Chapter 13 - Runs and newbies

Tahlia was just heading back up to the prison after feeding the animals, when Michonne accosted her. "Wanna go clothes shopping today, sis?" she grinned, grabbing her friend by the shoulders.

"You know I'm always up for a shopping spree! Let me just clean up a little and I'm ready to go!" Tahlia held up her dirty hands, then jogged off to the washroom.

Ten minutes later, the two women were sauntering down to the vehicle bay to grab one of the cars for their run when they passed Daryl who'd just come back from a hunt, a small deer hung across his shoulders.

"Save some for us!" Michonne pointed at the deer as they passed.

"Where ya goin'?" he questioned, stopping and turning to face them.

"To do a lil bit of shopping."

"Huh?"

"Just gonna have a browse around, see what we can find." Michonne shrugged.

"Yeah, but where?"

"Not sure yet. That general direction." Tahlia pointed to the road leading out of the prison.

"Gotta tell people where ya goin'! What if somethin' happens to ya out there?"

Michonne gave him a withering look. "What? So we can call you and get you to come pick us up?"

He frowned. "So we got somewhere to start lookin'."

Softening, Michonne patted his arm. "We'll be fine. Two sword-wielding badass chicks against the world? What could go wrong?"

"Well, how long ya plan on bein' gone?"

Michonne gave him another look, this time more curious. She'd been out there plenty of times, many of them on her own, and Daryl had never been anywhere near this concerned.

She shot a sideways glance at Tahlia, who was a couple of yards away, tying her bootlace, then back to Daryl. "Few hours, max. Anyway, I thought you were heading out today as well?"

He shrugged. "Yeah, goin' on a run with Sash and Maggie."

"Well where are you going? How long will you be gone for? You'll be grounded if you miss your curfew!" Michonne teased, earning herself a dirty look from the hunter. "Catch you later." she grinned, and headed off with Tahlia.

Daryl gave a grunt and frowned, a bubbling fizz of concern in his belly as he watched them go.

An uneventful hour later, the two women had stopped at a small settlement, and chosen a quiet and still relatively tidy looking cul de sac to start ransacking.

Slicing down a couple of stray walkers, Michonne pointed to a white bungalow with a large overgrown garden and a picket fence. Vaulting the fence easily, she gestured to Tahlia. "Come on, let's start with this one."

Tapping her sword handle several times on the door, she waited for any telltale rasping on the other side. "Sounds clear. Ready?"

Tahlia, right behind her, nodded, sword at the ready. They entered the house, shutting the door quickly behind them, and covered each other as they cleared the front room. They'd done this together many times before, so naturally fell straight back into their usual formation and routine, no discussion needed.

"Kitchen next, I could use some snacks." Tahlia rounded the corner into the kitchen and started rifling through the cupboards.

"So, how you going at the prison so far?" Michonne asked, opening a cupboard. "Gross, don't look in here." She slammed it shut again. "Seems like you're at home there already."

"Yup, feel like a regular jailbird!" replied Tahlia, finding a jar of peanut butter. "Yes! Crunchy." A fork was the first utensil she laid her hands on in the cutlery drawer, and it was good enough for her. She made a happy noise as she had a mouthful of the spread.

"Do I even need to ask if you know everyone's names and life histories yet?" teased Michonne.

Tahlia gave a playful roll of her eyes as she swallowed down the peanut butter. "Please Michy, I've been there for a couple of weeks. I was ready for the pop quiz ten days ago!" she grinned, then said sincerely, "There really are some amazing people there."

"Yeah." agreed Michonne. "Told you they were a good bunch."

"That you did."

Michonne found a large plastic basin, and threw a few items they wanted into it, then they headed to the next room.

"You worked your magic on Rick pretty quickly. Don't know what kind of spell you cast to get him out doing yoga with you!"

Tahlia laughed. "Black magic, baby. Aw, he's a great guy. Been through a lot, huh?"

Michonne nodded. "Yep. And carried that original group through since the early days. He's an incredible leader. We're lucky to have him." After inspecting the tools for the fireplace, she chucked them in the basin, then followed Tahlia up the stairs.

"Is Daryl being nice to you? Spear tackle in the gardens not included."

Tahlia shot her friend a glance over her shoulder as she stepped onto the landing. "I'm not sure what nice looks like from him. Why's that?"

