Chapter one
The Capture!
"Damn it!" Abigail curses, her eyes narrowing at the residents of the hilltop community drawing near. "I could just kill my dad!" she mutters angrily. "Looks like we've got company!" the striking redhead announces, her winter green eyes blazing as she clutches her handmade compact bow. Abigail Maddox is the daughter of Negan, the ruthless leader of the Saviors, and the only thing he adores more than Lucille. "Hey, get down!"
"Wouldn't it be easier to just surrender?" Alden chimes in, prompting a fierce look from Abby.
"What the hell did you just say?" Alden shrinks back in fear as she draws nearer to him. "Why not let me take care of you myself! If surrendering and hiding sounds good to you, then don't let me stop you." Her stare is unwavering, a fierce glare like a beacon in the dark, daring anyone to challenge her resolve. "Keep an eye on the door." She indicates for Jared to step forward, a smooth motion that conveyed both trust and expectation. The tension in the air crackled with possibility as her presence anchored the group, beckoning them to confront their fears instead of retreating into the shadows.
"You got it, Abs!" Jared glared at Alden, recognizing him as a traitor, the betrayal etched into every line of his face. "You can't trust anyone who turns against their own." His voice dripped with disdain, a warning that resonated with the gravity of their situation. The tension between the three of them was palpable, a storm brewing just beneath the surface.
"Stop it, you two! We have bigger fish to fry," she snapped, her patience wearing thin. "I'm going up to the roof, so I need you to cover me!" She turned to Alden, her eyes piercing, searching for sincerity amidst the chaos. "Can you do that? Will you have my back?" The intensity of her gaze bore into him, demanding an answer. She tilted her head, the atmosphere so charged that it felt like a blade could barely slice through it, each heartbeat echoing the urgency of their mission.
"Absolutely!" Shawn said, nervously bobbing his head. Abigail's presence loomed larger than Negan's in many ways. She was a force of nature—fearless, resilient, and often emotionless. With a laser focus on her objectives, she got the job done without a second thought, willing to make the tough calls when necessary. Unflinching in the face of any moral dilemma.
Abby nods firmly, then deftly climbs out the window, her body moving with purpose as she scales the building to reach the roof. From her vantage point, she sees the hill toppers capturing prisoners, her heart pounding in her chest. Her eyes lock onto Shawn and Jared, fueling her resolve as she draws her bowstring taut.
"Don't you dare consider it!" Tara's voice cuts through the air like a knife, a menacing threat hovering just behind Abby's ear. Abigail, with a heavy heart, stows her bow and tucks the arrow into her quiver. She remains motionless, her back turned, hands bound tightly as she is escorted away with the others. Murmurs ripple through the crowd, speculation swirling about the capture of Negan's daughter.
Once they arrive in Alexandria, the prisoners are directed into a large edifice, its walls lined with the scars of past conflicts and the promise of resilience. Inside, the atmosphere is charged with anticipation as Maggie stands poised, her expression a mixture of concern and determination. "Is this all of them? Is our outpost secure?" she questions, her voice firm and unwavering. As her eyes fixate on Abigail, whose self-satisfied, defiant grin stirs a tempest of rage within her, Maggie feels the weight of responsibility pressing down. The confrontation between them is not just personal; it symbolizes the broader battle for control and safety in a world that has become increasingly unforgiving.
"That's Negan's daughter!" Maggie's expression twists with unrestrained hatred as she locks eyes with Abigail, who tilts her head, a mischievous smile teasing her lips. Tara's voice cuts through the tension, a whisper meant to comfort.
"Are you positive?" Maggie presses, her gaze never faltering, her blue eyes sharp and frigid as they remain fixed on the redhead.
"One of those so-called saviors had the gall to say it himself," Tara said, her voice dripping with contempt as she glared at Abigail.
"Get the others locked up," Maggie commanded, her authority unmistakable. "She's going to a different room. Tie her to a chair and strip her of her weapons. Rick will want to have a word with her." Tara nodded, her irritation palpable as she pulled Abigail away, ready to confront whatever was coming next.
