Chapter 23: Through the Ice and Ash
The morning light crept in through the thin curtains, its brightness stabbing at Isabelle's closed eyelids. She groaned softly, pressing her forehead into the pillow as her head throbbed with a relentless hangover. The pounding in her skull felt like a drumbeat, each pulse a sharp reminder of the wine she'd indulged in the night before. Her mouth was dry, her body heavy and sluggish, and yet, beneath the discomfort, there was something else—something warmer, quieter, deeper.
Behind her, Daryl's slow, rhythmic breathing brushed softly against her back. His arm rested across her waist, solid and steady, his hand relaxed against her hip. Even in sleep, he felt protective.
She could feel the faint rise and fall of his chest, the heat radiating from him, lulling her against the sharp edges of her hangover.
Her muscles ached as she shifted slightly, a deep soreness settling in her thighs and back, a delicious reminder of the night before. Isabelle winced slightly, then smiled despite herself. Flashes of memories came rushing back to her in vivid fragments, like scenes from a dream she never wanted to forget.
The way his lips had claimed hers, rough yet tender, leaving her breathless and trembling. The scrape of his beard against her skin as he kissed down her neck, his hands roaming her body with a kind of reverence that set her on fire. The way her nails had dragged across his back, leaving faint red trails in her wake, his low, guttural groans urging her on.
Her thighs tensed slightly, and a faint hiss of breath escaped her lips as the ache in them flared. She could still feel the imprint of his hands there, strong and possessive, holding her steady as if afraid to let go. She stretched her legs subtly, the burn of her muscles only intensifying the memories.
His voice echoed in her mind, low and gravelly, murmuring her name like it was the only word that mattered. The way his fingers had intertwined with hers, pinning her hand to the pillow as he moved above her, their breaths mingling in a haze of heat and desperation. Her heart quickened at the memory, her body responding to the vivid recall as if it hadn't already been sated the night before.
Her lips curved into a faint smile, her body humming with a strange mixture of soreness and satisfaction. Each ache, each burn, was a mark of the intimacy they'd shared—raw and unguarded, a culmination of everything they'd been holding back.
A soft rumble of breath pulled her from her thoughts. Isabelle turned her head slightly, glancing over her shoulder. Daryl was still fast asleep, his face half-buried in the pillow. His hair was tousled, sticking up at odd angles, and his features still softened by the peace of sleep.
She studied him for a moment, her gaze lingering on the lines of his face, the way the morning light caught in the strands of his hair. He looked different like this—unguarded, vulnerable, achingly human. A wave of tenderness washed over her, mingling with the lingering heat of her memories.
Her lips parted as she turned back to face the ceiling, her head sinking into the pillow. The world outside their little room was quiet, the crackle of the fireplace in the next room a distant, soothing sound. Codron's soft snores echoed faintly, a reminder of the party they'd left behind and the wine that still buzzed faintly in her veins.
She closed her eyes, letting herself sink into the warmth of the moment. The ache in her body was a reminder of everything they'd shared—the way he'd held her, kissed her, moved with her like they were two halves of a whole.
She had the fleeting thought of waking him up, her lips twitching with a mischievous smile at the idea. But as her gaze flicked back to his face, peaceful in sleep, she couldn't bring herself to disturb him. Instead, she whispered a silent prayer—Please let there be coffee…
The simple request felt absurdly vital in that moment, as if the promise of coffee was the only thing capable of helping her fully rejoin the world outside this room. She could already imagine the rich aroma filling the air, cutting through the fog in her head and dulling the persistent throb of her hangover.
Coffee wouldn't fix everything, but it was a start.
The thought of caffeine was enough to tip the scale and convince her aching body to move. She let out a soft groan as she shifted, sliding her legs over the edge of the bed and planting her feet on the cold floorboards. Isabelle shivered slightly, the cool air prickling her skin, and her eyes darted around the room for something to throw on.
Her gaze landed on Daryl's shirt, discarded in a heap near the edge of the bed. She reached for it, pulling it over her head. It was far too big for her, the hem falling to mid-thigh and the sleeves swallowing her hands, but the warmth and familiar scent of him clinging to the fabric brought a faint smile to her lips.
The shirt hung loose on her frame as she padded out of the room, her movements quiet to avoid disturbing the others. The soft snores from Codron on the couch were the only sounds beyond the occasional crackle of the fireplace.
Her bare feet brushed against the cold floorboards as she made her way to the hearth. The pot they had been ceremoniously using for tea still sat there, its surface darkened by soot from weeks of use. Isabelle reached for it, her fingers curling around the worn handle as she filled it with water and placed it carefully on the fire, adjusting the logs to encourage the flames to catch stronger.
The warmth of the fire kissed her legs as she crouched near it, her hands stretching out toward the heat. The shirt she wore was no match for the chill in the air, but the fire offered some relief.
The first sip was heaven, the rich, bitter warmth cutting through the fog of her headache and filling her with a sense of calm. Isabelle cradled the steaming mug in both hands, letting the heat seep into her fingers as she leaned against the kitchen counter.
