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Chapter Text

Journey to You

Chapter One

The Beginning of the End

"And she smells like lemongrass and sleep
She tastes like apple juice and peach
Oh, you would find her in a polaroid picture
And she means everything to me"

-She by Dodie

The sun felt warm against her skin, the skirt of her dress lazily moving in the breeze, as Calla watched her son fly across the ground, his small legs carrying him as fast as he could go, as he ran away from his grandfather, who followed closely behind him. The shrieks, and giggles of fun, filled her heart with warmth, only a small part of it feeling empty, as she thought about who was missing. Her husband hadn’t been able to make the family trip, work not approving of the time off, and it was needed to pay the bills. Calla understood, but it didn’t help the sensation of loss, as she determinedly decided that she would call him soon, knowing his lunch break was just a few measly minutes away.

“It’s a shame that husband of yours couldn’t make it,” her mother said, a small smile on her face as if she could read her daughter’s mind. “We’d love to see him more often.”

“He’d prefer to be here I assure you,” Calla laughed lightly. She twisted her wedding band around her finger as she imagined the disgruntled and annoyed look that he had worn the night he told her he wouldn’t be able to come. “You’ll get to see him Friday after work, his boss is letting him off early. His job just couldn’t give him the week. Normally Jason wouldn’t have a problem with the time off, but business has picked up and they had a few high-profile customers with a strict deadline, and they needed him. You know how those rich men can be about their cars.”

Her mother reached over to pat Calla’s hand gently as she sighed and nodded.

“I know, baby. I just hate seeing that something is obviously missing between you and Maverick. You both miss him. I love that your father and I get to see you for eight fantastic days, but I can tell it puts a strain on you. He’s a wonderful man, and I can see how much he loves the two of you just by how you two react without him. It’ll be good to have him here this weekend, even if it’s only for a day before you’ve all got to go back.”

“Maybe for the holidays, we can all stay here a little longer. They usually close the shop down for Christmas. If I have to, I’ll soften up his boss with sweets.”

“That man would move the world for the two of you,” Brianna, her mother, said. “He’ll do his best. Your father and I will patiently wait for any time we can get from the three of you. Maybe we’ll come to see you this year. What do you think? We’d have more time; lord knows we don’t do much of anything else since your father retired.”

“I think I would like that, mama.”

Glancing down at her phone Calla smiled at the time, excusing herself from the conversation with her mother, as she excitedly made to dial the number.

“Are yah already missin’ me, girl?” drawled a deep southern voice that caused her to melt, and calm all at once.

“Always,” she smiled, letting her happiness slip into her voice. “I’m missing you something awful, Daryl Dixon.”

She heard a gruff voice ask who the hell he was talking to, to which Daryl grunted out a fuck off and announced he was leaving for his break. Calla bit her lip as she tried not to smile wider, wondering if it was physically possible, as it was already so wide it hurt her cheeks.

“Fuckers know who the hell I’m talkin’ to,” he grumbled to himself as she heard him push open a door, and the soft sounds of birds chirping filled her ears. “Just a bunch of gosspin’ old ladies is what they are.”

“Not everyone has an interesting life like you,” she teased. “You act as if they bother you about it often.” She could hear Daryl groan on the other end, only heightening her amusement, as she could imagine him rubbing at his face in frustration.

“You know they do darlin’,” he griped, his voice speaking of irritation, but there was a softness to it, telling her he didn’t mean it. “It’s all yer fault, feedin’ them those sweets, and shit. Yah gotta stop sendin’ stuff to work with me. They can go git their own wives to bakes ‘em cookies, and muffins. Their like strays they’ll keep comin’ back if yah keep feedin’ ‘em.”

Calla’s laugh broke across the yard, sounding like a bell, as her parents glanced over, smiles on their faces, as they knew whom she was talking to.

“You should have a good relationship with your co-workers. I’m not going to stop sending them with you.”

“It ain’t me that they like.” He sounded as if he was pouting on the other side of the phone and Calla could just imagine the way his lips would turn down, a sparkle in his eye, as he took a drag of his cigarette.

Biting her lip, she allowed the smile to soften, to become smaller, as she began to twist her ring once more, as she leaned against the side of her childhood home.

“I really do miss you.”

They hardly ever spent time away from one another, and usually tried to plan family trips like this when they could all go together because they couldn’t stand being away from one another for extended periods of time.

A sigh breathed softly into her ear, sounding so close, but the man behind it was so far away.

“I know, peach,” he whispered to her, using the nickname he had given her back after their first kiss. He had told her she was as sweet as any Georgian peach and the name stuck. It could still melt her heart and set her insides ablaze. “I miss you too. How’s the family? You guys having fun?”

“Of course,” she said, perking up a bit as she turned her head to watch Maverick giggle and shriek as her father lifted him up into the air. “Ma and dad adore having Maverick here, and it’s been so nice visiting with them. They love any chance they can get having us around.”

“That’s good.” He paused, she could hear as he took another drag, before exhaling the smoke. “I’m sorry I couldn’ be there.”

“I know you wanted to be. We’ll see you soon though, just a few more days, and you’ll get to be here with us.”

“Yeah. Fuck I can’t wait. Don’ think I can get used to not havin’ you and the little ass-kicker shoving your feet into mah back.”

“I don’t do that, Daryl!”

“Sure. Sure, and those cold ass feet of yours don’ end up making me jump when yah press ‘em against me.” She listened to his chuckle, allowing the sound to wrap around her as she closed her eyes, and drank it in. It was like music to her ears, the sound low, and rich. “Everything all right up there? I’ve been hearing things on the news. Makes me nervous to be away from the two of yah.”

“We’re fine here, Dare. Don’t worry. Nothing weird like that has happened. Ma and dads have been peaceful, and you know this little town, not much ever happens here. Whatever is going on, all that craziness on the news, it’s probably nothing for us to worry about.”

“I’d feel a lot better when I can be there with the two of yah. It makes me nervous having the both of yah so far away from meh.”

“It’s just a couple of hours.” Calla tried to ease his worry but in reality, she felt the same way. It caused her to grow uncomfortable and uneasy not having him close when the cities seemed to have gone crazy. They were on the other side of Atlanta, a good four hours away, or three if you drove like Daryl when Maverick wasn’t in the car. “We’ll be fine. We’re enjoying our time here, and soon you’ll be here to enjoy it as well. Even if it is just for a day. Then we’ll all be under one roof again.”

Woman, I can’ wait for that to happen.” She could hear the tease building up in his voice, more words would surely follow, the kind that would make her blush, and heat would build under her skin, but before he was able to start something they couldn’t continue, the voice of his boss rang out. “Fuck, sorry darlin’ gotta go.”

“I love you.” Disappointment filled her heart, but she made sure her voice didn’t reflect that, instead dripping with the sentiment that reflected those words.

“I love yah too, peach. Tell that boy that I’ll talk to him tonight, before bed, I believe I promised him a story, and that I love him too.”

“Of course, have a good rest of your day at work, Daryl.” His boss yelled out again, forcing Daryl to rush through his goodbyes before the line disconnected and Calla was left wishing she could just hear his voice again.

· ─────── · 𖥸 · ─────── · ·

The next day her parents kept Maverick and her so busy that it was hard for Calla to focus on anything other than the next activity that was thrown at them. The feeling of missing something eased as she listened to the joy coming from her son, and the words, and expressions of happiness that surrounded them.

It was easy to slip into the role of happy mother/daughter when they went to the zoo. Maverick toddled next to them, and when he grew tired he would ride in his stroller, his wide blue eyes filled with wonder, and amazement as he studied each of the animals shown to him.

“Look at this one, Mav,” Calla said excitedly as she pulled him from the stroller, and up into her arms. She sensed as her mother would pull out her phone, snapping pictures of the duo, a smile covering her lips, as she laughed in joy, at the way Maverick clapped, and bounced in her arms, as he chanted the animal’s name, ‘Lion’, over and over. Those pictures would immediately be sent to Daryl, Calla knew, as her mother painted a picture for her son-in-law, so he could experience the adventure right along beside them. It warmed her heart to know that he would stop to look at his phone and that there would be a new picture of them, and that she wasn’t the one following along after. Though, if she were being honest, there were hundreds of photos of her and Maverick together, Daryl was always the one following along, as he preferred to be behind the camera, stating he needed all the pictures he could get of his two favorite people.

The ones that pictured him in them were usually the ones where he had fallen asleep with Maverick, and Calla was able to sneakily take them, but those had become her favorite, memories close to her heart, burned into her soul, and mind.