"I told him the day we brought you in that he'd better be. Stop being so spiky."

Tahlia laughed. "Shit, well maybe what I've seen so far is as good as it's going to get! He's an interesting one. Like seems all surly and closed off, then has these moments of... softness? I don't know if that's the right word, but you get this glimpse of something underneath the armour. It's kind of intriguing."

Pushing through into a bedroom, Michonne quickly stabbed at a walker dragging itself across the floor. "Ree-allly? Fascinated by scruffy Mr. Dixon, are we?" She arched a brow at her friend and grinned at the pink tinge that rose on Tahlia's cheeks before she managed to turn away.

"Oh, come on, you know what I mean, right?"

Michonne laughed. "I do know. It took a while for him and I to get to know each other. We were both pretty guarded when I first met him, but after spending a bit of time together, runs and stuff, we got there. He definitely comes across as a grouchy hard ass, but under that he's loyal and kind – even funny sometimes! - and he's got a heart of gold. He'd kill me if he knew I said that though, so don't tell him." She pored over a bookshelf and lifted out a handful of comics. "Awesome, Carl will love these." She turned back to Tahlia. "He's one of the good guys, Tahls. He really is."

Tahlia glanced over at Michonne as she opened a desk drawer. "I'm sure he is. Lots of good people in that group." she said, trying to sound nonchalant.

Michonne rolled her eyes at Tahlia's blatant downplay. "The others might not know you – but I do. I know you damned well, and don't you forget it." she told her friend with a smug smile. "I'm going to the next room."

"Dammit." Tahlia muttered, wishing she hadn't elaborated so much on her appraisal of Daryl. Her soft spot for him must've been glaringly obvious to Michonne. Rifling through a drawer, some items caught her eye. "Speaking of the bloody devil." she breathed to herself as she bagged them quickly.

Meeting Michonne in the next room, a nursery, she picked up a few toys and pulled some clothes from the drawers. "I'm just gonna grab a few bits for Judith." It didn't pass her by that Michonne just stood in the middle of the room, eyes shining in pain as they raked over every item.

"So..." ventured Tahlia. "Spend much time with Judith?"

Michonne toed the carpet. "Can't."

"Have you told anyone about Andre?" asked Tahlia gently.

Michonne sighed. "No. Can't bring myself to. It'll make it too real. Like, if they don't know about it, then they won't look at me like... like..."

Tahlia nodded. She knew that feeling. When people found out about your losses, your secrets, they suddenly saw you in a different light, tiptoed around you.

"When I arrived at the prison it took a long time for me to let my guard down and for them to trust me too." said Michonne. "So it just wasn't something I wanted to share with any of them. I haven't really told them much about my life at all. And I would now, but... I don't know how. Can we get out of this room please?"

Wordlessly, Tahlia crossed the room to Michonne and pulled her close in a tight embrace, feeling her resist momentarily, before her friend hugged her back, sniffing into her shoulder.

"I'm so damn glad to have you back." Michonne whispered fiercely into Tahlia's hair.

Meanwhile, Daryl, Sasha and Maggie had headed out to a set of cabins up off the western highway where they found enough supplies to make it worth their while. On their way back, they decided to check out a small, derelict elementary school, bordered by fields.

"Hey, let's check in here. Could be some medical supplies in the nurse's office, or at the very least, some stuff for the kids."

They pulled into the empty lot of the rural school, relieved that there were no walkers in sight.

"Any point in checking the classrooms?" asked Sasha, as they peered in the window of what looked to be the first grade classroom.

"Hmm." Maggie kicked open the door of the empty class, darting inside to the teacher's desk and quickly inspecting the cupboard. "Yes!"

She brandished a big glass jar. "Just like my first teacher – had a jar of jelly beans in the cupboard as rewards!" Bagging the jar, she headed back outside with the others. "Ok, let's try the admin block – looks like it's this way."

Daryl smashed a large, low window, and waited for any telltale rasping, but all was silent, so they carefully climbed inside. Standing in the wide, dingy corridor, Daryl cocked his head. The air didn't feel as stale in here. Like the space had been recently used. His skin prickled and his body went into high alert as they moved forward.

"Here." Sasha ducked into the nurse's office, and pulling open the cupboards, found a few bandages, antihistamines and anti-inflammatories. "Few things in here. Not bad." she commented as she shoved the items in her pack.

