Hey guys! So sorry I've been away again for so long, I had my final university essays of the year to do so understandably they took precedence. And then I just got lazy by writing a different story and distracting myself with new fun ideas! But I do like this story and it now has an obvious point to go to before I decide if I continue or leave it. Thank you again for your support and hope you had a good year!
Oh, and of course extra special thank you to my best friend who wrote out all the argument lines for me because I was cold and didn't want to.
The Argument that Changed it All
It was a small cabin. Something like the hell-hole he had grown up in, in fact, far too similar for his determined pessimism of the moment. But for her it was new. Perhaps that was what highlighted the differences between them: that she instantly sat down, feeling at home in the protection of wooden walls- relieved that the wooden panelling trapped her from the outside world. Whereas he, well, he looked around the place his skin crawling back to memories, arms tight by his sides and talking to himself to just do what he had planned.
Places like this put him on edge. Because Dixon's, and the like, were like cockroaches. It took more than just the undead rising to kill of low-lives, just look at him. They thrived in this world. And though he knew that this place was empty, that Michonne and he had emptied it months ago, there was still this overriding anxiety that a man like his father might come back for him. On a deeper level, he was irrationally angry that time had brought him back to a place like this again.
And instead of looking at the differences, the blonde woman next to him and the strength of his character, he looked at the things that hadn't changed for him.
She was sat comfortably, her back against the old arm chair. A small smile played on her lips, it was her realisation that, as he passed her the small plastic cup of liquor, that a conscious change was coming between them. Kindness was like water to a parched man for her, the small amount of delegated care Daryl had begun to show her made a hole grow- wanting to suck him in further and share their compassions in a manner that they once had. Only Daryl didn't know that.
She laughed inwardly as he sat down heavily, memories of family games flittering through her mind. And for a moment they were allowed to play normal, happy families. She thought of Christmases and rainy weekends, fighting over pieces of board games, and then she thought of the (whole two) parties she had attended with her friends and what Maggie had told her of them. It seemed somehow silly and juvenile to explain the game to him, but he sat opposite her in the dingy hut to play anyway.
He watched her explain, her fingers pressing against each other awkwardly as she looked at his face. There was still that trace of childhood innocence in her, and in the setting it made him slightly queasy, so instead he poured a bit more moonshine and waited for her to start.
''I never-'' her voice died for a moment in thought, ''shot a crossbow. So now you drink-'' she looked at him, smiling encouragingly as he rolled his eyes at the entire idea of a drinking game.
''Ain't much of a game.''
''That was a warm up! Now you go.'' He could hear the smile behind her laugh, the moonshine hitting her already growing excitement and making it grow further. He had never heard her sound so confident with herself, and so he decided to let her drag him along. After all no harm in a game right. Only he had no idea what he was meant to say, even if he was considering playing along with the young girls rules for once. So instead he did what he did best, grunted and shrugged, a panic of embarrassment about to flare. When- she spoke for him:
''Say the first thing that pops in your head.''
He looked at her. Pale and weak, mostly likely the last thing he was going to be able to remember of his family. He imagined how long she'd last and, morbidly, how it would happen. He thought of these things too often, as he slept or, recently, if he let his mind wander. But right now he thought instead of their limits. Stuck in shed in a wood in a state he called home but had never really settled in-
''I never been out of Georgia-'' it was uncertain, the thought trail a bit pessimistic but she only blinked slowly at him, tilting her head a tiny bit to the side. The bit of hair by her ear was straighter than most days, the waves dropping with the weight of her own sweat.
''Really?'' He nodded to consent, and she picked up her cup. ''Okay- good one.''
''I've never been drunk and done something I regretted,'' the sip of moonshine seemed to vitalise her more, though he was surprised she didn't pull more of a face at the harsh taste of liquor. He bet her statement could have ended at her never having been drunk, but the vulnerability of admitting that seemed, for a teenager, to still inspire a hint of shame. He smirked inwardly at the mental image of Beth stood awkwardly near real teenagers, stone-cold sober and anxiously checking her watch and phone for fear of rocking the boat of her father's rules. So he drank, savouring the burn of the alcohol and sighing as he restrained any memories of the countless things he had done and regretted.
