Chapter 4: Survival
The morning of the supply run arrived, the faint light of dawn creeping through the narrow windows of the cell block. The prison was still, save for the occasional muffled sounds of preparation—gear being packed, weapons being checked, plans being finalized. In his cell, Daryl was methodically stuffing essentials into his worn canvas bag: bolts for his crossbow, a hunting knife, a canteen, and some spare rations. His movements were calm and practiced, the result of years surviving in a world that demanded efficiency. His rugged face remained stoic as he worked. His piercing blue eyes flickered toward the wall as voices from the next cell bled through the thin barriers, momentarily distracting him.
"I just don't like the idea of you going without me," Jasmine said, her voice tinged with worry. The blonde's lean frame was silhouetted against the dim light of her cell as she shifted nervously, her deep brown eyes glistening with concern. "We've always stayed together, Raya. What if something happens? What if you need me?"
"I'm not going to need you," Raya replied firmly, her tone less sharp than usual when she spoke to her friend. She sat on the edge of the cot, her eyes steady and unwavering. Her long brunette braid swung slightly as she leaned forward, adjusting the strap of her battered pack. "You're needed here, Jas. You're helping these people, and Hershel's relying on you. It's not about what I want—it's about what they need."
"But I can still be useful out there," Jasmine pressed, her voice trembling as her fingers fidgeted with the hem of her loose t-shirt. "What if you get hurt? Or someone else? I know what to look for when it comes to medical supplies. I could help."
Raya let out a sigh, the sound carrying both frustration and affection. "Jas, listen to me. You're safer here. This place… it's secure. Hershel needs you here. If something happens while we're out there, I'll deal with it. You know I can."
Jasmine glanced down, her wiry frame tense as she crossed her arms. "This is the first time we'll be apart in… I don't even know how long. I just— I don't want to lose you."
There was a pause, and then Raya's response, firm but soft. "You're not going to lose me. I'll be back before you know it. I promise."
Daryl, leaning back slightly in his cell, rolled his eyes. He slung his bag over his shoulder with practiced ease and stepped out into the corridor. His tall, broad figure filled the space as he leaned casually against the frame of Raya and Jasmine's cell, his leather vest creaking slightly with the movement. "She ain't takin' ya," he said gruffly, cutting through the moment with little care for its emotional weight. His gaze flicked toward Jasmine, who turned to face him with a startled expression, while Raya's eyes burned with irritation.
"Excuse me?" Jasmine said, narrowing her eyes at Daryl in a rare show of defiance. "Why not?"
"'Cause you're needed here," Daryl replied, his tone flat and matter-of-fact as he gestured toward the rest of the prison with one hand. His scruffy beard barely moved as he spoke, his voice gravelly and clipped. "Hershel's got too much on his plate already, and you're the one helpin' him figure out what we need to keep people from dyin' from something stupid. You take off, it'll only make his job harder. Ain't worth the risk."
Jasmine opened her mouth, her deep brown eyes flashing with a rebuttal, but Daryl cut her off with a sharp look that was impossible to miss. "Ain't up for debate. You're stayin'. End of story."
Jasmine glanced at Raya, clearly hoping for backup. But Raya only nodded, her expression softening slightly as she spoke. "He's right, Jas," she said, her voice calm and resolute. "Hershel needs you here. And I don't want you out there. It's dangerous, and I don't want to be worrying about you on top of everything else."
Jasmine sighed, her arms crossing tightly over herself. Frustration flickered across her features, but she didn't argue further. Instead, she looked down. "Just… be careful, okay?"
"I will," Raya said, her voice steady as she stepped closer to her friend, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "I've got this."
Daryl cleared his throat, drawing Raya's attention with a brief, pointed look. "Hate to interrupt your little goodbye, but we're burnin' daylight. Let's go."
Raya shot him a look that could have melted steel, but she didn't argue. She grabbed her gear, slinging her bag over her shoulder, and turned to give Jasmine one last glance. "I'll see you soon," she said firmly before turning and following Daryl out of the cell block.
As they walked through the halls, Daryl kept his pace steady, his face impassive as he stared straight ahead. Raya matched his stride, the tension in her shoulders evident as she muttered under her breath, her voice cutting through the silence. "You didn't have to butt in like that."
Daryl glanced at her, his smirk barely visible, though the amusement in his sharp eyes gave it away. "You were takin' too long," he said, his gravelly voice cutting through the quiet air. "Figured I'd speed things up."