“Is this your favorite animal, Maverick?” her father, Albert asked, watching the boy’s bursting excitement. He had loved all the animals so far, but this, by far, had gotten the most noise from the boy.

The boy nodded enthusiastically as he began to mimic the growls he had heard on TV, causing the Lion to idly lift his head in interest, before laying it back down, heavily on its front paws.

“We’re nearing the end,” her mother said.

“We should go get ice cream after,” her dad said. “What do you think? It would be a nice cool treat to end the day on.” He had turned his gaze onto her, his own whiskey-colored eyes, the same exact shade as her own, questioned her, as they sparkled with the joy, they had immersed themselves with.

“That sounds good, daddy,” she nodded, laughing at the crow of happiness that escaped Maverick, as he flung himself toward his grandpa. They began to slowly make their way back toward the entrance, occasionally stopping to see one of the few animals they had left, idle chatter surrounding them, as they basked in the warmth of the fading day, as others around them readied themselves to leave.

“You tell me if Daryl liked them photos,” Brianna told her daughter. “I’ve got plenty more to send his way from this week. I just didn’t want to blow up his phone.”

“I’m sure he’ll love them, mama,” Calla soothed. “If he had been here that’s all he would be doing. I swear I feel like Maverick, and I are a pair of models when he’s around.”

“Oh, you leave that boy alone. He’s just filling his life with those he loves. It’s good he’s so involved.” Brianna hesitated, before reaching out and squeezing her daughter’s arm. “I’m so happy you found yourself a good man, who wants to be involved, and treats you like the queen that you are.”

“Honestly, mama, I’m luckier to have him. He’s been so good to us. To me.”

Calla smiled at the memory of first meeting Daryl back in her last year of college. She had spent spring break back in the hometown of her really good friend from college instead of going home. The girl had talked her into going to the bar, to have drinks, unwind, and release pent-up stress from the workload that had been crammed down their throats at school. It hadn’t taken much to talk her into it.

Calla felt herself swaying to the music, the alcohol adding just the right amount of haze to her mind, that she felt all worry, and stress ease away, but she hadn’t fallen past the line of being full-blown drunk. That wasn’t her goal tonight.

Anna tugged and pulled at her hand, trying to drag her to the dance floor, but Calla resisted, laughing, but waving her on to do it by herself. Dancing, especially the line dance currently being done, would require a lot more alcohol before she dived into it. Anna pouted, her full red lips pursing, as she tried one last time, before she tossed her long red hair over her shoulder, shrugged, blowing Calla a kiss, before diving straight onto the dance floor.

Drink in hand, Calla began to maneuver herself back toward the bar, where she could watch over her friend, and wait patiently for her to rejoin. Anna was like that, flitting about, like a hummingbird, never able to stay in one place for too long, before having to move on. She always came back though, and it didn’t bother Calla much.

“Lookie here, baby brotha,” came a male’s voice, heavy with alcohol, as his words slurred. “Seems I found mahself a southern belle. Yah lost good lookin’. Don’ see much of yer kind in these parts. Ole’ Merle could show yah a good time.”

Calla, confused, glanced around, before realizing that the older man was indeed talking to her, and not to someone else. Though by the southern belle comment, she should have known, it wasn’t the first time she was described as such and wouldn’t be the last she suspected. Calla figured it was the delicate way she looked, small, tiny, her build speaking of nothing but grace, and her long, blonde hair that was curled to perfection, while her whiskey eyes shined with gentleness, and kindness was what most people pictured when thinking of a southern belle.

A small, polite smile, crossed her lips as she focused on this man, only giving the other one a cursory glance, before classifying him as not a threat.

“Excuse me?” It may have been asked as a question, but her tone was accusatory, as she decided to deal with him head-on, leaving no question of her disinterest. “I think you’ve got me mixed up with someone else. I’m most certainly not lost and seem to be finding myself having a good time without assistance. As for your other comment, I can only assume you meant female, as you don’t seem the kind to attract them with your… vulgar language.”

The man in front of her, Merle, if his talking in the third person was to be believed, guffawed, seemingly far too gone to be offended by what she said.

“Yah got a mouth on yah girlie.”

“I’m sure that’s just something you naturally bring out in people.”

“If yah weren’ so pretty yah mouth would git yah in trouble.” He shook his head, taking another long swig from his beer, hesitating, before just downing the rest. “Yah want another sweet thing?”

“No, thank you.” She glanced down to where she had finished her own drink but didn’t feel the desire to give in to the temptation of a free drink when it meant politely making small talk with him after.

“Yah sure?” He took a step closer to her, but Calla refused to show that the action put her on edge, as she stood her ground. She was fairly certain that Anna’s boyfriend would step in if he saw someone harassing her. Even someone of Merle’s size.

“Leave her alone, Merle,” scoffed the other male, seemingly growing unamused with his brother’s antics, if he had ever been amused in the first place. By the look on his face, Calla suspected that he had grown tired of Merle’s actions a long time ago. Calla’s eyes bounced over toward him, quickly taking him in, before refocusing back on Merle, who had officially entered her bubble.

“Why? Yah interested brotha?” Merle snickered, his hand moving to reach out for her glass, but Calla simply moved it away from him. She was not going to entertain this man in front of her, and would not cower, she never had before, and wouldn’t be starting now.

“He’s got more of a chance than you do.” She locked gazes with Merle, eyes narrowing, as she dared him to continue. She saw the humor flicker in his eyes before he stepped back, rolling his shoulders, as he waved her off.

“Sure, if yah like ta wussy type.” He rolled his eyes, seemingly no longer finding her interesting, or perhaps not wishing to put the effort into pursuing her more, when there would be easier targets elsewhere. “Don’ know why I bothered. Good luck.” He took off, pushing past those in his way, as he closed the distance between them and the bar.

“Sorry about him,” the other man spoke up, his eyes locked onto the back of his brother and ignoring her own curious gaze. “Wish I could say it’s cause he’s drunk, but Merle’s a bastard sober or not.”

“He’s not the first I’ve had to deal with,” Calla shrugged. “Usually, they don’t have a brother who swoops in and intervenes in their assholery.” She caught the brief way his lips tugged up into a smile before he smoothed them back out.

“Yah seemed to be doin’ all right by yourself. Merle would have grown bored at some point. He likes ‘em a bit easier.” He seemed to hesitate, taking a swig of his drink before words fell from his lips before he could stop them. “Regardless of how pretty they are.”

The smile that adorned Calla’s lips was wide and full, hard to miss as she tilted her head, and closely appraised him, now that his brother was no longer her main focus. The man in front of her was the same height as his brother, but lean, lithe, and toned, the opposite of the bulky, burly man from before. In attitude and looks.

She bit her lip.

“Can I buy you a drink?” She was never so forward, but he seemed the type that needed help noticing the interest someone had in him, and she didn’t want him to doubt what she so obviously felt. His comment on how he saw her was very much welcomed, sweeter than what she was used to being called, and spoke of the softer undertones she could sense that he hid away. “The names Calla Wells.”

She watched the way he nervously bit the tip of his thumb, thinking it over, as he gazed at her, his eyes bouncing around her, lingering on her for only seconds.

"Daryl Dixon.”

He ended up paying for the rest of her drinks that night, and for those in the weeks to come.

The memory always brought on a bubbling excitement, as she remembered the way her heart had thundered in her chest, the blush that repeatedly coated her cheeks, and the butterflies that had fluttered dangerously within her stomach. She had taken the first step toward falling in love with him that night, and their dates that followed, even after she went back to college, how he always made time to visit her regardless of the hour’s drive, had only shoved her over the edge.

She had been the first to say it, never regretting that decision, as the image burned into her memory of the look of surprise, shock, fear, and then elation that had mottled his expression. Even when he had begun to avoid her for a period of time after, she had still loved him.

Tears streaked her cheeks as her phone call yet again went unanswered by Daryl.

He had looked so happy those few moments after she had let slip how she felt. The emotion had boiled up, spilling over, and she hadn’t been able to bottle it back inside, didn’t want to, as the knowledge of her affection was finally free. He had moved to kiss her, that Calla knew, but hadn’t understood why he suddenly stopped, words on the tip of his tongue, before a gruffer, more serious Daryl had stepped back, apologizing, about what she wasn’t sure, maybe about how he was going to flee, and running away was exactly what had happened.

