They aren't gone long. Dad, Daryl, and the others when I hear a radio come to life and the chill that runs down my spine forces me to listen. The location's changed. And I feel that chill turn colder. I no longer care that I can't decide which of the men I love are in danger, I HAVE to stop it.
I'd stayed behind for everything since the death of Sofia. I watched, I bore witness, and it wasn't enough. It weighed me down and it broke me. I was damned if it would happen again.
I found Tara, who was in charge while the others were gone, and asked her where the children were going to be kept safe. Together we talk about the best option, which is the main house, and the best caregivers. I can see that she's staring at me with questions, but I don't plan on sharing my plans with her. As she hands me a gun and knife, just in case, I walk back to the room where Judith is napping. I pick her up and take her down to the women who have been tasked with keeping the children occupied, quiet, and safe, and hand her off with directions. Keep her safe, make sure she's alive when I get back. I feel like the 'or else' is implied heavily enough that I don't have to say it out loud.
And then I walked into the office that the others had taken me to the first day. I know there's a map somewhere, and I find it quickly enough. My eyes trace the pathways, the location that my dad mentioned practically glows in my eyes, and I work out how to get there fast. I take a horse, thinking that Daryl should enjoy the irony of me stealing Maggie's horse to go on my own search, but that I doubt he will. I'm off, before anyone can raise an alarm with the extra preparations going on, and the road rises before me and all I can think of is stopping whatever madness that we'd all allowed to go on too long.
I hear the sounds of exploding and gunfire and I'm hoping beyond hope that I'm not too late. I push the horse forward, even if the poor animal would much rather run in the other direction, and I see it. A huge meadow, the opposing sides, and I close my eyes with gratitude that I'm not too late. And it's almost like God mocks me because they rush one another. Christ.
I get off the horse and tie it to a tree far enough from the battle in front of me that it's safe, but close enough for me to get to it if necessary. And then I move forward. By the time I reach the chaos, it's over. Like a flash, the Saviors have surrendered, and I see them. My dad and Negan facing off.
Shit, I rush forward, past the sounds of voices calling my name. Past my family. Past Saviors and friends and foes. Drawn like a moth to a flame, I have to stop it. Stop them. Both of them.
By the time I reach them, they are going at it hand to hand by a tree that strangely has a stained glass panel dangling from its branch. Negan's on top, but I hear Dad ask for a moment to tell him about what Carl had envisioned, and I stop, out of sight of the two of them, hoping against hope that they get it finally. But I see the flash of glass in my dad's hand, and then blood and I'm screaming and rushing forward. I'm at Negan's side, my hand clutching his against the flow of blood as the rest of our family shows up. I hear voices urging Dad to end it, as though I'm not at Negan's side, as though I'm not trying to staunch the flow of warm blood as he stares up at me like he's seen a ghost. I'm begging, pleading with Dad to think of Carl. To remember what he asked for, what he wanted so badly that he found peace in dying. I beg that he let him live, not to let him die, and I can hear the anguish in my voice. And the sobs building.
I don't hear what Dad says. I see and hear nothing, but Negan, his eyes on mine as he's fading, and him trying to say something. I shush him, praying that he won't go, not now. And then Siddiq is there, and he's pushing my hand away, and taking over. Saving him, the man I love and Michonne is trying to pull me away, but I'm fighting her, I won't leave him. Not now.
I watch, helpless, as Siddiq works. I pray, silent and pleading prayers to let him live. Please not yet, not now.
"Jessi?" It's Dad, and I can't look away from Negan's pale face to see him. "Honey, we have to move, there's a horde." I don't care, I think, I won't. "He's coming, too." And I see it now, Siddiq is getting him stabilized to move. I let him pull me away, and I hear him asking how I found them, how I got there so fast, and I'm trying to focus on his words, but all I can see is Negan's blood. And when I look at my hands I realize I'm coated in it.
"Horse," I whisper, and nod toward the tree line where I'd left it. "Let me," I struggle to get my heartbeat and thoughts under control. "Let me go get it, and I'll meet you back-" And I pull away and rush back to where the horse waits, needing the time to collect myself, even if I have no fucking idea what comes next.
I ride back to Hilltop slowly. Alone. I think about the calls for Negan's death. My family who wants it so badly that they can smell it. I wonder, did Siddiq save him simply so he can have a more ceremonial execution? Will Dad stand up to the others, will they vote? Will I stand alone in wanting him alive? Was Carl wrong about everything?
When the gate's in view, I see the smoke and my heart stops. Judith. And I push the horse into a run and am inside before I notice. Jumping down, I search for Tara. She sees me and I see all the questions on her face, but I brush them off.
"Judith?" I see her staring at my bloody hands and I ignore her. "JUDITH, Tara, where is she?"
And then, one of the women is rushing forward with my little sister, her blonde curls catching the sunlight and I have her in my arms. I don't pay attention to the looks I get at the smears of partially dried blood staining Judith's clothes, her skin, because she's alive and safe. I kiss her head, telling her how much I love her and how happy I am that she's alright.