Standing guard outside the door, Daryl's eyes flicked from left to right, expecting danger, yet nothing appeared.

"Ok, let's check those offices down that way and then get out of here." pointed Sasha.

"Oh, wait! Can we check the library?" Maggie gestured to the end of the corridor. "Wouldn't it be nice to get some books for the kids?"

As soon as they set foot in the gloomy library, Daryl was certain he sensed a slight movement up ahead and to the left, behind the first row of shelves. With a low whistle to alert Maggie and Sasha, he indicated that they stay put as he carefully moved forward.

As he rounded the first set of shelves – nothing. Quietly he rounded the second and padded silently towards the desk at the end of the row.

"Don't move, asshole." he growled as he peered over the desk, crossbow at the ready. The last word died on his tongue as he realised he was aiming at a young, terrified girl - couldn't be much older than Carl.

"Daryl!" came Maggie's urgent call from somewhere behind him.

"Up." Daryl commanded, sounding surer than he felt, and the girl, trembling, stood, her eyes wide and unwavering from the hunter. "Move." he indicated the way he'd come, and with trepidation, she made her way back down the aisle towards the entrance, hands raised in the air.

Daryl followed the girl around the shelves, greeted by the tense scene of Maggie and Sasha, weapons at the ready, facing off against two men and a woman holding machetes and a hammer, respectively.

"Ain't got much hope with those weapons 'gainst ours." he called out.

"Just let her go." the dark-haired man said, indicating the girl. "Give her back to us and there won't be any trouble."

"More like, drop your weapons before trouble starts." warned Sasha, holding her gun steady.

The girl in front of Daryl started to cry.

"Elise! It's ok sweetie, it's ok!" the female with the hammer called in anguish.

"Goddammit!" swore Maggie. "Let's just all put our damn weapons down now." She lowered her gun, ignoring Daryl's warning grunt.

Following suit, the others did too – except for Daryl - although everyone was still very much on edge.

"Is this all of you?" asked Sasha.

"Yes." said the blond man firmly, stepping forward, his machete at his side, the slight waver in his voice betraying his confident stance.

Maggie sympathised. The imposing figure of the burly hunter and his crossbow was certainly not for the faint hearted.

"I'm Brody. This is Joel," He indicated the dark-haired man, "-his wife Selena, and her sister Elise." He pointed to the girl.

Maggie returned the introductions.

"We've been camping out here for a couple of months now." offered Selena hesitantly. "Didn't know where else to go, what else to do."

Daryl finally lowered his crossbow, and with a loud sob, Elise darted forward into her sister's arms.

"Please, we don't mean you any harm at all. We just want to be left alone." Joel pleaded.

Brody glanced at him, then back at Daryl. "Do... do you have a camp?"

Daryl chewed on his bottom lip for a moment. "We got a place." He took another step forward. "How many walkers you killed?"

"Walkers? The dead things?" asked Brody. "Some, I guess, not many. Just when we have to."

"How many people you killed?"

The two other men shared a look. "One." Joel said quietly, looking tense. "Just one, and he fucking deserved it."

"Why?"

Joel's jaw clenched. "He tried to hurt Elise." he replied quietly.

Maggie and Sasha moved closer to Daryl and conferred in hushed tones.

"Should we bring them back? We should bring them back." whispered Maggie.

"Ain't sure 'bout that."

"Come on Daryl, that girl can't be more than 15 years old! We've got the space, and they seem like decent folk."

Daryl just gave a dismissive huff.

"Sash, come on – back me up here. You think we should bring them back?"

Sasha leaned back to peer over at the people now huddled by the door, then slowly bobbed her head from side to side and gave a cheeky grin. "Well, I can't say I'd be averse to seeing that guy around every day." She waggled her eyebrows at Maggie.

Maggie giggled and elbowed her. "Sash!"

Daryl's frown deepened. "Huh?"

"Come on Daryl, surely even you can see that he is... mmm-mmm..." Sasha trailed off and nodded her head at Brody appreciatively.

"For God's sake, grow up wouldya?" Daryl snapped but had another quick look at the man in question – shaggy blond hair, bright blue eyes, strong physique, confident demeanor. Probably the kind of guy that turned a lot of heads. Daryl stood up a little straighter, trying not to let his inferiority complex get the better of him.