Daryl Dixon had left her standing there, confused, and hurt, as she watched his back, and took in the way he climbed onto that motorcycle and disappeared.

That had been several days ago, and Calla had thought he would get a hold of her, that eventually, he would explain himself, or gently let her down. Perhaps she had moved too fast, but they weren’t teenagers, no, she was twenty-six, graduated from college only a few months before, and was entering the next phase of her life. A phase that she had wanted to include him in. Calla hadn’t wanted to waste a moment with him. She had always been upfront about everything, and her feelings were not an exception.

He had known that.

So, why did he run?

Not being able to take it anymore, Calla did the only thing she could think to do, and that was to confront him, force him to pay attention to her and demand an answer for his actions. Calla did not play games.

Getting into her car, fueled by pain, and the desire for answers, Calla made the hour’s drive to his house, parked out front of the run-down trailer that he shared with Merle, and slammed the door of her car as seeing the place fueled her anger. He would be here, she knew, as it was well within the time he usually got home from work, as he rarely went out unless it was the weekend, or Merle was forcing him.

Not allowing the pain to peek out, to cause her to turn and run, Calla engulfed herself in the anger she felt at being abandoned after bearing her soul to him.

Her fist raised, banging against the door loudly, as she glared at the offending piece of wood that separated her from the source of her ire. When the door was flung open it wasn’t to the sight of her boyfriend, but instead to the sight of his brother, blurry eyed, and angry looking, that only turned slightly annoyed when he caught sight of her.

“Take yer lover’s quarrel elsewhere, girlie,” he grumped. “I don’ wanna hear it.”

“Where is he, Merle?” Her voice wavered, with tears, or fury, she wasn’t sure, but Calla was certain that it would end with her crying either way.

"Fuckin’ comin’ over here, banging on the damn door like ta damn police, and actin’ like yah own ta place.” His voice raised with his irritation, usually milder-mannered ever since she started dating his brother, but apparently, Merle didn’t like people barging in, being pissed, and throwing out demands. Calla couldn’t blame him but was far from caring at this point. “He’s in his goddamn room, like every other fuckin’ day, since he burst down that door, lookin’ like he had been plowed down by a truck. Yer work, I fuckin’ recon.”

"He didn’t take kindly to me telling him I loved him.”

Normally Calla wouldn’t have said a damn thing about what went on between Daryl and her, but she was feeling spiteful, and hurt, and just wanted to understand his actions, and denial of her, that she was desperate enough to search for an inkling of understanding about Daryl from Merle. He knew his brother better than anyone else, even her, and for once thought herself justified in her reasoning.

Merle blinked, looking confused, for just a moment, before he was shaking his head, and cursing under his breath.

“Fuckin’ pussy,” he grumbled. “Is that all? The both of yah make me sick. I’ve been dealin’ with all that mopin’ and here I thought yah broke up with his sorry ass.” He shook his head, the annoyance rising, as he grabbed at his keys, and threw her a glare. “Fuckin’ have him fixed by ta time I get back. I ain’t dealin’ with ta shit no more.” He tugged her inside, shoving her toward the back of the trailer where she knew Daryl’s bedroom was. “Go on, one of yah has got ta have some balls. Fuck him, ditch him, I don’ give a shit, but git done whateva’s gonna happen. Either yah make up or move on, but I ain’t livin’ like tis no more.”  

Merle then stepped outside and slammed the door shut.

She was left alone, some of her anger dying out, as she made to move down the short hallway.

He was hurting too?

But why?

Calla needed answers, but first, she had to regain what courage drove her over here. She raised her hand to knock at his door, hesitating for a moment, trying to prepare herself for what was to come.

Calla was thrown from her memories as they stepped out of the zoo, having made their way toward the car, even in her daze she had managed to follow along without getting lost, that hadn’t been what drug her from her reminiscing. No, someone had screamed. If it hadn’t been for the look of concern that crossed over her parent’s expressions she would have thought she had simply imagined it, after all, she hadn’t been paying attention at all, but the way they searched around the area told her everything she needed to know.

“Do you think someone is in trouble, dear?” asked her mother as she turned to her father.

“I don’t know,” he said. “Maybe just some kids messing around?”

They resumed their walk, but Calla could see the way they were on edge, the ease with which they joked with Maverick was replaced with a more reserved tone. Maverick caught on, his excitement, and pleas for what kind of ice cream he could get dying on his tongue, as he laid his head down on his grandfather’s shoulder. His thumb popped into his mouth, a habit that both Calla and Daryl had tried to break him of, but it wasn’t going well.

He was stubborn.

A trait that Calla had tried to blame solely on Daryl, but knew Maverick came by it honestly between the two of them.

It had led to many moments of the couple butting heads on a topic.

The family had almost fallen into a sense of ease, having decided it was probably just someone messing around, or having accidentally scared someone else, when another scream broke through the air, the mass of people around them stumbling back, as an oppressive wave of fear rattled throughout the group, suffocating Calla, as she tried to figure out what had caused the change.

Ahead of them, where people were now trying to flee, stood a man, dripping blood from his mouth, his gate aggressive, and off balance, as he flung himself at the nearest person. He tackled them to the ground, brutally forcing his way onto the woman, as she screamed, and clawed, trying to buck him off, but he was relentless, and soon those sobs were only hellacious moans, as the sound turned wet and scared.

The man, high on drugs, or simply having just lost his mind, stood up, interest piqued by the noise from the crowd, as he let out a low growl, before lumbering toward where Calla and her family were.

Albert forced Brianna and his daughter back, shifting the boy in his arms, before carefully, and hurriedly telling her to take her son. Calla obeyed instantly, arms wrapping protectively around him, as she buried his head in her collarbone, trying to keep him from witnessing what was going on. Albert then began to guide his wife and daughter around a set of cars, trying to avoid the panicked people around him, as his instincts from his time as a cop kicked in. Their car was behind the threat, they wouldn’t be able to keep going forward, but if they could go around, he could still get them safely to the car.

As long as this was an isolated instance and not a sign of more people losing their minds.

Calla led the way, her father keeping behind them, eyeing the man carefully, watching as he attacked someone else, and making sure they stayed a healthy distance away from them.

Her heart pounded in her eyes, sounding impossibly loud, and drowning out any other sound, but she forced her focus to stay on the scene around them as her feet carried her further away from the danger, and hopefully toward safety. In her arms Maverick softly shook, his eyes shut tightly, as he whimpered from the sounds around them. She tried to keep from jostling him, drawing him closer to her, as she whispered words of comfort into his ear, even as her own panic forced itself through her.

Hadn’t she just told Daryl they would be fine? That nothing crazy ever happened here?

God, she wished he was here, the one helping direct them, and protecting them. She didn’t feel safe. Her heart was beating so fast that Calla worried it would beat right out of her chest.

A man stumbled into her, forcing her off balance, and she was almost sent careening toward the ground, but at the same moment, her mother was behind her, refocusing her, as her father began to coax them forward.

Only for them to come to a stumbling stop as a woman in front of them, looking just as horrifying as the man from before, stepped out from behind a car. Her limping gate came to a stop, as her head slowly turned, a low keen escaping her mouth before she was lurching forward.

Her father stepped in front of them. His hand holding a firearm he carried everywhere with him; the same one he had carried since before his days on the force.

“Stop,” he ordered. “Come closer and I’ll be forced to shoot.” He tried to reason with her, to get her to quit advancing on them, but the pleas fell on deaf ears, and the sound of the gun going off caused Calla to flinch, as her ears rang. Maverick began to cry in her arms, the sound deafening, loud, as they echoed off the crowd around them doing much of the same.

The bullet pierced the woman’s leg, only it hadn’t stopped her in her tracks, she hadn’t seemed to even notice it, as she only picked up her pace. Another gunshot, this time hitting her shoulder, but she merely jerked back with the motion, before barreling forward. Albert hesitated, a hand coming up to knock her away, as she gripped tightly at his arm, tugging, and pulling him toward her before suddenly there was excruciating pain in his arm, and he jerked himself back. His hand came up, his aim forced to take the kill shot, as she finally went down.

“Daddy!” Calla yelled, watching as the blood flowed from the gash, a clear bite mark marring the skin.

“Albert! Brianna cried as she moved to wrap an arm around him.

“I’m all right,” he said. “It’s gonna be okay. Let’s just get to the car.”

 He managed to push them along, the four of them stumbling toward the car, as Calla threw herself into the back with Maverick, moving to buckle him in, as her parents settled up front.

