Chapter 6 :) Hope you enjoy!
PS: I have two different versions of Chapter 7 started, one in Audrey's POV and one in Daryl's, and I'd like to know which one you guys would like :D If no one is keen on the Daryl POV then i'll just continue as I have been but if someone is partial to the idea, i'll try my best to change it up :) Tell me which in a review please :D
Now, on with the show!
Chapter 6: Making Friends and Other Sports
It's been two days since I arrived at camp and I've developed sort of a routine. It's not perfect, not complete, not sent in stone but it goes a little something like this. My internal clock wakes me up just around sunrise, usually bright and glaring in my face, and within five minutes, I'm out of the tent, teeth brushed, clothes on, and making my way to say good morning to whoever had been on the dawn watch. It's a good thing I never slept in late in my life before. But anyways, the first day the person on watch had been Jim, the second T-Dog and this morning it had been Shane, but, either way, I cast a smile and a greeting their way before going over to stoke the fire, making sure it is ready when Dale brings out some food for breakfast from his RV. Breakfast itself is a short but fun affair, all of us talking amiably and laughing, ignoring the fact that we are all a pack of strangers, here on the edges of the world. And when the food is gone, which doesn't take very long, I help wash the dishes in a small washbasin and take them back to the RV. From there my days vary slightly, but, either way, I find myself doing chores. I've helped with laundry and wood chopping, water retrieval, tent mending, which wasn't as easy as it sounded as we didn't really have a vast supply of needles and thread but we made due, and all sorts of other small things that keep this small little world we have running. It's a bit tedious, a bit ho-hum, but it's better than running for miles and sleeping in trees and constantly looking over my shoulder to make sure nothing comes and bites me in the ass. To be fair, I still do the last one but hey, it's the apocalypse. I'd be stupid not to. Especially with a man like Merle Dixon walking around camp but, as Shane advised, I do my best to not come within twenty feet of the prick. It's worked so far. I think I better knock on wood.
When the chores are done and I find myself with some free time, I usually spend it with Glenn or Amy, talking about nothing and everything, just passing the time. Despite a little naivety and shallowness, I've learned that they are pretty cool people to be around. We are already becoming fast friends. Break time ends rather quickly, and then comes lunch, more chores, and dinner. After dinner, it's time for bed and after a round of goodnights and another turned down offer for me to take watch, I crawl into my shared tent and try to get at least a few hours of sleep before I wake up in the morning and do it all over again. Wash. Rinse. Repeat.
Though, to be fair, that isn't an exact model of my days, or at least the ones so far. Sometimes, I spend time with Carl or Sophia, much like I'm doing right now, sitting Indian style on the ground beneath a tree, a few feet from Dale's RV. They may be young but they're sweet kids and, I guess a part of me gravitates to them because…they remind me of Irina and Manny. If only just a little.
"Hey Audrey," Carl suddenly asks, looking up from some toys he has splayed in the grass. Sophia looks up too, her hands going still on her dolls.
"Hmm?" I answer, listening but still focused on the scrape of the whetting stone (1) against the edge of my katana, making sure to not make the edge too sharp or too dull. The boy is silent for a few beats too long so I look up from my work, stilling my hand as my green eyes find his shy blue ones. "Yes Carl?" I ask again. He fidgets in place for a moment, eyes cast down as he picks at the grass. Frowning, I set my katana and whetting stone beside me, being careful to keep the edge away from anyone.
"Do you think," Carl mutters after a moment, still not looking at me. I lean forward to hear his words better. "Do you think you could show me some moves with your sword?" I blink at the question, because it is a question I discover after I decipher what his rushed exhale had been, and cock my head at him.
"Carl," I begin, he knows what his mother said and knows what my answer must be, but he must sense my refusal from my tone of voice because he snaps his head up, eyes pleading.
"I don't mean I want to hold your sword…I mean I do but I know I can't. I just…I was just wondering if you could…like…" He trails off, face pinched in frustration at not being able to voice his thoughts.
"He means if you could show us some fighting moves. Like a demonstration," Sophia quietly supplies, her light eyes also shy as she looks at me and Carl nods his head vigorously in agreement.
"Yeah! What she said!"
I blink at the two of them, switching my gaze from Carl's imploring features to Sophia's timid but still questioning ones. A demonstration? I'm a little confused at the request and I quickly voice that. Carl scoots forward on his knees a bit, eyes alight with excitement and anticipation. "Yeah like…like how karate guys fight each other and show off all their cool moves!" The words are practically gushed and I can't help but smile at his enthusiasm as he continues. "Like roundhouse kicks and like when you flip guys over your shoulder! Could…could you show us something like that," he finished quietly, face wide open and begging.
A small laugh slips from my lips and I grin at Carl. That's a little different…and a lot more doable. "Well," I say, shifting so my elbow rests on my knee and my chin is cradled in my hand, my other hand twirling pieces of grass between my fingers. "I don't know how to do any roundhouse kicks but I know some self defense. But moves with a sword are a bit different. They're more for…attack than defense. Do you want to see just regular self defense or offensive moves with a sword?" I ask the question with a completely serious face but before I even say the final word I already know the answer.
"Sword!", Carl exclaims, nearly bouncing in the grass. Another smile splits my face but then a sudden thought occurs to me and it causes my expression to dim a little. Carl must notice because his face falls as well.
"What?" he asks, worry in his tone. "What's wrong?"
Exhaling harshly, I blow a few stray strands of hair from my eyes, pursing my lips as I gaze back at Carl. "Nothing's wrong per se," I tell him. "It's just…I think I should get your mother's consent before I do this." I turn to Sophia and nod at her. "Your mother too. I don't want either of them to be upset."
"Why would we be upset?" a sudden voice asks and I snap my head up, Carl and Sophia also whirling around, to see Lori and Carol standing a few feet away, baskets of laundry balanced on both of their hips.
"Oh! Hi Lori, Carol," I wave, smiling at them.