''I done a lot of things-'' he let it out more for himself, or some acknowledgment of the sheer number of stupid stuff Merle had him do, and his own mistakes on top of that. And then he wanted to take it back, to lock up the admittance in a box because she couldn't understand what 'a lot' really meant. She took up his hint to move on with a gentle 'your turn' merely moving her shoulder a little so she could sit up straighter, a look of pondering on her face.
''I never been on vacation.''
''What about campin'?'' The twang in her accent was becoming more pronounced, alarm bells rang in his head as he realised that her Dutch confidence was leading to curiosity. And he couldn't figure out why he answered her.
''No that just something I had to learn-'' and it seemed so strange to have to explain something to someone so far removed from him, ''-to hunt.''
''Your dad teach you?'' He watched her face a second, imagining what it would be like to have the mental image of a father that showed fair and just love for his children, instead of the image he had of what a vindictive father was like. But he didn't want to ruin that. He wanted Hershel to be the only thing she thought of at the word 'father', to think of love and bible stories and comfort. He grunted, shrugging the subject off heavily as if it could be dropped without her thinking about it. She didn't need a window to get into his head, god, she did that too often already and the last thing he wanted was to be drunk in a cabin with a blonde teenager pulling apart the broken pieces of his soul.
''I've never been in jail…I mean as a prisoner.'' She smiled a bit at her own joke, and he felt a twinge of pain at the mention of the prison. How could she joke about that place how could she even think about it? His misunderstanding flared to awkwardly settling on her resumption and a part of him felt so belittled by her innocence.
''That what you think of me?'' and he knew it was so he didn't know why he asked. Perhaps it was some form of warning to her, but he honestly just hated that she was a product of classist attitudes, no matter how naïve her intentions may have been.
''I didn't mean anything serious, just like the drunk tank- even my dad locked in that back in the day.''
''Drink up.''
''Wait- prion guard were you a prison before?'' Now he knew it was the drink, her voice was too quick and he wondered if that's the preppy kind of way she spoke before when she was happy. When she had a real life. His mind flittered back to Zach a moment, pausing on how he spent his days trying to guess. But Zach made him think of her- and he was angry that he was more upset that's she had adjusted to the hopelessness before he had- when she had been so broken before.
He stood up, brushing off the irrational hatred of the world that had begun to cloud his judgement. He hated who he had been in the old world and as he shouted at her about him taking a piss his only thought was to prove he was still the same low-life that he had been all those years ago. She would see him he decided, how hoity-toity bitches would have. Because nothing changed, men like him, they lived because they were born in the grit. He couldn't go down further, where she had fallen off her horse beside him in the sand. He couldn't be liked. He couldn't be loved. He couldn't be saved. And even though they were next to each other now, he bet she still would be.
Damn privilege.
''Oh wait, it's my turn right? I never, uuh, ate frozen yoghurt, never had a pet pony…never got nothing from Santa Claus …never relied on anyone for protection- hell, I don't think I even relied in anyone for anything!''
''Daryl'' the anger had exploded at her, but he didn't care, red face he ignored her confused childishness.
'I've never sung for a big group of people like everything was fun- like everything was a big game. I sure as hell never cut my own wrist looking for attention-''
He could see each word hit her like a punch, though she didn't move a muscle, her eyes took each insult. If he looked close enough, a voice told him, he'd see them settle in her heart. But he couldn't care, instead the words kept rolling out his mouth in a burble of hatred and anger.
He had wondered how a man could look at his own flesh and blood, barely six years old, and have such hatred for it. His entire life he had questioned the level of indecency to hit a child and pull it down to its knees whenever it tried to stand. He hadn't known there was such anger that blinded you to the point of irrationality. That you can pick a target because it's weak enough to bend and give you something to feel good about. That venting anger, and the feel of bruising the flesh of another so they hurt too, relieved some chilly vice grip of jealousy in your heart if only for a second. But now he understood.
He understood because he had been yelling at her and pulling her around as she screamed at him to stop in the same fearful tone both he and his mother had. He understood because he knew how scared she was and also how angry he was. He understood the total injustice of the world that he had been left with the weakest member of his family, only for her to be stronger than him.
Because he had become his father.
He let go of her, letting her push back against him and listening to her shrill cries. And they stopped looking at each other in a moment of total disorientation. And suddenly they weren't talking about what they were talking about anymore.