Her father threw the car into gear, backing up into the chaos, as he laid on his horn, warning the people around them that he was coming through, and that there would be no stopping in the sea of panic.

Calla hovered over Maverick, keeping his focus on her, and not on the chaos outside the windows of the car, as she tried forcing the sobs back down her throat, in lieu of singing his favorite nursery rhyme.

What kind of hell had they been thrown into?

Chapter Text

Journey to You

Chapter Two

Missed by Miles

    'But you can skyrocket away from me

And never come back if you find another galaxy

Far from here with more room to fly

Just leave me your stardust to remember you by

-Boats and Birds by Gregory and the Hawk    

 Jobs had been dished out to each of the adults as soon as they arrived back at her parent’s home, her mother grabbing and packing all food they had in the house that could be moved if needed, and her father grabbing his weapons, as Calla took care of grabbing clothes. She had made sure to keep Maverick close as she flitted from room to room. Her mind was racing as she handed him yogurt drops to keep him busy as she searched for her phone to call Daryl.

They shook so badly that she dropped the phone twice before calming them enough to hold on so she could dial the number. It rang forever, announcing to her that he was working, not having it on him, and she desperately hung up before punching in the new set of numbers that she had memorized shortly after he had started the job.

“Jasons’ Auto Repair what can we do for you today?” came a sweet elderly voice. Calla breathed out in relief at hearing Georgina’s voice.

“Georgie, it’s Calla, I need you to get me Daryl on the phone right away,” her voice shook, as she tried regaining control over her emotions, but she knew it must sound as if she was on the verge of crying. It wasn’t far off. She could feel them prickling at the back of her eyes. “It’s an emergency.”

“Honey are you all right?” Georgina asked. “You don’t sound well. I thought you all were on vacation with your parents.”

“Please, Georgie, just get him. Hurry.” The line went silent, and she could hear the distant sound of some kind of machinery, or tools before there was shuffling, and her ears were met with the one sound that she had been anxiously in need of hearing.

“Calla, what’s going on?” Daryl asked, his voice anxious, the sound deep and raspy, but it put her at ease more than anything else could. “Georgina said something sounded wrong with yah.”

“Daryl,” she cried, having tried to force the tears back, but she found that the dam broke as soon as any sense of safety filled her at the sound of his voice.

“Peach, yah gotta calm down, breathe for me, girl.” He coached her through calming her breathing, and she felt some of the control come back. Control was what she needed right now. She needed to calm down, tell Daryl what happened, and hopefully have him at her side in the next few hours. First, she just needed to explain.

"We were at the zoo, and it was terrible, they were attacking people right in front of us.” Her voice had calmed enough that it only wobbled now but held firm. “One of them attacked daddy. She just lost her mind and kept comin’ even though he shot at her leg. Daryl, he got hurt, she bit him, and he had to shoot her, to make her stop. She just kept comin’.” She was dangerously close to having her voice break again, but she took a deep breath, lightly shaking herself, as she breathed out in a big exhale.

“Fuck,” Daryl cursed, the worry only deepening as he listened. “Listen, Calla, I want you to get all of yer shit packed up there, help yah parents, Merle, and I are gonna come to get all of ya’ll. You sit tight, stay safe in that house, and make sure to be ready for us. I’m comin’ for yah, darlin’. I promise. I’ll be there as fast as I can.”

“Please, hurry, Daryl. I’m not gonna lie I’m freaking out a bit over here.” She giggled, the sound void of humor, and high-pitched, sounding on the verge of delirium. “I need you right now.”

“Sit tight. Do what I said. Don’ leave that house, Calla.” His voice was stern, a tone he hardly ever used toward her, unless they were in one of their rare arguments, or she had been too much of a tease.

“I love you.”

"I Love you too, darlin’. I gotta go. I’ll call when we’re on the way.”

Calla allowed the phone to drop onto the bed as she continued to pack the three separate bags. An hour later her father had the van packed completely but had warned them to stay indoors now that the sun had begun to set.

“Shouldn’t we go to that safe zone they’re talking about on the radio?” her mother asked, looking worried, as she fretted about the kitchen.

“Mama, Daryl said he was coming here,” Calla reminded her. “We can’t leave.”

“I just think it would be safer there is all.” With time Calla had started to settle, her fear and anxiety dampening, but her mother had just grown the more time passed. “We could leave him a note, tell him where we’re going to be. You’ve seen what it was like. What if one of those people came here?”

“Brianna,” her father said, his voice raspy, as he coughed. “We should wait here for Daryl. We’ll be fine.”

"Daddy,” Calla worriedly said, moving to place a hand over his forehead. She had noticed the way he had grown paler, looking tired, and she had assumed it was the stress, but then that cough had started. She was worried he had grown sick. “Let me see that wound. It could be infected, that woman bit you, and you’re not looking so good.” She pulled back her hand in surprise at the way his skin felt like it had burned her. “You’re runnin’ a temp.”

“Albert,” her mother chided. “You should have said something. Are you not feeling well?”

“I’ll be fine. This is nothing. I didn’t wanna worry the two of you.”

“You should lie down.”

“Listen to your daughter, Albert.” Her mother manhandled him into lying down in their bedroom, promising to keep him posted on anything the news said, and that they would wake him when Daryl arrived.

Calla stared out the window, night had settled over them, coating them in a blanket of black. It was hard to make out what could be going on outside, but all seemed calm, at the moment. They had watched as a few neighbors seemed to flee, likely heading toward the safe zone in Atlanta, but Calla had held firm in staying put.

“I hope Daryl gets here soon,” she whispered, causing her mother to glance over at her. Softly, Calla’s fingers weaved through Maverick’s dark brow hair, his head laid in her lap, as he slept.

“I’m sure he will be,” her mother soothed.

"It’s been two hours. He should have called to tell me he was on his way already.”

“Perhaps he just forgot in his haste to get to you. Didn’t you say he was grabbing his brother? He got sidetracked. There are lots I’m sure that he was grabbing for the three of you back at home, and traffic is terrible coming up here on a good day.”

“He would have called, mama.” Calla bit her lip as her gaze dropped toward her lap, taking in her son’s sleeping face, and allowing it to calm her racing mind. She needed to be strong for him right now. “I’m going to call him.”

She gently slid out from underneath the sleeping boy, laying him carefully onto the couch, before grabbing a throw blanket to place over him. Calla snatched up her phone from the countertop, where she had left it after a thousand times checking for a missed call, only to frown at the busy signal she had received.

“That’s strange.”

“What is, honey?”

“The call isn’t going through.”

“Maybe it’s just busy, I’m sure a lot of people are trying to call right now, just keep trying until you get through. In emergency situations like this, that’s always for the best.”

Calla felt uncomfortable with this new knowledge and wondered if Daryl had tried, only to find that he hadn’t been able to get through. She was certain he was beyond worried right now, and Calla silently cursed separating from him for this trip. She should have just postponed it until he had been able to get the time off, but she had been pushy, excited to see her parents missing them something bad, and hadn’t thought the strange illness on the news was worth being worried over.  She had been certain she could survive a week without him and had made that trip to her parents a million times, that she was certain nothing would go wrong.

Nothing had, until now, and she was regretting it.

She tried, again, and again, with no luck, before suddenly her phone lost service altogether.

“Mama, turn on the television. Let’s see if we can figure out what’s going on.”

“They’ve hardly spoken anything helpful all night, I doubt it’ll be anything different now.”

“Mama, please!”

The older woman huffed but moved to grab the remote that was within her reach as she clicked it on, only finding herself confused at the lack of the normal news channel, and instead seeing an emergency broadcast. It had stated much of the same as the radio had, telling them where the nearest safe zone was set up, and how they urged everyone to seek shelter there. The military would be there. It didn’t sound like a bad setup, but Calla wouldn’t leave without Daryl, not unless something forced them, as she believed he would be here in another hour. It was already nearing his typical time of arrival on a normal day. She just had to hold out a little longer.

“They’ve cut the feed and have this on loop,” her mother said. “There’s nothing else on. It’s all just the same broadcast. What do they think they’re doing except spawning panic.”

Calla sat at the kitchen island, on a bar stool, feeling sick to her stomach, as she tried to focus on breathing. It was only getting worse. That unease underneath her skin.

“I need some fresh air,” Calla gasped, as she felt the walls closing in on her.

“You shouldn’t go out there.” Her mother’s voice had turned uncertain, her eyes bouncing toward the window, as she wrung her hands.

