Hi!

It has been so long since I've thought about this story. I have been having the urge to write lately, and this was one of my favorite stories I've written. I've gone through a heavy and lengthy battle with depression over the years, it affected my writing for the longest time. The meds seemed to suppress my creativity, I feel they still do. But I am here, attempting to take back my creativity and my want to write.

I've decided to rewrite this story, and add a few more twists and turns and I hope anyone that has the story on alert or anybody that finds the story sticks around for the ride. I'll be also publishing this Fan , where I had it originally. I'm hoping to give you guys a great story and add a few sequels to this.

This may not be the best story ever written, but it's my attempt at dipping my toe back into fanfic writing.

PS- Yes I named my character Murphy, because I met Norman as Murphy MacManus and thought naming my OC Murphy would be fun!

PPS- I'm a first-person roleplayer, so I tend to tell all my stories, first person. I am also breaking this story up into more chapters, as I feel it gives room to add more detail.

Summary: "Once you got over your little "Daryl sucks for even existing" phase."

Murphy McCourt is a former med student who escaped a decade-long abusive relationship, only took the apocalypse for her to get the courage to. She along with her best friend Abagail and company navigate their way through the new world, meeting up with Rick's group. She's used to handling everything on her own, relying on no one. The group changes that.

Insert Daryl Dixon. A man who resembles her ex-abuser who also fits into the term 'redneck.' Murphy starts out despising Daryl, judging a book by its cover. She'll learn that while Daryl comes off as brash and angry, he is nothing like her abuser. Though reluctant at first, she'll slowly learn that Daryl may just be the key to healing herself and she may just help him do some healing as well.

[A rewrite of an old fiction, coupled with an old RPG I did years ago. I wanted to give this story a fresh start. My OC is from a Twitter RPG, the story was written as a fiction and then roleplayed out. I also suck at summaries]

"Murph..." Is the first thing I hear whispered. My brain is still in a sleepy fog. I know the voice though, it's that of Daryl Dixon. I'd know that deep drawl anywhere. It's rough, full of intent, but also full of a promise. That even though we're pretty much living through hell, it'll be okay. We'll be okay. Even if it's currently laced with sleep, a sleep we both had trouble falling into.

I feel his arms tighten around me, his chin resting lightly on top of my head. We haven't always been like this, it hasn't always been peaceful between Daryl and me, hell we still have our fights. He's an asshole and I'm a bitch. We call one another on our shit and don't simply back down. We've come to realize though, that it's what the other needs. Someone who won't simply bend and back down. We know when to give and when to not.

His mutter of my name has me pressing closer, my nose against his chest. Fall has hit and the nights are cooler, like tonight. While the days can still be warm, the evenings are different. I grunt in return when his arms give me a squeeze. His arms have become my sanctuary, my escape. Comforting me when I need it. Mine are his when he allows it. Which is normally where no one can see it. I don't mind, nor do I make a big deal out of it. I know Daryl, I know how his mind works. Hard to openly show affection when your past is littered with violence against you when you dared to shed a tear.

In response to the squeeze his arms give me, I gently rub his back as my arm lays draped over his side, chuckling when he grunts again and my name falls from his lips. I don't move, outside of rubbing his back. I'll ask him tomorrow just what he was dreaming about. Was it good or bad, since it was obviously about me? We can tease, and joke with one another, even if we're both rough around the edges. Opening up was one of the hardest things we both had to do. Daryl was guarded because of his past, and I was the same way. My story? I was in an abusive relationship. The day of the outbreak was the day I escaped my torment and traded the hell at home for whatever the fuck you want to call this current world.

You may be wondering, who the fuck is this woman?

My name is Murphy. The only daughter of an alcoholic and a drug addict. I'm not your average blue-eyed, blonde-haired, petite beauty. I'm damaged, scarred and half out of my mind. Then again, aren't we all nowadays? I know, people have heard this kind of story before. Chubby girl gets the guy in the end? Maybe that's true, being that I'm laying here in a tent with him, but that's not my story.

My long, waist-length black hair has become frizzy and dull, my lips are pale and cracked. My body is a maze of curves and scars that tell my story, or well my history anyway. I also have a rare genetic disorder called Heterochromia Iridum, which gives me one hazel eye and one green eye. Oh lord, I do sound like one of those damsely types don't I? Okay, sorry. Moving on!