Despite his misgivings, they ended up inviting the school group back to the prison, and they gladly accepted, offering the several boxes of supplies that they had stockpiled, plus a whole bunch of library books for the kids.

Once back at the prison, Sasha, Daryl and Maggie led the newbies up the hill.

"Brody, you should really get that arm seen to." Sasha told the blond man as they neared the courtyard. "Tahlia will be able to sort that out, I'm sure she's around somewhere."

"Just take him to the infirmary. Hershel will be there." Daryl said quickly, suddenly thinking that it would be better if this apparently very good-looking guy didn't go anywhere near Tahlia.

"Oh, no need, look, Tahly's right there. Tahly!"

Before Daryl could say anything further, Sasha was already calling out to Tahlia who was near the outer courtyard wall, kneeling in the gravel next to Butter, laughing as the little goat licked at her jeans.

When she heard her name, Tahlia went to stand up, and as she did so, flicked her dark hair over one shoulder, then lifted both her hands to her forehead to shield the late afternoon sun from her face, her tank top rising up and revealing several inches of her toned waist, her eyes glinting a glowing emerald green even from this distance, her mouth already curved in a beautiful smile.

Daryl felt his stomach tighten at the sight of her, somehow still finding her goddamn breathtaking even though he should be used to seeing her around by now. Realising that he was staring, he quickly averted his gaze, but soon discovered he hadn't been the only one. Brody was transfixed, a spark of desire flickering in his eyes, and Daryl found his insides immediately flaring in possessive response.

"Hi!" Tahlia greeted them as she approached, and Sasha did the introductions.

"Tahls, Brody here has a pretty nasty wound on his arm, think you can take care of it?"

Brody peeled the makeshift bandage off his arm, and Tahlia's eyebrows shot up.

"Ooh, yeah that's gotta make your eyes water."

"Barely a scratch." he replied with a brilliant, dimpled grin.

Tahlia laughed.

Daryl gritted his teeth.

"Tough guy, huh?" teased Tahlia. "Well, I'm sure you won't mind when I disinfect the shit outta that. Come with me."

Daryl watched on as the two of them started over to the infirmary, flanked by Butter, already chatting easily like they were old friends, and his gut twisted in a very unpleasant and unfamiliar way.

Moody and irritable as he stomped around emptying the supplies from the car, he almost didn't notice Carol calling out to him.

"Hey! Food's up in the courtyard when you're ready!"

"'Kay." he grunted. "Be there in a bit."

The last thing he felt like doing was socialising, but part of him wanted to see what that new guy would be like around the others. Well, if he were honest, just around one other. But first he needed to drop his crossbow and pack off at his cell. When he pushed through his privacy curtain, he stopped in his tracks as he caught sight of something on his bed.

There, on his tangled blanket were two large sketch pads, two smaller ones, a box of pencils, a sharpener and a tray of pastels. With a hard swallow, he picked up the box of pencils and opened it, running his finger lightly along the sharpened tips. There was only one person who could have left those there, only one person who had seen his drawings.

Ever.

He felt exposed, like a secret piece of his soul had been revealed, and immediately his body tensed and his first instinct was to take this stuff back and throw it at her. But instead, he sat down and slid a pencil from the box, twirling it around on his fingers. The initial anger dissipated, and he found that there was something warm and pleasant below it. Like tearing off the blackened top of a scab - while it initially stung, when that faded, underneath things were bright and fresh and clean.

Tahlia had surprised him, that was for sure. Not just with this, but with every little interaction they had. He felt like she was carefully and quietly chipping away at the wall of dislike that he had been trying (and failing) to maintain for her. Somehow she'd still managed to create little threads of connection between them, and he couldn't help but want to pull on them, drag her closer.

In the courtyard that evening, Brody had been pushed to the back of Daryl's mind as he sat back and smoked, as usual, shooting nervous glances at Tahlia, torn between wanting to thank her for the art supplies she'd brought him and wanting to never speak to her again. The choice was made for him as all of a sudden she headed his way with a plate of food, placing it on the bench next to him.

"Eat." she said with a smile.

"Thanks." he muttered as she turned to walk away. He chewed on his lip for a second, then stood up quickly. "Wait!"

Tahlia turned back around and raised her brows in question.

"And..." he mumbled. "And... thanks for the... stuff."

