Daryl knew that The Saviors had covered a lot of territory in their day but didn't think of all the small groups they tried to recruit in the past. What Angeni had been through was awful, but it wasn't any different, or any worse than what he'd experienced with them. He wanted to tell her everything, about the torture and his escape, about Dwight and Carl and Negan, but he also didn't want to end up shaking in a clearing with a dead rabbit in his hands.
"So how far's this cabin?" he asked as they raided an old Piggly Wiggly.
"A few days' walk." She grabbed a can of sweet potatoes and checked the expiration date, putting it in her pack anyways. "It might be shorter now that I'm more… alert." She walked up and down another aisle, passing up a can of bug spray.
"You make a lot of stops along the way? Any landmarks?" He grabbed a can of black beans and walked over to her, putting the can gently in her pack.
"No, not along the way. But there was a stream right by the cabin. That's why James built it there in the first place." She smiled at him and closed the flap on her pack.
"Yer sayin' you had fresh water there and you still left?" He squinted his eyes at her, unable to comprehend how she left such a resourceful residence behind.
"I had to get out of there. Simon could have told the rest of them about the stream, about our crops. I wasn't thinking about anything else but surviving, so I ran until I found that cave." She fingered a tube of grape chapstick, staring at it so she didn't have to face Daryl's accusatory glare.
"Nah, I get it," he whispered, walking past her to another aisle. "But that cave's gonna get real cold come winter." He ran his hand along the top shelf, hoping to find something useful he may have missed with his eyes.
"I've kept plenty warm before." She paused and realized that he wasn't so much concerned with her warmth as he was his own. "I guess James had some winter clothes that could fit you. They might be a little tight in the arms, but they should work."
"Better than freezing to death up there in that mountain." He took his hand off the shelf and looked around the rest of the aisle, searching for anything else they could use.
"Fine," he heard her say, slowly following him to the end of the aisle. "I'll take you there, but I'm not staying." She crossed her arms over her chest. "And you're going to have to give me some proof that The Saviors are dead because I can't keep going on all this blind faith here."
"Proof?" He furrowed his brow, turning to face her.
"You're going to have to give me something more than cryptic answers and a growl here and there." She stepped even closer.
"What do you want, a red scarf and a baseball bat?" He leaned in so close he could see the flecks of dust that landed on her lashes when they entered the store.
"Something! I mean, you seem like a good man, and I feel like I can trust you, but you obviously don't trust me enough to tell me anything. If I take you to my home, I just want to make sure that I can…"
"They tortured me, okay?!" He yelled in her face, knowing full well it wasn't the right move, but it was the only way to get her to stop talking. "Put me in a box!" He threw his arm up in the air. "Shot me, starved me then gave me dog food like I wouldn't fuckin' notice!" He kicked the bottom counter with his last word, making sure not to touch her. "Is that what you wanted to hear?!"
He stopped when he saw her back away from him, recognizing that look on her face. It was the same look he had as a child when his father would go off the rails on him and Merle. Fear mixed with the anticipation of what would come next: a blow to the head or a punch in the gut. He didn't think he would be the one to cause that look in anyone else, yet here he was, scaring this woman who had done nothing but help him since the very beginning.
He took a step back, agreeing with her decision to put some distance between them as he slowed his breathing.
"Negan…" he continued, trying to think of the right words to describe what he'd been through. "Negan beat my friends' heads in with a baseball bat and laughed like it was all some kinda joke." He paused and took a deep breath, watching the fear in her face slowly turn to compassion.
"He took me, treated me like an animal, paraded me around my village like I was his own personal property." He turned around and faced the empty freezer section, grabbing a bag of pretzels off the rack he knew had to be stale at this point.
Silence.
"How'd you get out of it?" she finally asked, her voice closer now, gentle as he kept his back to her.
"Somebody inside helped me… somebody I helped before." He opened the bag of pretzels, hoping it would distract him from the feelings he never really had to explain to anyone else until now. Everyone he'd met had already seen what they did to him or knew for a fact what he'd been through. This whole explanation process was uncomfortable, and he'd rather be doing anything else right now than telling her about his trauma.
He sighed heavily before tossing a stale pretzel into his mouth, slowly turning around to see her face as calm as her voice. She wasn't scared or worried anymore, those expressions wiped clean from her painted features. Instead she expressed what looked to be pity and understanding; looks he'd only ever seen on the faces of Carol and Beth. Her ancient figure stood in this modern grocery store like an angel out of time, not backing away from him any longer.
Daryl swallowed his pretzel and took a few steps toward the front of the store, hoping his explanation was enough, but met resistance. Her hand, as little as it was, had stopped him dead in the chest.
"I'd be worried if you weren't angry," she started. "If you weren't kicking and screaming." She grabbed the cloth of his t-shirt and vest, crumpling them up together in her palm before bringing him in front of her. She searched his eyes as he tried to avoid her; looking up, down, and side to side before finally giving in.
He looked at her through greasy brown locks, his eyes wet and red as they told her the rest of his story. He'd never met anyone that held him accountable right away like this, that didn't let him storm off like he wanted to after his feelings got to heavy to carry.
"But anger makes us stupid, and we can't afford that out here," she continued.
He nodded as his lips began to quiver, remembering all the times his anger had gotten the best of him… with Beth after the prison, with Glenn and Negan, and the truck at The Sanctuary. He knew that she was right, and for some reason he felt safe and understood enough to let go. He leaned into her, resting his forehead against hers as he kept the eye contact he was always so used to avoiding.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, her breath blowing his hair out of his face. "For what they did to you." She let go of her grip on his shirt and slid her hand up his neck, reinforcing their bond. "For what they did to us." She pressed her forehead deeper against his, the two of them like slowly battling rams as her fingers ran through his wild and unkempt hair.
He let her touch him, stroke him, remind him of what it felt like to be human again; what they were all essentially fighting for. He dropped the bag of pretzels and brought his hands up to her arms, keeping himself steady as a tear finally fell to the floor.
"We put what happened behind us." She said, wiping his tear away with her thumb. "It stays here in the store and doesn't follow us."
He sniffed and nodded, squeezing her arms tenderly as he continued to hold her close before the long walk to the cabin.