"Hi Audrey," Lori smiles back before looking at the three of us. "Now why would we be upset again?" Her eyes suddenly narrow at her son and Carl shrinks a bit into the grass. "Carl hasn't been giving you trouble has he?"
I wave my arms at them. "No! Oh no! He was just asking if I would give him and Sophia a demonstration with my sword," I tell her honestly, not wanting to beat around the bush. "But I told him I needed to get your and Carol's consent before I did."
Lori looks a little skeptical but Carl jumps right in before he can say anything. "Mom please," he begs, actually clasping his hands in front of him. "I won't touch Audrey's sword I swear! Sophia and I just want to see her fight with it. Please Mom? Please, please, please!"
Lori gazes at her son for a moment before she shakes her head with a laugh. "Ok, ok. I guess I see no problem with that. That is, as long as it's alright with Audrey."
"It's no trouble at all," I respond, waving a hand dismissively. "Kinda been wanting the practice actually." Lori smiles again, her eyes warm and appreciative.
"Thank you Audrey. But," she says sternly, turning to wag a finger at Carl, eyes narrowed. "Carl, you will listen to whatever Audrey tells you to do and I don't want to hear that you've been giving her any problems understand me?"
"Yes ma'am," Carl replies back, practically vibrating in his seat from excitement.
I chuckle at him before I look up at Carol. "Carol? Is it alright with you too?" Carol bites her lip and her blue eyes look from me, to her daughter, to Lori, and back again.
"So…Sophia won't be touching anything right," she asks quietly, concern painted blatant in her voice. "She'll be safe?" My heart suddenly constricts and I find it a little harder to breathe because…those were the exact words my mom had asked sensei my first day of training. Smiling, a little bit more brittle this time around, I shake my head at Carol.
"Yes ma'am. I won't let Sophia or Carl touch a thing. They'll be as safe as can be. I promise."
The woman considers this but then gives a tentative nod. "Alright then. Sophia can watch too." Carl whoops out loud and leans over to give Sophia a high five, which she gives him with a bright smile of her own. Lori ruffles her son's hair and Carol gives her daughter a smile and her own warning before the two women continue on their way.
Listening to Carl's ardent exclamations, and feeling some of his excitement rub off on me, I stand up, dust off my jeans, though it didn't do much since they're kind of made solely of dirt by now, and bend to pick up my katana and sheathe. Carl is instantly at my side, bouncing on the balls of his feet, smile so wide I feel his cheeks must ache something fierce. "I'm coming, I'm coming. Hold your horses good sir," I jokingly scold him as I try to pocket my whetting stone. The small, rough rectangle, however, slips from my fingers at the last moment and tumbles into the grass. Carl swoops down and hands it to me before I can even blink. Damn. Is this kid excited or what?
"So have you ever done something this before," he abruptly asks as I pluck the medium sized rectangle from his fingers.
"Done what? Swordfight?"
Carl wrinkles his nose at my sarcasm. "No, no. Like a fighting demonstration." A thoughtfulness enters his features and he suddenly shakes his head. "Wait. Never mind. That's a dumb question. You must have done them all the time at your dojo," he amends. My brow furrows and I open to ask him what dojo but then, like a douse of cold water, I remember what he is talking about. Oh right. The dojo. The fake dojo that I had lied about and said I spent eight years training at. That dojo. Shit. I need to keep track of my lies, even if there aren't very many. I can still hang myself in their webs if I'm not careful.
"O…oh yeah," I respond. "Yeah all the time."
Carl looks at me with worship in his eyes. "That is just so cool. But I bet you like demonstrations with partner's better right? To really fight someone instead of just going through moves right?"
At his words, I struggle to fight back the memories of sensei and his whip like reflexes that, for all intents and purposes, he should not have still retained at his old age. Still, I am truthful in this answer. "Yes," I say, eyes slipping slightly out of focus. "Yes I liked fighting with someone else better."
But that was then and this is now and I need to focus on what I'm doing at present. So, I shake my head and clap my hands, opening my mouth to ask Carl where we should do this little demo when the young boy suddenly interrupts me. "If someone agrees to fight with you, would you say yes," he asks, face craned up to look at me in honest inquiry.
My lips twist into a frown. "Carl, I'm not fighting yo—"
"Not me!", he exclaims, waving his hands in front of his face. "But…but what if someone like…like Shane said he'll do it. Would you say yes then?"
I consider this for a moment. Shane. Hmm…the man was certainly in shape enough to give me a descent fight. And, from what I've heard he was like the gun expert of whatever little town him, Lori, and Carl came from. That means he has to have good reflexes and even better instincts. Fighting with him would probably be a good match, something I hadn't had in a long while. And…it would be different. The only times I had ever used my sword were against sensei in practice and on walkers when I was on the run. I knew for a fact a fight with Shane wouldn't be anything like these two instances and it could help me with a little versatility in my fighting; it could help me learn something new. Yeah…a fight with Shane could be fun. Turning back to Carl, I smile at him and bend at the waist to look him straight in the eye.
"Tell you what Carl, if you go ask Shane and he agrees I'll fight him." Carl looks fit to burst with happiness but I hold a finger up to show him I'm not done. "But if I fight him, I'll only fight with a stick or bat or something of the like. I won't use my sword because I don't want to hurt him. Alright? Now, it's up to you and Sophia what you want to do but if I'm to fight Shane, that is my condition."
Carl frowns at me, looking a little disappointed and put out but he turns to discuss his options with Sophia all the same. After a few moments of whispers, he turns back to me with a determined look on his face. "Ok. We still want to ask Shane to fight you but then, later, will you still show us some moves with a sword?" I grin at Carl; the little weasel was bargaining with me. But damn with if I'm not a sucker for those baby blue eyes and that cute little face. Sticking my hand out, I nod my head in seriousness.
"You've got yourself a deal Mr. Grimes."