“I won’t go past the porch. It’s quiet out there and I just really need to be able to breathe. I won’t be long. Watch over Maverick for me, okay.” Leaning over she kissed her mother’s cheek softly before casting her son one last glance before escaping out the door.

The wind rustled her hair, trying to tug it free from the ponytail she had thrown it in the moment they had gotten back to the house. The breeze cooled her flushed cheeks as she took several deep breaths, and felt the way the crickets, and frogs, eased her frayed nerves. Her eyes bounced around the small yard, taking in the neighbor’s houses, as she stared down the street, willing for the familiar headlights of Daryl’s truck to light up the night.

She believed he would come. He wouldn’t just leave them, even if something major had happened as she suspected, Daryl would do everything in the world to make it to them.

Calla felt the way her legs gave way as she continued to stare down the road, her mind racing, as she sat on the cold wood of the front porch step.

Any moment he would appear.

She would cry, for just a moment, before feeling like everything collapsing around them could be dealt with, as long as they were together. Daryl was her strength. He was her calm. Her peace. There was nothing Calla couldn’t do when he was standing next to her.

“Please appear,” she whispered into the night. “Please, please, I need you, please get here.” The whispered prayer fell from her lips in a mantra that was suddenly broken by the scream from inside the house.

A new wave of fresh fear rolled from her as Calla picked herself up from the porch step, stumbling in her haste, as she pushed herself toward the front door.

“Mama!” she yelled, as she entered the house. She barreled down the hallway clutching at the doorframe as she stepped into a scene straight out of a horror movie.

Her father, who had previously been lying down, his fever growing dangerously high, even with the meds in his system was now standing, skin greyed, eyes milky, and staring at her mother with a blank look as he lumbered toward her. Her mother yelled again, this time her husband’s name, as she pushed at his reaching arms.

“Albert, what has gotten into you!”

“Daddy!” Calla threw herself forward, coming up behind the man, feeling something heavy settle in her stomach, as she caught sight of the bite mark, still red, and inflamed, but looking ghastly against the unhealthy tone of his skin. He reminded her of those two people back at the zoo.

Mindless.

Their only intent was to attack.

The man standing in front of her was nothing like the one who had raised her.

Calla sobbed as she grabbed at the man, pulling him away from her mother, her body shaking as he fought her hold, before she suddenly shoving him forward, into the island, watching as he tripped, and tumbled forward, hitting his head. He only seemed to shrug that off, not even a flinch from the pain, as he began to pull himself back to his feet.

“Outside!” Calla screamed at her mother, as she raced over toward her son, who was now sitting up on the couch, crying at the startling scene happening around him. “Sh, sh.” She tried to console him as she was forced to dodge the scary imitation of her father, the feeling of confusion nagging at her but telling her to keep away from him.

Her mother was still frozen, staring wide-eyed at her husband, as tears streamed down her face.

“Albert!”

“Mama, we got to get out of here!” She dashed forward, using her free hand to clutch desperately at her mother, as she watched her father stumble over a chair, madly trying to reach them as Calla kept dodging him. She tugged at her mother, trying to drag her forward, as her mother continued to cry, shocked, and frozen. Calla barely managed to get the front door shut before her father was pounding on the other side, Calla shoved Maverick into her mother’s arms, as she frantically clutched at the door handle, not wishing for him to get out, before Maverick and her mom made it to the car, only to hesitate as she continued to listen to the banging from the other side.

He wasn’t trying to turn the doorknob.

It was like he suddenly forgot how a door worked.

Shaking fingers let go of the doorknob, watching as it occasionally was bumped into, but never turned, never showed signs that it would suddenly be flung open. Another sob escaped her lips, the sound reawakening the frenzy that was her father, as he thrashed violently against the door. She shook her head, hands coming up to wipe at her face, as she tried clearing her vision.

They couldn’t stay here.

It wasn’t safe to stay out in the open. Calla wasn’t sure what she would do if someone else, acting like her father, came across them, not sure what you were supposed to do. It hadn’t been reported on the news. They had been given no direction other than to avoid the sick, to not get close to them, and Calla wondered if the bite was what had infected her father, or if it was simply just because he had gotten close to that woman.

Did that mean she was infected now?

There were no answers for her, but Calla knew where she would get them, and as determination and a wave of sadness hit her, she knew for the safety of her son they would be leaving.

But not before she left a note for Daryl, some way for him to know where they had gone and hadn’t just up and disappeared on him.

She couldn’t do that to him.

The urge to reunite with him was still strong as she searched the car for a permanent marker, silently apologizing to her parents for what she was about to do but thinking it didn’t really matter. The world was changing, and she figured the least of anyone’s problems would be a door used as a piece of paper.

Staring at her work Calla decided it was the best that she could do, she would leave him more signs, pointing in the direction of where they went, before gathering the courage to leave, and do what was best for her son.

· ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · 

Daryl cursed as he hit the steering wheel of the truck, his frustration mounting as each phone call refused to go through, and the sudden urge to smack his brother overwhelmed him.

Couldn’t Merle shut up for just a moment?

“Look,” Merle griped his own annoyance heightening. “There ain’t no way we’re getting’ through Atlanta. It’s fuckin’ stupid. Go around.”

“It’ll take longer to get to ‘em.” Daryl threw a glare his brother’s way, showing how pissed he was becoming if the whites of his knuckles weren’t already an indication. “That adds hours to our drive! It’s all back roads, dead ends, and crappy conditions.”

“If yah wanna git stuck in ta shit show that is Atlanta then by all means Darlena, take ta fuckin’ fast way.”

In the frustration that plagued the cab of their truck neither noticed the sudden appearance of a thick line of cars, all at a stop, waiting to gain entrance to the city that was still miles away.

“Fuck!”

“Told yah.” Merle’s shit-eating grin was wide, knowing he had been right, as he leaned back against the seat of the truck, waiting to see what Daryl would do now. Daryl itched to smack it off, finding him not helpful, as he flung a map in his brother’s direction.

“Find the fastest fuckin’ way to ‘em,” Daryl ordered, his mouth set in a grim line, as he backed the truck up, causing someone to honk loudly at them, but he paid it no mind, as he suddenly drove forward, hitting the grass that lined the side of the road, as he turned them around. The engine roared to life as he frustratingly turned and took off back toward the way they came from, not caring that if a cop saw them, they’d be stopped for not bothering to keep to the road and were on the entirely wrong side, let alone the lack of attention to how fast they were going once he hit concrete again.

“Gotta take a turn a couple miles away,” Merle said, as he obediently searched the map. His moment of being right was over and seeing the mood his brother was in, Merle decided to be helpful. He could sense the worry and fear that was rolling from him, something new, heavier, than anything Merle had experienced from his brother since that woman came into his life.

It was best not to poke a pissed off bear.

For hours they worked mostly in silence as Merle directed them down some random road, their progress far slower than Daryl wanted, but faster than being stuck back on the main road. Merle kept most of his comments to himself, occasionally letting something slip that would have Daryl biting back at him, before a small argument would break out.

This continued for hours, until finally, in the early hours of the morning, they drove into the familiar town that Calla had been raised in. Daryl felt a little bit of the tension that had gripped him tightly during the ride, ease, just a little bit, as he reminded himself that he would be reunited with his wife and son, soon. When he turned onto the quiet street the first thing Daryl noticed was the way Callas van was gone. Normally it stayed parked in front of the house, and he hoped it was just in the garage, that this wasn’t a sign of something worse as he pulled up to the house. He stared at it, noticing how the lights were still on, and the way a curtain moved in the living room.

Someone was awake.

“C’mon,” Daryl muttered, throwing the door open. He was anxious to see Calla and Maverick. He could picture the way Calla would throw open that door, how he would catch her as she flung herself into his arms and braced himself for the tears he had heard in her voice earlier that night. “Behave yerself, Merle. I don’ want to deal with any of yer shit here.”

“Don’ have ta worry ‘bout meh,” Merle said, raising his hands into the air, as he chuckled. “I’ll play nice.”

Daryl sent a disbelieving glance, feeling certain that Merle did in fact not know how to behave himself, but hoped he could manage something. Albert was old fashioned, polite, but stern, and wouldn’t welcome Merle's normal way of going about things. The last thing Daryl needed was Albert trying to cast Merle out of his house because the asshole offended someone.

