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Nicole POV

"Remember this walls I built? Well baby, they're tumbling down. They don't even put up a fight. They don't even make a sound."- Halo, Beyoncé

"Nicole?" Daryl called from behind me. I didn't acknowledge him, and I could almost feel him groan behind me. "Nicole?"

I turned slowly, leaning against the porch railing. "Yes?" I raised an eyebrow.

His face was calm, but I could see the apprehension in his eyes. He awkwardly cleared his throat. "I'm...um…I'm sorry." He ran his hand through his hair nervously, not meeting my gaze.

"You've got nothing to be sorry about." I shrugged, crossing my arms over my chest.

He instantly looked up, his eyes wide. "What?"

"You shouldn't be apologizing. You didn't do anything wrong." I said again, speaking slowly, mocking him slightly. He looked me up and down, as if trying to decide what to say. I laughed a little. "Didn't think I'd say that, did you?"

He chuckled lowly, shoving his hands in his pockets. "No. I..I guess I didn't."

I rolled my eyes. "What did you think I would say?" I asked him this innocently, but I honestly wanted to know what he was thinking. I could usually read people, but not Daryl. He was closed off, like me.

"Um…." he thought for a minute, and I knew he was choosing his words carefully. Smart man. "I thought you'd be a mad, I mean, at least a little mad."

I chuckled. "Huh. Trust me. I've heard worse."

"Let me guess. Abusive, alcoholic father?" He took a step closer to me. I wanted to lean away, but I stopped myself. I looked him up and down, unsure of his reasons. He put his hands up in mock surrender. "Hey, I get it. I had the same."

"Figures." I grunted, turning away, so I was facing out toward the field, and away from him, but he just stood next to me, leaning on the railing so he was facing me.

"What do ya' mean 'figures'?" He asked defensively.

"It just makes sense." I shrugged, still avoiding his gaze. "That's why you're so moody and detached. Just a whole bunch of daddy issues."

"The hell?" He grunted. He turned so he was facing the same direction I was. "You don't know anything about me." He hissed.

"And you don't know anything about me." I retorted, running a hand through my tangled hair. The silence was heavy, uncomfortable. You could feel the irritation.

"I know you had an abusive father." He said finally.

"I know you did too." I grunted, trying to break the twisted knots in my hair. A question had been nagging at me this entire time, eating away at my mind. Something I had to know. "What happened to yours?"

"Mine?" He looked at me.

"Your father." I specified.

"Ah." He groaned. "He's… he was out of the picture. Prison. Drugs, child abuse, theft, assault. Last time I saw him was 10 years before this all went down, at his court hearing."

I nodded, soaking in the information. I knew the question that was coming next , but I wasn't sure how to answer, or at least, answer it in a way that didn't make me sound nuts, or at least, not extremely nuts.

"So, what about yours?" There it was. There was the question, the one I had been waiting for.

"Not sure." I admitted.

"Not sure?" He questioned.

"I haven't seen him since I went to live with Shane, since I was twelve….. since….." I trailed off, reliving the horrible memories in my mind. It was so fresh, so vivid, like it happened yesterday, and not ten years ago. I could still picture everything so clearly.

"Nicole? Nicole?" Daryl startled me out of my thoughts.

"Yeah?" I grunted.

"You trailed off." He shrugged. "You haven't seen him since…?"

I inhaled slowly. To make sure he understood this, I had to start at the beginning. "Marcus married my mom when I was 5. Before that, she was a single mother. When he came into the picture, I didn't know what to do. I had never had a real father figure, so when he told me to do something, I did it, no question. I did anything he asked. Anything, as long as it seemed to make him happy. For years I went on like this. If he was mad, he hit me, and I let him. He told me it was good that I do that. He told me it helped him, and I would do anything to help him."

"But then, when I hit 11, things got….worse. He started hitting me more, and harder. And, when he lost his job…. things got really bad….. to the point where he….he…" I trailed off again, not wanting to go into that particular part of the story. "Anyway, I started to realize what he was doing, and how wrong it was. It got to the point where I, I just couldn't take it anymore. So, one day, while I was chopping wood, he came out of the house. He was drunk off his ass and pissed as hell. He was screaming and slurring and stumbling, and he started swinging at me. I told him off, told him I was never going to let him touch me again, and that only pissed him off more. It was one of the worst beatings I had ever taken. And when he was done, he just left me there, broken on the ground. He went to go take another swig of beer, and I just snapped. I ran at him. I grabbed my axe…."

"And?" He pressed, raising an eyebrow.

"And….." how was I supposed to say this? "And I cut his hand off."

"You what?" Daryl yelled in surprise. He took a step away from me, looking me up and down like I was insane.

"I cut his hand off." I repeated. I cringed at the memory. I could still smell the blood, feel it spatter all over my face. I could hear Marvin's moans of pain, his screams of anguish, the rush of excitement, my brother screaming, my mom crying.

"So...you cut your step father's hand off?" He stated.

"Yes." I nodded.

"With an axe?"

"Yes."

"Then what happened?"

"Then the police came. Marcus went to the hospital, got a stub for an arm. He tried to throw me in prison, but the jury wasn't having it. They labeled it self defense, and sent Marcus to prison. He was charged with child abuse, spousal abuse, aggravated assault, the whole nine yards. His ass went to prison, and I went to live with Shane. And then I met Rick, and Lori, and Carl, and my life went on from there." I finished my story, crossing my arms.

"So…." Daryl mumbled.

"So…" I shrugged, awkwardly looking away. "You think I'm nuts, don't you?"

"No." He said. "No, I don't."

"Then what do you think?" I asked honestly, looking at him. He caught my gaze and held it, looking intently at me.

"I think you're different than anyone I've ever met." He shrugged.

"That good or bad?" I laughed wryly.

"Good." He grunted. I smiled a little, but quickly wiped it away. "I've never met anyone with that much guts before."

"Thanks." I smirked. "I don't think I'd call it guts though."

"I would. Cut off my dad's hands? I would never have been able to do something like that. Hell, I wasn't even the one who turned him in. It was some guy he beat up on the street. When he beat me, I just took it. I didn't complain. I didn't act. I just took it. I never had the guts to take action like you did. Eventually, I just ran from my problems. I hid." Daryl looked away when my eyes softened, not wanting any of my pity.

"Well...thanks, I guess." I giggled, nodding my head slowly.

"Your welcome, I guess." He chuckled. Once again, we fell into a silence, but this time it was less uncomfortable.

"Hey! Daryl! Nicole!" We turned to face the voice. It was T-Dog, standing up the hill, a gun in his hands.

"What?" Daryl called back, grabbing his bow.

"Rick and Shane are back." The man explained, while still yelling. "They didn't let Randall go."

"Shit!" Daryl hissed, gripping his bow tighter. He looked to me, annoyance in his eyes. "Let's go, as how they f-ed it up again."

I snorted and shouldered my bow. "Yeah. Let's go."

"Hey Nicole," Daryl stopped for a second, grabbing my arm. My skin burned where his hand was, and I fought the blush rising in my cheeks. I looked up at him quizzically. "Sorry about your shitty life."

I rolled my eyes. "Thanks."

As he let my arm go and began to walk away, I grabbed his arm, stopping him once again. When he turned and looked at me, I gave him a gentle smile.

"You can call me Cole."

There you go! A little Daryl and Nicole fluff! Let me know what you think!