TW - violent attack/assault.

Please don't read if you're unsure x

When I first roughly planned this story, this was never part of it, but it has evolved this way. I promise things will lighten again very soon.

Chapter 26 - I got you

Overreacting.

Thought Daryl as he drove 20 over the speed limit.

Definitely overreacting.

He thought as he ran a red light.

Gonna feel real fuckin' stupid when I see her and she's fine.

But feeling stupid was infinitely preferable to this churning, cold dread in his gut, so he overtook a car in front that was driving too slow and ignored the blast of a horn when he narrowly missed an oncoming van. Tahlia's office was only a 10-minute drive from the courthouse – he'd be pushing to get there faster tonight, even in this traffic – and maybe he'd get there and she'd already be home, safely curled up on the sofa, and later she'd laugh and tease him for driving around like a madman.

But maybe…

Fuck.

Couldn't think about the alternative.

As Tahlia gazed at the blade glinting under the fluorescent lights, somewhere in the back of her mind pieces slid into place and she suddenly understood what this was about. Understood that, given the man's blown pupils and wildly twitching black stare, there'd be no reasoning with him. Understood that she needed to run like fuck because if she didn't, causing an unnecessary scene would be the least of her worries.

Thoughts avalanched in her brain as all at once she tried to imagine the layout of the lot behind her; the route to the elevators; the location of her keycard (pants pocket or handbag pocket?); the route to the exit ramp as Plan B; the route to her car as Plan C (it was just there, but Brooks was directly in front of it and she'd like to avoid his knife if she could); the chances that the security guard would appear right that moment and save her (she snuck a hopeful glance out of the corner of her eye, but nope, not another soul around); and, perhaps most desperately, she imagined how much more confident she'd be feeling if that morning, instead of choosing to wear a pair of strappy heels that she couldn't even fucking kick off, she had put her running shoes on instead, or better yet, her pointiest stilettos that she would've at least been able to use as a goddamned weapon. But no, she was stuck with her fiddly-strapped, block-heeled death-shoes. Gritting her teeth in frustrated terror, she took another step back, and, unhurried, Brooks moved towards her as if drawn by a magnet, his lip curled in malice.

"Where you goin', bitch?" he taunted, casually twirling the knife. "Ain't given you my message yet."

Time to move. Tahlia's blazer was draped over her handbag, so she let out a sudden loud, defiant shout and pulled it free, flinging it in Brooks' direction and turning to run as it billowed out, taking every measly second of distraction that it bought her.

The glass doors that led to the central elevator bank were up ahead and they weren't that far, not really, and Tahlia ran towards them, visualizing herself swiping her key card and pulling that glass door shut in Brooks' mad-eyed face.

But he was fast, faster than she'd expected, and she didn't need to look to know that he was right behind her; didn't need to look because she felt the burning line he drew down her back.

The knife.

She corrected herself absently.

The knife drew the line.

But there was no time to process that because then he grabbed the strap of her handbag and pulled hard, spinning her halfway back to him. Reluctant to let her bag go because her keycard was definitely in the internal pocket, Tahlia held tight to the strap with one hand and tried to yank it free but Brooks grinned and pulled her a step closer.

Fuck this.

Tahlia surrendered her bag and as Brooks whipped it carelessly behind him (the contents spilling onto the concrete, the keycard sliding loose, useless to her now), he lunged forward, knife lifted high, and slashed at her. Reflexively Tahlia raised an arm to protect herself as she turned to run again, and it took her longer than it should've to understand how that spattered arc of red appeared on the ground as she moved. Realizing she still had her car keys in her left hand, she readjusted them as she ran so that her fist was tightly clutching the keyring and a key was poking out between her first and second fingers, the only weapon in her possession. She wouldn't be able to get through the glass doors now, but she'd have to skirt around the elevator block to get to the ramp on the far side that led up to the next parking level. And maybe luck would be smiling on her and someone would be coming down in the elevators right that second and all this would be over.

But the next thing she knew, her head was wrenched back so violently that she nearly fell onto her ass, probably would've if she hadn't banged straight back into Brooks' solid frame. And as he readjusted his grip in her hair, tugging roughly again, she found herself staring up into the dark abyss of his eyes, felt the press of cold steel against her throat.

No.

She thought, or screamed, she couldn't be sure.

No.