Raya scoffed, her eyes narrowing in irritation, but she didn't push the matter further. She had more important things to focus on than Daryl's teasing. This was her chance to prove herself, and she wasn't going to let anyone—or anything—get in her way. Even if working with Daryl meant biting her tongue more than she liked, she was determined to make it work. For now, all that mattered was surviving the run and coming back in one piece.
In the dim light of the prison's makeshift planning room, Rick, Michonne, Glenn, and Maggie stood around a battered table, a worn map of the surrounding area spread out before them. Rick tapped a mark on the map with the blunt end of his pencil. His eyes, filled with quiet authority, darted between the marks and the group as he spoke. "This spot here—old hardware store. There's a chance we might find tools or anything we can repurpose. It's been untouched for a while as far as we know, but no guarantees."
Glenn, his dark eyes alert and thoughtful, leaned closer to the map. "And here. The pharmacy in what's left of that strip mall." Glenn suggested, pointing at another mark. "We've hit it before, but there might still be some things in storage. Worth a shot if you've got time."
Daryl, standing next to Rick, crossed his arms over his chest. His calm, focused demeanor matched the measured way he leaned forward and traced a path between the highlighted marks. "If we stick to the back roads, we should be able to hit both and loop back here before sundown. If we run into trouble, we'll cut the trip short," he said gruffly.
Rick nodded, his posture straight. "Good. Keep it simple. No unnecessary risks."
Michonne, her lean frame tense, tilted her head slightly as her sharp, piercing eyes flicked toward Raya. She studied the woman for a moment, then turned back to Daryl. "You're sure about this?" she asked, her tone neutral but pointed.
Daryl nodded without hesitation, his expression unchanging. "She'll be fine. Ain't much room for dead weight out there."
Raya, standing off to the side, felt her jaw clench slightly at the phrase. Her posture was rigid, her eyes fixed ahead as though daring anyone to challenge her. She'd made the conscious decision to stay quiet, letting Daryl take the lead. This was his turf, his group—and she wasn't about to give them another reason to question her. Maggie crossed her arms, her green eyes glanced between Daryl and Raya. Her tone was firm as she said, "Stay sharp. If anything feels off, get out of there."
"Don't need to tell me twice," Daryl muttered as he straightened up, slinging his crossbow over his shoulder. "We good?"
Rick gave a final nod, his gaze flicking briefly to Raya before returning to Daryl. "Yeah. You know the drill."
Daryl turned and headed for the gates, his long stride purposeful as he motioned for Raya to follow. She did so without a word, her nerves coiled tight as they exited the meeting room. She'd finally gotten what she wanted—her chance to prove herself. Now all she had to do was deliver.
When they reached the gates, Raya's sharp eyes instinctively scanned the area, landing on the lone vehicle waiting for them: Daryl's motorcycle. Her stomach tightened involuntarily. She'd never ridden one before, not even close. The machine gleamed faintly in the morning light, all metal and leather and potential disaster. Raya took a deep breath, refusing to let her unease show.
Daryl glanced at her as he adjusted the strap on his crossbow. The slight quirk of his lips told her he'd already noticed. "Thats our ride." he drawled, nodding toward the bike, "You good with that?"
Raya lifted her chin, her voice steady. "I'm good."
His smirk widened just a fraction as he swung a leg over the bike and settled into the seat. The worn leather creaked under his weight as he turned to look at her, clearly enjoying himself. "You ever been on one before?"
"No," Raya said flatly, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing her discomfort.
"Didn't think so," Daryl said, his tone almost amused. He gestured behind him. "Get on, hold tight, and try not to fall off. I ain't stoppin' to scrape ya' off the road if you do."
Raya clenched her teeth, stepping forward and climbing onto the bike behind him. Her movements were stiff, her muscles tense as she awkwardly settled into the seat. Her hands hovered near his sides, unsure where to hold on.
"Gotta hold on tighter than that," Daryl said, glancing over his shoulder with another infuriating smirk. "Ain't gonna hurt my feelings."
Raya scowled but reluctantly wrapped her arms around his waist. She kept her grip firm but deliberately impersonal, determined not to let him get under her skin. "Let's just go," she muttered, her tone clipped.
"Whatever you say, princess," Daryl replied, his voice dripping with amusement as he started the engine. The bike roared to life beneath them, the vibrations sending a jolt through Raya's already tense frame.