Abby's voice oozes with sarcasm as she exclaims, "What fantastic accommodations!" Meanwhile, Tara is busy disarming her, taking away an arsenal that includes three Glocks, two semi-automatic handguns, a compact bow with a quiver, and a staggering fifteen knives. Tara looks at her, utterly bewildered. "What?" Abigail inquires, a smirk plastered on her face, clearly enjoying the chaos.
You're nothing but a walking weapon, a ticking time bomb of chaos! Tara glares at Abby, her face twisted in disgust, but Abby just raises an eyebrow, unfazed. "Sit!" Tara barks, trying to assert her dominance. But Abigail, with a mocking tilt of her head, saunters closer, amusement dancing in her eyes.
"Or what?" Abigail challenges, locking eyes with Tara, her lips curling into a menacing snarl. In a flash, she lunges, sinking her teeth into Tara's shoulder, tearing through flesh like it's paper. Tara screams, trapped in a nightmare, unable to escape the grip of this feral beast. Just then, Maggie and Michonne burst in, tackling Abigail to the chair, her mouth stained with blood and bits of flesh. Abby cackles, a sound that sends chills down the spine.
"Oh, I see it now. She's definitely Negan's spawn," Michonne remarks, her voice dripping with disdain as she secures Abigail's legs to the chair.
"Are you okay, Tara?" Maggie's voice is laced with genuine concern, her brow furrowed as she watches Michonne expertly bind Abby to the chair. Meanwhile, Abigail, relishing the moment, licks her lips with exaggerated flair.
"Yeah, I am," Tara retorts, her eyes locking onto Maggie's. "She just lunged at me."
"For crying out loud! We need to examine that right now! Michonne, are you going to manage until Rick shows up?" Maggie is hustling Tara out of the room like it's a race. Michonne simply nods, her eyes glued to the array of weapons laid out before her. The sight is overwhelming.
"Why on earth are there so many knives?" Michonne demands, her fingers brushing over the stunning craftsmanship. These knives are not just tools; they're works of art. Abigail, as usual, chooses to stay silent. "Did you create these?" Michonne gazes at Abby, her eyes filled with admiration. Abby gives a hesitant nod in response. "What about the bow and arrows?" Michonne gently caresses the bow's surface.
"Please, keep your hands off that!" Abby's voice drops to a whisper. "My mother crafted that bow for me when I turned eighteen." A trace of sorrow flickers in her green eyes.
"Forgive me, I won't touch it again." Michonne lifts her hands defensively. "You know, it's possible to share your thoughts with me? Just a woman sharing with another." She seeks to breach Abby's defenses, but finds her efforts thwarted.
"I ain't saying shit!" Abby's expression is resolute, her eyes hard. Michonne sighs, shaking her head in resignation.
"It would be easier to communicate with me rather than Rick or Daryl." Michonne attempts to reason with her, but Abigail simply shrugs, displaying no fear. Not even the thought of death can shake her resolve.
Her eyes were locked intently on the door ahead, as though it held all the answers she was searching for. Michonne, aware of the moment's significance, exhaled a deep sigh and leaned back against the wall, preparing herself for what might be a long wait. Outside, the heavy metal gates of the compound creaked open, and Daryl burst in on his motorcycle, a mix of determination and excitement evident on his face. Carol held on tightly to him, her eyes sparkling with laughter and exhilaration, while Rick followed closely behind, his brow knitted in thought. As they dismounted, the mood shifted; Maggie rushed toward them, urgency in her step, while the rest of the group dispersed, leaving a charged atmosphere filled with unspoken tension.
Rick studied Maggie's expression, trying to decipher the whirlwind of emotions playing across her face, confusion rising to the forefront. "What's happening?" he asked, concern lacing his voice. It was apparent that something important had occurred.
Maggie paused, her brow creasing as she chose her words carefully. "We've captured some prisoners from the satellite outpost," she said, her tone revealing an unsettling blend of pride and anxiety. "They're in the jail—except for one."
"One?" Daryl echoed, disbelief evident in his voice. "What makes this one special enough to walk free?"
"The prisoner in question," Maggie replied, a smirk breaking through her tension, "is apparently Negan's daughter."