He nearly rips my arm off with the enthusiasm of his handshake. "Great! I'll go ask Shane now," he declares. "Come on Sophia!" And before I can even open my mouth to say anything, the boy has grabbed Carol's little girl and is tearing across camp. I swear, I think I saw fire come off his shoes.
Leaning back against the tree I had been previously sitting under, I laugh as I watch him run off, his and Sophia's small bodies weaving through camp like snakes through the grass, stopping quickly at their mother's side to more than likely animatedly ask where Shane was. I see Lori smile at her son's antics and point somewhere in the distance, a place hidden by tents and the bulk of Dale's RV, and suddenly, Carl and Sophia are off again, gone in the blink of an eye. I can't help but shake my head with another giggle. Shane doesn't stand a chance.
Standing here, staring after Carl, I suddenly feel a thrill of excitement begin to burn through me, slow and unfurling, like the steady progression of lava down the side of a volcano. My nerves tingle with the jolt and I feel the familiar thump of my heart as adrenaline begins to trickle out from brain. I want to grin at the nostalgic and exciting feeling but, unfortunately, a simultaneous streak of sadness rides along its coattails, subduing, because, although this is the first time in a long time that I get to really fight with my katana, to go through on the moves I had learned and just slip back into that in between state of action and reaction, into that place where my mind goes blank and all I am is a continuous flow of muscles and movements, it is also the first time that I'm fighting without sensei and with the knowledge that…sensei will never be there to see me fight again; he will never again correct my stance, my posture, or teach me something new. It's a sobering and heart wrenching thought and I have to close my eyes for a moment to fight back the scratchiness in my throat. "Deep breaths Audrey. Deep breaths," I think to myself.
After a few moments, the moment passes, the burning at the back of my eyes fades to a distant ache and my lungs no longer feel as if they are collapsing in on themselves. I exhale harshly and rub at my face in fatigue. It's getting harder and harder to drive back these emotional breakdowns. I believe it might be due to the fact that I…I haven't allowed myself to really think about that night; haven't allowed myself to…to grieve. I should have, I still should but…but now is not the time. There is a time and place for everything and I have yet to find the time to mourn.
It is, however, time to get a move on because I'm pretty sure Carl is about to spontaneously combust somewhere around here. Sighing softly, I open my eyes and begin to step forward only to immediately have to snap my head to the left, blinking as the glare produced by one of the camp's park cars continues to throb against my retinas.
"Ow," I mutter to myself as I endeavor to try to blink the glaring red spots in my vision away. "That was smooth." Grumbling under my breath, I lift a hand to rub at my stinging eyes but my vision has cleared just enough and something I see brings me up short.
Twenty yards away, sitting alone on a ratty looking old camping chair, is Daryl Dixon, a half skinned squirrel lying limp in his hands, the poor thing splayed out like a damn throw rug. His movements are smooth and sure as he cleans the animal, even I can see that even from this distance, the product of years of practice causing not a stutter or falter to be seen as he removes inch after inch of fur and skin. My gaze absentmindedly flickers down and around him, taking in the small pile of other woodland creatures that sits at his feet and the merciful absence of Merle. God's small mercies indeed. As I continue to watch the man, a sudden frown pulls at my lips and I unconsciously turn to face him, shifting so my shoulder presses harshly against the rough bark of the tree. My mind begins to turn.
Today is my third day in camp, which both seemed too much and too little a time, and yet, ever since we ran into Shane the day we met, Daryl hasn't said one word to me, has barely even looked in my direction. Hell, his silence in the woods was done right talkative compared to him now. But, I mean it's not like I'm hurt by that or anything, I wasn't exactly banking on Mr. Dixon to become my new best friend. It's just that him keeping a football field's distance between us makes it a little hard for me to thank him.
Alright, I know I had said that he can fuck off and that he doesn't deserve my thanks, he really doesn't, shooting me in the head and then insulting me like he did but…damn it my bleeding heart is a force to be fucking reckoned with. Every time Glenn or Amy says something that makes me laugh, or when Carl smiles at me like I'm the coolest person he's ever seen, or when Jacqui goes out of her way to make me feel right at home, my stupid freaking heart twists into miles of guilty knots and my conscience, without fail, endeavors to speak up. "You're happy right now," it would remind me. "Happy and safe unlike you had been, lost in the woods. And why are you happy and safe?" I try to ignore the little voice in the back of my head at this point but it just becomes louder and louder until I'm nearly writhing in guilt. "Because Daryl fought to bring you here. Because he chased you through the woods, when he could have easily let you run to your death, and offered you sanctuary. And you're not even going to thank him? What would sensei say? What would Mom?"
That last part is what breaks me. Because I know what my mother would say and it makes me duck my head in shame. So, even though it pains me to do so, I decided yesterday morning that, in order to rid myself of this crippling guilt, I will go up to Daryl and thank him, point fucking blank. He might not want it, check that, I know he doesn't, just as much I don't want to do it, but I will say the words anyway. If only to get my conscience to leave me in peace. The problem, I have found, is getting close enough to the man to actually say the words. If he's not out in the woods hunting, then he's lounging near his tent with his brother Merle and if he's not there than he's fucking in Narnia or something because no one can find him. Granted, no one but me is trying but that's beside the point. My point is Daryl is as easy to find, and get alone, than a freaking chupacabra. There hasn't been an opportunity that I could approach him with my thanks since I walked into camp.
Except now.
I wrinkle my nose at the prospect, my good mood dampening slightly. Well, as the old adage goes, there's no time like the present right? I gaze at the silent hunter, his buck knife glinting wickedly, and swallow harshly. Right.
Besides, if I go right now, I'll have just enough time to blurt out the words before Carl comes calling and then I'll just turn tail and be on my merry way, embarrassment minimal and bleeding heart patched. Perfect plan if I do say so myself. Now I just have to drum up the balls to go over there.