As they pulled out of the gates and onto the road, Raya focused on keeping her balance and ignoring the way her heart raced—not from fear, she told herself, but from the unfamiliar sensation of riding. Her braid whipped in the wind as she stared ahead with determination. She felt tense, her grip firm around Daryl's waist as the motorcycle roared beneath them but she refused to let the unfamiliarity shake her. Her tattered tank top and loose pants clung to her as the wind rushed past, adding to the adrenaline coursing through her veins.
Daryl, seated in front of her, seemed entirely at ease. His rugged frame leaned comfortably into the bike as he adjusted his grip on the handlebars, his eyes flicking briefly over his shoulder to check on Raya. The faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth betrayed his amusement, though he didn't say anything. The open road stretched out before them, and while Raya's nerves burned at the edges of her composure, Daryl's calm demeanor only added to her determination. If he thought she could be shaken that easily, he had another thing coming.
The hardware store was quiet, save for the occasional groan of a walker echoing through the aisles. Daryl moved with practiced ease, his crossbow held at the ready, his movements deliberate and efficient. His rugged face remained focused, his piercing eyes scanning the shadows for any sign of danger. Raya followed close behind, her machete gripped tightly in her hand. Her eyes darted to every corner, her sharp instincts keeping her alert. The walkers they encountered were few and far between—nothing they couldn't handle. Daryl dispatched them with quick, precise shots, while Raya's blade found its mark with calculated precision. Her movements were fluid and controlled, her frame exuding strength as she swung the machete with purpose.
The store itself was a mixed bag. They found a few useful items—some tools, a couple of tarps, and a handful of nails—but most of the heavier, bulkier supplies would require a larger group to haul back to the prison. Daryl made a mental note of what they'd need to return for, his eyes flicking over the inventory with practiced efficiency. They packed up what they could carry before heading out, their steps quiet but purposeful.
The mall was their next stop, and as they approached, Raya's instincts kicked into overdrive. The sprawling structure loomed ahead, its darkened windows and shadowy entrances offering no clues as to what might be waiting inside. Her pulse quickened, her grip tightening on her machete. Her eyes scanned every shadow, every corner, her senses on high alert. The place looked empty, but there were too many dark spaces, too many nooks and crannies for anything—or anyone—to be hiding in.
Daryl noticed her tension but didn't comment. He moved with ease, his crossbow held steady as he nodded toward the entrance. His scruffy hair and leather vest seemed to blend into the shadows as they slipped inside, their footsteps echoing faintly in the cavernous space. The air was stale, and the faint smell of decay lingered, but there were no immediate signs of danger. Still, Raya's sharp gaze darted to every corner, her machete ready for anything.
When they reached the pharmacy, Raya's focus shifted. The shelves were in disarray, but there were still supplies to be found. She moved quickly, scanning labels and pulling items she knew would be useful—antibiotics, painkillers, bandages, and even a few syringes. Her movements were efficient, her eyes narrowing as she sorted through boxes and bottles. Daryl watched her work, his eyebrows raising slightly as she rattled off the names of medications and their uses.
"Didn't peg you for a pharmacist," he muttered, his gravelly voice carrying a hint of amusement.
Raya didn't look up, her hands busy sorting through a box of supplies. "I'm not," she replied, her tone steady. "Jasmine taught me. Years of listening to her talk about this stuff finally paid off."
Daryl grunted in acknowledgment, impressed despite himself. "And here I was thinkin' you just liked swingin' that machete aroun'. Turns out, ya got some brains behind all that blade work."
Raya shot him a quick glance, her lips twitching into a faint smirk. "I'm full of surprises."
They packed up a decent haul, and Raya couldn't help but think how excited Jasmine would be to see what they'd found. But as they turned to leave, the sound of footsteps behind them froze her in place. She spun around, her machete at the ready, just as two men emerged from the shadows.
"Drop the bags," one of them growled, a knife glinting in his hand. The other man held a crowbar, his stance tense and aggressive.
Daryl stepped forward, his crossbow aimed squarely at the man with the knife. His eyes narrowed, his voice low and dangerous. "Ain't happenin'."
The man with the crowbar lunged at Daryl, and the fight erupted in an instant. Daryl sidestepped the attack, swinging his crossbow like a club and catching the man in the ribs. Meanwhile, the man with the knife charged at Raya, his blade slashing through the air. She blocked the first strike with her machete, the clash of metal ringing out in the confined space.
Raya fought with precision, her movements quick and calculated. She moved with agility, her eyes blazing. But the man was relentless, and in the chaos, his knife found its mark, stabbing deep into the back of her shoulder. She let out a sharp cry of pain, but her instincts took over. With a surge of adrenaline, she swung her machete in a wide arc, the blade slicing cleanly through her attacker. He crumpled to the ground, lifeless.