The rain from this morning has moved back in and is currently drumming against the tent and with it brings cold air. Daryl is like a human heater, he is always emitting some sort of warmth. This can be a good or bad thing, being that his favorite thing to do at night is bear hug me in his sleep. Great on nights like this, not so great on nights where my skin has a nice sheen of sweat on it.

While my eyes are closed, my thoughts are busy. While not insecure most days, I have my moments. Doubts I guess you could call them. I wonder what Daryl sees in me. Not looks wise, but personality, spirit wise. When we first met I judged him, compared him to my ex, and told him he was nothing more than a backwoods, good-for-nothing redneck. From the moment I saw him, I judged him. We had a drunken one-night stand and in the morning we fought against actually talking about what we'd done.

I was fucking vile to him. I wouldn't have blamed him if he'd written me off, told me to go fuck myself, and never given me the second chance he did. Hell, I recognize my mistakes, and I still fight with him. Like I said, Daryl and I aren't sunshine and roses. We're rough around the ends, fight with one another, and sling insults at one another. He tells me I'm being a psychotic bitch, I call him a dirty fucking redneck. We can be toxic to one another at times, but over time we've learned to step back and let each other breathe. It's taken a while to get to where we are, but we're here.

"Murph..." Daryl whispers again, this time his tone is a bit more "awake", pulling me out of my thoughts.

He shifts a bit, his arms loosening their hold on me, to which my response is to mutter something unintelligible. Tilting my chin up, I'm met with deep blue eyes that always seem to stare into my soul. His eyes always seem as if they can stare right through me, which is why he can read me like a book. I've never been able to hide anything from him. He's been able to do it from the beginning, which is why he called me on all the bullshit, especially during our first days of knowing one another. It's funny because no one expected it, I know I didn't.

When his scruff brushes the tip of my nose, I move my head up to kiss his chin. His warm breath ghosts over my cheeks before his lips press to my forehead. After a moment I pull back, two-toned eyes meeting his gaze as I smile faintly.

"Anyone ever tell you, you think too loud, woman?" He jokes.

"Sorry, you know I can't help it." Rolling my eyes with a grin.

"It's okay, I wasn't sleepin' much anyways. More just resting my eyes." He states, bringing a warm hand to rest on my cheek.

"Couldn't tell." My tone carries playful sarcasm.

He inquires, with a raise of his eyebrow but no words.

"You kept whispering, Murph." Turning my head to kiss his palm and bring my hand to rest on his.

"Oh, sorry 'bout that." He murmurs, his gaze moving from mine as he chuckles

"Uh huh… You aren't sorry. Now, you gotta tell me what had you whispering my name." I laugh and raise my brow.

"I um...I don't remember." Lifting his gaze to mine with a small grin.

I'm proud of us, months ago, had you told me this would be where we ended up, I'd have laughed in your face. I would have asked you if you had lost your mind. It shocked me, I can admit. We are to the point we can laugh with one another and joke about anything. We aren't shy to let the other in, most of the time. We revert at times, back to wanting to hold it all in, not wanting to seem weak.

I stare at him for a bit longer, laughing when it dawns on me the kind of dream he was having. Sitting up a bit, propping myself on my elbows, I stretch my legs out and cross my ankles. He narrows his eyes, staring up at me and he almost knows what I'm about to say.

"Why, Daryl Dixon, were you having one of those sex dreams bout lil ole me?" I tease, leaning over a bit to raise my brow, a few dark hairs from my ponytail falling around my face.

"Don't know whatcha talkin' bout, woman." Narrowing his eyes at me, causing me to lean down and peck his nose.

"You were! It's okay, I won't tell nobody." My tone is a whisper.

Moments like these give me something to live for. They remind me that things will be okay, even at the end of the world. Daryl and I, we're part of a family. One that hasn't always seen eye to eye, but has come together to form a family anyway. An understanding that we protect our own, we fight for each other.

What Daryl does next doesn't shock me. If it had been Daryl of the past, maybe. But we've both grown since then, changed and adapted, and found safety and comfort in one another. These moments are reserved for us, in private. Never ones to display much PDA. I like it. It makes our time special, like an escape. A bubble where nothing matters but us, even if that bubble is a tent, in a field during a rainstorm.

My back is pressed to the blankets as Daryl pushes himself up. His hands plant themselves on either side of my head as he looks down at me, settling between my thighs. My hands slide up his back as I chuckle and give him a cheeky grin.

"Was this part of your sex dream?" I tease.

"You're a fucking pain in the ass, ya know that?" He growls and leans down to kiss my forehead.

"Yeah, but I am your pain in the ass, don't forget it." I chirp, humming when he kisses my forehead.