…again this is easier said than done. But I can do this. I've survived the apocalypse. I can manage saying thank you to some redneck hick from the middle of nowhere…I think. Ugh. I just need to get this shit over with and stop thinking about it. Slightly empowered by my words and admittedly after a few deep, deep, breaths I find myself shoving off the tree behind me and, surprisingly, walking straight and smooth towards the Dixon tent. As I walk, I pass other member's of camp, some I know and some I don't. I smile and nod at them all the same, occasionally saying hello and they respond appropriately, kind and genial. However, when I begin to draw closer to the Dixon tent, confused looks replace the smiles and people begin to openly gape at me, knowing full well where I am going since the Dixon's "live" on the outskirts of camp, surrounded my nobody and nothing. I continue to smile and pretend I don't notice their expressions.
I travel the distance a lot quicker than I had originally intended and, within a matter of moments, I'm standing merely feet from him. As I come to a stop, Daryl stiffens and his hand stills, the gaping squirrel, with it's skin flayed back and it innards bared to the air, abandoned as he lifts his head to look at me. Those sky blue eyes of his are narrowed, glaring and hostile. I try to offer a smile but it quickly falls flat when his glare only intensifies and, without a word, he turns back to his task. I chew harshly on my lip, tasting a slight metallic tinge as my chapped lips crack under the abuse. Well, here goes nothing.
"Um hi," I awkwardly say, going for the polite route, my voice seemingly obnoxiously loud in the silence that seems to envelope this fringe part of camp. I kind of want to tell myself to shut the hell up. Daryl, for his part, doesn't even acknowledge me. He just goes on skinning, like I'm not even fucking here. A scowl twists my mouth and I know I look like I've tasted something sour. All right, fine. I'll go with plan B.
"Look, I just wanted to say thank you." I decided just to say it bluntly, quickly, like ripping off a band-aid. Daryl pauses for a moment and looks up at me, confusion laced through the hostility in his eyes. I decide to elaborate. "For bringing me here. I…I would have probably died out there if you hadn't so…thank you." My words are awkward and stumbling and I can feel my face heat up in embarrassment, the traitorous flush creeping up my neck like wild vines. Daryl continues to stare at me, his gaze and expression inscrutable. The silence is deafening, wide as the ocean and just as deep; I can almost hear the fucking worms crawling in the ground. My flush grows hotter.
Then, I watch as Daryl curls his lip and snorts, turning back to his kill. "Yeah, whatever." And he's back to ignoring me.
I balk at his words and the blush on my face grows brighter, fueled now by anger as well as mortification. The hell? Here I am trying to thank the bastard and he just dismisses me like I'm…no. You know what? Never mind. He isn't worth the fucking headache. I did what I came here to do; my conscience is clear. I was my hands of him. Casting one last glare at redneck dick, I make to turn around and go find Carl when a sudden, quiet curse halts me in my tracks. I furrow my brow and reluctantly glance back at Daryl only to see the man cradling his now bleeding hand, a rather large gash having been carved into the skin between the index finger and thumb on his left hand. A barely suppressed gasp rattles in my throat, there is a lot of blood just spewing from the wound, but the hunter doesn't appear the least bit phased by the injury, pissed maybe but not concerned. All he does is set down his knife, ok more like throws it down, reaches down beside his chair, yanks out a rather ragged looking rag that seems to have seen better days and ties it around his still bleeding hand, cinching the knot tight with a sharp tug of his teeth. Then, like nothing had even happened, he picks up his squirrel again and proceeds to finish cleaning it.
I'll admit that little scene makes me pause in my departure, makes the anger boiling in my veins to slowly peter out. Christ…the man practically just cut off his hand and he didn't even flinch, he barely made a fucking noise. Sure, I know he's the badass mother fucking red neck that can eat a hammer and crap out nails but…damn. I can't help but recall when Morales' little girl fell yesterday while rough housing with her brother and cut up her knee on some rocks. Her wails nearly echoed off the hills and everyone else had ran around for a few minutes like chickens with their heads cut off, fluttering over here and over there, not knowing what to do until Dale produced a half empty first aid kit and the chaos settled down a notch. To be honest, the little girl had made a lot of drama over nothing, the cut had barely broken the skin, but, either way, everyone was doting and caring as the girl sniffled, asking if she needed anything, basically coddling her. The thought makes me purse my lips and I glance over my shoulder, seeing everyone mill about, talking, laughing, some even gathering around Shane to probably convince him to fight me; I then turn back to Daryl, watching the sure movements of his hands, eyes drawn to the red stained rag on his left. Once again, unbidden, the cogs in my head begin to revolve.
The hunter has been over here for god knows how long, skinning the food that he had to catch in the first place and nobody has even spared him a second glance. Granted, they probably just want to keep their faces in the same order but even still. The man basically singlehandedly feeds our little rag-tag group, keeps us alive and going, and yet…he sits here, on the edge, like a wild dog that sticks around for the scraps he is thrown. My previous analogy, from my first night with Shane on top of the RV, of Daryl being in this little group but not of it comes to mind. It seems I was more accurate than I had thought.
Although, I don't really blame anyone for kind of ostracizing Daryl, after all he is quite the fucking asshole. I should know. But to be honest…he isn't as bad as Merle. I shudder at the thought of having two Merle Dixons in the world; the one we have is already one too many. Daryl, though, he's more…more…well I don't really know what he is but he's not his brother. For one, he brings back food for everyone and he also helps around camp occasionally; he generally keeps to himself as well, not starting fights unless Merle is involved. Like yesterday when the brothers had returned, Merle surprisingly with nothing, and Dale, sweet old Dale, had made some comment or another and nearly ended up with a chest full of pellets from Merle and an arrow through the skull, again surprisingly, upon Merle's insistence. But that's another matter entirely; back to Daryl. The man is a dick and as rough around the edges as a goddamn porcupine but he's like…socially awkward! That's what he is, socially awkward, unlike his bad apple of a brother. He's like a feral dog that wants to be petted but reflexively snaps at anyone and anything that gets to close. And I guess it's because of this that something in me, something incredibly stupid, something of that little girl in me who didn't trust anyone and lashed out at everyone, kinda…actually…might want to…maybe…not befriend but at least make peace with the man.