Daryl, still grappling with the man wielding the crowbar, glanced over just in time to see Raya's attacker fall. The sight seemed to rattle his opponent, who hesitated for a split second before turning and bolting out of the pharmacy.
Daryl lowered his crossbow, his breathing heavy as he turned to Raya. She was reaching over her shoulder trying to clutch at the wound, blood seeping through her fingers, but her expression was defiant.
"You good?" Daryl asked, his tone gruff but laced with concern.
Raya nodded, her voice strained but steady. "I'll live."
Daryl stepped closer, his eyes zeroing in on the wound at her shoulder. The lines etched on his face deepened slightly with concern, though his scruffy exterior remained composed, his calloused hand brushed her injured shoulder—a gesture meant more to inspect than to comfort. "That's deep. We gotta patch you up before it gets worse."
Raya didn't argue, though her adrenaline was starting to fade, letting the full weight of the pain settle in. Her eyes darted downward, landing on the lifeless form of the man she'd killed. Her jaw tightened, the sharp angles of her face set in a silent battle with herself. She hadn't hesitated, hadn't thought—she'd simply acted. But now, the aftermath weighed heavy, pressing down on her like an invisible force.
Daryl placed his rough hand firmly on her other shoulder, his touch steady, yet light enough not to overwhelm her. "C'mon," he said, his gravelly voice cutting through her reverie. "Let's get outta here before more of 'em show up."
Raya nodded again, they had what they came for, and she'd be damned if a little blood loss stopped her from getting back with the supplies they'd fought to secure.
The sun hung low in the sky by the time they reached Daryl's motorcycle, the faint hum of insects filling the air around them. Raya's shoulder throbbed with every step, but her expression remained neutral, her eyes steady. She refused to let the pain show—not in front of him. Her tattered tank top clung to her shoulder where blood had seeped through the fabric. Daryl set the bag of supplies down and turned to her, his sharp blue gaze narrowing as he took in the blood staining her shirt.
"Sit down," he said, his tone firm and authoritative, brooking no argument.
Raya hesitated for a heartbeat, then lowered herself onto a nearby rock, her movements stiff and deliberate. Her eyes flicked toward Daryl briefly before settling on the horizon. Daryl crouched behind her, his tall, broad frame folding easily as he unzipped a small first-aid kit from his pack. His fingers, rough and calloused from years of survival, moved with surprising care as he opened the kit and sorted through its contents.
"Gonna have to take a look," he muttered, his gravelly voice softer now. He gestured toward her shoulder, where the torn fabric of her tank top covered the wound. "Shirt's in the way."
Raya's jaw tightened, but she nodded. Her hands reached up to pull the fabric aside, but the movement sent a fresh wave of pain through her. She hissed softly, her fingers faltering. Without a word, Daryl leaned in, brushing her hands away with a steady motion. His fingers carefully lifted the strap of her tanktop, helping her to ease her arm through it, exposing the jagged wound beneath. The knife had gone deep, and the surrounding skin was darkening with bruises that spread like shadows across her shoulder.
"Damn," he muttered, his voice low as he assessed the damage. "You're gonna need stitches when we get back."
"I'll live," Raya repeated her words from earlier, her tone clipped, her eyes fixed on the the setting sun as if refusing to acknowledge the pain or his proximity.
Daryl didn't respond immediately, his attention focused on cleaning the wound. His touch was surprisingly gentle, his scruffy exterior masking the care he took as he worked. He poured antiseptic over the gash, the sharp smell stinging the air between them. Raya bit down on her lip, tensing as she fought against the instinct to flinch.
"You handled yourself good back there," Daryl said after a moment, his voice breaking the silence. "Didn't panic. Kept your head. Not bad."
Raya glanced at him, her expression unreadable. "I've been in worse situations."
"Yeah, I can tell," Daryl replied, his tone carrying a hint of something she couldn't quite place—pride, perhaps, or respect. "Still. You did good."
Raya glanced at Daryl, her expression unreadable for a moment before a faint smirk tugged at the corner of her lips. "Thanks," she said, her voice steady but carrying a weight that hinted at something deeper. "Guess old habits die hard."
Daryl raised an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued. "Old habits, huh? What kind of habits are we talkin' bout?"
She hesitated, her gaze drifting to the ground as memories surfaced—memories she rarely shared. "I was in the army," she admitted, her tone quieter now. "Combat training, drills, missions... you learn pretty quick that losing your head can get you killed. My commander used to say, 'Panic is the enemy's best weapon.' If I ever lost my shit in the field, he'd have been all over me for it."