''No, you were being a jackass, if anyone had found my dad-'' her eyes widened at her own mention of him, eyes welling up as her chest heaved with heavy breathing.
''Don't,'' it was a strangled sob, ''they ain't remotely the same-''
And she saw her error, trying to back track the conversation to the walker as if a new can of worms hadn't just been opened. But his mind was reeling and all the guilty thoughts he kept tied to his chest were falling away, being exposed and the further he tried to distance himself the quicker the wall seemed to crumple around him.
''What do you want from me girl?''
''I want you to stop acting like you don't give a crap about anything! like nothing we went through matters, like none of the people we lost meant anything to you-its bullshit!'' her voice was raised again, a picture of her fights with aggie so long ago as her cheeks flared pink and her eyebrows furrowed.
''Is that what you think?''
''That's what I know!'' She ignored him to continue, pushing the yellow hair form her face as they leant into each other, threating the other to back off soonest. She shot off accurate truths, hitting herself more than it hit him. ''I know you look at me and see another dead girl. I'm not Michonne, I'm not Carol, I'm not Maggie. But, I survived! And you don't get it, because I'm not like you or them- but I made it. And you don't get to treat me like crap just because you're – afraid-''
''I aint afraid o'nothin'-''
They stared at one another for a second. He waited for her to yell back like she was meant to do. She wasn't supposed to use a soft voice to hit below the belt. She wasn't supposed to tell him about Sophia, hell, she wasn't supposed to let him know she even knew about Sophia at all! She wasn't supposed to prove that he was afraid.
''I remember… when that little girl came out of the barn, after my mom, you were like me. I now god forbid you let anybody get too close.''
And damn, had she come too close to the centre of his darkest regrets.
''Too close huh? You'd know all about that, lost two boyfriends and you can't even shed a tear- you're whole family is gone and all you can do is go out looking for hooch like some dumb college bitch.
''Screw you, you don't get it!'' She tilts her head at him, literally taking it on the chin. And he remembers how she begged him to look for the others. That she did try and look for them, that that was all she wanted but he was the one who didn't let her. That he was the one who took her searching for alcohol when he wouldn't look for her family. And suddenly he's irrationally angry that he's not hurting her.
''No, you don't get it! Everyone we know is dead-'' he's yelling as she protests, her voice louder than before and he gets a sick twist of pride for making her break that little bit. And though he knows he should leave well alone, he wants to twist her arm again. ''Might as well be, 'cause you ain't never gonna see 'em again- Rick! – you ain't ever gonna see Maggie again!''
He sees her hope break a little bit, the fighting light drop her shoulders a little as she fights off his scepticism for her own internal beliefs. But still the seed is planted and for the second time in the apocalypse she sees it. She sees defeat.
And the teenage girl became, even in her tipsy stupor more aware than ever of his pain. She conceded defeat, reaching out to touch his arm but too fearful to touch him. Her voice was soft, a fear that he was right coming through her need to end the argument.
''Daryl, just stop.''
She tried to do what he was too far gone to do. She saw where this road was leading, that the insecurities and guilt plagued him as much as they did her, and that feeding into them would let them destroy each other with words in a world where you already were only a step from total breakdown. She heard it in his tone of voice, her own fears as they got closer and closer to the cliff face.
He didn't remember what he said. Not exactly. Words and emotions came pouring out about the governor and the prison. He hoped he had said he was sorry, that it had been conveyed somehow in the lost translation of his words to his anger and his fear. And though he knew how deeply hidden that message was, he knew that if anyone picked up on them it would be her.
''Your dad-''
Her arms wrapped around him, small and tight he felt suffocated. But at the same time it felt like all the anxieties were being held back in, that she was pulling him back from lunacy with the warmth of her chest against his back and the small sounds of her own crying sobs. He started to shrug her off, afraid of what it meant to be weak. She didn't let him, fighting him back for the empathy for something he had never received. She was partly mother's love, partly asking for forgiveness and partly saving him from himself. So, instead, he hung his head, letting himself sob into the forest air.
People are fragile. People are the most fragile things in the entire world.
Daryl was a soft-centre, hard until you applied pressure where he would bend and break beneath your fingers. You pressed down and the entirety of his shell would crack. Beth was the opposite, a steely centre was wrapped precariously in paper-thin glass.
She held her heart out to him with bloody fingers to strengthen the weakness of his own.