I blink and nearly choke in shock as the thought registers in my mind. Whoa, whoa, whoa, back the hell up! What the hell am I thinking? I have to be going insane because I did not just consider sorta-kinda-maybe befriending Daryl Dixon. I was done with the man; I had said my thanks and my conscience is clear. I've washed my hands of him! Repeating that thought in my mind, I try to glare as balefully as I can at the oblivious tracker but, once again, my traitorous bleeding heart makes an appearance and the glare melts into a scowl. Not a pout. It's a scowl. God I must be losing my fucking mind…
"Do you need any help with that?"
Daryl freezes mid slice and his head snaps up to look at me, eyes wide with incredibility. It seems my offer has caught him off guard. "Whatcha say," he grunts, his tone more bewildered than hostile. Wow, I must have really caught him off guard. Feeling uncomfortable under the weight of his gaze, I shift my weight from foot to foot, my eyes skittering to the side, blush burning all the hotter. What have I gotten myself into?
"I said do you need any help with that? Like with the skinning?"
When a heavy moment of silence ticks by, my gaze flickers back to Daryl for a moment; his expression is dubious at best. "Ya know how to clean and skin," he asks, jutting his chin out towards the flayed squirrel. Oh crap. I bite my lip and tuck a strand of hair behind my hair, ignoring the fact that the wayward strands immediately fell back to brush along my jaw line.
"Well…no. But I'm a quick learn. If you show me once or twice I'm pretty sure I can pick it up," I tell him honestly. I hope at least.
Confusion suddenly bleeds into suspicion and Daryl narrows his eyes, regarding me with thick distrust and skepticism as he turns to face me more fully. "Why?"
My brow furrows in confusion. "Why what?"
"Why the hell ya wanna help," he snaps out, anger leaking back into his voice and visage. I frown at the man and think about coming up with some smart ass remark but that annoying voice in the back of my head that had told me to offer my help in the first place urges me to tell the truth. And damn if I don't do it.
"Cuz you look like you could use a few extra hands," I say truthfully, motioning to the pile of critters at his feet. "Besides, you catch the things. The least someone could do is help clean them." I watch as a muscle jumps in Daryl's jaw, a noticeable jump. He continues to stare at me, directly at my face and I realize he's trying to decided if I'm telling the truth or not. I square my shoulders as best as I can and meet him eye-to-eye, willing him to see I'm being honest. I really just want to help. Though God knows why.
A few seconds tick by, the two of us involved in some kind of unspoken staring contest, and then Daryl's face loses some of its hostility, going from pissed and ready to fight to just slightly irritated. He opens his mouth to say something, did I really convince him, but before he can, a voice rings out loud and clear behind me.
"Audrey! Audrey!"
Tearing my eyes from Daryl, I turn my head to see Carl waving at me from near the RV, nearly jumping up and down in his excitement, goofy smiled plastered across his face. "Shane says he'll do it! Audrey, Shane says he'll do it," he calls out, still waving animatedly. The man he speaks of is standing next to him but his eyes are locked on me and, even from this distance, I can tell he looked confused and wary, more than likely asking himself why the hell I was over here talking to a Dixon and debating whether of not he should come over here and check in on me. I smile as wide as I can, hoping both Carl and Shane will see it, and wave back.
"Alright Carl! I'll be there in a minute!" The boy nods to show he's heard me and then turns to tug at Shane's side, mouth running a mile a minute. Shane keeps his dark eyes locked on mine for a moment, questioning and concerned, before he ducks his head and answers whatever Carl had asked.
I sigh and turn back to Daryl, mouth open to apologize for the interruption, but the words die in my throat at the man's closed off and, once again, cold expression. "Yer boyfriend's callin. I guess time for slummin's over. Don' wanna keep his highness waitin so why don' ya just run along," he sneers. The words are biting and dismissive and I wonder at what had changed in the last ten seconds. I frown at the hunter and cock my head.
"There's no need to be a dickhead Daryl. My offer still stands, I'll still help you; I just need a few minutes cuz I promised Carl to show him sword moves." A sudden idea comes to me and I flash Daryl a small smile, tentative and testing. "You know, why don't you come watch too? I'm fighting Shane. Might even break his nose," I joke, my eyes flickering up to Daryl's still bruised face. The man scoffs but doesn't say anything for a moment, actually considering, his eyes sliding from me to the group of people gathering about the RV. He seems more than a little uncertain.
"Relax a bit Dixon," I coax. "Come watch me kick Shane's ass and I'll come back with you to make some mean squirrel stew."
I don't know where the words, or these offers, are coming from but I do my best to not question them and just roll with it. It seems to be working out so far because Daryl is looking a bit more certain and he even moves to set his knife down on the rickety table he had been using. My smile transforms into a full-blown grin, I don't even know why, but before Daryl's hand can set down the knife completely, another hand, bigger and more scarred, suddenly falls on his shoulder, the loud clapping noise startling the both of us. Daryl's head snaps to the side and I quickly follow suit only to come face to face with Merle.
"What do we got here lil brother? This bitch givin ya trouble," he drawls, blue eyes piercing, though nothing like Daryl's, as he glares at me. I glower right back, smile withered and dead, feeling the familiar tendril of anger curl up my spine at the sight of the burly redneck. Fucking asshole. Where the hell had he even come from? Apparently, Daryl is just as surprised because his response is stuttered.
"M…Merle. Wh…where the fuck ya been," he finally stammers out, trying to mask his shock with a thick scowl.