Daryl nodded slowly, his respect for her growing with the revelation. "Makes sense. You've got that soldier vibe—calm under pressure, focused. Guess it's not just luck you're still standin'."
Raya shrugged, her smirk fading into a more thoughtful expression. "It's not just about staying calm. It's about staying alive—and keeping the people around you alive too. That's what matters."
For a moment, the silence between them felt heavier, filled with unspoken understanding. Daryl didn't press her for more, sensing that her past was something she carried carefully, like a fragile piece of armor. Instead, he simply nodded, a quiet acknowledgment of the strength she'd shown.
Daryl finished wrapping her shoulder with a strip of gauze, tying it off securely before sitting back on his heels. He studied her for a moment, the sharp intensity of his blue eyes narrowing slightly as he considered her.
"You sure you're good?" he asked, his voice quieter now. "And I don't mean the shoulder."
Raya stiffened, as her defensive mask slid firmly back into place. "I'm fine."
Daryl tilted his head slightly, his rugged face etched with something almost like understanding. "You don't gotta act tough all the time, y'know. Ain't nobody here judgin' ya'."
For a moment, Raya didn't say anything. Then, finally, she let out a slow breath, her shoulders relaxing just slightly. "I'm fine," she repeated, though her voice was softer this time.
Daryl didn't push her further, his gaze steady but unobtrusive. "Alright," he said finally, standing and offering her a hand. "Let's get back before Rick sends a search party."
Raya hesitated, then reached for his hand, allowing him to pull her to her feet. The pain in her shoulder flared, but she ignored it, focusing instead on the steady grip of his hand. For a brief moment, she thought she saw something in his expression—something almost like she couldn't quite figure out. But before she could dwell on it, he turned away, grabbing the supplies and slinging them over his shoulder.
"C'mon," he said, nodding toward the bike. "We ain't got all day."
Raya followed, her steps steady despite the ache in her shoulder. She wasn't sure what to make of Daryl's words—or the fleeting look she'd seen in his eyes—but she tucked the thought away, content to leave it unspoken. For now, she was ready to get back to the compound.
Back at the prison, the gates swung open to greet them, and the group gathered with curiosity and relief. Rick stood tall, scrutinizing the haul laid out for inspection. Glenn, his dark eyes bright with satisfaction, exchanged a glance with Maggie as she combed through the pharmaceuticals. Michonne nodded silently at Daryl.
Daryl hovered near Raya as Jasmine rushed to her side, moving quickly to guide her toward a bench in the courtyard. Her silver-blonde hair shone faintly in the sunlight, though her deep brown eyes were alight with worry as she set up to clean and stitch the wound. Her fingers worked efficiently, her calm demeanor hiding the storm of concern swirling beneath the surface. Daryl stood nearby, his arms crossed over his chest, his expression stoic but subtly attentive.
"You did good with this wrap," Jasmine remarked, her voice casual yet tinged with appreciation as she carefully dabbed antiseptic onto the wound. "Not bad for fieldwork."
Raya made a small noise of agreement at Jasmine's praise to Daryl, though her focus was distant, her expression hard to read. Her usual sharpness was dulled, giving way to tired frustration at something that seeped through the cracks of her carefully maintained exterior. Disconnected from the quiet concern radiating from both Jasmine and Daryl.
Daryl didn't respond to Jasmine's comment, his sharp blue eyes locked on her precise movements as she stitched the gash in Raya's shoulder. His face gave little away, but the way he leaned slightly closer betrayed his steady attentiveness. Jasmine glanced at him from beneath her lashes, she noticed how his gaze never strayed from the wound, as if silently assessing her work for any flaws. It amused her, though she kept that to herself, a small, knowing smile tugging at her lips.
Raya, catching sight of the expression, frowned. "What are you smiling at?" she asked, her voice tinged with irritation and curiosity.
"Nothing," Jasmine replied lightly, her smile lingering as she tied off the final stitch and began wrapping the wound with clean bandages. She didn't elaborate, leaving the question unanswered.
Raya scowled but didn't push her. Between the lingering ache in her shoulder and the day's events, she didn't have the energy to decode her friend's amusement. As Jasmine finished her work, she glanced briefly at Daryl, who remained silent, his posture calm but watchful.