The quiet creak of a door opening broke the stillness, pulling Isabelle's gaze toward the bedroom. She watched as Daryl emerged, his hair tousled, his movements slow and deliberate. He rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hand, his bare chest catching the light as he walked past the window. His pants hung low on his hips, and his bare feet made no sound as he padded into the room.
Daryl moved toward the table, his focus set on the water jug resting there. He grabbed a cup, filling it with a few gulps of water that he downed in one go, letting out a soft sigh as he set the cup aside. His eyes landed on the wrapped loaf of bread, and he tore off a generous chunk, chewing absentmindedly as his gaze flicked toward her.
Isabelle leaned against the counter, her coffee still cradled in her hands, her eyes tracing the lines of his face. He looked impossibly human like this—unpolished, natural, and entirely Daryl.
He walked over to her, the bread still in one hand, his other absently scratching the front of his shoulder. He paused a step away, his eyes briefly meeting hers. "Mornin'," he mumbled, his eyes squinted against the assault of daylight
"Morning," she replied softly, her lips curving into a faint smile. She held her coffee toward him, tilting the mug slightly in invitation.
Daryl hesitated for a beat, then reached out, his fingers brushing hers as he took the mug. He brought it to his lips, taking a careful sip. His expression shifted slightly as the bitter warmth hit his tongue, and he nodded in quiet approval before handing it back to her.
"Thanks," he said simply, tearing another piece of bread from the loaf. His casual closeness, the way he moved with unassuming ease, made her chest tighten with a strange mixture of affection and longing.
Daryl leaned his hip against the counter, chewing on the bread as he glanced toward the fire. The glow of the flames flickered across his features, accentuating the sharp lines of his jaw and the softness that lingered in his eyes from sleep. He seemed lost in thought, his gaze distant but steady, like he was somewhere else entirely for a moment.
"You sleep okay?" Isabelle asked, her voice soft, like she didn't want to disturb the silence.
Daryl's eyes shifted back to hers, his expression unreadable for a beat before a faint smirk tugged at his lips. "Yeah. You?"
She let out a breath of laughter, shaking her head. "I think the wine hit me harder than I expected." She glanced at the mug in her hands. "Coffee's helping, though."
Daryl grunted in agreement, his gaze dropping briefly to the oversized shirt she was wearing. His shirt. A flicker of something passed through his eyes and his lips pressed together as though holding back a comment. Instead he just smiled as he dropped his gaze and shook his head.
"What?" She asked, squinting her eyes at him over the rim of her mug.
Daryl's head tilted slightly, his eyes flicking to hers, one corner of his mouth twitching upward. "Nothin'," he murmured, his voice low and rough, but there was warmth in the way he said it, a softness that made her stomach flutter.
She eyed him for a moment, her eyebrow raising slightly. "Well if you keep looking at me like that, I'm going to think that you've got something on your mind."
He let out a quiet huff of laughter, shaking his head as he reached for the water jug. "Maybe I do," he said, his tone teasing but laced with enough honesty to make her cheeks warm.
The faint creak of a door pulled both of their attention as Carol emerged from her room, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. She sniffed the air and offered a faint smile. "Smells like coffee," she murmured, her voice still thick with sleep.
"Morning," Isabelle greeted, holding her mug up in acknowledgment. She moved toward the counter to pour another cup, handing it to Carol as she shuffled closer.
Carol took the mug gratefully, blowing softly on the steaming liquid before taking a tentative sip. She let out a soft hum of approval. "Just what I needed."
Daryl gave her a subtle nod, his attention flicking back to the fire as he slowly chewed his bread. Carol glanced between the two of them, her eyes taking in the oversized shirt Isabelle wore and the faint, easy energy between them. A knowing smile tugged at her lips as she took another sip of her coffee. She let the silence stretch just long enough to be pointed, then tilted her head slightly, her lips curling into a smirk.
"You know," she said, her tone as casual as the flick of her wrist, "you two sure have a certain... glow about you this morning."
Daryl froze mid-motion, the chunk of bread halfway to his mouth. His eyes narrowed slightly, but the faint pink creeping up his neck betrayed him. "Don't," he muttered, his voice low with a warning edge, though it lacked any real bite.
Isabelle turned her face into her mug, hiding her smile as she took a slow sip of coffee.
Carol wasn't done. She raised an eyebrow, her grin widening. "What? Just saying, it's good to see you looking so... well-rested."
The redness in Daryl's ears deepened, and he let out a groan, rubbing the back of his neck. "Ah, come on," he grumbled, avoiding her gaze as he shoved the last piece of bread into his mouth and chewed deliberately.
Carol shrugged, her expression a perfect mask of innocence despite the glint of mischief in her eyes. "Just an observation," she said airily, taking another sip of her coffee.
Daryl shot her a look, then muttered under his breath, "I'm goin' back to bed."
As he turned to retreat, Isabelle couldn't suppress her laughter any longer, a soft chuckle escaping her lips. His shoulders hunched slightly, the faint red still coloring his ears.