Merle's eyes don't leave me as he replies. "Went to go check my traps. Empty though." At his words, my mind automatically jumps back to the trap I had nearly stepped in my first day at camp, the trap Daryl had saved me from, and suddenly I realize that Daryl had lied that day. That trap hadn't been his.
Feeling disgust well in my stomach, and wanting to be away from here, I tear my gaze from Merle and turn back to his brother, my brow raised in question. "So," I ask Daryl, stuffing my thumbs in the pockets of my jeans. It's a loaded question, two inquiries in one. I'm not only asking about coming to watch the fight but also about my offer to help him skin the animals. He knows this; I can see it in his eyes. But…I also see something else and I try to brace myself for what I know is going to happen next. It doesn't make the words any less caustic though.
"So fuckin what," Daryl suddenly sneers, looking too much like Merle for comfort. "I ain't got shit to say to ya." Out of the corner of my eye, I see Merle smile, slow and gleeful, and my teeth grind together harshly, a trickle of hurt and disappointment dancing through my veins before I stamp it out, violent and quick. Fine. I tried to be nice, I tried to make peace, but if Daryl wants to be a giant fuck head like his douche bag of a brother, than he can go right ahead. It's no skin off my back. Besides, two can play this game.
"Yeah I can see that," I jeer right back, my own lip curling, any previous notions of camaraderie fading from my mind, slipping like sand through an hourglass. "That's probably because between the two of you redneck fucks, you couldn't string a coherent, intelligent, sentence together to save your life. Too much inbreeding I guess."
And with that, I spin on heel, spine rigid as I make my way back to Carl and Shane who are watching me walk towards them, the former with a smile, the latter with a frown. I summon up enough strength to grin at the both of them and begin to apologize for making them wait but, even as I smile and talk, I can't quite get the image of the quicksilver flash of hurt I think I saw in Daryl's eyes as I had turned away.
It's just about noon when the majority of camp gathers around a small clearing of dirt just a few feet from the back of the Winnebago. The sun hovers directly overhead, bright and hot as hell, baking us meager humans below on Earth into nice and toasty crisps. I.e., I'm sweating like a fucking racehorse at the moment and Shane and I haven't even started our spar. Lovely.
I pull absentmindedly at the hem of my nearly drenched black v-neck. Why I am wearing this horrid color I have no idea. I must have been half asleep this morning when I yanked it on because it was not an intelligent decision.
"Hey Audrey!"
Pulled from my musings, I turn to see Shane standing a few feet from me, flanked by a semi-circle of on lookers, a long and thick branch in his hand. "Ready?" he asks with a smile. I nod and push myself off the siding of the RV but as I approach I notice something that makes me frown.
"Where's my stick?" The one in Shane's grasp is about two to two and a half feet long, nearly two inches in diameter and branch free. But there is only one.
Shane grins lopsidedly at me, his dark eyes shinning with amusement. "Nah, you don't need one. Just grab your sword." His grin is a more than a little condescending and it makes my frown deepen, taking on the hint of a scowl.
"Shane, I don't want to hurt you," I tell him. Cutting him, or cutting something off of him, would not be a very good way to earn a place within this little camp. The former cop's grin just widens into a smirk and he tilts his head at me.
"I wouldn't worry too much about that. So just grab your sword and I promise to go easy on ya," he says and now I have no doubt that he's being condescending. I bristle in aggravation but hold my tongue, narrowing my eyes at the man. He thinks I'm just some weak little girl, that while I know enough to survive I can't know enough to beat him. Well, if he isn't in for one fucking big surprise.
"Fine," I say against my better judgment and turn back to grab my katana where I had left it against the side of the RV. I pretend not to hear Carl's whoop of joy or the echo of a high five he must be sharing with either Shane or some of the other kids. When I walk back to my opponent, sword strapped to my back, I stop about ten feet from him and reach to tie my hair back, an old habit of mine when sparring. The hairs are to short to pull back into the old braid or ponytail, in fact most just slip back to brush against my chin, but the action is more for nostalgia and to get me back in the mindset to fight. Finished, I set my feet shoulder width apart and flex my fingers, muscles going lax and loose.
"You sure ya want to do this?" Shane asks me suddenly. "You can still back out and I won't think any less of you." His mocking tone sets a fire in my veins and I tilt my chin up, clenching my jaw.
"Ready when you are," I call out to him and the man shrugs as if to say I warned her before he narrows his eyes at me, obviously trying to deduce the best course of action.
Our audience, all twenty plus of them, wait with bated breath for one of us to move. Absentmindedly, I let my gaze drift over Shane's shoulder and see Carl staring at me with eyes as wide as the moon, looking as if he isn't even breathing. Christ, the kid looks like he's going to wet himself in excitement.
It's during my observation of the boy, my millisecond distraction, that Shane decides to strike. One second, the both of us are still and frozen and the next, Shane's lunging at me, swinging the stick at my left side. My attention snaps back to the fight and, even though my brain's still playing catch up, I can blatantly see that Shane has checked his swing and, if I were to let it make contact with me, it would barely even leave a bruise. Well, we can't have any of that now can we? Darting my hand up as fast as I can, I sidestep Shane's blow at the last second, wrenching the katana out of its sheath and bringing it down it a full blow arch, twisting the blade so the dull side pins Shane's stick to the ground. The loud smack echoes like a gunshot, the impact slightly jars my arm, and I hear a few collective gasps as Shane stumbles, his momentum throwing him slightly off balance. I grin and withdraw my sword, freeing his stick and letting him totter a few feet forward.
When he has righted himself, he whirls back around to face me, his face both confused and surprised. "Wanna rethink that going easy on me bit," I taunt him. I'm grinning or smirking, I can't really tell, but I do know this is the most normal, the most alive, I have felt in ages. God, I needed this. Shane shakes his head, trying to shake off the mishap, and straightens to face me once again. However, this time he is more cautious in his movements, he watches me warily, eyes narrowed and body tense for my next move. I smirk, I'm sure of it this time, and twirl my katana in hand. Don't want to keep him waiting now do I?