"How could I fucking forget? You remind me daily." He teases.

"Yeah well, that means you're a lucky man, Dixon." My cheeky grin reappeared. .

"Course I am, ain't no one else gonna deal with my bullshit." He laughs, pressing a light kiss to my lips.

"Exactly, I feel like I need some compensation here. Pain and sufferin'." Poking my tongue out at him.

He snorts at me, leaning down to catch my lips once more. He nips my lip, nose brushing mine as the kiss lingers. My fingertips press harder into his back, through the dingy fabric of his tan tank top. My knees raise to rest on either side of his hips. When the kiss breaks, he lifts his head to raise a brow at me.

"How's that for compensation?" He chortles.

"Eh. I mean, guess that was satisfactory." I jest, playful still. Like I said, we have our moments.

"Fucking hell, woman." He growls out.

This time his lips find my neck, teeth grazing skin as I slide my hand up and tangle fingers in his long locks of dark hair. When his hips press against mine, my own lift slightly. I tilt my head to give him lips further access, giggling a bit because he knows I'm ticklish. Fingers tug his hair as he gently bites my neck before his lips brush my ear as he raises his head.

"Much better. A+." Wrinkling my nose at him.

"You're lucky I love you." He growls out.

His gaze lingers on me, head tilting a bit as I bite my lip, mind going back to my prior thought. Like I said, he can read me like a book, which is why I feel his hand cup my cheek, the other bracing him above me. Brows knit when my gaze drops then returns to his.

"Thinking loud again." He murmurs.

"Why… Why do you love me?" I ask, brows knitting a bit as I watch him.

I know he isn't the best at words, never expect him to be. I know I'm fucking adorable, but deep down, I know I'm a handful. I know I'm not perfect, and neither is he, but sometimes maybe I need reassurance, that he won't leave. He won't abandon me like others. Logically I know better, but past trauma has me always ready to have the other shoe drop. To have someone get tired of me because of my issues. Daryl and those around us, including my best friend Abby, are the first people I have ever felt safe with. That I know won't leave, won't use and abuse me.

Daryl pushes up on his knees, pulling me with him. He settles down into a seated position, bringing my legs to wrap around his waist so I'm sitting on his lap. His hands rest on my hips as he looks at me.

"What brought this on?" He inquires.

"Not sure, just wonderin'. I know I ain't easy to deal with, ain't easy to love. Know I'm a handful." I admit, my hands resting on his shoulders. When my gaze drops, his rough hand comes up and cups my chin, lifting it to bring my gaze back to him.

"Ain't gonna lie, you're crazy. You're a handful, but that's why God gave me two hands, he knew I'd need them. Sometimes you make me wanna pull my hair out. You're stubborn, mouthy and I have wanted to toss your ass in a lake or two." He states.

"Thanks…" I chuckle.

"Ain't done. You're also brave, kind-hearted, and got a good head on your shoulders. You know how to fight back and don't let no one take advantage of you. Once you got over your little "Daryl sucks for even existing" phase, I started to see the real you. Fell in love with the fact you don't back down from me, you call me out on everything and accept that I will call you out too." He adds with a grin.

"So you love me?" I ask softly, my tone playful.

"Jesus Christ, ain't that what I just said?" He laughs.

Again my back hits the blankets, his hands on either side of my head as he leans down and kisses me once more. There is fervor behind his lips this time, I know it's partly to shut me up. He understands my worries and concerns, I don't have to ever say much to him. When the kiss breaks, I smile softly and wrinkle my nose.

"You're just trying to shut me up." I murmur.

"I am. So shut up." His lips are on mine again, his hips pressing into mine.

"Why are you so mean to me?" I murmur against his lips and laugh softly.

"Mean? Just this mornin' you threatened to beat my ass for stealing the last bite of your eggs." He laughs and skims my jaw with his nose.

"Yeah well, don't mess with my damn eggs." Playfully trying to push him away, amused when he doesn't budge.

He snorts at me, his hand slipping under my tank top, rough fingers gently tracing the scars he knows by heart. I'm more than happy to lose myself in this moment with Daryl, and more than willing to share my story and how we reached this point.

My name is Murphy McCourt and this is my story.

Thanks to AWriterOfMany for being my Beta Reader for this fiction! #TurtleChibi power!

Alerts, Favorites and Comments are always welcome. If you have any thoughts or ideas, feel free to leave them. I am open to anything you see that you'd like to know more on, let me have it!