Carol raised her mug in mock triumph, shooting Isabelle a cheeky smile. "Sometimes he makes it too easy," she quipped, her tone filled with playful satisfaction. Isabelle shook her head, her laughter lingering as she took another sip of her coffee.
It was late morning before Codron stirred on the couch. His hair, no longer closely shaven after the past few months, stuck out wildly in every direction, a mess that matched his groggy expression. He squinted against the light filtering through the curtains, rubbing a hand across his face as he tried to gather himself.
Daryl sat on the hearth, absently poking at the embers with a piece of kindling. His gaze flicked up to Codron, one brow quirking slightly before turning back to the fire.
Codron grunted, his voice still rough with sleep. "What time is it?"
"Late enough," Carol chimed in from her spot by the window, where she was meticulously cleaning her knife. "You sleep like the dead."
Codron ignored her jab, pushing himself up to sit on the edge of the couch. He scrubbed his hands over his face again, then through his unruly hair. "Coffee?" he muttered, glancing toward the counter.
Isabelle moved to the counter with her usual quiet efficiency. "What's left of it," she said, pouring the dregs into a mug and setting it on the table. Codron shuffled over, picked it up, and took a sip, wincing slightly.
"Cold," he muttered.
Carol snorted. "You're lucky there's any left."
Daryl leaned back against the hearth, his gaze steady on Codron. "What are you doin' later?"
Codron paused mid-sip, his bleary eyes narrowing slightly as he set the mug down."Probably regretting whatever it is you're about to ask me to do. Why?"
Daryl huffed before standing and dusting off the back of his pants. "That truck we left when we came back to Paris. We're gonna need it if we plan on getting out of here anytime soon. It's already converted, and has fuel storage. We need to start preparing for whatever comes next."
Codron took another sip of his coffee and nodded. "We can check out what's left of that base while we're there," he said, leaning forward slightly. "Might be something left we can use."
Daryl nodded, working his bottom lip between his teeth. "Could be fuel, weapons, maybe some supplies. We'll need whatever we can find."
Carol, still by the window, glanced over at them. "And if it's crawling with walkers?"
"We'll play it smart," Codron replied. "In and out."
Daryl's gaze shifted to Carol. "Won't be nothin' we haven't done before. We'll be fine."
Isabelle folded her arms across her chest, her concern evident despite the calm on her face. "Why don't we all go? It would be safer."
"Nah," Daryl said, shaking his head. "You two stay here. We'll be quick. Should be back before sundown."
Isabelle's frown deepened, though she said nothing, her arms tightening across her chest as her gaze lingered on Daryl.
Codron stood, pulling his jacket from the back of the couch. He adjusted it over his shoulders and picked up a hunting knife from the table, tucking it into the sheath on his belt.
Daryl nodded, grabbing his pack and slinging it over one shoulder. His gaze flicked back to Isabelle, and for a moment, the faintest hint of something unspoken passed between them. "We'll be careful," he said, his voice low, steady.
"You'd better be," Isabelle replied, her words quiet but weighted. She unfolded her arms, her fingers brushing lightly against his as he passed. The small gesture was enough to say what she didn't—come back safe.
Daryl glanced back at her once more before stepping toward the door, Codron following close behind. The door creaked open, letting in a gust of cold air as the two men stepped out into the morning. It closed behind them with a soft thud, leaving the room in a heavy, lingering quiet.
Isabelle stared at the door for a moment, her arms falling to her sides. The crackle of the fire was the only sound filling the space.
"They'll be fine," Carol said, her voice even as she set her knife down on the table. She walked over to Isabelle, her expression softening. "They know what they're doing."
Isabelle let out a slow breath and nodded. "I know."
The walk to the airfield stretched before them, a steady four-and-a-half-hour trek if they kept a consistent pace. The city's haunting quiet wrapped around them like a shroud as they made their way toward the outskirts of Paris. Above, the overcast sky hung low, casting a pale gray light over the ruins, and a gentle flurry of snow began to fall, dusting the cracked pavement and leaf-barren trees.
The snowflakes drifted lazily, melting as they landed on the faint warmth of Daryl's jacket. Codron adjusted his scarf, pulling it higher over his mouth to ward off the bite of the cold air. Their boots crunched against the frost-laden ground, the sound echoing in the stillness like a metronome.
"Snow's early this year," Codron said, his voice muffled behind the scarf. He glanced upward, his eyes narrowing against the falling flakes. "Used to come later. Winters are harsher now."
Daryl huffed softly, his breath visible in the chill as he shifted his pack on his shoulder. "Used to be easier to get warm."
Codron smirked faintly at that, his gaze sweeping over the abandoned buildings they passed. The cityscape, once alive with movement and sound, now seemed frozen in time. The graffiti-streaked walls of an old cafe caught his eye, the words faded but still defiant: Vivre toujours. Live forever.