With a speed I have only used when fighting for my life, I lash out, aiming for Shane's left shoulder, bringing the sword down from above my head. He's slow to react, almost too late if I was really out to harm him, and the tip of my sword tears a small hole in his grungy T-shirt, the rest of the steel skating down the length of his stick and shaving off a portion of the wood. I hear Carl gasp, a chocking sound, but I don't turn to look; I keep my eyes trained on Shane as he stumbles back and touches surprised fingertips to the cut on his shoulder, his eyes shocked as they come away spotted red. A trickle of remorse bleeds through me, momentarily overriding my adrenaline and excitement, and I drop the katana to my side, the tip barely touching the ground.
"You all right Shane?" I ask in concern, cocking my head to the side. I gnaw on my lip. "Maybe we should stop." I really don't want to hurt him and fighting with a sharp blade cannot end well, especially when my opponent is lacking both my level of skill and a weapon to match my own. Shane blinks but then shakes his head, a smile stretching his lips, though this one is far less cocky.
"Hell no girl. I'm just getting started!" And with that, he takes a fighting stance, the stick held in front of in a two-hand grip. I bite my lip again but nevertheless follow his lead.
We circle each other again, like two lions on the prowl, and when it becomes obvious he is not going to initiate, I decide to. I don't us my full speed again, as I said I don't want to hurt him, but I also don't want this over too quickly. Selfishly, I'm relishing in this exercise. However, I am still quick enough to dart out and rap Shane on his left hip, hard enough to cause another bubble of worry to burst through me. Even though I have the blade turned out, so as not to harm him, the former cop still winces in pain and jumps to the side as the steel smacks into him. I make an apologetic face but the man doesn't see it, already lunging out to deal his own blow. I manage to block the swing aimed at my left hip, my katana twisted down, the point nearly digging into the soil, but I wasn't ready for Shane to push forward, his foot slinging behind my leg and yanking forward, wrenching me off my feet. My feet flip out from underneath me and I collapse with a wheezy grunt, the breath momentarily knocked out of me, but I have enough reason to jerk my katana parallel to my body, blade turned out, in time to catch Shane's downward swing at my torso. The wood meets steel with a jarring thud and I feel my sword sink into the stick a few inches.
"Shane," I hear someone call out in reproach but I can barely hear the shout over the roar of blood in my ears.
Gasping, I look up at Shane, confusion etched into my features. "What," I gasp out. "The hell Shane? That's…cheating!" I thought we had agreed to a sword, or stick and sword, fight! Not a back alley, no rules, bar none, brawl! Upon seeing I'm not really injured, Shane just grins down at me, expression gaining back some of its cockiness.
"All's fair in love and war sweetheart," he crows before he tugs his stick off my katana and steps back, flourishing his weapon as if it truly was a sword. I narrow my eyes at him and struggle back to my feet, dragging my forearm across my brow to wipe away the rivulets of sweat that are streaming into my eyes.
"Oh he wants to be like that huh? Well, two can play that game," I think and then I'm springing forward, intent on leaving a few bruises of my own on the cocky cop.
Our spar goes on for what seems like an eternity but what I know can only be a no more than fifteen minutes as the sun has barely moved from directly above me. In that short span of time, however both Shane and I have acquired our own set of injuries and wounds, cuts, scrapes, and bruises. Though, to be honest, he has a few more than I do. I try not to smirk at that fact. But, my arms are starting to grow slightly leaden, the muscles beginning to burn from exertion and a small cut above my eye keeps obscuring my vision with a steady trickle of blood. Shane looks to be tiring too; his moves are a little more sluggish, his blows not as powerful as before. I know that I can go on for, at the very least, another fifteen minutes, the longest training session I had with sensei had lasted nearly an hour after all, but, seeing as this is only a "friendly" spar, I do not see the point in pushing myself to that limit. If some Walkers were to attack, knock on wood there, I wouldn't want Shane and I to be too incapacitated to fight them off. Besides, even though I'm sure Carl, who is behind me as I'm facing the Winnebago, is probably just a pool of over excited goo on the outskirts of our little circle, I think he deserves to see a grand finale before I am too tired to deliver one. Resolved to end the fight now, I divert my attention back to my opponent, taking in the way he's swaying to and fro, the way his shirt is drenched in sweat, and the way he's favoring his left hip, from where I had checked him early on in our spar. He's at his limit. If I were any kind of descent, I'd put him out of his misery now.
I can't quite check my smirk this time.
Shane and I bob and weave for a few more moments, feigning jabs and thrusts, but he is ultimately the next one to attack next. He wants to end this too; I can tell. Using all the speed and strength that years on the police force had granted him, Shane charges forward and hauls his branch above his head, moving to strike at my face or neck. I can tell by the play of his muscles that he's not checking this blow. Good.
Rolling unto the balls of my feet, I relax and wait until the very last second again, his stick almost slamming into me, before I quickly step to the side, flinging my sword level with my forehead, the blunt edge facing Shane and the tip slanted down and to the right. With a loud smack and grating sound, Shane's stick slides down the length of my sword, skittering down to the ground as I flip the katana up, over, and against the side of his neck, the sharp tip resting just over his jugular.
The world grinds to a stuttering halt as the two of us stand there, barely a foot from each other, connected by my length of steel. Shane and I are heaving in deep breaths, the sounds harsh and too loud in the deafening silence and suddenly, the taller man tilts his head down to look at me, his eyes wide and shocked as hell. A thrill of delight burns through me and I bare my teeth in my teeth in a combination of a smirk and a grin before pushing very lightly on my katana, the tip just barely breaking the skin.
"I win," I pant out and then I take a step back, withdrawing my sword from his skin and slipping it back into its sheath with a definitive thrust. Shane blinks at me and lifts a hand up to rub his neck, mouth opening to respond but Carl beats him to it.