So she slammed an elbow into his stomach and stomped hard on his foot with the solid heel of her shoe, and as he grunted in pain and released her, Tahlia fleetingly decided that these shoes weren't such a terrible choice after all. Whirling around in the hopes of landing a kick or a punch or a stab in the eye with her key because she now knew she wouldn't be able to outrun him, Tahlia swiped at his face with her key at the same time that Brooks, still doubled over, lashed up at her again with the knife, and she whimpered as she felt a scorching pain open up her other forearm. Face twisted, Brooks ranted a stream of abuse as he advanced again, slicing the knife wildly through the air like violent punctuation.

Tahlia had no choice but to hold her arms in front of her defensively - her arms seemed less important than her internal organs. He was toying with her, she knew it, could see how her fear and the sight of her bloodied arms was spurring him on, exciting him, revving him up for his final play. She couldn't let him get to that.

On his next downswing, she surprised him by stepping in towards him, grabbing his wrist and pulling it to the side as she screamed wildly and punched at his face with her fisted key, aiming for his eye. Her unexpected move caused Brooks to drop the knife, and it went skittering across the concrete and disappeared under a nearby car as he roared in pain. Heartened, Tahlia frantically jabbed at him again, and a final time for good measure, then turned on her heel and was off once more.

She'd only made it a few paces before Brooks slammed into her back with an aggressive tackle, and she crashed to the ground as he landed heavily on top of her.

How? She thought despairingly. How was he on her again so soon?

She wanted to sob in pure desperation, but there was no time for that because then he grabbed a fistful of her hair and sharply bashed her face into the concrete. Tahlia gave a choked gasp at the shock of the painful impact, errantly thinking that the cartoons were wrong because actually, it wasn't stars she saw, but fireworks, bright, agonizing pops and bursts of color inside her head.

Stunned for a moment, the world soon ebbed back into focus, bordered by the thumping pain in her face and limited by the blood that was now trickling down over her left eye.

First, she became aware of the cold solid ground beneath her and the weight of him straddling her back. Smell soon followed - the metallic tang of blood all around (all hers, she knew) and the stench of his sweat – stale, sharp and oniony, and she immediately gagged, certain the only thing stopping her from puking was the pressure of him sitting on her. Then she registered a rustling sound at the back of her neck, and she was suddenly filled with renewed terror as she wondered what the fuck he was going to do to her.

Catching a flash of white out of the corner of her vision, Tahlia realized he had a plastic bag in his hands, and he was trying to open it up to pull it down over her head. Snapping back into survival mode, she bucked wildly and at the same moment, a car horn blasted out several times – not near, but not too far away, maybe on the next level, and it sounded like hope to Tahlia – and that, coupled with her struggling, unbalanced Brooks and she wriggled out from beneath him and attempted to crawl away. When, inevitably, he grabbed hold of her again, she kicked desperately, catching him in the gut before rolling onto her back, preparing to fight for her life.

Scratching and swiping at Brooks as he wrestled his way back on top of her, she gladly noted that at least one of her key-jabs had hit the mark because he had one eye screwed shut tight, a crust of blood drying below it, but the satisfaction of that was short-lived as he struck her hard across the cheek, then messily forced the bag over her head. In a panic, Tahlia clawed desperately at his face, and in an effort to evade her flailing hands, Brooks rolled off her onto his back, then worked himself beneath her, dragging her halfway up his chest and leaning back to pull the bag tight as he wrapped one leg around her waist to secure her in place.

The crackle of the bag was loud in her ears and a world in white was all she could see.

No. Not like this. She didn't want to die like this. He probably only had the fucking bag in the first place because he was going to use it to dispose of the knife, and now here it was, promoted to position of murder weapon. She'd preferred the knife.

Tahlia gouged at his hands, but they didn't budge; reached frantically for something to find purchase on, to give her a chance – her keys would do, anything would do - but there was nothing in reach. Hands scrambling at the bag, she tried to pull it off, make a hole, anything, but her fingers were blood-slick and slipped uselessly on its surface.

This is it. She thought as she attempted to suck in a breath of air and found only smooth plastic against her tongue. This is it.

Still telling himself that he was overreacting (although he was much less sure of that since he'd tried to call Tahlia three more times and it had just gone straight to voicemail each time), Daryl slammed on his brakes at the entrance to the basement parking at the back of the Smith Gleeson Greene building and blasted his horn several times in frustration.