"Used to stop at a place like this every morning," Codron said, his voice low but steady. "Best croissants in the city." He let out a soft huff, almost a laugh. "Now I can't even remember the name of it." Daryl glanced at him as he continued to walk. "Still feels strange. Like the world just... paused. Frozen in time."
Daryl didn't respond immediately, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the edge of a narrow alleyway. Satisfied it was clear, he kept walking. "Ain't paused," he said finally. "It just... stopped."
Codron nodded thoughtfully, his breath clouding in the frigid air. "Feels like it sometimes. Like everything's just waiting for someone to hit play again."
The silence that followed was broken only by the rhythmic crunch of their boots against the icy ground and the soft whisper of snowflakes settling on the streets. The ruins of Paris stood as stark reminders of what had been, the hollowed-out shells of buildings looming like skeletons against the pale sky.
The snow began to stick to the ground as they moved further from the city center, the urban sprawl giving way to wider, emptier streets. The bare remains of trees lined their path, their branches heavy with frost. The distant sound of a crow's caw echoed through the stillness, a stark contrast to the quiet.
"You think there'll be anything left at the base?" Codron asked, his voice breaking the stillness.
Daryl shrugged, his eyes scanning the horizon. "Don't know. If there's somethin', we'll find it. If there ain't, we move on."
Codron smirked faintly, though there was no humor in it. "Simple as that, huh?"
Daryl shrugged and they fell into silence again, the snowflakes swirling around them, catching in their hair and dusting their jackets. Ahead, the outline of the airfield began to take shape through the haze of snowfall, its looming hangars and control towers standing like silent sentinels against the horizon.
Codron tugged his scarf down, his breath escaping in a visible puff. "Guess we're about to find out."
As they drew closer to the airfield, the expanse of open ground before them felt vast and exposed, the stark whiteness of the snow amplifying every shadow and movement. The hangars stood like silent monoliths, their corrugated metal sides streaked with rust and ice. Snow had piled against their bases, softening the harsh lines of the structures but doing little to lessen the eerie stillness of the place.
Daryl slowed his pace, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the surroundings. His hand drifted instinctively to the knife at his hip, the weight of it a familiar comfort. "Stay close," he muttered.
Codron adjusted his grip on his rifle, his own gaze sweeping the area. "This place doesn't feel right," he murmured, his voice low enough to blend with the wind.
Daryl didn't reply, but his silence spoke volumes. Together, they moved cautiously toward the nearest hangar, their boots crunching against the thin layer of snow. The faint sound of wind whistling through broken windows added to the tension, each step carrying them deeper into the unknown.
As they reached the hangar, Daryl motioned for Codron to stop. He pressed his back against the cold metal wall, listening intently. The muffled quiet of the airfield offered no answers, only the faint creak of the structure in the wind. After a moment, he peered around the edge of the door, his eyes narrowing as he took in the dim interior.
Inside, the cavernous space was littered with debris—rusted tools, broken crates, and the charred remains of a few vehicles long since scavenged for parts. Faint beams of pale light filtered through cracks in the roof, illuminating patches of the hangar's frozen floor.
Daryl stepped inside cautiously, his boots crunching softly against the frost-covered ground. Codron followed close behind, his rifle at the ready. The air was thick with the scent of rust and damp, mingling with the faint metallic tang of old fuel.
Daryl's gaze swept the hangar. "Check the back. See if there's anything worth taking."
Codron moved toward the shadows at the far end of the hangar, his footsteps deliberate. Daryl stayed near the entrance, his eyes flicking between the door and the scattered remains around him. The air felt heavy, charged with the kind of tension that came from too much quiet.
The faint sound of something scraping against metal broke the stillness. Daryl froze, his hand tightening on his knife as his head tilted toward the sound. It came again, faint but deliberate, somewhere beyond the open door.
Daryl slid his crossbow from his back, readying a bolt as he took a step back toward the hangar's entrance.
His eyes flicked toward Codron, who was still sifting through the far end of the space. "Hold up," Daryl hissed, his voice low but firm.
Codron straightened, his rifle shifting to the ready. He glanced toward Daryl, his expression sharpening as he caught the crossbow in Daryl's hands. "What is it?" he murmured.
Daryl motioned toward the door with a tilt of his head, his eyes scanning the space beyond. "I heard somethin'," he muttered. His voice was calm, but there was a tension in it that put Codron immediately on edge.
The scraping sound came again, louder this time. It was unmistakable—the deliberate noise of something moving against metal. Daryl moved closer to the edge of the doorway, pressing his back against the frame as he peered out into the snowy expanse.
Outside, the snowfall had thickened, the flakes drifting lazily through the air and settling on the ground in a pristine blanket. The open field between the hangar and the next building was eerily empty, the faint whistle of the wind the only sound. But Daryl's instincts told him otherwise. Something was out there.
Codron stepped up beside him, his rifle raised as he scanned the horizon. "You see anything?" he asked quietly.
Daryl shook his head, his eyes narrowing as they roved over the landscape. "Nah," he said, his voice tight. He stepped outside, his boots crunching against the snow as he moved to the side of the hangar, keeping low and to the shadows. Codron followed, his movements just as careful.