"THAT WAS SO AWESOME," the young boy shouts, running up from behind me, skidding to a halt between Shane and I. His eyes are wide as plates and blue as the sky and I'm afraid his face is going to shatter into a million pieces his smile is so big. I manage a tired smile in return and reach out to ruffle his hair affectionately.
"Was that good enough for you kiddo," I ask, still panting.
Carl bobs his head up and down so fast I know it's just going to bounce right off. "You were so amazing! Like when you first pinned Shane's stick and then you were like bam, bam, bam, and hit him on the hip! Oh! And then when he-"
His enthusiastic babble fades into the background for a moment as someone thrusts a canteen of cool water into my hand. I make an appreciative noise and then throw my head back, letting the refreshing liquid slide down my throat. When the container is half empty, I pull my lips away and wipe some sweat from my forehead, turning back to Carl and trying to catch up with his on going commentary. "-you and then you were like wham and his stick was like useless and your sword was like right there against his neck! You could have taken off his head!"
I laugh as Carl adds dramatic hand gestures to his retelling and bring the canteen up to my lips again. "Yeah but that was only cuz Shane was going easy on me. Isn't that right Shane," I call him out, smirking as I take another swig of water.
To his credit, the man just laughs good-naturedly. "Alright, alright. That was stupid of me to say. You are more than capable of whooping my butt even with me trying my hardest. Happy?"
A triumphant snicker leaves me. "A bit," I tell him but then I gesture to his neck and hip with my free hand. "I didn't hurt you too bad though did I? If I did, I'm sorry. I might have gotten a little carried away." I wince at him apologetically. But Shane just waves me off as he takes a deep gulp from his own canteen, upending the rest on his head and rubbing the cool water into his overheated skin.
"Nah, you're good. Besides, I think I might have paid you back for these with some interest." My lower back, the cut on my brow and a nasty bruise on my shoulder throb in agreement.
"Touché," I shrug. At Shane's words, Carl whirls around, as if just remembering he was there, and then the boy is running towards the exhausted looking cop, spewing praises on him on and restarting his ardent recount of the last twenty odd minutes or so. I chuckle at the sight and take another swig of water.
Suddenly, Glenn and Amy are standing in front of me and they have smiles to rival Carl's. "You have got to be the coolest person I've ever met," Glenn grins, his hat and his expression making him appear boyishly young even though I know he is a few years older than me. Amy nods in agreement, her own smile blindingly white.
"Totally! That last move was like something out of a Bruce Lee movie! It was awesome."
I blush a bit at their praises and tuck a strand of sweaty hair behind my ear. "I don't think Bruce Lee fought with a sword but thanks anyway," I say.
Amy makes an exasperated noise. "You know what I mean. But anyway- "
I listen with slightly embarrassed patience, smiling and try to get my heart and breathing under control as various camp members come up to me and offer their own praises and commentary. Lori is vastly impressed but she also exhibits a bit of concern for my wellbeing to which I wave her off, telling her its just a few bumps and scrapes. She doesn't look all that convinced but she assents either way and then goes off to talk to Shane and I have a feeling he's in for a bit of a scolding. Oops. Dale is basically of the same mind, as is Jacqui, both kind, mothering hens. Morales, however, is more of the former feeling than the latter and says that I'm "one bad ass chica." I'm not exactly fluent in Spanish but I think I got that reference anyway. I can't help but laugh at his new moniker.
After the initial congratulations are over, Shane comes over and tells me to rest up for a while and when I'm ready, we'll go down to the quarry together and restock on water. I blush at his request, knowing full well it's because of me and the near gallon of water I've just consumed, and give my consent, telling him to just give me thirty minutes and I'd be ready. The man looks at me for a moment like I'm crazy and then shakes his head with a chuckle.
"Girl, we ain't all that young," he grouses but I can tell he's joking. "Why don't we make it an hour yeah?"
I blush again but nod. The former cop claps me on the shoulder in a friendly gesture and tells me one last time "good fight" before he goes to sit in a chair near the Winnebago, Carl trailing after him like an obedient puppy. Glenn and Amy are still by my side and suggest that we go sit down to relax and I groan in abject agreement, letting them each take an arm and drag me to the closet shade. I'm tired, but it's a good kind of exhausted; the kind of tired one gets from having fun, not the type I've experienced in the last few weeks, running and fighting for my life.
However, as I lift my head to watch where we are headed, I don't really want to trip over my own feet, I think I catch sight of something but immediately shake my head in denial and turn back to respond to something Glenn had said, dismissing what I had thought I had seen as impossible.
I must have a slight touch of heatstroke because there is no way in hell I just saw Daryl Dixon walking away from the back of the RV, slinking back into the tress. He was still back at his tent with Merle, King of the Fuck Heads. I'm hallucinating, dehydrated, because the only reason he would be near the RV is to watch the fight and…it's more probable that a walker had stopped by for the same reason. Unbidden, my eyes flicker back to the spot I had though I'd seen him but I find only trees and dirt. I shake my head. Damn, I really do need to sit down.
(1) Whetstone- a sharpening stone used for knives and other cutting tools
(2) if you want to see Audrey's finishing move go to this URL ( watch?v=gDof81cMB8E) and skip forward to :32 seconds :)
And there is chapter 6 :) I hope you enjoyed it! This was my first "fight" scene so I don't know how I did on that :/ Please tell me if it was up to par and if not, tell me how I can make it better :) Also, if there is anything else that could be better, if i'm making someone out of character or anything else i can improve, PLEASE feel free to bring it to my attention! :D
AND PLEASE REVIEW! :D I want to personally thank everyone who reviewed the last chapter :) You guys are the reason I'm continuing this story! Thanks so much! :D
Again, I have two ideas started for the next chapter, be it another one from Audrey's POV or one from Daryl's and i NEED to know which one you guys would like better so tell me in your review :)
That's all I have now. :)
Until next time!
~Shadows