With a grunt of approval, Daryl turned and strode toward the main building, the wings carved into his leather vest shifting with each step. He carried himself with the same gruff confidence as always, but the set of his jaw hinted at thoughts he wasn't sharing. The moment he was gone, Raya pushed herself to her feet, ignoring the pull of the bandages as she moved.
"I'm taking over for the guard in the watchtower," she said abruptly, her tone leaving little room for debate.
Jasmine's deep brown eyes widened slightly in concern, her wiry frame stiffening. "Raya, you just got patched up. You need to rest."
"I'm fine," Raya replied, her voice clipped and firm, her eyes briefly meeting Jasmine's before flicking away. "I just… I need to clear my head."
Jasmine hesitated, clearly wanting to argue, but stopped herself when she saw Raya's sharp gaze. "Alright," she said softly, her voice gentle but resigned. "Just don't overdo it."
Raya offered a curt nod and headed toward the watchtower, climbing the ladder with steady movements despite the dull ache in her shoulder. At the top, the cool evening air greeted her, carrying with it a sense of quiet solace. She leaned against the railing, scanning the compound and the tree line beyond. The watchtower was far enough from the noise and constant activity that she could finally breathe. But even here, the weight of the day refused to loosen its grip, and the gnawing feeling of failure lingered.
Daryl strode into the common area of the prison, his boots scraping against the concrete as he approached Rick, his posture rigid, Rick stood by the table where the supplies were spread out, his sharp gaze shifting to Daryl with quiet expectation.
"Find anything useful?" Rick asked, his voice steady but probing.
Daryl stopped just short of the table, his arms crossed over his chest, his expression unreadable. "Hardware store was crap for big stuff," he muttered. "Grabbed some tools, tarps, nails—stuff we can use. Left the heavier stuff. Gonna need more hands to haul it."
Rick nodded, absorbing the information. "And the mall?"
Daryl grunted. "Pharmacy had some decent stuff. Raya's the one who grabbed most of it—meds, bandages, stuff like that. Enough to restock."
Rick raised an eyebrow, leaning slightly closer. "She knows her way around that stuff?"
"More'n you'd think," Daryl replied, his tone clipped. "Said Jasmine taught her. She knew what to grab. Figured it wouldn't hurt to let her take the lead in there."
Rick tilted his head, his gaze sharpening. "Anything else?"
Daryl's jaw tightened, his arms dropping to his sides as his fingers curled briefly into fists. "Ran into trouble," he admitted, his voice low but tense.
Rick's expression darkened, his attention narrowing on Daryl. "Walkers?"
"No," Daryl said firmly. "People. "Couple of guys. Came outta nowhere, tried to jack our stuff." He shifted slightly, his tone growing gruffer. "One of 'em came at Raya with a knife. She handled it—got cut in the shoulder, but she put him down. Took 'im out clean."
Rick straightened, his eyes narrowing further. "She killed him?"
"Damn right she did," Daryl said bluntly, his tone carrying a mix of respect. "Didn't flinch. But the other one bolted when I got a hit in. Doubt we'll see him again."
Rick let out a slow breath, his jaw tightening as he processed the report. "She alright?" he asked, his tone quieter but firm.
Daryl nodded, though his eyes flicked briefly toward the door as if checking for her presence. "Jasmine patched her up. She'll be fine. She's tough—don't make a big deal outta it, but you can see it in her. Handles what needs doin'."
Rick exhaled, his lips pressing into a thin line as he considered the implications. "What about the guy who ran? Think he'll bring back more?"
"Doubt it," Daryl replied. "They didn't look organized—just scavengers tryin' to take what they could. But if we're goin' back to the mall, we'll have'ta keep our eyes open."
Rick nodded slowly, his gaze drifting toward the supplies laid out on the table. "Good haul," he said finally, his tone softer but resolute. "We needed it."
Daryl shrugged, his hands dropping to his sides. "Let me know when you wanna go back," he muttered, turning to leave without waiting for a response.
Soft footsteps on the ladder drew Raya's attention. She glanced down as Jasmine appeared, climbing with her usual ease. Once on the platform, Jasmine sat beside her, leaning back against the railing. "Just wanted to check on you," she said simply looking up into Raya's face, her voice light but colored with genuine concern. "You've been quiet since you got back."
"I'm fine," Raya replied for what felt like the hundredth time, her gaze fixed on the sky, her tone sharp but unconvincing.
Jasmine let the silence hang for a moment before speaking again, her tone softening. "What happened out there? You and Daryl… How was it?"
Raya's lips tightened as she clenched the railing with one hand. "It was fine."