They edged along the side of the building, their breaths visible in the cold air. The sound came again, this time from somewhere behind the next hangar over. It was louder now, a scraping, dragging noise that sent a prickle of unease down Daryl's spine.
Codron's grip on his rifle tightened. "Walkers?"
Daryl's jaw clenched, his gaze fixed on the source of the noise. "Could be," he muttered. But deep down, he wasn't convinced. Something about it felt...off.
They rounded the corner of the hangar, the next structure coming into view through the haze of snowfall. Daryl held up a hand, signaling for Codron to stop. He crouched low, his eyes scanning the area intently, his crossbow raised and ready. The faint wind tugged at his hair, and for a moment, everything was still—too still. His instincts screamed at him to stay alert.
Codron crouched beside him, his rifle aimed toward the building ahead. The dragging sound came again, followed by a faint metallic clatter. Codron shot Daryl a questioning glance, his voice barely above a whisper. "You sure it's not just something catching the wind?"
Daryl shook his head, his eyes never leaving the shadows near the next hangar. "Ain't the wind," he muttered. His voice was clipped, steady. He motioned for Codron to follow as he began to move forward, one careful step at a time.
The snow crunched beneath their boots, but the sound was muted, blending with the soft fall of flakes around them. As they approached the other hangar, the scraping noise grew louder, more deliberate. Daryl held his breath, his pulse steady but heightened as he crept closer.
They reached the corner of the building, the source of the sound now just out of sight. Daryl motioned for Codron to take the left side while he moved to the right. Codron nodded, his movements precise and silent as he flanked the building. Daryl pressed his back against the wall, the cold metal biting through his jacket as he edged toward the sound.
As Daryl rounded the corner, his crossbow trained and ready, his eyes landed on a man crouched near a stack of crates. The stranger, bundled in a patchwork of worn winter clothing, looked up sharply, his hands freezing mid-motion over what appeared to be a toolbox. His face was gaunt, his eyes darting nervously between Daryl and the crossbow.
"Whoa, du calme," the man said quickly, raising his hands in a gesture of surrender. His voice was raspy, tinged with desperation. "Je ne cherche pas les ennuis." ("Take it easy. I'm not looking for trouble.")
Daryl didn't lower his weapon, his eyes narrowing as he took in the man's jittery demeanor. Codron appeared from the other side of the hangar, his rifle aimed and ready. His eyes swept over the scene before locking on the man.
"Qu'est-ce que tu fais ici?" ("What are you doing here?") Codron demanded, his voice sharp, rifle unwavering. The man gestured to the toolbox with a faint, shaky smile.
"Je cherche des outils… quelque chose d'utile." ("I'm looking for tools… something useful.") His words came fast, and his hands twitched slightly as if resisting the urge to move.
Codron tilted his head, his eyes narrowing. "Tu es seul?" ("Are you alone?") he asked, his tone flat. The man hesitated—a brief, almost imperceptible pause.
"Oui," he said, nodding quickly.
"He's lying." Codron muttered to Daryl without looking at him, his grip on his rifle tightening.
Daryl's eyes flicked between the two men. He didn't understand every word, but the tone in Codron's voice was unmistakable. His crossbow remained trained on the stranger.
The man's nervous demeanor faltered, his shoulders stiffening. "Écoutez, je veux juste partir d'ici en vie, comme vous," ("Look, I just want to get out of here alive, like you.") he stammered, his voice rising slightly.
The sound of quick footsteps on snow cut him off. Before Codron could react, something hard struck Daryl from behind. He staggered forward, his crossbow clattering to the ground as he dropped, unconscious.
"Daryl!" Codron shouted, swinging his rifle toward the source of the attack. But before he could fire, the man that was crouched emerged from the shadows and slammed into him, knocking the rifle from his grasp. Codron hit the ground hard, his breath rushing out in a sharp grunt.
Codron tried to reach for his knife, but the cold press of a gun barrel against his temple stopped him in his tracks.
"Bouge pas," ("Don't move.") the second man growled, his voice steady and menacing.
Codron glared up at the taller man, his jaw tight. "Vous faites une erreur," ("You're making a mistake.") he ground out, his voice low and dangerous.
The taller man smirked, his gun unwavering as he glanced at his companion. "Attache-les." ("Tie them up.")
The first man moved quickly, retrieving a length of rope from his pack. Codron gritted his teeth as his hands were yanked behind his back, the rough fibers biting into his wrists. Daryl, still unconscious, was dragged closer and bound in the same manner. The taller man knelt briefly, checking Daryl's pulse before standing again, his gun still trained on Codron.
"Fouille-les," ("Search them.") the taller man ordered, his voice cold and commanding.
The first man crouched beside Codron, his hands quickly patting him down. Codron glared at him, his jaw tight, his muscles coiled with restrained fury. The man pulled a knife from Codron's belt and tucked it into his own. He then moved to Daryl, rifling through his pack and pulling out a few supplies: a water bottle, a handful of bolts for his crossbow, and a small bundle of cloth.