The barrier arm was down, and for a movie-moment he considered smashing straight through with his truck and careening wildly through the carpark, but he gave himself a quick reality check and conceded that if he was overreacting, then Tahlia probably wouldn't appreciate having to explain his willful damage to her boss Negan, and Axel probably wouldn't appreciate losing Negan's business over the same thing.

So, in a more restrained vein, Daryl pulled up haphazardly on the sidewalk, half-across the parking entrance (he might have decided not to bust anything down, but he didn't give a shit if he inconvenienced anyone with his parking), jumped out of his truck, ducked under the barrier arm and set off at a jog down the ramp into the first basement level. Shouting Tahlia's name into the echoey, near-empty space, Daryl briefly wondered how many levels there were in here and which damned one Tahlia would've actually parked on.

Halfway around the first level, he stopped to listen, tilting his chin up and squeezing his eyes closed. Nothing but deafening silence. Dragging a hand through his hair, Daryl once again considered whether he really was just being an overprotective idiot, but, he decided, he was here now, might as well keep going.

And then a noise, a faint something, enough to start him running again. Calling out for Tahlia, Daryl made his way around the first level, down the ramp to the next – a noise again, louder – still nothing to see, a car here, a car there. Then, rounding the central block of elevators, Daryl suddenly stopped short at the sight in front of him, a scene that would be forever scorched into his mind.

It was Tahlia, there on the ground. He couldn't see her face but he knew without a doubt it was her because he'd watched her get dressed that very morning - watched her fasten the straps of those heels that were now kicking limply against the concrete; watched her button that white shirt that was no longer white but dirt-smeared and blood-red (God, there was so much blood); watched her slip those two rings on her fingers that were now scrabbling uselessly at the bag over her head – and Brooks Powell, that fucking piece of shit who, now that Daryl was staring at him in the flesh did recognize, just like Merle had said he would, half-reclined beneath Tahlia, his grimy hands fisted around the edges of the bag that he was pulling tightly around Tahlia's neck.

An otherworldly roar tore from Daryl as he powered towards them, and if Brooks was surprised at the intrusion, he gave no indication, but instead sneered at Daryl and doubled down on his efforts to suffocate Tahlia.

Without slowing, Daryl dove straight at Brooks who didn't even flinch as he was slammed back by the bigger man, and the two rolled across the concrete.

Immediately shoving Brooks away, Daryl started to push himself up so he could get to Tahlia – she'd ripped the bag from her head and was on all fours gulping down great gasps of air, and something inside him unraveled just from the knowledge that at the very fucking least she was alive – but before he could get to his feet, Brooks launched at him and knocked him back to the ground.

Wired and scrappy and fearless, Brooks had a taste for violence tonight and was hungry for more, so didn't waste a moment before landing a headbutt straight across Daryl's nose, and Daryl tasted the blood almost instantly. A solid punch connected with Daryl's jaw and there was another on its way, but Daryl was bigger and stronger and filled with molten wrath, so he blocked it and with a short-lived burst of wrestling, Daryl soon had the upper hand. Straddling Brooks' stomach, Daryl stared down at this tweaking little sewer rat who had nearly taken the two people he cared about most from him, and his vision tunneled in until all he could see was the color of blood, and he punched and punched, aware of nothing but his desire to rid the world of this piece of shit.

Eventually, he registered the sound of his name being screamed over and over, and he blinked himself back into the world around him and turned his head to see Tahlia on her knees a few yards away, desperately begging him to stop, stop. She wasn't alone though, there was a woman at her side who had wrapped a jacket around Tahlia's forearms and was trying to coax Tahlia to sit back down. Then Daryl caught movement just behind him and looked up to see a middle-aged man in a suit standing just beyond his shoulder, looking terrified, like Daryl was some kind of untamed beast, which, thought Daryl as he looked down at his busted fist and Brooks busted face, wasn't too far from the truth.

Getting to his feet, Daryl looked back to the man and pointed at an unconscious Brooks. "Don't let him go nowhere."

"I… I think he'll be staying put for now." replied the man, but Daryl was already rushing over to Tahlia.

"Daryl!" cried Tahlia as she stood on her knees and reached out for him, dislodging the jacket from one of her arms.

"No, don't do that…!" the woman at Tahlia's side warned, trying to grab hold of Tahlia, but the jacket had fallen away and both Daryl and Tahlia looked down at the gaping slashes on her forearm at the same time.

"Ohh…" Tahlia breathed, as if noticing the wounds for the first time, then promptly dry heaved.

