Same trigger warnings as previous chapter apply: MENTION OF RAPE/SEXUAL ASSAULT/VIOLENCE

Chapter 37 - Game over

Creeping silently through the bush, Daryl easily tracked the men's trail, and Tahlia followed carefully behind, focusing all her concentration only on his solid figure, not letting herself think about anything else, not letting herself be dragged down by her fear.

It was nearing dusk, so the gang had made camp on the edge of a clearing, one man patrolling the edges of the camp, another sitting smoking against a tree, the third spreading out a sleeping mat, and Rosco stoking the fire. As they approached, Daryl stopped Tahlia in her tracks. He held up two fingers and then pointed at her, then two fingers again before pointing at himself.

You take two, I take two.

They crept carefully in different directions around the camp. Daryl's first target was the patrolman and he moved easily through the bush towards him. A crack of a branch under his boot caused the patrolman to whirl in his direction.

"What the-?" the man muttered, peering blindly into the bushes, brandishing his gun. The looming figure of the hunter appeared from between the trees a few yards away, his steely blue eyes glinting in the fire light as his bolt whizzed silently through the air, a dull thwack as it found its target in the ruffian's eye socket, instantly dropping him to the ground with a heavy thud.

Rosco's dark eyes shot up at the noise and he pulled his gun, cocking the hammer, but Daryl had already disappeared back into the bush.

"The fuck?!" shouted the scarred man in a rage, whirling to face his cronies.

But he was greeted by the sight of the once-smoking man slouched dead against the tree, throat gaping open from Tahlia's knife, a feeble fountain of blood bubbling down his chest. At that same time, another of Daryl's bolts found purchase through the neck of the other man spreading out the bedsheet, who had been slow off the mark and hadn't even managed to unholster his gun before he toppled to the dirt with a gurgled "Oof!", and twitched, bleeding out on his mat.

Rosco held himself tall, eyes narrowed, searching for the answers to this sudden attack, revolver drawing a slow line across the bushes in front of him, until Tahlia emerged from behind a tree and eased into the firelight, the shadows dancing across her tense face. Rosco's expression of fury gave way to something more sinister, his lips curling in a cruel smile as recognition dawned.

"Well, hot damn! If it ain't lil miss feisty! Always wondered when you'd come back for another taste of what I gave ya. Mm-mm, I missed you, ya fine piece of ass." he greased, as he blatantly raked his eyes over her body, smacking his lips, then spitting a globule of phlegm into the fire. "Made it hard to forget ya when ya left me with this little reminder of our time together." His voice harsh now as he indicated his scar. "Hoping I left ya with a few scars of your own."

Looking as if she were about to throw up, Tahlia stayed a good couple of yards away from him as she slowly pointed her katana at his head and did her best to keep her focus on the present and not let herself fall back into the nightmare of the last time she had laid eyes on this vile man.

"Who ya got out there with ya, sugar? Hmm? You ain't got big enough swingers to come at me all by your scared little self, so who is it? Is it that sexy little friend of yours? She feelin' sore coz she missed out on the good times? Come on out hot stuff, I'll give ya what you come to beg for!" he called out to the woods.

Then he risked a quick glance over his shoulder, spotting Daryl emerging at the edge of the camp, weapon trained at his head, loathing in his eyes. "Oho! You brought a boyfriend this time! Hey, Crossbow, you into watchin'? Pistol pussy here puts on a great show. You're gonna love the way she screams."

With gritted teeth and every fibre of self-control struggling to keep him still, Daryl maintained his position to the righthand side of Rosco, holding his crossbow firmly pointed at that piece of shit's head.

"Drop your weapon." came Tahlia's dangerously quiet voice.

Rosco nodded at his gun. "You mean this lil baby? You miss her, huh? Miss the feel of that cold steel rippin' you up? Damn, they were good times. Ain't had nothin' quite as hot as what we had, sugartits – and damn have I sampled a lotta ass tryna find it. Lookin' forward to playin' with you again, except... this time, she's fully loaded..." He trailed off with a sickening leer, his wet tongue snaking along his lower lip.