Codron's mind raced as he weighed his options. His pulse thrummed in his ears, his instincts screaming at him to act, but the cold press of the gun against his head kept him still. He glanced briefly at Daryl, noting the faint rise and fall of his chest.
The taller man motioned to his companion, who slung the bundle of scavenged supplies over his shoulder. The two captors exchanged a brief, tense glance before the taller one nudged Codron with the barrel of his gun. "Allez, debout," ("Get up.") he ordered.
Codron gritted his teeth but complied, the rough rope biting into his wrists as he struggled to his feet. He met the man's gaze with icy silence, refusing to answer. The taller man barked a laugh, clearly unbothered by Codron's defiance. He stepped closer, his imposing frame towering over him as he tightened his grip on the gun.
Codron met his gaze evenly, his jaw tight. "Vous n'avez aucune idée de ce que vous faites," ("You have no idea what you're doing,") he replied, his voice calm but edged with steel.
The taller man raised an eyebrow, an amused smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Oh, je crois que je sais exactement ce que je fais." ("Oh, I think I know exactly what I'm doing.") He turned to his companion, nodding toward Daryl. "Emmène-les à l'intérieur. Nous verrons s'ils sont vraiment utiles." ("Take them inside. Let's see if they're actually useful.")
The shorter man moved to Daryl, grabbing him under the arms and hauling him to his feet. Daryl stirred faintly, his head lolling forward as the man propped him up against his shoulder. Codron's fists clenched behind his back, the rope biting deeper into his skin as he held back the urge to act.
The snow continued to fall, muffling the sound of their footsteps as they approached the large, rusted doors of the building. Inside, the air was frigid, the shadows deep and stretching across the cold concrete floor. The captors led their prisoners to the center of the space, where an old workbench sat surrounded by scattered debris.
The shorter man forced Daryl into a sitting position against one of the workbench's legs, tying him securely with another length of rope. Codron was pushed to his knees beside him, the taller man standing over him with a look of smug satisfaction.
Codron's mind worked furiously, his eyes darting around the hangar for anything—anything—that could shift the odds in their favor. His gaze landed briefly on Daryl, whose breathing was growing steadier, a faint flicker of awareness starting to return to his features.
The men began to rifle through the scattered supplies in the hangar, their voices low as they argued over what was worth taking. Codron remained still, his muscles coiled with tension, his mind racing with potential moves. All he needed was the right moment.
As the two captors sifted through the scattered supplies, their backs turned, Codron shifted subtly on his knees. He tested the tension in the ropes binding his wrists, his fingers working quietly to find any give in the knots. The taller man cast a glance over his shoulder, prompting Codron to still his movements and glare back at him, feigning defiance rather than desperation.
Daryl groaned softly, his head tilting as consciousness began to seep back in. His eyes fluttered open, unfocused at first, before sharpening as he took in his surroundings. He blinked sluggishly, his gaze landing on Codron, who gave him the faintest, almost imperceptible nod.
The taller man noticed the stirrings and stepped closer, crouching in front of Daryl with a smug grin. "Ah, tu te réveilles enfin," ("Ah, you're finally waking up,") he sneered, gripping Daryl's chin to force his head up. "Bien. Peut-être que tu peux nous dire ce que tu fais ici." ("Good. Maybe you can tell us what you're doing here.")
Daryl's jaw tensed, his eyes narrowing as he yanked his head away from the man's grip. "Fuck you," he spat, his voice cold.
The man's smirk faltered for a moment, annoyance flashing in his eyes. "Américain…" he muttered, his tone dripping with disdain. He released Daryl's chin with a shove, stepping back as if the very word left a bad taste in his mouth. The taller man turned to his companion, speaking in rapid French that Daryl couldn't follow.
Daryl's glare burned into him, his mind already working through their next move. The faint scrape of Codron's wrists against the rope didn't escape his notice, nor did the subtle tension in his posture.
The man turned back to him, his expression twisted into a sneer. "Toujours aussi arrogant, hein?" ("Still so arrogant, huh?") he muttered.
Without warning, the man's fist connected with Daryl's face, the impact snapping his head to the side. Pain exploded across his cheekbone, and he tasted the metallic tang of blood fill his mouth. The force of the punch made him stagger against his restraints, but he stayed upright, his glare unyielding.
The taller man laughed, shaking out his hand as if the hit had been for his own amusement. "Tough guy, huh?" he taunted, his tone mocking. He crouched again, his face inches from Daryl's.
Codron's fingers found the edge of a small, sharp fragment of metal embedded in the floor behind him—a stray piece of debris from the hangar's dilapidation. Carefully, he maneuvered his hands over it, the sharp edge slicing into the ropes. The progress was painstakingly slow, but the fibers began to fray with each movement.
Daryl caught on quickly, his eyes shifting from Codron to the captors.
Daryl spit a glob of blood onto the ground, his expression cold and unreadable as he straightened.
"I've been hit harder by my sister. Pussy." he growled, his voice low and steady.
