Chapter 3 - If you like pina coladas
Out in the courtyard, there were a handful of picnic tables and a long trestle table on one side where the group shared meals. On the other side, there were two oil drums surrounded by bench seats which had become the place for most of them to gather in the evenings, fire burning in the drums, sometimes the only time of the day they were all together.
Michonne led her friend out from the prison block, and guided her to sit at one of the bench seats around the fire between herself and Glenn, and then started making introductions to the others nearby that Tahlia hadn't yet met.
From his vantage point on the ledge back by the concrete wall, even Daryl had to grudgingly admit, she cleaned up pretty well. More than pretty well, if he were honest - she was just goddamn pretty. Her washed hair now fell in wet, dark waves below her shoulders and a clean white fitted tank top and jeans accentuated her lean yet curved body. Those full red lips were curled in a smile over straight white teeth, and her eyes were warm and friendly. Those eyes. Like a green pool where the colour grows deeper the longer you stare, and the bottom is just an idea. Like there could be all manner of things in there, hiding in the depths. Like it would be easy to drown in them.
With some willpower, he forced himself to look away, moving the stones at his feet around with his boot tips instead.
Now that the initial tense meeting at the prison was behind her, Tahlia had relaxed a little, dropping her guard and settling into her usual open and friendly manner, a ready smile on her lips. She gave Glenn a friendly bump on the shoulder with her own. "So... just wanted to put it out there that I'm super sorry about, you know... holding you at knife point before. Won't happen again!" She gave a sheepish grin, and Glenn laughed good-naturedly.
"No hard feelings! I just think it's awesome that we found you – stumbling across one of Michonne's long-lost friends out there! Kinda makes me wonder if there's anyone from my old life still wandering around."
Tahlia nodded, she still couldn't believe it herself. "I'm pretty damn lucky, that's for sure." She laid a hand on Glenn's arm. "And I know what you mean. Sometimes it'd be nice just to know who's still out there."
"So... what's your story? Tell us something about yourself." said Sasha, leaning forward a little.
"Well," Tahlia flicked her hair over her shoulder and started ticking items off on her fingers. "I like pina coladas; getting caught in the rain; I'm not much into health food, I am into-"
"Oh my God." Michonne chuckled and elbowed her hard in the side. "Nice to see you haven't changed one bit!" She addressed the others around the fire. "I apologise in advance for my complete clown of a friend who struggles to maintain any level of seriousness." Then to Tahlia, who was trying to suppress a smile as she studied her hands. "At least a whole damn year's gone by – thought the world woulda sombered you up a little by now." Michonne laughed, draping an arm around her friend's shoulders.
Tahlia grinned and shook her head. "No way. You know what they say: don't take life too seriously, because-"
"You'll never make it out alive!" Glenn finished.
"Yes!" Tahlia nudged him enthusiastically. "This guy knows it! Awesome."
The others laughed while Daryl's frown deepened.
"So," Maggie cut in curiously. "What did you do before all this?"
"Worked for the Atlanta Children's Shelter. Managed the funds, did the financials. Stuff like that."
"I worked with some folk from there a couple of times over the years. Good bunch." Rick said with a smile. "You Georgia born and bred?"
"No, my mama was from Virginia and my daddy was English, so we... I was born over in England, then we came back to the States when I was about 3, and after a bit ended up settling in Atlanta for my daddy's work."
"Where abouts in Atlanta?"
"Pleasant Hill."
Glenn raised his brows. "Hey, did you go to North Atlanta High? My aunt taught Math there."
"Uh, no... I went to boarding school up Tallulah Falls way."
"Boarding school? That's so weird." Glenn remarked, wrinkling his nose. "There's a whole bunch of good schools round where you lived!"
Tahlia shrugged and gave a tight smile. "Boarding school was kinda the done thing with the people we knew in England so daddy was all for it. Guess I'm lucky he didn't send me all the way over there!"
Daryl narrowed his eyes. Sounded like a rich city girl to him. A pretty princess who'd never had to struggle for anything in her life. A life opposite to his. Her easy confidence and ready friendliness was really starting to grate on him. For someone they'd just found living rough and alone, she looked about as affected as if she'd been existing in a happy bubble and didn't even realise what a pile of shit the world was in. Figures, he thought, privileged kid who has it easy in life still has it easy in the apocalypse.
By the fire, Tahlia did her best to answer their questions with enough information that she wouldn't seem cagey, while not revealing too much about herself, and kept adeptly steering the conversation away from herself to focus on the others, keenly questioning and piecing out bits of their stories, learning all about them. It wasn't that she had anything to hide as such, she just didn't like laying all her cards out on the table, and she much preferred finding out about others, getting to know them before they could get to know her. She'd been that way ever since she was a child. Always keenly interested in people – the whys and the whats that made them tick, their stories.
