AN: Here we are, another chapter here.
I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!
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"Get away from me! Don't you touch me!" The woman snarled at him. The way she bared her teeth at him, Daryl might have believed she was a venomous snake instead of a human woman for just a moment.
The bullet was out, the wound was clean, and the stitches were well done. They had IV fluid there from their decently stocked medical supply storage, and she'd been offered blood by Big Tiny who also happened to be a universal donor. Luckily, she'd had no reaction to anything other than to make a pretty rapid recovery—all things considered.
It was getting on toward the late afternoon. Glenn and Maggie hadn't returned and, though nobody was saying it out loud, Daryl knew that everyone was starting to grow concerned. They were willing to grant the young couple a little quality time together, but the fact of the matter remained that it was inconsiderate to be gone too long in this world. When Hershel said that the woman was starting to come around—moaning slightly in her unconscious state—Daryl had offered to go in with Rick to question her about what she might know.
She might, after all, have a lot to tell them when it came to explaining how she'd come to carry a fresh gunshot wound.
She was handcuffed to the bed in the cell they'd put her in. Daryl and Rick locked themselves in with her. Carol hung around outside the cell with Sophia, and she was accompanied by Lori, Judith, Hershel, Beth, and Carl. Daryl had closed the cell door to lock them inside as more of a precaution for those outside than anything else. If the woman proved to be absolutely nuts, he didn't want her having any chance at getting anywhere near Carol and Sophia before he could stop her.
She was starting to prove to him that he'd been right to take that precaution as well.
She hadn't really woken up slowly—or rather she hadn't accepted she was awake slowly. Her eyes had popped open just as Daryl had come to try to shake her awake, and the first thing she'd said had been the words that she'd snarled at him.
"You better back the fuck up," Daryl warned, not that the woman could actually go anywhere. "Me touchin' you is most the damn reason you alive right now. Coulda left your ass unconscious in the damned dirt to get chewed up by Walkers."
"Walkers," the woman said.
Daryl didn't know if it was a statement or a question, but her brow furrowed.
"Walkers," Daryl said. "Dead things. Walkin' around."
"I know," was simply her reply.
"What were you doing out there?" Rick asked, approaching the woman who looked at her handcuffs and tugged at them to test that she was really cuffed to the bed. "Why were you alone, in the woods, and shot?"
"Who the hell are you?" The woman asked.
"We're asking the questions," Rick said.
"Daryl..." Carol called from outside the cell. Daryl felt some frustration at the interruption rise up in him, but he sighed and turned around. He walked over and leaned against the bars, his face nearly touching them. If she'd wanted to, Carol could have kissed him through the bars.
"Hi Daddy," Sophia offered.
"Hey, Soph," Daryl said. "What's wrong?"
"She's frightened, Daryl," Carol said, her voice low. "She's probably in pain and—someone shot her. She's frightened."
Daryl heard the hint of pleading in Carol's tone. He understood it. He nodded his head, reached his hand through the bars to touch Sophia's cheek, and smiled at her when she smiled at him. Then he turned around and returned to where the woman was still handcuffed to the bed and Rick was standing, hands on his hips like he was moments from entering some kind of cowboy shoot-out with the unarmed woman, to wait for the interrogation to continue.
Daryl swallowed and stooped down to be closer to the woman's face instead of towering over her.
"We don't want to hurt you," he offered.
She looked around him.
"You have children here," she said.
Daryl nodded his head.
"We do," he said.
"Where are we?" She asked, looking around.
"It doesn't matter until you tell us who you are," Rick said, "and what the hell you were doing in the woods with a bullet wound."
The woman looked at him. She scowled at him, really, and furrowed her brow. Daryl sighed and straightened up.
"I got zero damn interest in playin' good cop, bad cop," he said. "We're in a prison. We got a life here. Families. Children. We're buildin' somethin'. Somethin' real good. I found you this mornin' in the woods—just about bled out—an' we saved your life. Now you owe us. We got people out there, too, that's been gone a while. We're startin' to worry they mighta run into some trouble. Wonderin' if you might know somethin' about that. Who are you? How'd you end up where I found you?"
The woman's expression softened when she looked at him.
"Michonne," she said.
"You're Michonne?" Daryl asked. She nodded. "Daryl," he offered.
"I guessed," she said.
"Who shot you?" Rick asked.
Immediately the woman recoiled like she'd been slapped. She looked at Rick and Daryl was almost sure that he saw her raise her lip at Rick. Rick's tone made his hair bristle, as well, so he couldn't really blame her.
"I got it," Daryl said. "Why don't'cha go—take a lap or somethin'?"
"We have to know who she is," Rick said. "We've got to know if she knows about Glenn and Maggie. It's getting late. And—I want to know what kind of trouble she might be bringing to our back door."
"There's trouble all around you," Michonne said. "And I might've found it, but it would be coming for you anyway."
"What the hell are you talkin' about?" Daryl asked, quickly looking toward the woman.
"There's a place not too far from here. A town with walls around it. They've built something there. It's called Woodbury."
"Other people are allowed to build lives," Daryl said.
Michonne shook her head.
"It's not the town that you have to worry about," Michonne said. "It's the man that's running the town. He's crazy. He takes what he wants and he does whatever he has to do to get it. I can't prove it, but I know he's killed...I don't even know how many people he's killed. He keeps Walkers."