They walked quietly up to the front of the house, Daryl catching sight of the curtain swishing back and forth, as if someone was looking, but yet again, no one came racing out to greet them. It set him on edge. Before they could reach the door, Daryl was frowning, diverging from his path as he moved toward the window. Merle kept moving forward, only feeling the need to be invited inside, as he was starving, and tired. He hadn’t reacted well to Daryl showing up on his doorstep, tearing the door down, as he began to blast off orders. Typically, his brother was more reserved than that, hardly the one that took control out of the two of them, Merle used to being the one in charge, but that hadn’t been the case tonight.

Not that it had been much of the case since Calla came into the picture.

He was fucking tired and didn’t give much about anything except for a few home comforts, and he knew Calla would be more than willing to show him where the food was, and a place to rest his head. She was a doll like that even when she got mouthy.

Merle lumbered up the steps readying himself to knock on the door and finally have the crazy-ass night put behind him. He stopped short at the dark lines all over the front door, out of place, and bold. He caught the name Daryl in big looping letters, handwriting that was familiar to him, it adorned the stupid Christmas letter he received every year that he would never admit actually enjoying seeing.

His jaw set as he made out what was written there, the muscles in his back tightening, as he turned to gruffly call out to Daryl, who had begun to move away from the window. Confusion was written all over his face.

“What?” he hollered out, annoyed at Merle for not having knocked yet.

“Gotta come see this.”

Irritation clawed its way up his throat, but Daryl clamped down on the urge to yell at his brother, the night wearing on his nerves when another sudden movement caught his attention. The curtains were suddenly jerked roughly, causing them to snap, and fall, tangling up whoever had been messing with them.

“Maverick?” For one moment worried filled his gut that somehow that had been his son, the only one that made sense in messing with the curtains in the first place, but the lump under the cloth was too big. Man-sized, not the right shape for a two-year-old.

“Not quite, baby brotha,” Merle said, his voice tight, as he made to lean over the side of the porch, staring stony eyed through the living room window.

Confused, Daryl watched as the figure struggled to untangle itself, only partly managing to do it, but it was enough for Daryl to realize it was Albert, his father-in-law, acting nothing like his normal self.

The man pulled himself to his feet, seeming content with the small view he had managed to clear himself of in the struggle, as he suddenly shoved himself forward, smacking harshly into the window.

Daryl flinched, stepping back, as he stared uncertainly at what was playing out in front of his eyes.

“What the fuck is going on?”

“Got sick,” Merle said, shrugging. Both of their eyes fell to where the bite mark on his arm, the only one free from the curtains, sharply stood out. “Your woman took yah kid, and her mother, and left.” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder, motioning for Daryl to go read the letter addressed to him, as he pulled out a cigarette knowing he was going to need a moment.

It would seem that the restful night he was hoping for had been dashed to smithereens.

Daryl looked hesitant, having frozen at Merle’s words, at the realization that his family wasn’t here, where they should have been, and that his father-in-law had been reduced to a deranged monster on the other side of the glass.

His footsteps were heavy, sounding as if his body weighed a thousand pounds, a reflection of the way Daryl carried himself.

Daryl,

Daddy got sick and attacked us. I didn’t know what else to do. I couldn’t get a hold of you, but we have to leave. We went to the safe zone in Atlanta. Please, come find us there.

I’m so sorry.

Love, C. Dixon

Daryl felt his legs buckle, his hands reached out, clawing at the door in front of him, as he barely managed to keep himself on his feet, as his head rested against the cool wood of the door. Tears built up in his eyes as he took a moment to battle with his emotions, forcing them back into something that allowed him to think, rather than allow this dark, and racing black cloud to take over as it hovered dangerously over him.

She left the note. Which meant she was alive. He forced himself to focus on that. She would have mentioned if someone else was hurt if something had happened to her or Maverick. They would be okay. Calla was strong. She’d take care of their boy until he could find them again.

Shoving back from the door Daryl straightened his back.

He needed to focus on finding them. Calla had told him exactly where they were heading, and he had to assume they had a few hours’ head start. Daryl had to focus on the thought that by tomorrow afternoon he would be back with them, to have them safely in his arms, but first, he had to pull himself together and go find them.

Turning around he stalked back down the porch.

“Merle, let’s go.”

“Yah sure ‘bout that baby brotha?” Merle called out, flinging his cigarette down to the ground, as he crushed it with his foot. “We should stay ta night here, git some rest, won’t do your girl no good if yah git yerself taken out cause yah were stupid.”

“Merle!”

“Don’ be an idjit, use yer head boy, it’s been what, almost twenty-four hours since yah slept last. Yah won’ be helpful ta anyone if yah crash.”

“I’m not havin’ this conversation with you.” He ripped open the door of the truck. “We’re goin’ to find ‘em now. I’ll sleep when I know they’re safe.”

Merle rolls his eyes, moving around the truck, and shoving his brother out of the way, keeping him from getting into the driver’s seat.

“Ain’t gonna let yah git meh killed in a wreck. I’ll drive.”

Daryl grumbled but not wanting to argue any longer moved to get into the passenger seat.

They spent the drive toward Atlanta in silence, neither of them talking, as Daryl tried to do as Merle suggested, to get some rest, but his thoughts kept racing, and he didn’t manage much of anything other than the occasional doze before his head was snapping back up, and his heart was racing once again.

They hit another snarl in the road, the line of cars long, but the lights of Atlanta could be seen in the distance, a beacon, as Daryl hoped Calla, and Maverick was somewhere safe, waiting for him. Merle grumbled, annoyed, as he tapped against the steering wheel, waiting for the line to move at all, but it never did. They stayed stuck there, for another hour, before he grew frustrated enough to bail from the truck, leaving Daryl to wallow, as he searched for someone with answers.

Daryl could only scoff, knowing no one this far back would know a thing, as he stared off into the distance. Knowing Calla’s luck, she wasn’t stuck in this traffic, already inside the safety of wherever they were holding everyone and waiting for him to arrive. He just needed to be patient. Eventually, people would begin to move. He’d get there. It would only take some time.

He wasn’t prepared for the sudden sound of something flying overhead.

He ditched the truck, a frown on his face, as he followed their path with his eyes, silently following after them as he tried to find a better view.

Shock clenched his gut, as something cold, and twisted, gripped at his heart when the night sky was lit up with explosions. He barely heard the screams around him. They were barely a blip on his radar as he watched Atlanta go up in flames.

They had bombed the city.

A city that held his family.

Daryl could feel his knees giving out again, but this time he didn’t try to stop their descent as they crashed into the dry dirt. Something sharp punched at his gut, the sensation knocking the air from his lungs, as he kneeled there, trying to regain his breath, the sound of wheezing escaping his lips, as all he could do was stare straight ahead as his heart was crushed.

Idly he recognized that he may be having a panic attack. The sensation was fuzzy and unfamiliar to him, but the way he had gone from numb to crushing helplessness was enough of a whiplash that it caused his brain to kickstart again.

It did nothing to soothe the ache in his chest, the pain growing with intensity, threatening to tear him to pieces, to drown him, as he heard Merle calling out for him.

He barely registered the man dragging him back to the truck, nor how he ended up sitting back in that seat, watching as the trees flew past him, as Merle tried to explain that they would be following a couple of people to a quarry a few miles away.

The pain drowned out any realization of knowledge that he knew exactly where they were going.

His family had been heading toward the city they had just bombed.

He hadn’t been with them.

It was hard to breathe.

Ringing filled his ears.

He couldn’t focus on anything except for the spiraling thoughts of despair that swirled dangerously inside his mind.

Calla.

Maverick.

He gripped tightly to the stuffed rabbit that had been discarded onto the floor of his truck as his tears soaked the toy.

Chapter Text

Journey to You

Chapter Three

Don’t Look Back

"And I can tell that you didn't have

to face your mother losing her lover

Without saying goodbye

Without saying goodbye

'Cause she didn't have time."

-We Might Be Dead by Tomorrow by Soko

Calla felt frustrated by the lack of movement. They had been stuck in traffic for hours. The city growing no closer, near, but not close enough for them to enter. What had first started as a slow crawl forward had been completely shut down, and Calla worried they were going to start to turn people away.

Why else were they no longer moving forward?

Her head filled with the worst-case scenarios as she leaned further into her seat and glanced up at the rearview mirror where she could easily see her son sleeping peacefully in the back seat. The last twelve hours had been the worst the kid had ever experienced in his life, he had grown quieter since the zoo and worry filled every crevice of her body, drowning her in it, as she experienced the same unknown. It was her job to keep the worst of it from him, but this situation felt impossible not to have some of it leak toward him. She needed more information.