"My Gawd." croaked Daryl in shock as the woman gently wrapped the jacket around Tahlia's forearms again, and then he immediately dropped down in front of her. "Where else, Tahly? Where else you hurt? Lemme see."

The woman nudged her head at Tahlia's back, and Daryl peered around to see a diagonal cut in her shirt from shoulder to hip, the edges of the fabric glued into the clotting, shallow wound beneath.

"Jesus." Daryl quickly shrugged out of his own jacket and wrapped it around Tahlia's shoulders, flinching as he noticed the red mark around her neck where the bag had been pulled tight, the indent of her necklace etched into her throat.

"Don't put that on me." protested Tahlia. "Your jacket'll get all messed up."

He stared at her and shook his head. As if he gave a shit about a goddamned jacket.

Just then a new voice sounded. "What in God's name…?!"

They all turned to look at the grey-haired security guard who had just arrived and was wide-eyed and shocked at the scene in front of him.

"Someone's parked their truck across the entrance." he said faintly, gesturing vaguely behind him. "I just…"

"Call for help." instructed the man who was jigging anxiously around Brooks, his fists hesitantly clenched like he was ready to attempt the first punch of his life if he dared stir.

"Yes! Help." agreed the guard as he turned and ran to the emergency phone by the elevator bank.

"You've got a nosebleed." said Tahlia in worry as she looked up at Daryl. "Are you ok?"

And a cold train of sorrow barreled into Daryl then because even all cut and banged up she was still concerned about him and he had come so close to losing her, so fucking close.

He dragged in a shaky breath. "Don't you worry 'bout me. How're you feelin'?" Then he caught her in his arms as she suddenly lurched to one side. "Whoa. Steady."

"Sorry." Tahlia mumbled. "I just feel a little…"

"You a little dizzy, love?" gently asked the woman who was still on Tahlia's other side. "Let's get you lying down. That's it." she soothed as she helped Tahlia to lie down on her back while Daryl wasted no time in pulling up Tahlia's blood-sticky shirt to inspect her abdomen. "Now hold your arms tight against your chest like that and bend your knees… there we go. Help's on its way, dear." Then she looked to Daryl. "What happened here? My husband and I were just coming back from dinner, he works at the accountancy firm in this building-"

"Oh yeah, I thought I recognized him." said Tahlia as she glanced in the man's direction, her voice a little spaced-out. "I've seen you in the elevators. Hello."

"Shh." Daryl hushed her and she was trembling now, shaking, so he pulled the edges of his jacket tight around her and bundled her up as the woman continued.

"We came to get our car and then saw… this. You on that man and her all…" She gestured to Tahlia and shook her head. "It was terrifying!" Then suddenly she thought of something and looked at Daryl warily before bending closer to Tahlia and lowering her voice. "This is the good guy, right? He's not the one that did this to you?"

Tahlia managed a small smile. "He's definitely the good guy." Then she blinked curiously at Daryl, her eyes glassy. "What are you doing here anyway?"

Despite the fact his body was thrumming with adrenaline and pent-up emotion, he stroked a thumb gently down her cheek and said softly, "Told ya I was comin' to get ya."

Things kept happening around them after that, but Daryl was so focused on Tahlia that everything else was just background noise.

Police officers arrived, paramedics too. The former took their statements while the latter tended to them. Brooks was taken away which filled Daryl with relief because just being in his vicinity made Daryl feel murderous. Someone borrowed Daryl's keys and moved his truck to a legal parking spot. Someone collected up Tahlia's things and packed them neatly back into her bag.

They were soon taken to the hospital - Andrea was still there because she'd been too afraid to go home alone, and earlier, Daryl had instructed her to wait and that he'd call her when he found Tahlia, although she certainly hadn't been expecting the awful news that he gave her from the back of the ambulance.

Andrea fussed and fretted over Tahlia until Tahlia was taken to a treatment room (only one person was permitted to go with her and Daryl point blank refused to leave her side) and then resigned herself to more waiting and wondering how, in such a short space of time, everything got so turned upside down.

Eventually, Tahlia and Daryl reappeared and Andrea rushed to them, her brow furrowing in concern at the blank look on Tahlia's face.

"Aren't they keeping you in overnight?"

"I just want to go home." replied Tahlia wearily, and Daryl hitched his shoulders.

"They wanted to keep her in, reckon she's got a concussion, but she don't wanna stay. They said she could go as long as someone stays with her tonight."

"You're coming home with us, right?" Andrea asked Daryl anxiously.