The man's smirk faltered for a brief second, annoyance flickering in his eyes. Daryl smirked, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth.
The ropes around Codron's wrists finally gave way, the last fibers snapping under the sharp fragment in his grip. Codron didn't move immediately, keeping his posture rigid and his hands behind him as if still bound. He waited, his eyes locked on Daryl, silently coordinating their next move.
The man snarled, raising his fist for another hit, but before he could strike, Codron sprang into action. In one fluid motion, he lunged forward, grabbing the smaller captor's rifle from the ground and swinging it like a club. The butt of the weapon cracked against the taller man's skull, the impact sending him staggering to the side with a pained grunt.
The shorter man scrambled backward as he reached for a knife. But Codron didn't hesitate. He drove forward, slamming into the man with his full weight, knocking the knife from his hand and pinning him to the ground.
Daryl, still tied, shifted his weight and kicked out with his legs, catching the taller man in the knee just as he started to recover. The man cursed in French, stumbling to one side, his gun slipping from his grasp. Daryl scrambled to get to the knife the man had dropped, gripping it between his hands and working away at the rope.
Daryl's hands were steady as he worked to cut himself free, his focus unwavering despite the chaos around him. The taller man recovered quickly, snarling as he lunged toward Codron, who was grappling with the shorter man.
With a final snap, the ropes around his wrists gave way. Daryl surged to his feet, the knife still in hand. His movements were quick and precise as he closed the distance between himself and the taller man. The man barely had time to react before Daryl drove the blade into his back.
The taller man let out a guttural cry, his body arching in pain before collapsing forward onto his knees. Daryl wrapped an arm around his neck, pushing against the back of his head with the other. He growled through gritted teeth, as he snatched the man's head to the side and with a deep dull crack, the man's body went limp.
Daryl let the man's lifeless body slump to the ground, his chest heaving as he caught his breath. His gaze snapped to Codron, who was still wrestling with the shorter captor. The man flailed beneath him, managing to land a wild punch to Codron's side, but Codron retaliated, grabbing the man by the collar and slamming his forehead down into the man's nose.
The sickening crunch of cartilage breaking echoing in the attempted to shuffle out of Codron's grasp, disoriented.
Codron didn't give him a chance to recover. With a savage growl, he drove his fist into the man's gut, and followed it with an upward swing of his elbow to the man's temple.
The man groaned, blood pouring from his broken nose as he weakly tried to crawl away. Codron sat back, his chest heaving, his eyes locked on the man's trembling form.
But the man wasn't finished. His hand darted out toward a pistol that had fallen during the struggle, his fingers curling around the grip.
Codron's eyes widened. "No—!" he started, but the sharp crack of a gunshot cut him off.
The man's head snapped back, blood spraying onto the icy floor as his body collapsed in a lifeless heap.
Codron whipped his head toward Daryl, who stood a few feet away, his chest still rising and falling heavily. In his hand was the taller captor's pistol, the barrel still smoking faintly from the shot. Daryl's expression was cold, his gaze steady as he lowered the weapon.
Daryl wiped a hand across his face, smearing blood and dirt along his cheek. "You alright?" he asked, his gaze flicking over to Codron.
Codron nodded, "Yeah," his eyes shifting to the two bodies sprawled on the ground. "We need to move," he said standing, his voice low. "If there's more of them around, they'll hear that shot."
Daryl nodded, his focus snapping back to the task at hand. "Grab what we can and go," he said, already moving toward the supplies the men had been sifting through.
Codron stepped over the shorter man's body, pausing for a brief moment to glance at the mess they'd left behind. Then he followed Daryl, his movements quick as they scavenged what they could from the scattered mess around them.
By the time they stepped back out into the open air, the light snow that had begun earlier in the day had thickened, the falling flakes now illuminated by the pale glow of a rising moon. Darkness had crept across the landscape, casting long jagged shadows over the airfield.
Daryl adjusted the strap of his pack, his breath visible in the icy air as he motioned toward the far side of the airfield. "Truck's this way," he said, his voice low and gravelly.
Codron nodded, following closely as they moved toward the side of the lot where they had left the truck. The crunch of snow beneath their boots was the only sound as they navigated the eerily quiet expanse of the airfield.
As they passed the last hangar, the truck finally came into view, partially obscured by a thin layer of snow that had accumulated on its roof and hood. Daryl reached it first, brushing off the snow from the driver's side window and checking inside before glancing back at Codron.
"Looks clear," he muttered, pulling the door open with a faint creak. Codron circled to the back, heaving their collected supplies into the truck bed with a dull thud. The truck rocked slightly under the weight.
"Let's go," Codron said, his tone clipped as he climbed into the passenger seat.
Daryl slid behind the wheel, turning the key in the ignition. The engine coughed twice before roaring to life, the sound echoing across the empty airfield. Daryl adjusted the mirrors, his gaze flicking toward the rearview for any signs of movement before shifting the truck into gear.