I find them in the infirmary. Dad and Michonne, standing over Negan's bed. I've cleaned up, given the gun and knife back, and have my newly washed sister in my arms. He's still unconscious, and I feel their eyes on me as I stand close looking down at him.
"We can't let him go," Dad's voice is quiet, to keep me or Judith calm I don't know. "He'll be a prisoner forever, Jessi."
I don't look up. Rocking Judith in my arms, I stare at one of the men who holds my heart. Is that enough? That he's alive, but won't be free? Can I live with that outcome? Can he? It's better than what I'd feared for him. A public execution. A show of power and strength.
"Am I allowed to visit him?" Hushed, keeping my little one free of the tension rolling through me.
They're silent and I close my eyes. If the answer is no, then I'm not sure what the point was in saving him. And then I know, because I wouldn't survive if he'd died. Not after I found out he was alive.
"We'll talk about it later." Michonne offers and I nod.
My hand touches his, and I feel him twitch. His warmth. His strength. And I hope he understands.
Daryl finds me later. I'm in my room alone. Standing at the window, watching the sun set. I hear him come closer and I don't fight it. I don't warn him away. I don't ask him to go. His arms wrap around me from behind and his chin is propped on my head. I let myself relax into his embrace. Let him comfort me, even if I know he doesn't understand or agree. I let him give me what I'd always given him. A piece of himself, to replace a piece of me.
"Scared the shit outta me." His voice is rough, and I smile. "All of a sudden, there ya were, and I couldn't get to ya." I hadn't seen him. My focus elsewhere. "Nearly tore me in two hearin' ya beggin' like that, Jessi." For HIS life, I added, for HIM to live. "Sounded like ya were dying yourself."
I was, I thought. Watching his blood flow out of him, feeling its warmth coat my hands, I felt like it was mine. And I felt like I would die. Just like I would if it had been my dad laying there. Or Daryl.
"Ya care for him." It was a statement, not a question. "Wish ya didn't." I closed my eyes. "But he did what I couldn't." I felt my throat grow tight. "Found ya and brought ya back." The tears started without warning and I cried as he held me, remembering how observant Daryl Dixon really was.
Daryl held me that night. In my bed, while Dad and Michonne took care of Judith, he held me and whispered to me how much he loved me. That he would always love me. That he couldn't stand to see me in so much pain, but that he'd hold me together forever if I let him. He listened to my sobs, letting me cry for so many things that I lost track.
For Lori, who I couldn't put down so Carl didn't have to. For Andrea, for not believing that ANYONE could learn to survive, and if they couldn't, they should be protected. For Mika, for not seeing and warning everyone of my fears about her sister. For Lizzie, I didn't see her clearly until too late, and maybe if I had then she could have been stopped, without her or her sister dying. For Tyrese, for Bob, for Noah. For everyone I didn't pay enough attention to, for not seeing the danger, for not helping. For Abraham. For being too late. For being too weak. For not asking for help in time.
For Carl, dear God, Carl. If I'd been there, if I'd read his letter and took it to heart and asked to participate, to discuss options. Would it have come to this? Would Negan be lying in the infirmary with the axe of being forever imprisoned hanging over him? Would Daryl need to listen to my breaking heart? Would Dad have to have gone against the others, the ones that wanted him dead? If I'd spoken up. If I'd acted. If I'd been there from the beginning.
I eventually ran dry of tears and my guilt was still heavy, but I needed to stop. Crying, letting my emotions run amok wasn't going to fix anything. I turned in Daryl's arms and looked into his face. His eyes were so tight with pain, his own pain at my outburst. At knowing that Negan and I, that he wasn't the only one in my heart.
"You're still beautiful, Daryl Dixon." My hand rose and I let my fingertips trace his lips. "Every bad thing, every dark moment, and yet, you are still as gorgeous as you were the first time we kissed."
He let me touch him. The angles of his face. Brushing away his too long hair, his scruffy chin, his blue eyes studied me as I reminded myself of his familiarity. His arms were still around me, his head on the pillow, and with nothing more than the light of the moon he drank in the very sight of me.
"Ya've always been beautiful, Jessi." He whispered, letting one of his arms release me, and touching my cheek with his own hand. "Beautiful and giving." His thumb brushed my lower lip and he smiled sadly. "Didn't deserve ya."
I was about to ask if he meant Negan or himself, but he leaned in and kissed me and I let my words die. Daryl's kisses were always so soft and sweet. His lips showed me how much he'd memorized about me, letting his kiss grow more passionate and sighing when I returned it. Our tongues touched and I knew, even with Negan nearby recovering. Even with my begging for his life. I wanted Daryl. Now. Here. I wanted to get lost in him. To remember how we felt together.
Our clothes fell away, and when he slid into me, I remembered every single moment we'd had together. Every hope, every promise, every touch. And when we lay entwined in the afterglow, I wondered how it was possible that one person could be made for two completely different men. Because Daryl and Negan, I knew, were made for me and I was most certainly made for them.