A stunned silence enveloped them as Rick processed this shocking revelation, his eyes widening in astonishment. "Negan has a daughter?" he murmured, taken aback to the point of being momentarily speechless.
Daryl's laughter pierced through the thick atmosphere, his sarcasm cutting. "What the hell! That guy has kids? Seriously?"
Maggie crossed her arms, a mix of amusement and irritation on her face, but the gravity of the situation weighed heavily upon them. They had captured someone linked to their most formidable enemy, and the ramifications were yet to unfold. She's been locked in that room, with Michonne standing guard. It seems she's quite the character; she's actually bitten Tara.
"What do you mean by 'bitten'? She's not a walker, right?" Rick inquires, his expression revealing his astonishment.
"No! She's very much human, albeit a bit eccentric," Maggie answers. "And somewhat unpredictable."
"Sounds like just the kind of woman I'm into!" Daryl laughs, prompting Rick to smirk and shake his head lightly at him.
"Calm down, big fella," Rick teases.
"Well, maybe you'll have a better chance at getting her to talk. She's clammed up and hasn't uttered a word since. She was carrying a small armory—five guns, a bow and arrows, and around fifteen knives, all of them handmade. The bow and arrows seem especially significant to her." Maggie states. "She has requested that the bow and arrows not be touched. Something about them being a gift from her mother? It seems to be the only thing that she has a reaction with."
1. "Are you coming along, Daryl?" Rick inquired as they approached the room. At that moment, Michonne appeared in the doorway.
"There's not a word being said. I've never seen such an awkward silence before," she observed, offering a tired half-smile. Rick acknowledged her by gently squeezing her shoulder in gratitude.
As Daryl and Rick entered the room, they were struck by an unexpected scene. A striking girl with vibrant red hair and mesmerizing green eyes was tied to a chair, her expression vacant of emotion. Daryl instantly advanced toward the weapons, prompting her to focus on him, her gaze ignited with fury.
"What a discovery!" Daryl exclaimed, brandishing a bow. Abby thrashed against her bindings, lunging at him with fierce resolve, inciting a smirk from Daryl.
"Keep your filthy hands off that!" she spat through gritted teeth. "I swear, I'll tear you apart!"
"Well, well, the mouth on this one—seems like we've got the devil's child here," Daryl joked, still clutching the bow. "Normally, I'm not a fan of small bows, but I might make an exception today."
Abigail let out a scream so sharp that it made Daryl instinctively drop the bow, her green eyes shimmering with unshed tears.
"That's enough, Daryl. Just put the bow down," Rick intervened, focusing on her expression. "I apologize for his antics. He can get a bit overzealous around bows." She shot them a glare. "Let's start over. I'm Rick Grimes. What should I call you?"
With a disdainful look, she replied, "Not your concern..."
Daryl leaned against the wall with his arms crossed, a questioning look on his face. "So, what should we call you?"
"How about 'Devil's child'? Sounds fitting," she shot back, her voice laced with defiance.
Rick, weary from the tension that filled the room, raked a hand through his messy hair before attempting to ease the situation. He glanced at her, noting how her fiery red hair framed her face like a fierce crown, contrasting sharply with the dull gray walls. "Look," he began, his voice steady yet filled with empathy, "we just have a few things to figure out, nothing more."
Abby met his gaze with a piercing look, a blend of rebellion and vulnerability playing on her features. "You seriously expect me to confide in two complete strangers? You've got to be kidding."
Daryl, still standing with his arms crossed, was taken aback by her tenacity. "I'll give you credit; you're got some guts. But just so we're clear, this isn't a joke. We don't want to harm you, but if it comes down to it, we will."
"Great, that really makes me feel better," she retorted sarcastically, her scorn filling the air. "Do you think I'm scared? I couldn't care less what you guys do." She shrugged defiantly. "I'm not saying a damn thing!"
"If you don't cooperate, I'll take you out myself with your beloved bow," Daryl declared, pushing himself away from the wall with irritation.
Abby responded by spitting at Daryl's feet. "Do what you got to do! But you won't!" Daryl's eyes narrowed, filled with contempt.
