Chapter 8:

The last few minutes spent at camp were quiet as people packed up what remained of their things. Daryl's tent was easy enough to disassemble, and I did it with ease as he slowly hoisted a big Harley into the back of his truck. I chucked his tent into the bed of his truck and brushed the dirt off on my jeans.

"That the last of it?" Daryl was tying down the bike and I nodded my head at him.

"Yeah, your bag is already in the cab."

"What about yours?" He asked, still doing up the knot, not even bothering to look up at me.

"Mine?" his question took me by surprise. I didn't really have a bag to begin with, but the women lent me some clothes as sort of a care package.

"No, your sister's. Yes yours." This time he stood back from his work, shaking the bike, making sure it wasn't going anywhere. I looked back towards my bag, which still sat on the picnic table. I hadn't really given much thought to who I'd be riding with. "Unless you're walkin' to the CDC?"

"Don't think I'd make it very far." Daryl smirked, looking up at me for the first time.

"I don't think so either, darlin." I dropped my mouth in shock and crossed my arms. Despite his lack of faith in me, I could feel the heaviness of the day slowly dissipating from my shoulders and I smiled, looking at the ground. It was good to laugh again, even it's only a small smirk or a slight chuckle here and there, and for some reason it felt good to laugh with Daryl, knowing the stuff he'd gone through in the past few days. "You comin' or what?" Daryl's voice brought me back from my thoughts, and he'd already opened the passenger's side door for me.

"Geeze, yes I'm coming." I grabbed my bag and shouldered it, taking a seat in the cab. "Impatient much?" I teased as he shut the door. I sat awkwardly in his truck, fingering my bag, taking in my surroundings. It was what I'd expected. Ashes and cigarette butts on the floor, an 8-track player in the console, a bucket of 8-tracks on the floor and a CB radio.

I smiled to myself as I opened the glove box. This took me by surprise. It was shockingly organized. His registration and insurance information were nice and neat in a baggy as well as his ID. I slipped my hand in, fishing out the plastic card. I wasn't sure what I'd expected because Daryl Dixon stared back at me, same serious demeanor as always.

I marveled to myself the simplicity of his glove box. Mine was always crammed with useless papers, garbage. I wasn't a slob, I just found the glove box useless and typically when I pulled out my registration it was stained with some type of liquid. I heard voices approaching and stuffed his registration back into the glove box, closing it.

"Yeah, we'll follow ya'll." Rick's voice replied to Daryl, who just nodded and took his seat in the driver's side. He turned over the ignition and the others of our convoy began to drive past, single file. With a honk and a wave he pulled up behind the others and we were off. I only looked back once, the smoke from the fire still flowing over the fire pit.

The car ride quickly became awkward and I kicked off my boots, pulling my knees to my chest. I rolled my window down and relished in the breeze as it whipped through my hair. He cleared his throat and nudged my shoulder. I looked over at him and the beat up pack of cigarettes he held out to me.

"No thanks." I smiled at him, my eyes lingering on his. "I smoked until I got into the medical profession." He shrugged and took one from the pack, tossing the rest to the center seat. Glancing down at the bucket of 8-tracks, I dropped my hand and began to shuffle through them. It was what I'd expected of him, a lot of classic, country.

Daryl's eyes flicked from the road to what I was busy doing and he flicked his cigarette out the window. I don't even think he lit it. I thought it was funny how territorial he seemed to get over his music.

"What?" I smiled up at him, a wry smile. "Don't trust me to pick something good?" I pulled out an 8-track, looking it over, before slowly, teasingly putting it up to the player. He watched every movement I made, and I placed the 8-track into the console.

Carry on my wayward son, they'll be peace when you are done, Lay your weary head to rest, don't you cry no more.

Daryl visibly relaxed and I smiled at him.

"You're lucky." He said with a smirk. I laughed at him and put my head back on my knees.

"I have good taste in music. Just because I want to college doesn't mean I like that hipster bullshit." I sighed and closed my eyes. "I was a good little Georgian girl."

"Oh yeah? Well that don't make your taste in music good. Alabama?"

"I'm in a hurry to get things done oh I rush and rush until life's no fun…" I sung under my breath, grinning widely. Daryl raised his eyebrow at me.

"Skynard?"

"Gimme three steps, gimme three steps ah mister, gimme three steps towards the door..." I was enjoying this now as he grinned down at me in a look of admiration. He ran his tongue over his gums and I gave him a cheeky smile.

"Charlie Daniels Ba-"

"The devil went down to Georgia, he was looking for a soul to steal-"

"He was in a bind cuz he was way behind and he was willing to make a deal." We both finished together. Our eyes met and we both started laughing. After a few minutes we died down to soft chuckles, followed by a sigh.

"Yep Earl had me listening to all of those." I sighed and buried my face into my knees.

"Earl?"

"My dad." My voice was muffled but he understood me. I had opened a door that had long been closed and I knew, out of sheer curiosity, Daryl wasn't going to let me close it. As I'd expected he raised an eyebrow at me.

"Don't call him dad?" He asked with a laugh. His question was genuine enough; it didn't feel proddy or pushy.

"Nah, not anymore." The conversation had reached its obvious conclusion, but now since the door had been opened, I wanted to keep it that way. "My father was… not very nice and my mom died during child birth, so you can imagine the hell I got from him…" Daryl's demeanor quickly changed and he locked his jaw, his eyes narrow.

"He hit you?"

"He did a lot of things, but I'm no worse for wear." I smiled up at him, but his good mood was evaporated. His eyes were slit, watching only the road, and his jaw was grinding fiercely. "If it weren't for him, I wouldn't have survived as long as I did, so I guess in the end I can thank him for something." Slowly I brought my hand up to his elbow. An awkward place to put your hand I know, but its better than putting it on his hand that was driving and possibly dying. "I don't let that define my life." Finally he looked down at me, his features softening.