Chapter Text
The silence between you and Daryl has grown thick.
Not angry, not storming—it’s worse. It’s distant. Careful. Like walking on cracked glass and pretending it’s stone. He moved back into the outbuilding the night after the attack, claiming he couldn’t sleep well inside. No one questioned it.
But everyone knows.
Especially Maggie.
She sits beside you on the bed now, one leg tucked beneath her, her fingers idly twirling the frayed edge of a bandage roll.
“Still haven’t talked?”
You shake your head, picking at a tear in your sleeve. “No. Not since that night.”
Maggie sighs. “He’s got that Dixon pride. It’s half the reason he survives and half the reason he screws everything up.”
You let out a dry laugh.
“He doesn’t get it,” you murmur. “He doesn’t get that I’m angry because I care. Because I was terrified. Watching him throw himself into danger like he had nothing to lose—like I didn’t matter.”
Maggie watches you quietly, her expression soft.
“I know he’s not used to being someone people worry about,” you add, voice low. “But he’s not out there alone anymore. He has a group. He has—”
Your voice cracks slightly.
“He has me.”
The cell block is quiet except for the occasional footstep echoing down the hall, the faint thud of someone dropping a crate or moving supplies.
Then—voices.
Raised. Sharp.
You and Maggie both freeze.
It’s Rick and Daryl. Just down the corridor. Their voices bounce off the concrete walls, words indistinct at first.
Then clearer.
Rick: “It’s not just about moving fast. You need backup.”
Daryl: “I don’t need her comin’ with me if that’s what this is about.”
Rick: “She’s one of our best. I’m not asking.”
A pause.
Then Daryl’s voice again—tense, low, furious.
“You know damn well that ain’t why you picked her.”
You and Maggie share a look.
Rick’s footsteps echo closer.
He rounds the corner a second later, slowing as he sees you both seated by the cell. He hesitates just a beat.
“Hey,” he says, carefully neutral.
You stand slowly.
Maggie leans forward slightly but doesn’t speak.
Rick sighs and rubs a hand down his face.
“Supply run,” he says. “We need meds and disinfectant from the vet clinic we cleared last month.”
You nod, waiting.
Rick meets your eyes.
“You’re going with Daryl.”
The silence in the cell is immediate and deafening.
Your stomach twists. You glance past Rick, down the hall, where you can just barely see Daryl’s silhouette near the door—tense, still, half in shadow.
He’s waiting. He knows.
You take a breath, steel your voice.
“Did he agree to that?”
Rick’s gaze doesn’t waver. “He doesn’t have to agree. He knows it’s the right call.”
You nod once, cold settling into your bones. “When do we leave?”
“An hour,” Rick says. “Pack light. Be fast. Get back before nightfall.”
He turns and walks off without another word.
Maggie exhales beside you. “Well… that’s one way to get you two in the same room.”
You press your fingers to your temples.
“He’s going to hate this.”
She stands and squeezes your shoulder. “Maybe. Or maybe it’s what you need.”
You watch Daryl’s form disappear out the side door to the yard.
You don’t feel ready.
But the world doesn’t wait for readiness.
It just moves.
And you’d rather face the dead outside the fence than the ache inside your chest.