"Don't push me!" he growled. He leaned in close, his green eyes locking onto hers with an intensity that felt almost electric. The air between them crackled with unspoken tension, but she stood her ground, unwavering in her stare, refusing to back down.
Rick, sensing the charged atmosphere, gave Daryl a gentle kick, prompting the lean but tough redneck to step back, his expression shifting from one of aggression to cautious curiosity. "Listen," Rick began, his voice steady but laced with emotion, "we know who your father is, and we deserve a fair shot at defending ourselves. Your dad made our lives a nightmare... for no good reason." His eyes shimmered with a mix of anger and sorrow, reflecting the weight of their shared history.
Abigail inhaled deeply, the air filling her lungs as she turned her gaze away, searching for the right words. "He wasn't always like this, you know?" she said softly, her voice tinged with nostalgia. "There was a time when he was a good man, long ago." The heaviness of her sigh echoed the burden of memories she carried, memories of a father who had once been a source of strength and love.
"You think we should give a damn that he used to tuck you in and read you bedtime tales?" Daryl snaps, his voice dripping with contempt. She remains unfazed, staring him down.
"Daryl, just calm down for a second," Rick pleads, hoping to ease the situation.
"No! This is insane! Glen and Abraham were good people, not that worthless scum, and I'll never see him as anything else." Tears brim in Daryl's eyes, his face a mask of fury.
"How can you sleep at night?" She challenges him, her gaze fierce and unwavering.
"What did you just say?" Daryl's eyes narrow dangerously.
"Knowing you're the reason one of your friends is gone. If you had just kept it together—" Daryl lunges at her, but Rick intervenes.
"Fuck you Bitch! You and your scum, pop!" Daryl yells, spitting in her face, his hands flailing in frustration. Rick finds it increasingly challenging to keep Daryl back,The tension in the room is palpable.
Abby, ever the provocateur, smirks at the unfolding drama. Her tone drips with sarcasm. "Did I strike a nerve?" she taunts, her eyes glinting with mischief. Daryl's anger simmers just below the surface, a volatile mix of frustration and resentment that threatens to boil over at any moment.
"Enough!" Rick barks, his voice cutting through the charged atmosphere like a knife. "Daryl, go outside now." He pushes Daryl toward the door, the urgency in his tone leaving no room for argument.
Daryl exhales sharply, shaking his head in disgust as he steps out. "I'm fine!" he snaps, his voice laced with defiance, but the sound of his fist slamming into the wall echoes through the hallway, a testament to his barely contained rage.
Rick turns his furious glare toward Abby, his expression twisted with a mix of anger and frustration. "I'm done being polite," he declares, his voice low and menacing. "You have two choices: either cooperate and help us, or face starvation." The weight of his words hangs in the air, heavy with the reality of their situation.
Abby pauses, her defiance unwavering as she tilts her head, a smirk still playing on her lips. "I ain't saying shit! I'd rather starve, first," she retorts, her voice steady and resolute, challenging Rick's authority.
Rick shoots a threatening look, his voice dripping with menace, "We'll see!" He rises abruptly, slamming the door with a resounding thud that reverberates through the dimly lit room. The sound echoes in Abby's ears, and her heart races as she scans her surroundings for a way out. The walls feel like they're closing in, but if anyone could wriggle free from a tight spot like this, it was Abigail Maddox. With a swift toss of her hair, she feels the familiar weight of a knife slipping from its hiding place, and she bends down to retrieve it from the floor. In one deft motion, she positions the blade on her shoulder, flinging it behind her with a practiced flick of her wrist, catching it effortlessly in her hands. The cold steel glints in the low light as she swiftly slices through her bindings, freeing her legs with a triumphant grin.