Daryl's hands shook with the effort of control, as a red mist clouded his vision. He wanted to let Tahlia take charge of the situation, to let her be the one to take this sadistic man down, but his disgusting words were almost more than Daryl could bear, and the urge to rip this slimy bastard limb from limb was about to overpower him.

Come on Tahly!

Silently he willed her to act, but he could see she was losing it. He'd give her a few more seconds.

Although Tahlia's expression was steely, the trembling tip of the katana gave away her fear, and Rosco knew it. Knew he was in control of her once again and took great pleasure in rubbing his dirty salt into her wounds.

"I know ya remember every little detail." he hissed savagely. "Lyin' on that filthy floor, just waitin' to take what we had to give ya, like a good little bitch. Thought you were so tough, but we soon had ya beggin' and pleadin', and ya cried like a fuckin' baby every time I pulled that trigger." His brutal eyes held onto hers, forcing her to replay the painful memories, relishing her discomfort. "Remember that, sugartits? Remember the tears? The blood? Remember-?"

Fuck this.

Daryl, unable to stand this despicable piece of shit any longer, let out an enraged roar and a bolt at the same time, just as there was a gunshot and two strangled cries.

Not bothering to wait long enough to see where his bolt landed, Daryl was already on the move as he dropped his crossbow and snatched up a smoldering log from the side of the fire as he jumped over the flames, then smashed Rosco around the back of the head as the man lunged towards Tahlia, who had dropped her katana and was clutching her left upper arm. With an incensed howl, Rosco spun around from the impact of the blow, the earlier bolt sticking out of his right side just under his shoulder. Rosco fired a shot at Daryl, but his aim was well off, and the bullet went wide, so Daryl launched straight back towards Rosco, wrapping the log around the man's ugly mug one more time, blood and spittle flying through the air as Rosco fell to his knees.

A host of torture-laden scenarios flashed through Daryl's mind as he imagined some of the pain he'd like to inflict on this scumbag and his fingers itched to mutilate him, but then he remembered Tahlia's desire to just get it over with, and her general aversion to suffering, and reminded himself that this was not about what he wanted, no matter how badly he wanted it.

This was only about her.

So, he stomped hard on Rosco's wrist to dislodge the gun from his hand, then booted him in the nose for good measure before swooping down to pick up the gun and aim it at Rosco's bloodied face. But then his rancor got the better of him and he couldn't stop himself from dropping his aim down and first firing a shot between Rosco's legs, eliciting a bloodcurdling scream of pain from the man.

"Karma's a fuckin' bitch." spat Daryl as he watched Rosco writhe in pain for a few satisfying moments before he lifted the gun again and shot that leering prick right between the eyes, and Rosco toppled to the ground, dead.

Throwing the gun down, Daryl whirled around to check on Tahlia who was standing a couple of feet away, wide-eyed, still clutching her arm with her other hand that was now slick with blood.

"Tahly?! Y'alright?! Y'alright?!" Daryl was next to her in a second, hands on her shoulders, frantically scanning her, assessing.

Only just realising she'd been holding her breath, she now let it out in a big whoosh.

"I'm alright." she said in a hollow voice.

"Your arm! You're bleedin'!" He dashed over to cut a strip off one of the bedsheets, then pried her hand from the bloodied wound across her deltoid, inspecting it quickly then wrapping the strip around it to stem the bloodflow.

"Grazed me with a bullet from that fucking gun." she told him, still staring down at Rosco's lifeless body.

Daryl followed her gaze, then flicked his eyes back to hers. "Shit, Tahls, I'm sorry, I shoulda left him for you to take down. It's just he was sayin' all that stuff and I -"

"No. No, I'm glad you did it. Thank you." she said, eyes shining, voice wavering. "If it hadn't been for you, I'd have-"

"Hey." Daryl grabbed her shoulders again. "Ya did good. Ya did real good, Tahly."

"But I..." she shook her head in distress. "But I didn't do anything. Not a damn thing. I just... I couldn't even..."

"Ya did. Ya faced up to that asshole, ya stood your ground. Ya did real good. I'm real proud of ya, girl. You're so damn strong." he said firmly, earnestly, as he pulled her into him, holding her tight as her body sagged against his.

