no chance to find out whether she'd learned anything about Daryl's or Maggie's fates. If she'd ever intended to follow through in the first place. For all Aaron knew, his friends were both already dead, he would be next, and Negan would just keep stringing everyone in Alexandria along, pretending his hostages were still alive so everyone would keep cooperating. Maybe his family would never know what happened to him.
Aaron had worked himself more than halfway to a full-blown nervous breakdown when he realized that someone was knocking on his door. Great, there goes the illusion of privacy. He could only imagine what he must look like to whoever was on the other side, dressed in rumpled scrub pants and an undershirt, eyes bloodshot and face blotchy from crying. But it's not as though he could ignore his visitor or pretend he wasn't "home". Where else was he going to be?
He couldn't decide whether to be relieved or further embarrassed when he saw Murphy and Connor McManus' matching all-black attire and expectant faces when he opened the door. He settled for a bit of both as he invited them in while trying to discretely wipe his face.
If the brothers noticed, they said nothing about it. "We won't be long. Brought you something you might find helpful." Connor held out two matching notebooks bound in soft black leather. Beside him, Murphy's outstretched hand held a pack of pens.
"I, ah, thank you, I mean, um – "
"It's so you can write to your son," Connor explained.
"I… what?"
"First run to Alexandria's tomorrow. We're both going. One journal stays with you, the other goes to your family. We'll switch them off each week. That way, you can write back and forth, keep in touch."
Aaron ran shaking fingers over the leather binding with a kind of reverence, "I can…I can write to my fam – " he choked up in a fresh wave of tears. "But – "
"It's all been cleared with Negan," Murphy guessed at Aaron's unspoken concern, "He reserves the right to read anything you put in there, so bear in mind, this is just for making things easier on your boy."
"Right… right… okay," Aaron could barely speak above a whisper, emotions overwhelming him.
Connor gave a nod and a significant look to the journals, "If you write in that first one tonight, we can take it with us in the morning."
Aaron couldn't be bothered to hide his confusion as he did what the twins seemed to want him to do without explicitly saying so, but the pointed look made more sense when Aaron pulled back the cover of the top journal and found a torn scrap of paper resting above the blank pages.
Maggie's alive and recovering. Daryl too. I told you, everything's going to be fine. You're going to make it. – Doc
Aaron swallowed and tried to steady his breathing as he processed his thoughts, tried to wrap his mind around what his new friend must have done not only to keep her word, but to make this gift possible.
"Just leave it on the table, we'll swing by before we leave. And don't worry, we won't forget," Murphy assured.
Make that friends, plural. Aaron met both brothers' eyes, "I won't forget, either. Thank you," he whispered.
He waited until they had closed the door gently behind them before hugging the books to his chest and breathing deeply. It was the first tangible glimmer of hope he'd had since kneeling at the Saviors' feet and he wanted to revel in it for just a moment.
Okay, I can do this. They're alive, I'm not alone, and I can write to my family. Which then begged the question, What do I tell them?
Glancing at the bedside clock, Aaron realized how late it had gotten and sprang into action with renewed purpose. He had work to do and he had a feeling that, if he hurried, he might get some real sleep tonight.
Dear Luke...
Daryl didn't sleep at all, and he knew it must have showed on his face when the cell door opened the next morning.
Negan was waiting on the other side. "So, what's it going to be? The big question: Who are you?"
Daryl kept his eyes downcast but stayed on his feet as he gave the answer he hoped he could live with.
"Daryl."
Negan nodded, accepting his choice. "Alright then, Daryl, let's go for a ride."
Sorry about the delay; hopefully, it was worth the wait. Remember, reviews make authors happy, and happy authors tend to write faster...