The tires crunched against the snow-packed ground as the truck rolled forward, its headlights cutting through the darkness. They navigated the desolate streets on their way back toward the city, the towering ruins of Paris looming in the distance.
The drive was tense, the two men scanning their surroundings as they passed through the broken streets. The snow fell heavier now, muting the sound of the engine and cloaking the city in an almost eerie silence.
As they approached the apartment, the familiar shape of the building brought a faint sense of relief. Daryl eased the truck to a stop outside, cutting the engine as he glanced toward Codron. He let out a deep sigh, slouching back against the seat. The cold silence of the snow-laden street wrapped around them, the dim glow of the apartment's windows faintly visible through the falling flakes.
Codron shifted beside him, reaching into his jacket pocket. With a faint clink, he pulled out a small bottle of liquor, its glass chilled from the cold. Without a word, he tapped it against Daryl's chest offering it to him with a quirk of his eyebrows.
Daryl glanced down, his brow furrowing briefly before he took the bottle. "Where'd you get this?" he asked, his voice low and rough.
Codron shrugged, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "One of those guys had it in his pack. Figured we earned it."
Daryl huffed softly, a sound that could almost be a laugh. He twisted the cap off and took a swig, the sharp burn of the alcohol slicing through the lingering taste of blood in his mouth. He winced slightly as the liquor hit the cut on his lip, the sting sharp and immediate.
"Shit," he muttered, his tongue brushing over the split skin. He handed the bottle back to Codron, who tipped it toward him in a mock toast before taking a drink himself.
They sat in silence for a moment, the warmth of the alcohol settling in their chests. Outside, the snow continued to fall, the world around them quiet and still.
"We're never going to hear the end of this." Codron laughed, taking another swig from the bottle.
Daryl checked his reflection in the rearview mirror, his busted lip, face smeared with dried blood, scratches on his cheek where he'd hit the pavement. "Yeah," he muttered, rubbing a hand over his face, trying unsuccessfully to clean off some of the blood at the corner of his mouth.
Codron passed him the bottle again and Daryl took a final swig before pushing the door open. "Let's get this over with."
The frigid air hit Daryl the moment he stepped out of the truck, the snow crunching under his boots as he rounded the vehicle to the back. Codron followed, hefting one of the larger packs of supplies onto his shoulder.
Daryl reached for one of the bags, slinging it over his shoulder. His body ached from the earlier fight, but he pushed the discomfort aside, his focus already shifting to the conversation waiting for them inside.
The faint glow of the apartment windows served as a beacon against the dark, snowy street. Daryl's eyes lingered on it for a moment before he started toward the building, Codron falling into step beside him.
"Think they're still up?" Codron asked, his voice low as he adjusted the pack on his shoulder.
Daryl grunted. "Carol? Probably." He cast a sideways glance at Codron. "Isabelle? She's either pacin' the floor or tryin' not to."
Codron smirked faintly. "Guess that means I'll let you do the talking. Tonight… je ne parle pas anglais." ("...I don't speak english.")
Daryl shot him a look but didn't respond, his boots carrying him up the steps to the apartment's entrance. He nudged the door open with his shoulder, stepping inside and shaking off the cold. The familiar warmth of the room greeted him, along with the soft crackle of the fire.
Carol was the first to appear, stepping out from the kitchen. Her eyes swept over the two men, narrowing as they landed on Daryl's bloodied face.
"Looks like you've had a good time," she remarked, her tone dry but laced with concern.
Daryl sighed, dropping the pack onto the floor near the door. "Ran into some trouble," he admitted, his voice low.
"Trouble?" Isabelle's voice cut through the room as she emerged from the hallway, her eyes scanning both of them before settling on Daryl. Her brows knit together, the worry in her gaze unmistakable.
"We handled it," Daryl said quickly, avoiding her eyes and focusing instead on removing his gloves and shoving them into his jacket pocket.
"Handled it, huh?" Carol's gaze flicked to Codron, who shrugged, setting his pack down with a soft thud.
"Could've gone smoother," Codron offered with a faint smirk, earning a sharp look from Daryl.
Carol crossed her arms, her expression expectant. "You planning on explaining, or are we just supposed to guess?"
Daryl ran a hand through his hair, glancing between Carol and Isabelle. "We got the truck," he said simply, as if that answered everything.
Isabelle stepped closer, her hand brushing his arm as she looked up at him. "Are you alright?" she asked, her voice softer now.
"M'fine," Daryl muttered, his gaze briefly meeting hers before shifting away. "Just need to clean up."
Carol snorted, shaking her head. "Fine, huh? You look like you went a few rounds with a walker and lost."
Codron chuckled quietly as he moved toward the table, unzipping one of the packs. "We'll unpack this while you two figure out who gets to scold him first."
Daryl shot Codron a glare before turning toward Isabelle. "Ain't nothin' to scold about," he grumbled, heading for the bathroom.
Isabelle watched him go, her arms crossing as she turned back to Carol. "I don't think I've ever seen someone so stubborn."
Carol smirked, picking up one of the smaller bags. "Welcome to life with Daryl Dixon."