Eventually he released her but caught her chin with one hand, tilting her face to his, a look of fierce intensity now blazing in his eyes, his voice thick with emotion.

"Ain't no one gonna hurt y'again. Not while I'm with ya. Ain't never gonna let that happen."

Tahlia could only manage a grateful nod, a lump in her throat.

A gurgling rasp sounded from her right as the man whose throat she had slit started to shakily rise, his milky dead eyes focused on the fresh meat in front of him. With a sideways glance, Tahlia took a breath then unsheathed the knife from her hip and let it fly, a choked cry escaping her mouth at the same time, as the blade embedded into the walker's forehead, putting him back down, the kill grounding her a little.

Then Daryl gave her a nudge as he pointed at Rosco. "His scar? You did that?"

Tahlia nodded. "Piece of broken glass. When he first attacked us." Wiping some of the blood off her right hand on her pants, she held her hand out and indicated a thin white scar running from her forefinger down to the centre of her palm. "Here's the one the glass left on me. Think he came off worse."

Daryl smiled a little at that as he ran a finger lightly over her palm, pride blooming in his chest for her.

"Alright." he then said, glancing around the camp. "Let's see if there's anythin' we can use, then get the fuck outta here."

He retrieved his bolts and sunk a knife into the head of the man on the sleeping mat to be sure he wouldn't rise too, then he and Tahlia quickly scoured the camp for anything useful. They took the weapons and found a decent stash of ammo and a little food and packed it all up quickly, Tahlia being sure to give Rosco's body a very wide berth.

As she gazed at the dead men around the camp, she felt a strange lightness wash over her as the adrenaline still pulsed through her body, keeping her emotions at bay. For all the pain that pig had put her through, the end of him had been so quick.

They were about to leave, when Daryl noticed Tahlia staring at Rosco's gun still lying near the dying fire. He stepped closer to get a better look at it. It was a Colt Python, like Rick's, except much more distinctive with its black grip and intricately engraved floral scroll pattern on the barrel. Quickly digging a shallow hole, Daryl removed the remaining bullets from the gun, then tossed the weapon into the hole, covering it up with dirt, stomping it flat, and Tahlia nodded thankfully at him.

As they started away from the camp, Tahlia glanced up at him.

"Daryl?" she said quietly. "Thanks for... this. I wouldn't have been able to..."

He shot her a confident look. "Yeah. Ya woulda."

The two pushed on through the bush in silence, back towards the spot where the motorbike was hidden. Tahlia was now shaking with the aftermath of the adrenaline that had coursed through her body, and it took everything she had just to concentrate on keeping her breathing steady, trying to keep her mind from replaying the horrific events that she had been reminded of tonight. She was so lost in her thoughts she didn't notice Daryl accidentally bumping against her every so often. He was sticking much closer to her than he normally would, feeling like he was still on high alert.

Even if a fucking bird so much as flew too close to her, he'd shoot the fucker straight out of the sky.

There was a ferocious pool of rage bubbling inside him as he thought about what had happened to her, and he was near consumed by the intensity of his desire to protect her at all costs, at any cost. Sneaking glances at her, he could see that she was reliving the pain – it was written all over her face. He wished he were better with words. There was so much inside him that he wanted to say. He wanted to comfort her, to reassure her, to tell her that they would get through this together, that he would always be there for her, by her side. But no words came out, they just spun and twisted, their sharp edges scratching out a hole inside him, and they disappeared into it one by one, until all that was left was emptiness.

Eventually they reached the motorbike and Daryl jumped on and revved the engine as Tahlia swung herself up behind him, looping her arms around his waist. Taking his hand off the throttle he turned his head to the side to speak to her, his voice low and firm as he finally found some words.

"Hey. Ya don't carry nothin' on your own again. Ya hear me? Ya give it to me. I'll carry it. Carry you."

Then he lifted one of her bloodstained hands in his, ducked his head and pressed his lips to her knuckles, and he could feel the hitch of her sob against his back as she pressed herself against him, and then they raced off in the growing darkness, back towards the safety of the prison.

"Whatcha wanna do?" Daryl questioned softly as they dismounted from the bike. "Courtyard? Cell? Hill? Whatever ya like."