He nodded. He wouldn't be letting Tahlia out of his sight tonight. "Course."

"And how's all the…?" Andrea gestured to Tahlia's bandaged arms, directing the question to Daryl because Tahlia was staring into space.

"Weren't all bad. Only some needed stitches. Said she was lucky that-" Daryl stopped himself because Tahlia probably wasn't feeling all that 'lucky' right now, and instead hurriedly covered with, "Might need the dressin's changed again tomorrow. Gave her a bunch of pills to take, too."

"Ok." Andrea laid a hand on Tahlia's shoulder. "Let's get you home, honey. Oh, I spoke to the police while you were in there. They assured me that Brooks was locked up and there was no further threat to any of us." She pressed her lips into a thin line and snorted. "They'd better be fucking right. And I let a few people know what happened. Merle, Michonne, too. They're all worried about you, Tahly."

"I'm fine." said Tahlia automatically, unconvincingly, and Andrea shot Daryl a look and he just shook his head sadly.

"I, uh…" started Andrea. "I haven't called Alden. I wasn't sure if maybe you were going to…?"

"No." replied Tahlia flatly. "Not tonight. I don't want to talk to anyone else tonight. Can we please just go?"

The ride back to the apartment was quiet all round, and once inside, Tahlia said she just wanted to go to bed, so Andrea followed her down to her room to help her get ready. Daryl could hear Andrea's voice, low, soothing, and he paced anxiously around the living room, his thumbnail in his mouth, impatiently waiting for her to emerge.

When Andrea finally appeared, she gave a long unhappy sigh and walked straight up to Daryl, throwing her arms around him.

"Daryl…" she sniffed, but said nothing more, didn't need to.

"I know." he said thickly, hugging her back tightly.

"One of us should stay in there with her. It should be you." Andrea told him as they stepped back from one another, but Daryl shoved his hands in his pockets, hesitating.

"You sure? You uh… you think she actually wants me with her?"

"Daryl," replied Andrea, softly, tiredly, "I think you're the only one she wants."

Slowly Daryl made his way down the hall and through the open door of Tahlia's bedroom where the soft glow of the lamp illuminated her with her back to him as she placed her water bottle on the nightstand.

"Silver?" ventured Daryl as he neared, hoping the nickname would give her a little comfort, but she jumped violently and whirled around in a panic, then huffed out a slow breath, briefly squeezing her eyes shut as she realized it was only him.

Seeing her fear, something tore painfully in Daryl's chest and he moved straight to her, catching her elbows in his hands, holding her carefully.

"Aw, baby," he said tenderly, not meaning to call her that but unapologetic that he had, "Ain't no one gonna hurt you no more. You're safe now."

Wide-eyed, she looked up at him, but nodded trustingly. "Will you stay with me?"

He thought back to that morning and his resolution not to sleep in her bed anymore – but surely this was an exceptional circumstance.

"I ain't goin' nowhere."

He helped her into bed – she had to lie on one side with her arms out in front of her – and he slipped straight in behind her. God, he wanted to hold her so badly, but he didn't know how to do that without hurting her, so he scooted in as close as he could without putting pressure on her back, and carefully laid a hand on her waist.

"This ok?"

And she just nodded in the dark.

She was silent for so long that Daryl thought she'd fallen asleep, but then came her voice, soft through the gloom.

"I thought you were going to kill him."

"I wanted to." Daryl thought back to his fierce, focused beating of Brooks; of Tahlia's screams. "M'sorry if I scared ya with that."

"You didn't. I wanted you to kill him, too, but I didn't want you to get charged for it." She drew in a long breath. "Do you remember up at the cabin that time, you told me that if anyone tried to hurt me you'd kill them?"

"I remember." replied Daryl, his voice ragged because he'd also told her that he'd never let anyone hurt her.

"I always thought you were exaggerating. But tonight I thought I'd better stop you. Just in case."

He squeezed her side in lieu of speaking because his throat was too choked to manage any words, and silence spread over them once more, lingered until Tahlia ventured,

"Daryl?" her voice tiny and tremulous as she turned her head to look over her shoulder at him. "If you hadn't come when you did…"

His eyes were tormented glints in the dark.

"Don't think 'bout that." he managed roughly, his own voice a strangle of pain because he knew exactly what would've happened if he'd taken any longer to get to her (the bag; the blood). "I got you. I got you now."

And only then, for the first time since it happened, did Tahlia allow herself to cry.