"Keeps Walkers?" Daryl asked.
"In pens," Michonne said. "He's crazy. Unstable."
"Is he the one who shot you?" Rick asked.
"His henchman shot me," Michonne said. "Or one of them. He tells you that you can leave the town, but if you do? He sends someone to kill you."
"Why?" Rick asked.
"Probably the same reason you didn't want to tell me where we were," Michonne said.
"So he just shot you for leavin'?" Daryl asked. "You didn't do nothin' but tell him that'cha was tired of bein' in his town?"
"That's essentially all I did," Michonne said. "I didn't fall in love with the fantasy that he created."
"You were alone?" Rick asked.
"His people found me and my friend out there—where we were living. She was sick. Dying. They tied us up, blindfolded us, and took us to Woodbury."
"She died?" Daryl asked.
"She—wanted to believe the place was safe," Michonne said. "I don't want to talk about it. She wanted to stay because she couldn't see what kind of person he was. She found other interests there. She wanted to stay. I wanted to go."
"Because you could," Daryl offered.
"I didn't even know how right I was about him...about everything...until he sent someone to try to kill me," Michonne said. "It's just a matter of time before he finds out you're here. That this—whatever you say you're building—is here. He'll come when he finds you."
"Maybe he'll just want to be neighbors," Hershel offered from outside the cell. "Work together for the benefit of all of us."
"He's not the type," Michonne said, calling out her words for anyone who was listening to hear. "He has to have complete control. Trust me. When he finds you—and he will find you—he'll kill you all just to take what you have."
"You said he found you an' your friend," Daryl said.
Michonne nodded.
"But he didn't kill you," Daryl said.
"We didn't have anything to offer," Michonne said.
"Then why even let'cha live?" Daryl asked.
"My friend—knew someone," Michonne said. "One of his henchmen. Merle. If she hadn't known him, then he probably would have killed us. Merle wanted to take her back, though, to see if she could be saved. He's probably the reason that we're alive." She laughed to herself. "He was also the one that the Governor sent to kill me. If you've got friends out there, and if Merle saw them? He might've killed them, too."
"Yeah, or taken them back to this...this place," Rick said.
"Woodbury," Michonne said.
Daryl's heart seized up in his chest. He felt a little lightheaded. He heard them like they were far away from him and he was outside of the cell and the prison and, possibly, the whole world. He had to ground himself and bring himself back to the present where, it seemed, nobody had heard what he'd heard and nobody was reacting to it quite the way he was. He reminded himself that there were countless numbers of people named Merle in the world and his brother had just been one of them. He certainly didn't have a monopoly on the name any more than Daryl had a monopoly on his name.
"Merle?" Daryl asked.
Michonne nodded.
"Merle who?" Daryl asked.
"What?" Michonne asked. "He was—one of the Governor's henchmen."
"Merle," Daryl said. "Merle...Merle who? He musta had a damned last name!"
Michonne looked surprised and Daryl checked his tone.
"We didn't formally introduce ourselves," Michonne said. "And he's a henchman for a man who only calls himself the Governor and kills for what he wants—or did you miss that part? He's a real upstanding person, though. Merle. He doesn't seem to mind being a murderer and he wears a bayonet in place of his right hand. You know him?"
Daryl's knees almost went out from under him. His head swam. Surely there were innumerable people named Merle that, one way or another, had lost their right hand—especially now in a world where amputating a body part was the only way to save someone from a bite that could be caught in time.
But his brain didn't believe him. Maybe it didn't want to. Daryl didn't know what to do.
And someone must have seen it. Someone must have heard what he heard. Because, somehow, the cell door got unlocked. Somehow those that were outside got inside. Daryl heard all their concerns echoing around him as he lowered himself down to the floor in an almost involuntary manner. He heard them all speaking. He could make out all their words, even if his brain couldn't decipher exactly which voice went with which inquiry. It didn't matter. It all jumbled together in a land that was, temporarily, very distant to Daryl.
"Where is Woodbury? Did you see Glenn and Maggie? She's a young woman. He's Korean. Did you come by the highway? Were there any accidents? Could you find Woodbury? Could you take us to Woodbury? Do you think this Governor would be willing to talk?"
Daryl heard it all—but it was all outside of him.
And it was all around him.
And everything inside him was in a state of chaos that he couldn't explain or understand and his heart was pounding in his chest and he couldn't breathe and his body was no longer capable of processing oxygen.
Until, suddenly, it started to slow down. And he felt the coolness of her hand on his face and her cheek against his cheek. He heard her voice, soft and sweet and meant only for him, as she called him back. She reminded him that she was there. She was always there. And, though she didn't say it, he felt her promise that she would help him sort the chaos inside him. She would help him find his calm again.
His lips found hers before his eyes ever did. He sighed, sucking in her breath. He smiled to himself at the next sound that grounded him, drawing him back from the feeling that his chest would explode and his lungs would never again fill with air.
"Daddy!" Sophia said.
And Daryl was immediately sorry for the concern that his eyes saw on her little face. He offered her the best smile he could and kissed her forehead.
"It's OK, baby," he said. "It's OK."
She cuddled his face in response and the weight of her was transferred to Daryl's lap.
"It's OK," Carol said softly. "I think Rick's going to Woodbury. I think—you should go. But, no matter what? It's OK, Daryl. It's all going to be OK."