Tahlia avoided his eyes. "Uh... I'm going to go see Hershel first, get my shoulder stitched."

"Come with ya." he said quickly, not wanting her to be out of his sight.

"No." she said firmly and weakly at the same time. "I need to get this seen to then get cleaned up. I'll see you at the courtyard later. Thanks for... you know, everything."

"Tahly!" he called helplessly to her retreating form as she hurried off into the gloom.

Daryl waited, but she never came to the courtyard that evening.

"Hershel, Tahlia come to see ya yet?"

The older man shook his head. "No? I haven't seen her all day. Why?"

"No reason." muttered Daryl.

After what they'd been through today, what she'd relived, worry was spiking in his chest, and he went off in search of her. When he arrived at her cell, the privacy sheet was pulled across, making him hesitate. If she'd wanted company, she would have come and sought it out. It didn't feel right barging in on her in there, not after the day.

As he made to leave, he noticed a tiny gap in the curtain and he stopped, able to see just a sliver into her cell. Shadows from a single candle on her table licked against the cold concrete walls, and she was sitting curled up at one end of the bed, hugging her knees tightly to her chest, chin resting on her knees, eyes wide and shining, fixed on the nothing in front of her, streaks down her dusty cheeks. The makeshift bandage he'd applied to her arm was still wrapped around her wound, now completely blood-soaked and sagging. It was breaking Daryl's heart to see her like this, but something was stopping him from going in. Something was keeping him back from her.

Reluctantly he stepped away, leaving her to her pain.

The intensity of the torment Tahlia was feeling had taken her by surprise.

It had been so long since those harrowing days tethered to a rusty radiator in that drafty old house with those vile men; so long since she'd escaped, been found by kind strangers, nursed back to health, taken in as one of their own. And, all things considered, she thought that she had done a pretty good job at dealing with it, moving past it.

One thing that had turned out to be instrumental in her road to regaining normalcy was that, after the deaths of her sister and mother, as a minor Tahlia had undertaken mandatory trauma counselling during the years following, and then continued to have regular therapy sessions throughout her adult life until the world turned to shit. In addition to that, to try and give back a little to the people that had helped her so much, she'd volunteered at a trauma centre all throughout her 20's. From that experience she was well versed in reactions to and recovery from trauma, and that, coupled with her general desire to understand the psyche, meant that she was better placed than most in being able to unpack and deal with her emotions.

After Rosco and that awful time, initially she thought she'd never be rid of his face in her head, the stench on her skin, the stains on her soul, but she doggedly employed all the techniques that she'd been equipped with over the years and had the pure luck of having wonderfully kind, incredible people around her to pull her through, help her to trust again. So, she kept a routine, kept fit, busy, social, time passed, the earth kept spinning, moons waxed and waned, other experiences, people, things, filled up her brain and slowly but surely, crowded those days until they no longer suffocated her, until they only occupied a small portion of her headspace. And now that the people that had picked her up and helped rebuild her had all dropped away long ago and she was with the prison group, she had wanted to leave all of that in the past, keep it from anyone that currently knew her now.

Especially from Daryl.

The one person that she wanted to see her in a good light, the one person that she wanted more than anyone else before. And although she wouldn't have wished for anyone but him by her side as she faced up to Rosco, it meant that now he knew her darkest, dirtiest secret.

And that felt awful, because who would want her after knowing all that?

Seeing Rosco, the gun, the whole experience had come flashing back in unbearable technicolour, spilling out, garish, fresh, and excruciating in her mind, a brutal reopening of that old wound.

And now she wanted to bleed it out. To purge all the poison.

Disinfect it, scrape it clean, tear the blackened flesh from her body.

It was sitting like bile in the back of her throat where it would burn and burn until she could find a way to expel it. She had talked about parts of the ordeal with others before, but never recounted the whole thing in its entirety. And it felt like now it needed to come out.

But she couldn't talk to Daryl.

Because she saw the pain in his eyes, she saw that it hurt him to know what he now knew, and she couldn't bear to hurt him anymore, weigh him down with anything else.

She couldn't face him.