Jasmine chuckled softly, the corners of her mouth lifting in a wry smile. "You're not giving me much here."
Raya sighed, finally turning to look at her best friend. "He's… He's annoying. Keeps pushing my buttons for no reason. But he knows what he's doing out there. I'll give him that."
Jasmine studied Raya for a beat, her brown eyes sparkling with restrained amusement. It was a rare thing for Raya to ever pass out compliments. "He stayed by your side the whole time after you got back."
Raya's brows furrowed slightly. "So?"
"Ooh, nevermind," Jasmine said with an air of playful deflection, her smile widening slightly. She tilted her head, a mischievous glint in her eyes as her smile turned teasing. "You know," she began, her tone deliberately casual, "Daryl's not bad to look at. Actually, he's kind of good-looking, in that scruffy, mysterious kind of way. And don't get me started on the whole brooding thing—it definitely adds to his appeal."
Raya's grip tightened on the railing, her jaw clenching slightly. She refused to look at Jasmine, fixing her gaze firmly on some distant point ahead. "You've got to be kidding me," she muttered, her voice tense and a little louder than necessary. "You think he's attractive? Seriously? Have you seen how he acts? He's arrogant, rude, and stubborn—and that's on his good days."
Jasmine stifled a laugh, leaning against the railing and watching her friend with amused curiosity. "Oh, come on, Raya, kind of sounds like someone else we know. Looking at that blush, I'd say you were trying to convince yourself more than me."
Raya turned to glare at Jasmine, but the faint blush creeping up her neck betrayed her composure. "I'm not blushing. I'm angry," she insisted firmly, though the redness in her cheeks said otherwise. "And for the record, I'm not into him."
Jasmine raised her hands in mock surrender, her grin widening. "Alright, alright. Whatever you say. But just so you know, denying it doesn't make it less obvious."
Raya groaned, turning back toward the railing and running a hand through her hair in frustration. "Just drop it, okay? Daryl's... He's useful out there. That's all there is to it."
"Sure," Jasmine replied lightly, her tone dripping with playful disbelief. "Whatever you say, Raya. Whatever you say."
The conversation hung in the air between them, Jasmine decided to let her friend off the hook—for now. But the knowing smile never left her face.
Before Raya could argue further, the sound of boots on the ladder snapped their attention downward. Daryl climbed up with his crossbow slung across his back, his strong, rough frame silhouetted against the fading sunlight. He stepped onto the platform with his usual self-assured air, nodding curtly at both women.
"Rick's squared away," he said, his gravelly voice cutting through the air. His sharp eyes flicked briefly to Raya before continuing. "Told 'em about the haul and the fun we ran into at the mall. You'll be goin' out again soon enough."
Jasmine shot him a pointed glare as she stood. "Next time, take better care of her."
Daryl raised an eyebrow, a flicker of surprise crossing his otherwise stoic face. "She held her own just fine."
"I know she did," Jasmine replied, standing and brushing past him with a confident ease that contrasted with her earlier gentleness. She paused briefly by the ladder, her tone soft but firm. "But I don't want to patch her up again unless I have to."
Without another word, Jasmine descended, leaving Daryl and Raya alone in the watchtower. His eyes followed the blonde's retreating form for a moment, a rare flicker of puzzlement crossing his expression before he turned to Raya.
"She always talk like that?" he asked, his tone laced with curiosity and maybe a hint of annoyance.
Raya shrugged, leaning over the railing with deliberate nonchalance. "She's protective. You get used to it."
Daryl didn't press further, his gaze shifting to the view from their vantage point and silence settled around them again. Though the air between them held its usual tension, it also carried something quieter—an unspoken truce that neither was ready to acknowledge aloud.
The silence stretched on, broken only by the faint rustle of leaves and the occasional call of a bird. Raya leaned on the railing of the watchtower, her thoughts miles away—caught in a loop of frustration and self-recrimination. The tension in her shoulders was evident, the usual fire that defined her was dulled, replaced by a quiet, simmering discomfort. Her hair swayed gently as a breeze caught the loose strands near her face, but she didn't notice. She was too focused on the relentless weight pressing down on her pride.
Next to her, Daryl stood with his crossbow resting casually in one hand, leaning with his back slightly against the rail. His piercing blue eyes flicked toward her every so often, sharp and observant despite the laid-back posture he maintained. He could read people well and could tell Raya was lost in her own head—though he wasn't sure if she'd admit it.
Finally, Raya broke the silence, her voice cutting through the stillness like the edge of her machete. "Why are you still here?" Her tone was quiet but carried a faint edge of irritation, a shield against her own vulnerability.