Julie down the street couldn't eat oranges because it made the back of her hands red and itchy.
Scott the gardener was missing a little toe from an unfortunate incident with a spade when he was ten.
Fiona from school only had one ear pierced because she had been too scared to get the second one done.
And, as she got older, she delved deeper.
Mr Greenshields walked the street every morning at 7:30am to visit his wife's grave. They had been married for 62 years and her favourite flowers were dahlias.
Natacha from the fruit store had fled Haiti with nothing but the clothes on her back when she was 18 years old.
Boris the busker's dreams of playing at Madison Square Gardens had been dashed long ago because he liked the bottle a little too much.
(Tahlia hadn't understood what that had meant and had to ask her mother, who chastised her, as she frequently did, for being a Nosy Nelly and told her to stop snooping in other people's business. But, Tahlia would argue, how could it be snooping if someone volunteered the information during an innocent conversation?)
The more she talked to people, the more she found that, for the most part, people wanted to talk. Wanted to share the shards of their lives. Wanted someone to connect with. And, in turn, she found herself wanting to be that sounding board for them. Wanting to get below the surface and make those deeper connections with people. She liked being the listener, the confidant. Being who others needed her to be. She learned how to use her naturally tactile nature, open smile and body language to warm people to her, how to give away just enough of herself that it made them feel like they knew her too and were happy to open up.
She'd been through enough therapy sessions over the years to know that this wasn't always a positive thing. The voice of Dr. Goode echoed in her head. Reminding her that sometimes, too much of her self-validation came from how well she was liked by others. That she had a tendency to take on so much from other people that she neglected herself. That it was easy for her to be walked all over, used, because she didn't maintain her own boundaries.
But still. It felt good. Making connections. Feeling like she was someone to others.
And since she'd been on her own for a while, she was channeling her best warm and sparkly self as she greedily lapped up everything the others had to offer her. And Dr. Goode was probably dead now anyway, so her opinions didn't matter anymore.
Leaning back against the concrete wall, Daryl scowled at the sight of the others almost competing for Tahlia's attention as they shared their stories. He didn't want to share any of his story with her. Somehow, even out here, after the way the world was now, he still felt inferior – especially compared to someone like her who, before, would have circulated worlds above him - and still felt like that worthless ass redneck who was brought up on whisky fumes, cigarette smoke and pain, with nothing to his name except a crossbow and a leather vest.
A frown darkened his face and he sucked on his teeth, dragging hard on his cigarette, consciously having to force himself to draw his gaze away from that smile, those eyes, resentment towards her building already.
"So, what do you make of our new recruit?" Carol came to sit next to Daryl against the wall, folding her hands in her lap.
He chewed on his bottom lip. "Don't like her. Too friendly."
Carol gave a small laugh and nodded. "Yep, she sure is friendly. And chirpy. Can't trust the happy ones."
They sat quietly for a few moments while Daryl smoked.
"She's pretty." remarked Carol, watching the man for his reaction.
"Ain't noticed."
Carol couldn't help but give a skeptical laugh at that. "Yeah right. You'd have to be blind not to notice."
He shrugged huffishly. "Guess she just ain't my type."
"You have a type, pookie?" goaded Carol, giving him a nudge with her elbow. "And what would that be?"
Daryl's dark look was enough to shut down that line of questioning, and Carol chuckled, looping an arm through his and giving him a squeeze.
A short while later, Daryl couldn't stand hearing any more of the animated chat around the fire, and was just getting up to head back to his cell, when Michonne made a beeline for him.
"Play nice." She punctuated her words with light punches to his arm.
"Huh?"
"With Tahlia. You think I haven't noticed you being all spiky?"
"Yeah? Well maybe I wanna keep my distance so she don't end up takin' me out on compassionate grounds."
Michonne rolled her eyes. "She just doesn't like to see people suffer, that's all. Not like she's gonna cut your throat in your sleep. Baby. Anyway, that girl's like a sister to me, so be nice, Dixon. Please." Michonne implored.
Daryl gave a moody huff. "Why'd ya need me to be nice to her when she's got everyone fawnin' over her already?" He inclined his head towards where Tahlia was still sitting in the middle of the group conversing with the others, looking as comfortable as if she'd known them all her life.
"Ah yeah, she's a people person." Michonne let out a fond laugh. "Loves befriending people. You watch. Give her a couple of days and she'll be on a first name basis with everyone here - and know something personal about every single one of them."
Daryl snorted in disbelief. "Nuh-uh. I still don't even know everyone's names."
"Course you don't. But she will." replied Michonne. "Just what she does."
"What's the damn point?" scowled Daryl. "Why bother makin' a bunch of random friends just for the sake of it. What's the good in that?"