“I’m going to take a walk,” Calla broke the silence. “See if anyone has any news, or knows what’s going on, about us no longer moving, or the picture as a whole.”

Brianna glanced at her daughter, not wanting her to go, but understanding that if she succeeded, they would be better off, rather than stuck here on the side of the road with nowhere to go. She wanted nothing more than to cling tightly to the last alive pieces of her heart, but Bri knew better, and wouldn’t let her loss cost them something important.

“I’ll keep watch over Mav,” her mother nodded. “Just be careful, and don’t be gone long. You never know when something might happen.”

“Of course, I’ll be back soon.” She reached over to pat her mother’s hand, in a similar way she had done for her just a day ago, before sliding free from the car.

As Brianna watched her daughter walk off, she accepted that it was for the best that Calla took charge and did things like this for them. Brianna didn’t get around like she used to, she wasn’t as young, and if something did go wrong Calla would have a much better chance of getting back to them before it happened.

Calla eyed those around her, wishing more than anything to catch sight of someone that looked as if they held authority, but she was surrounded by civilians, like her, who knew nothing, and were scared. A dangerous predicament, having hundreds of jumpy people, with no knowledge of what’s going on, stuck with nowhere to go. Calla felt the nerves prick at her, but she tried to keep them down, at the back of her mind, so that she could focus on her task. Even just the smallest of hints would be more than what she had before. She would accept it, but continuing without anything would only get them hurt.

Luck seemed to be on her side when she noticed a small group talking to a man who seemed to belong to the army. He wasn’t in full gear, but it was enough to recognize that he held some kind of authority. She excused herself through the crowd of people that had begun to escape their cars, piling around anxiously, as they talked amongst themselves.

“Excuse me,” Calla called out, as she finally reached the group of people she had spotted. Most were civilians, but there were two other men with the first, on the edge of the crowd, allowing the first to do all of the talking. “Can you possibly tell me what’s going on?”

The man eyed her, nodding her toward the others, as he continued to talk.

“I’ve already told you that they’ve shut down anyone from entering,” the man said. “We were on our way inside, just like the rest of you, I just know what they announced over the radio before it went silent. I can’t be any more help to all of you.”

“Can’t you go around and check?” asked a man, standing next to a woman with a boy who looked a year older than her son. The kid held on tight to a dreadlock from his mother’s hair as he glanced curiously around.

“We’ve been shut out just as much as everyone else.”

“I’m not liking this,” said one of the other army men. “Maybe we should head back, regroup, and figure out what our new orders are.”

The first man seemed to hesitate.

“We’ll stay here, with the civilians, until we’re given new orders.” He straightened his back. Accepting his own plan as he turned to the other two. “We’ll keep the calm here. Make sure no fights break out. Everyone is high-strung. It’s our job to keep the peace.”

“Yes, sir.”

Calla took a step forward, not wishing for him to leave yet, not until she had asked her own questions.

“Do you know what’s happening?” she asked, causing him to stop. “What’s going on to cause all of this?”

“Some new virus, ma’am,” he said. “Nasty piece of work. You do not want to contact it.”

She took another step forward.

“It seems to cause people to go crazy.”

“So, you’ve seen it then.”

“Yes.”

“You’re lucky you got away. Don’t approach the sick, ma’am. All it takes is one bite and you’re a goner.”

So, it was the bite.

“If your near one, will you contact it?”

"Doesn’t seem like it. I wouldn’t worry about being near one except for the fact that they will attack you. Take care, and caution, around anyone who’s come in contact with the virus.”

“Is there another safe place for people to go?”

“There are no others in the area set up by the government. Atlanta was the only one.”

“If they’ve stopped accepting people, where do we go?”

“Look, I don’t have the answers for you-.”

His words were cut off as helicopters flew overhead. His eyes narrowed as he eyed them before realization fluttered over his expression before he was turning toward the people in front of him, instinct kicking in.

“Get down!”

He flung himself forward, pushing Calla to the ground as he leaned over her, shielding her from the sudden deafening explosion that ripped through the air. She could feel the heat ignite the air around them, the screams that came from the crowd, as everyone surged forward, running away from the bombs. Calla cowered, her heart beating painfully against her chest, as she felt the vibrations rip through the ground, and the way the crowd around them rushed away.

The man pushed himself off her as the explosions grew further away, moving deeper into Atlanta, as the men stared wide-eyed, and assessed the situation.

“I’d say we’ve been left on our own,” said one of the others who had helped shield the other woman and her child.

“Wheels up in five,” said the one who had protected her. “We’re moving out. This place has been compromised, it’s no longer safe.”

“What about the civilian’s sir?”

“Grab whom you can. We can’t save everyone.” He turned back to Calla. “You got a vehicle?”

“Yes.” She nodded quickly.

“Run back to it. Watch for us, follow us, or not. It’s your decision.”

Calla glanced over his shoulder, watching as the city burned, knowing there was no way they could go there now, and no way for her to tell Daryl that they were changing the plan, again. She felt the brief idea of tears building in her eyes, but forced them back down, knowing she had to take this chance. She’d find a way to find Daryl after. Even if it meant she was leaving signs all over the place. She’d form a plan. Calla had too.

“Okay. We’ll follow you.”

He nodded, turning to grab the attention of a few others who had hesitated, looking shocked, and full of grief. There was no helping those who had fled immediately.

Silently Calla sent a prayer up to the skies, hoping that whoever was listening would answer it, as she asked for a miracle in finding Daryl.

That small moment was all that she allowed herself as she flung around, taking off at a sprint back to her car, where she explained to her mother what was going on, trying to calm the frantic woman, as she watched for the hummer that would be driving by.

· ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · 

 It had taken a couple of days, but Calla, her mother, and Maverick had settled into the refugee camp the soldiers had set up. It had been a deserted FEMA set up on the edge of Atlanta, far enough away that the soldiers felt comfortable they wouldn’t run into many of the sick, but close enough that if reinforces showed up they would be found.

Maverick had become inconsolable as he cried for his father, finding his new life scary, and frightening, and even though he had his mother, and grandmother, he wanted the man in his life that was heartbreakingly missing. Calla had tried to explain but getting nowhere with the two-year-old, and feeling like her own sadness over the loss of Daryl not being there tug at her harshly. She had to do something. They would be safe here, but Calla had to start contributing and figuring out a way to get out there to find signs of Daryl and leave signs of her existence.

That’s how she ended up signing up for runs, along with the mother from the highway, whose name she learned was Michonne. They had become fast friends, bonding over motherhood, and the fact that they would both do whatever they had to, to keep their kids alive, safe, and fed, even if that meant going out into the dangers of their new world.

Calla found that she liked Michonne’s boyfriend, Mike, enough, but didn’t like how he was more than willing to step back and rely on Michonne to go out and get them things, rather than volunteering sometimes as well so that Michonne didn’t have to do it all alone. Calla knew that if Daryl were here, they would both be going out there, never at the same time, they wouldn’t do that to Maverick, but they would share that responsibility. Calla would never simply be sidelined, told to stay at camp, and let him deal with it, oh, she knew Daryl would prefer that, but he also knew she wouldn’t want to feel useless, or weak. He wouldn’t want her to be that way. He would just worry about her safety the entire time, but they both would understand the importance of being able to handle themselves in this new life.

She missed him.

Going out there, on those runs, helped keep her occupied, to forget for a few moments of gut-wrenching fear, that she was all alone.

Back at the refugee camp, that’s all she could think about. It terrorized her waking, and sleeping moments, refusing to allow her any sense of peace, or calm. Let alone sleep.

As her bond with Michonne grew, Calla noticed the way her mother’s will seemed to diminish, growing weaker, as her own loss of a husband tore away at her. There was nothing Calla could do besides be there for her, but it was a growing worry that Calla feared her mother wouldn’t have the strength to go on if they ever had to leave the camp for good. She functioned to keep watch over Maverick, there was no way she would ever allow that boy to get hurt, or not be cared for, but as soon as Calla found her way back, and Maverick was in the safety of someone else’s care, she’d fall into herself, and sleep.

One of them was getting too much sleep, and the other, none at all.

Calla worried about the future, only growing slightly more comfortable when Michonne found a katana, a silent weapon, much more effective than their guns, which gave her an idea. On one of the runs a teenager, who was allowed to go out, had found a couple of bats, finding them effective against the sick, and she ended up grabbing one. It felt heavy in her hands, but the weight was nice, and she could easily swing it without much effort.