"Just saw it and thought you might be able to use it." she said casually, although her eyes were filled with such warmth that he flushed immediately. "And I won't breathe a word to anyone about how incredibly talented you are. Promise. Your secret's safe with me." She'd leaned in conspiratorially to say that last bit, and reached out and gave his forearm a gentle squeeze, causing him to flinch at the contact.

"Sorry!" she said, quickly drawing her hand to her chest. "Gotta stop doing that to you. I've noticed you don't like it – being touched. Well, when it's not on your terms, anyway. When you're not expecting it."

Daryl gave a hard swallow. No one had ever just blatantly pointed it out like that before. They were always too afraid in case it delved into why. "Ain't had much good experience with it."

She nodded lightly and gave him a small smile. "Right. Well, I must be your worst goddamn nightmare then. I know I'm touchy. I can't stop myself. Don't even know I'm doing it most of the time. So, maybe if I make sure I stand at least this far away from you-" she took a step back, "-at all times, then I can't reach you." She grinned and swung an arm in front of her to demonstrate that he was out of reach. "And then you don't have to suffer through my handsiness."

"Naw." he found himself saying, moving forward, swallowing up the distance that she had put between them. "Naw, don't. It's... it don't..." He couldn't find the words for the complexity inside that he couldn't even decipher himself.

Her brow furrowed and her lips parted as she studied the torrent of emotion scudding across his face.

Bewilderment, as he tried to voice something he didn't understand.

Pain, as the bad experiences he alluded to earlier scratched at his surface.

Vulnerability, at a touched nerve.

Defensiveness, to cover the vulnerability.

Simmering anger as a result.

This was big and complicated for him, and she wasn't welcome to help him sort through the mess. Not yet. That much was clear. So, she pulled it back.

"Fine." she said with a nonchalant shrug. "But stand close to me at your own peril. There will be hugs. You've been warned."

And then with a quick raise of her brows and twitch of her lips, she headed off again, and he was left feeling... not pissed off. Which, in itself, was incredibly surprising. Somehow, she'd known to back off from him at exactly the right time. He knew she'd seen it on his face, his confusion about physical touch, that it was a minefield for him. And if she'd taken one proverbial step closer, he probably would have blown a fuse and closed off completely. But she'd chosen not to pry any further, and instead diffused him with a lighthearted comment, then left him alone with the baggage that he wasn't ready to open for anyone else.

It was no secret that Daryl wasn't big on physical contact. As far as he was concerned, everyone should just keep their hands to themselves. The only bits that came naturally to him were the ones borne out of aggressive or protective necessity, like fighting, restraining someone, or dragging them out of harm's way – ones accompanied by heightened adrenaline. The hard bits were the quiet, gentle, casual, unanticipated touches, like in conversation or commiseration. It wasn't too bad if it was on his own terms, if he were the one initiating the touching - a hug or a pat on the shoulder - then it didn't catch him by surprise and it didn't go on for any longer than he wanted it to.

But she was a toucher.

That was obvious from the moment she'd walked into the prison and started getting to know people. A hug here, a hand on the arm there, a friendly nudge or bump. And he found it strange to see how people responded in kind to that, bloomed and welcomed it. It was like because that was a big way in which she communicated, they would then respond in the same language to her – greeting her with a hug, throwing an arm around her shoulders as they walked – even if they wouldn't do it to others. He'd already been on the receiving end of it more times than he'd like.

The curious thing though, was that with her, it felt different.

In his experience with physical touch, it was always loaded with something, something within the other person, something they were projecting onto him.

Violence; anger; pity; sadness; lust.

And the weight of that landed heavily on him with the contact and made him want to shut down.

But when she did it, it just... was.

There wasn't anything behind it, wasn't anything transferred to him, wasn't anything to do with him at all. Just weightless, unassuming contact. And it wasn't unpleasant. Sometimes, he found himself flinching reflexively all the same - years and years of programmed muscle memory was hard to control - but beyond that, he thought he might actually... like it. Or at the very least, that it might be something he could get used to. It made him curious as he hadn't experienced that with anyone before, it was unexpected, and he wanted to explore it.

Kind of like preparing yourself for the freezing cold before jumping into a lake, only to find that, once you were in, it wasn't cold at all. It was actually quite nice and you wondered why you didn't get in sooner.