Dixon's Archer

by Whatsinaname1997

Daryl Dixon /OFC, Smut (starting CH17) with plot. Set 2-3 years post Terminus. No spoilers past S4. Emma Archer took a big risk by bringing Rick's group into her world. The one she trusted the least, Daryl Dixon, soon becomes her closest ally. "In so many ways, Daryl was like a cat whose fur had been brushed the wrong way. She liked the idea of petting it flat again."

35. These boots

Chapter 35

These boots

Emma was two days overdue when Daryl insisted on setting out after her. After she'd left a bad summer storm swept through the area. The traps were loaded with walkers, a herd even came through the fort. They'd had to use guns to keep them off the gate.

Daryl started pacing the walls after that storm. Rick reminded him that Emma knew the area well and was most likely holed up somewhere until the area settled down. He pointed out that his worrying wouldn't make a lick of difference. That didn't stop Daryl from pacing. He was downright disagreeable with everyone.

Something was wrong. Shouldn't have let her go out there with that cocksucker Gordie.

Yesterday, he'd simply said "Fuck it." Grabbed his crossbow and headed out on the canal circuit to look for her. Rick had come running after him, but not to stop him. He knew better than that.

They walked in silence most of the way. They were a day out when they found them.

"Daryl, it might not be her." Rick had said. There wasn't a whole heck of a lot of anything left to identify. It was very clearly someone at some point, but there was barely a torso left and not much flesh on the crushed skull to identify. He did recognize the boots though. He'd pulled them off her that day at the lake.

Rick left him to cast around the area for more clues. He found their packs and remains near what looked like Gordie's weapon.

"It's her, ain't it." Daryl stated.

The fucking walkers didn't leave much o' anything to bury. Kneeling, he wiped the blood and gore off the boots. They'd hafta do. She wore them always. He remembered the soft sound the soles made on the parade square as she'd walk past the gatehouse on her way in from a circuit. He remembered her polishing them the first night at the fort in much the same way he polished his crossbow. They were a part of her. I ain't leaving them with the goddamn walkers.

Rick's voice was low. "I'm sorry Daryl."

Without a word, he stood and headed back to the fort with her boots in hand. Rick followed, and Daryl was grateful for his silence.