"dumb asses!" she mutters under her breath, the adrenaline surging through her veins. Armed and ready, she scales the building with agility, her heart pounding in rhythm with her footsteps. She settles herself beside the chimney, her mind focused, not on escape, but on her next move, She muses over the consequences of betraying Negan, her curiosity piqued by the thought of his reaction. What kind of twisted expression would that monster wear if she chose to stand against him? Would he be furious, or would he simply revel in the chaos her betrayal would unleash? Abby rests against the chimney, her mind racing with possibilities. Daryl is completely unaware of the sacrifices she made for him, the moments of fear and doubt that haunted her as she plotted his escape. She questions whether it would even matter if she told him she was the one who orchestrated his escape from her father's control. Would he appreciate her bravery, or would he see her as someone who played with fire and got burned? The questions swirl in her mind, the fact that she cares is so puzzling to her that she is completely oblivious that they have realized that she is not in the room anymore.
"She can't have gone far," Rick asserts, his voice steady as he addresses Daryl and Carol.
"How the hell did she escape?" Daryl scratches his head, his brow furrowed in perplexity. She can't help but chuckle at their chaotic search, the way they flit about, searching every nook and cranny. Once Daryl is left to ponder alone, she takes the opportunity to start launching acorns at him, her laughter bubbling up.
"Ouch! What was that?" He whirls around, eyes wide with surprise, and spots her on the roof, looking down at him with a mischievous glint in her eyes. "How did you get up there?" She gives a nonchalant shrug, her smile playful. "Rick, I found her."
"Where?" Rick looks up, astonished, his mind racing to comprehend the situation. "How did she even get up there?"
"No idea!" Daryl sees the drain pipe and makes a split-second decision to scale it. His heart races as he climbs, adrenaline coursing through his veins. When he finally reaches the top, he finds himself struggling to pull his body over the ledge. Just as he feels the precariousness of his position, teetering on the edge of a fall, a strong hand grips his arm and yanks him up. "Thanks!" he breathes out, relief flooding through him. "But don't think this makes us friends because it—"
"It was me, Daryl! I got you out of that cell," she interrupts, her voice steady and unwavering as she keeps her gaze fixed ahead, avoiding his eyes. Daryl's heart sinks as he processes her words, disbelief washing over him.
"What?" he stammers, shaking his head in confusion. "Sherry—"
"Was part of the plan," Abby replies, her eyes finally meeting his, a flicker of determination in her expression. "If I wanted to escape, I would have done it at the outpost. I had my reasons for being there."
"So you wanted to be captured?" Daryl asks, his brow furrowing in shock as he tries to wrap his mind around her revelation.
"You never bothered to ask if I was on Negan's side," she says, her voice dropping as she looks down, the weight of her words hanging in the air between them. "I guess we just assumed," Daryl admits, his gaze drifting away, guilt creeping in as he reflects on their past interactions.
"You know what they say about assumptions," she smirks slightly, a hint of defiance in her tone. "Negan is my biological father. I was adopted right after birth, and I only discovered the truth a couple of years ago. It's complicated, Daryl."
Daryl's mind races as he processes this new information. The implications of her lineage, the choices she made, and the risks she took swirl around him. "So you've been playing both sides?" he asks, trying to understand her motives.
Abby shrugs, her expression unreadable. "I had to survive. It's a dangerous world out there, and sometimes you have to make hard choices. But I'm not on anyone's side, Daryl. I believe everyone has good and bad in them. Some just act on the bad more. And in this day and age its just sometimes easier, when you feel powerless, to do whatever you can to gain that control you once had."
Daryl studies her, searching for any sign of deception, but all he sees is a woman who has fought her own battles. "So what now?" he asks, the tension between them palpable.
"Now," she sighs. "I don't know! But he will come for me. Oddly he loves me I think I don't know!" She gives a snort. "I'm Abigail, Abigail Maddox."
"Daryl Dixon! But it seems you already knew that." He studies her face. His heart beating fast for some reason. He's not sure why but he trusts her. "Why did you save me?"
She looks into his eyes. "I don't know! I guess I like you." She shrugs.
"You like me?" He gives a half smile.
"Oh, not like that. I mean I find you interesting." She chuckles.
Daryl shakes his head. "I'm pretty simple actually. I do whatever I can to help my friends and me to survive."
"That's what I mean." She looks down. "I don't get close enough to people anymore to have friends. Not really, I don't place my life in anyone's hands but my own.