A reflective look descended upon Michonne's face as she gazed over at the group by the fire. "There's a lot of good in it. In her. It's like... she can shine this light on you and make you feel really seen." Michonne refocused on Daryl. "And let me tell you, that light has pulled me out of dark places more than once."
The snide retort died in Daryl's throat as he noted the sincerity in Michonne's eyes, and he slowly drew his gaze back to the fire once again to study the woman in question.
Suddenly, Michonne's hand clapped down on his shoulder and broke his concentration. "And don't bother trying to resist it!" she said, her tone a playful warning. "She'll shine that light on you too, Dixon."
"Fuckin' shinin' light. Load of shit." grumbled Daryl, wrinkling his nose dubiously.
He genuinely couldn't imagine being friends with that girl. Sure, living in a group together meant that they'd have some interaction, conversations – hell, they might even end up having to back each other up in a hairy situation - but it just didn't seem possible that they would have a friendship. For starters, he was not a people person. He was more than happy with his own company, and much preferred it to being in the middle of a busy group. Secondly, he didn't like small talk and pleasantries. He just didn't get it. Genuine friendships for Daryl were rare, and any that he had were hard won, forged and solid – just like the ones in this group, the people who had been through the worst with him so far. They also happened to be with people who sat a little left of the spotlight, the ones who were a little broken too, whose souls were heavier, who had darkness behind their eyes. He had to feel a deep and genuine respect for the other person, and have the knowledge that they were real and loyal.
So, it seemed inconceivable that he would ever be able to have a genuine friendship with that sunny, confident, lighthearted girl by the fire.
Michonne was way off with that one.
Later that evening after everyone had retired to their rooms, Michonne and Tahlia were sitting together outside on the hillock beyond the cellblock, watching the stars.
"Tell me what happened to you after we were separated." asked Tahlia, softly.
Michonne sighed and rubbed a hand over her face as memories of the past year jumbled in her head. She told Tahlia of finding Andrea, of caring for her and nursing her back to health. She spoke of their eventual capture and of Woodbury, then all of the ensuing saga with the Governor and his attack, of her searches for him, her hope to fulfill her vendetta. Finally, she described her time at the prison with this group, of feeling like she finally fit in, had a place with them, of how decent they all were.
"It's been a lot, but things have been steady since I've been here. Things have been... good." She bumped the other woman's shoulder lightly with her own. "You can't have been on your own since I lost you?"
Tahlia bobbed her head from side to side in contemplation. "No, not always. I found three groups along the way. Well, the first group found me right after... after. In two of the groups, I ended up being the only survivor. The other group... they just weren't right for me. A bit dysfunctional, different values, ones that didn't sit right with me, so I left. Figured being out there alone was better than being with them. I'd been on my own for a couple of months, I guess, by the time you found me."
"Do you want to talk about it yet? About that night we were separated?" Michonne ventured carefully.
Tahlia kept her eyes on the stars and shook her head. "No. I don't. I don't even want to think about it. I just want to pretend it all happened to someone else."
"Ok." Michonne said in understanding, and took her friend's hand, squeezing it gently. "If you ever need to talk, about that, about anything, I'm here."
They were quiet for a while, then Tahlia spoke again. "We could go back out there, you know. Me and you. I'll help you look for the Governor, then when we find him, we could just keep moving. See what else we can find."
Michonne contemplated this for a long moment, then squeezed Tahlia's hand again. "I think I'm done. Looking for him. I think I'm ready to let that go, and start looking forward. This group, these people, I think this is where I want to stay. With them. Andrea told me they were good, and I took a chance to come and find out if that was true. And they are, Tahly. They are good people. You don't find that many anymore."
"Truth." agreed Tahlia. "But you wanna stay here? At a prison?"
"I know, it's not ideal, but it feels nice to have somewhere to call home, to try and put down roots again. And you know that home is not about the place, but about who you're with. I feel like I've found a place with them, they feel like family. For the first time in a long time, things feel like they might actually be ok." An impassioned look blazed across her face. "And you're here now, too, against the odds. I don't want to lose you again, so stay, please. You'll fit right in, you'll love these people. They could become your family too." Michonne turned to face Tahlia, and gave her a deeply knowing look. "It's about time you had one."
A flicker of emotion passed across Tahlia's features as she chewed thoughtfully on her thumbnail. "Maybe. Maybe."
"Yes." Michonne pulled her friend into a side hug. "Let's make a good life. Let's make this work."
"Ok." conceded Tahlia. "Let's do that."
A/N: I'm not American so forgive me if my geography or attempt at making things sound American misses the mark!
Also, around the fire Tahlia is quoting from the Rupert Holmes song, Escape (The Pina Colada Song)