Disclaimer: Randomcat23 does not own The Walking Dead.
This takes place during Lydia's first winter in Alexandria. Just a short, little fic to help break me out of my writing funk. Enjoy.
Something changes.
Lydia can't figure out what it is. Over a course of a week the weather turns cold, colder than before, and a tree falls and damages Alexandria's wall. On top of that, her mother still haunts the nightmares of the community's residents. Yet, there's a bounce in people's steps and they wear easy smiles, even when they look at her.
People talk excitedly in whispers and it makes the back of her neck burn. Lydia spends an entire week with her shoulders hunched up and her hand on her knife. No pranks come. There are no blows to her back. She keeps herself small and invisible, puzzled by the warmth radiating from these people. She doesn't trust them, not yet, maybe not ever. She's not against being ignored, n fact, prefers it, but the suddenness of this change her makes her skin itch.
What has happened?
When a crew drags a chopped tree through the gate, Lydia finally admits that maybe the shift has nothing to do with her. Still perplexed, she finds the courage to confront Daryl.
Lydia abandons her hiding spot and stomps up the porch steps. "What's going on?" She demands as her fists tighten at her side. He'd gone out of his way to protect her before, surely he wouldn't keep secrets now.
Daryl studies her from his chair. After a moment, he plucks the toothpick from his mouth and gestures to the crew struggling with the tree. "Christmas is coming."
The word rings like a dull bell, but echoes in her memory regardless. Her heartbeat picks up. "What?"
"It's a winter holiday. Keeps spirits up. Gives people something to look forward to."
"So, there's nothing wrong with them?"
Daryl snorts, "No. Nothing out of the ordinary, anyway."
She accepts this just as he tells her to turn around. It's a good thing she's gotten used to listening to him, because she spins just in time to see that large tree get pulled upright and stabilized. Her mouth gapes at the absurdity of it all; that's a lot of effort to get a fifteen foot pine standing in the middle of an asphalt street.
She cocks her head and admits to herself that she kinda likes it. It feels familiar, though she can't exactly place why.
Lydia spends the next week observing the community from the shadows in between houses. The neighbors put out pine branches on their window sills. Red bobbles hang from the porch eaves and bushes and trees. After a few days that erected tree is also decorated. Stringy strands that catch the light drape over its branches. When no one is around, Lydia catches some in her hand and lets it slide through her fingers.
It jogs her memory, foggy though it is, of a warm fire, her father's humming, and the tear of paper.
She sneaks the stuff-tinsel-into her room and hides it under her pillow.
After nearly a moon cycle, the actual holiday arrives. From the window, Lydia watches the community gather around the now fully decorated tree, glistening with glass and tinsel and a thousand other things. There's a fire in every chimney, the smoke like a wispy banner for each house. Daryl slides the metal grate over their fire. The children stamp their impatience; their house is one of the last to arrive. The adults barely have their laces tied before RJ rushes outside. Michonne laughs and follows. Carol too, but only because Judith took her by the hand. Daryl nods at Lydia, but she declines his invitation; she will watch from the porch.
There is singing and Lydia has to stop herself from tapping her foot. She can't, however, stop her heart from beating faster as the stars come out, their cool light striking the snow and illuminating the community. She fixates on the tree from base to tip, with its very own star pointing straight to the heavens. Michonne gives a speech, people laugh and lightly jab their neighbors. Lydia finds herself smiling too, even though she can't hear the words and doubts she'd understand the joke anyway.
After what felt like hours and minutes at the same time, the crowd disperses with "Merry Christmas" passed back and forth. Their dismissal compels her forward; she wants to stand up against that dazzling tree without the crowd. They part around her. For another blissful day, she is ignored. Lydia approaches the tree and breaths in the wood smoke and pine in the air. She closes her eyes and thinks this holiday is worthy of celebration just because she has been left unbothered and bathed in starlight.
Then, a memory comes to her.
A young girl-her-surrounded by opened boxes, colorful toys, and her parents cuddling on a worn couch. There aren't any scars on her arms. Her mother's hair is pulled back and her eyes sparkle with good mischief, not cruelty. Her father raises a glass, says something, and then brings it to his lips.
The memory fades as it came, slow and warm like honey. Lydia blinks and wipes away the tear on her cheek. When she turns, determined to find a place for the evening, Daryl is there. There's a box in the crook of his elbow. He shifts awkwardly and hands it to her.
"Merry Christmas," he says gruffly.
"Oh...I-" Lydia glances back at the tree, as if it would have an answer. The box is wrapped in brown paper. Her fingers slide under a fold, finding an old home she never knew she missed.
"Don' hafta open it now or anything. Didn' know if you'd eat dinner with us and didn' want you ta go without a present so..." Daryl stuffs his hands in his pockets as if to shut himself up.
"Thank you."
He dips his chin and stomps the snow from his boots. "You comin' in?"
"Yeah," she whispers and hopes she won't regret it. She clutches the package to her chest, a little buoy in these uncharted waters.
At her earnest response, a grin flickers across Daryl's face. "Come on, then."
Lydia takes one last glance at the tree and then falls in behind him.
Author's Note: Let me know what you think!
Happy Holidays!-randomcat23