Trust is a luxury I can't afford anymore. The world we live in... it's unpredictable, and I can't let my guard down." Daryl studies her as she speaks. There's a weight to her words, a vulnerability that he finds disarming.
"I get that," he responds, his voice softer now. "It's hard to keep people close when everything feels temporary."
Abigail nods, her eyes reflecting a mixture of sorrow and resolve. "Exactly. I've seen too much pain, too many betrayals. I'm just not willing to risk it all again."
"Trust is earned, not given," he says, his gaze steady. "But sometimes, you have to take a leap. You never know who might surprise you." Daryl stares at Rick below remembering how he took a leap of faith in trusting Rick and now they are like brothers.
Abigail laughs lightly but there's a strain to it, as if she's unsure whether to embrace his words or shield herself. "Easy for you to say, Daryl. You seem to have it all figured out."
He shakes his head. "I don't have it all figured out. Far from it. I've lost a lot people I cared about. Each loss just makes it harder to hold on. But I've learned that without taking those risks, the human connection—no matter how fleeting—can still make the struggle worthwhile." Her expression softens, and for a moment, Daryl sees a flicker of hope in her eyes.
"Maybe you're right. Maybe being cautious is actually just fear holding me back."
"It might be," he suggests. "But life's too short to waste on fear. You'll find the people worth trusting." He nudges her softly.
"I don't know if I'll ever feel that way again," she admits, her honesty disarming him. "But I appreciate your perspective, Daryl. It gives me something to think about." A comfortable silence settles between them for a moment, as they both reflect on the weight of their pasts. Daryl senses an unspoken bond forming, fragile yet significant. Abigail is more than just a stranger; she's a reflection of the struggles he's faced. "I apologize for what I said earlier. It wasn't your fault at all. I have a habit of letting my words cut deep," Abigail admitted, her gaze dropping to the ground. "Negan would have likely taken him out anyway. He's just too unpredictable."
"It's alright! Honestly, I do feel responsible for Glenn's death. I have a short fuse and a quick temper. Not the best traits for surviving these days," Daryl chuckled lightly.
"Well, I can be pretty sharp with my words too," she replied with a grin.
"And I've heard you've got a bite to match," Daryl replied, raising an eyebrow in playful curiosity. "What was that all about with Tara? Biting her, I mean."
Abigail shrugged, a mischievous smirk dancing on her lips as she avoided his gaze. "She just got under my skin. You know how it is—some people just try too hard to act tough and badass. I can't deal with that kind of attitude. If my hands weren't bond I would have just decked her."
Daryl chuckled, shaking his head. "Yeah, I get it. Sometimes it feels like everyone's trying to prove something out here. But you know, there's a fine line between tough and just plain annoying."
"Exactly!" Abigail exclaimed, her eyes lighting up as she finally met his gaze. "It's like, just be real. We're all struggling to survive; no need to put on a show."
"Right? It's exhausting," Daryl agreed, leaning back against the slanted roof. "But hey, at least you're not afraid to speak your mind. I respect that."
"Thanks," she said, her smile softening. "I just wish I could find a way to express myself without resorting to biting people." She states teasingly
"Maybe just stick to words next time," Daryl suggested with a grin. "Less chance of getting your teeth knocked out."
Abigail laughed, the tension between them easing. "Good advice. I'll try to remember that."
"And if you ever need to vent, I'm here. Just, you know, keep the biting to a minimum," he added, his tone light but sincere.
"Deal," she replied, feeling a sense of camaraderie growing between them. "I appreciate it, Daryl."
"Anytime, Abigail. We're all in this together, after all." He smirks.
"Oh please! I think it's Abby 3, Daryl 0," she laughs, her eyes sparkling with mischief. Daryl shakes his head, a smile creeping onto his face.
"You're really keeping score, huh? What's next, a trophy for best roof climber?"
"Absolutely! I'll even make a little plaque," she replies, her laughter infectious. "But seriously, I just wish I could get a handle on this authority thing. It's like I get worked up whenever I'm around someone in charge."
"Rick is a good guy! He only wants what's best for everyone." Daryl explains. Looking around the room "are you ready to talk to him."
She shrugs "as ready as I'll ever be." She gives a smirk.