Daryl glanced at her, lifting an eyebrow as his head tilted slightly. "What d'ya mean?"
"I mean," Raya said, turning just enough to meet his gaze, her eyes narrowed and sharp, "you've done your part. Made your report, delivered me back in one piece. So why are you still hanging around?"
Daryl let out a soft huff, the sound somewhere between a chuckle and a sigh as he pulled out a cigarette and silver lighter. "Guess I could ask you the same thing," he said lighting it between his lips and gesturing loosely toward the compound below. "Ain't exactly a party up here."
Raya's jaw tightened, her gaze flicking away. "I needed space."
"Yeah," Daryl replied, his tone softer now, a hint of understanding threading through his usual gruffness. "Figured."
She didn't respond, but Daryl didn't leave. He shifted his weight, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly with his free hand, a subtle movement that betrayed the thoughts he'd been mulling over. After a moment, his voice broke the silence again, low and a little uneasy. "I know why you're pissed."
Raya stiffened, though she kept her eyes on the horizon. "I'm not pissed."
"Yeah, you are," Daryl said, his tone uncharacteristically gentle but direct. "You're pissed 'cause you think gettin' cut on your first run means you're weak. Think it's gonna make the others look at you soome kinda way."
Her fingers tightened around the railing once more, her knuckles whitening as the frustration simmered to the surface. "I don't care what they think."
Daryl tilted his head slightly, giving her a sidelong glance. "Sure you don't."
Raya's lips pressed into a thin line, the defiance in her eyes faltering just a fraction. She hated how easily he could read her, how he'd pinpointed the exact thing she didn't want to admit—not even to herself.
"It's not about the injury," she muttered finally, her voice tight and restrained. "It's about what it means."
"And what's it mean?" Daryl asked, his tone calm but edged with curiosity.
"It means I messed up," Raya said, her frustration finally slipping through the cracks in her composure. "It means I wasn't good enough."
Daryl straightened slightly, his brow furrowing deeply. "Bullshit."
The bluntness of his reply startled her, and she turned to glare at him, her sharp eyes burning with indignation. "Excuse me?"
"You heard me," he said, his tone as firm as the sharp edge of his words. He met her gaze without flinching, his rugged face set with unwavering conviction. "Ain't about bein' 'good enough.' You were smart, and you walked outta there. You think I ain't been cut, banged up, or screwed up on a run before? Hell, everyone out here's got their scars. Comes with the job."
Raya didn't respond immediately, her expression softening just slightly as she processed his words. The faint flicker of uncertainty in her eyes began to dim, her defensive walls lowering inch by inch. Daryl shifted his weight again, scratching his unkempt beard as though trying to ease his discomfort. This wasn't the kind of conversation he liked having, but he wasn't about to let her stew in self-doubt.
"You ain't weak," Daryl said gruffly, the edges of his voice softened by sincerity. "You handled yourself out there—better than some do after years of this shit. Wounds don't mean you screwed up—means you survived. And that's what matters."
Raya let out a slow breath, the tension in her shoulders easing just slightly. She turned back to the horizon, her voice quieter now. "Doesn't feel like enough."
"It is," Daryl said simply, his piercing eyes unwavering. "And if anyone thinks otherwise, screw 'em. You're tough. You proved it."
His words hung in the air, awkward but sincere, and for the first time that day, Raya felt the tiniest crack in the armor she'd been clinging to so tightly. She glanced at him, her expression shifting as gratitude flickered briefly in her eyes. She didn't say it aloud, but Daryl gave her a small nod, as if to say he understood anyway.
"Get some rest," he said after a moment, flicking his burnt out cigarette over the railing and turning toward the ladder with his usual deliberate movements. "And don't go thinkin' too much. That's when ya start messin' up for real."
Raya watched him descend, his footsteps fading as he headed back toward the compound. The faint scent of leather, tobacco, and sweat lingered for a moment before dissipating entirely. She leaned against the railing again, her thoughts quieter now. The weight on her chest felt just a little lighter. Maybe Daryl was right. Maybe survival was enough.
Daryl and Raya begin to shed the barriers of mistrust as their shared experiences forge a tentative but meaningful connection. Daryl, hesitant but empathetic, opens up about fragments of his past, recalling the struggles and losses that shaped his resilience. Raya, in turn, surprises herself by, sharing glimpses of her own history. As the conversation unfolds, she discovers that Daryl's blunt honesty isn't a threat, but a reflection of the same scars she carries.