The first few runs she found it did the job nicely when one came a little too close for her liking, and no longer having only the gun to rely on, she found herself easing into confronting the sick.

After a week of using it, Calla ended up modding it, finding the added nails far more effective than just leaving it bare.

Michonne had commented on the likeness to the horror character Pinhead, and Calla had begun to affectionately nickname it as so. Both women found far more amusement in it than they should have, but they were coping in the only ways they could.

Though both women volunteered for runs almost every day they didn’t always go out together, though it would have been preferred, Calla kept mostly to the outskirts of Atlanta, while Michonne took the trips inside its walls. Calla had made it a habit to carry permanent markers on her wherever she went, and regardless of what space she found, she had stopped feeling guilty about leaving behind her graffiti in the form of notes. She marked them on a map, keeping track of where each one was, and desperately searched for signs that Daryl would have left her.

She knew he would leave something.

Calla also knew he would come looking for her, needing to know if she had been in Atlanta when it was bombed, assuming she was alive until he was forced to think otherwise. That’s how the two of them worked. He wouldn’t give up, so neither would she.

Michonne had thought it romantic.

When they joined one another on runs it had become a pass time for Michonne to ask Calla for a story about their relationship to pass the time. Others had even started to listen in, a way to pass the time, and dampened the fear that surrounded them for a few moments.

It didn’t bother Calla any, she found it kept Daryl close to her, feeling as if he was near, so she continued sharing their past, turning it into a story that the others had affectionally begun to call their Soaps.

That’s why when Michonne asked for a memory, on one of Calla’s rare journeys into the city, she only hesitated long enough to find one that she didn’t mind sharing. There were many that the group didn’t get to hear, that she kept locked in her heart, for only her reminiscing to pass the time, but with it just being Michonne and her today, Calla didn’t mind divulging one of the more personal ones.

It had been heavily on her mind lately.

The memory that had been interrupted at the zoo.

Calla had tried to call back on that anger from earlier but found the sparks dying out, feeling herself become drained, as the emotional week crashed down around her. Her goal wasn’t to fight with him tonight. It was to understand him, this relationship, and where it was going. She had thought she would be fine with what they had, to just keep going as they had been, but Calla wanted more. Once she had acknowledged the love for him it demanded to be known, to see if it was reciprocated, to finally know if he wanted more from her, just as she wanted more from him.

That ignited some of the courage as she stepped forward, not bothering to knock, as she never had before, and stepped into the room unannounced.

Daryl’s back was to her, rolled onto his side, as he seemingly stared at the wall, or his phone, though she had rarely known him to spend much time on the device outside of talking to her.

“Fuck off, Merle,” he grumbled, the blanket being tossed higher over his shoulder, as he huffed. “Don’ want to hear it.”

"Not Merle,” she said, her voice flat, as she continued to stare at him. She watched as his shoulder tensed, his back stiffening, as he continued to face away from her as if that would be enough to cause her to leave. She crossed her arms over her chest as a huff fell from her lips. “I’m not going anywhere until you give me answers, Daryl Dixon.”

He didn’t move from the cocoon of blankets, but she could see signs of distress from him, knowing him well, just as she knew he was not a man who dealt with confrontations of emotions well. Calla even haggard a guess that it wasn’t something that was ever taught to him, to properly feel things, as his worry usually made itself shown in the forms of anger, and signs of affection sent his way was met with embarrassment, and uncertainty.

It gave way to the kind of life he had been raised in, but Calla had accepted that he may never react the way she wanted to things, but it didn’t matter to her. Daryl was enough for her, and that included the ways that he didn’t handle things well, or how he had run the first-moment love had come into the equation.

Hell, she had already forgiven him for it. Calla just needed to know how he felt and if they’d ever have more, or if things needed to be cut off here, before she threw herself any deeper, and wasn’t able to climb back out.

Not that she thought she ever could.

Calla had fallen hard.

“You can’t just ignore me forever.” Her words cut through the air, showing her vulnerability more than she had liked, as her voice wavered before she could regain control back over it. “I said that I love you, typically you’d say it back, or you’d let me down easily unless I’m supposed to take your running away as an answer. Are we even still together, or should I never have even shown up, cause honestly, you’re ignoring me has started to make me believe that maybe I should have taken the hint, and allowed you to fade from my life.”

Just speaking the words shot daggers through her heart, but she had to let it out, for it to be known so that he could tell her what it was that he wanted from her, and it would be understood perfectly clearly.

That caused him to move. The blanket was flung from his body as he slid from the bed. She took in the way that he had been home long enough from work to have taken a shower, his sweats hanging low on his hips, and one of those infuriating sleeveless shirts adorning his chest. It caused her to lose focus, her body reacting instinctively to his presence, and only forcefully being removed from her own heated thoughts by his sudden presence invading her space.

She straightened her back, glancing up at him, as she narrowed her eyes, not wishing to lose this battle, as she wouldn’t be leaving until he answered her.

"So, which is it?”

"I gotta love yah back or yah leavin’ me? Is that it?”

"No.” She blinked. She wanted him to love her, but she knew that her heart tended to move at a faster pace than most others and didn’t expect him to love her back just because she loved him. “I just want to know if you can, someday, love me too.”

“What if I can’?”

She bit her lip. Would she just move on? If, knowing, that he could never love her back, would that be enough to make her want to leave? She was uncertain of the answer but didn’t think she would have it in her to do that. Not if he could accept that she did, and he’d be her’s, regardless.

“It… would… hurt.” It would. “But if you were still mine if you could accept that I did love you, and we could still be together, I think that could be enough.”

Daryl’s eyes were intense as they watched her confess, yet again, how much she cared for him. He listened as she stood there, demanding to understand why he had left, when any other woman would have dropped him, annoyed, and hurt by him merely leaving without a word, but being ignored for a week after, would have crippled any weaker-willed woman’s resolve to go after the man.

I don’ deserve yah.”

He shook his head, glancing away, as he began to gnaw on the tip of his thumb, a tic he only ever used when he felt uncomfortable, or uncertain about something.

Calla felt confused as she watched him. She didn’t know what he was getting at, unsure if his line of questioning was any hint of what he was feeling, or if it had just been said because he had reacted on gut instinct. Calla knew, hell Daryl knew, that it wasn’t what he was actually feeling that typically slipped out. At least not the full picture.

“I don’t understand.” She felt so lost. “I feel frustrated, and hurt, I just want answers, Daryl. Can you please tell me how you feel? What do you mean you don’t deserve me? Can you love me? What’s going on inside that head of yours?”

Her hand reached out, forcing her to move to her tippy toes, as she reached up to gently brush her fingers against his forehead, trailing a path down to his cheek, before resting on his jaw. His hand came up, hesitantly, to press against her own, before he gently tugged it away from his skin.

"Yer too good, yah deserve more than anything I can give yah.” A frustrated groan forced itself from his lips as he held onto her hand, the act borderline desperate, a way to anchor her to him, as his words tried pushing her away. “A life with me won’ lead to something lavish, or grand, and the name Dixon only paints a target on yah back. People don’ expect much but the wors’ from us. Don’ want that for yah.”

Calla almost wanted to laugh in relief at what she was hearing. For the first time that week Calla wasn’t thinking how he had possibly grown bored with her or scared him off with her intensity. No, she was starting to understand what had happened.

“Daryl Dixon,” she said sternly, the affection leaking through, as she tugged at his hand. “When have you ever known me to care about what other people think? I could care less what anyone thought about me being with you as long as they knew I was yours. You’re a good man. I don’t need a lavish lifestyle, full of materialistic objects, all I need is you. All I expect from you is what you can give me. I know you. You’d make sure I had what matters.” She took a step toward him, her free hand raising, as she wrapped it around his neck, dragging him down, as her lips claimed his own. “I just want to be yours, Dixon, we’ll figure out the rest as we go, but I know I won’t regret choosing you.”

She recaptured his lips, feeling as he reacted, beginning to take back control, just as she knew he would, before she pulled away, just mere meters from him. She opened her mouth, to ask again, to seek her answers before they lost themselves in each other’s touch, her mind already beginning to float away, as her will to stay on task was slowly being bought out by her desire to engulf herself entirely in him.

Only Daryl beat her to it, shutting her up effectively, as he began to speak.

“I love yah,” he whispered out as if it were a treasured secret, which was for her ears only. “I shouldn’, and if I were stronger, I’d let yah walk away, and find a man who could give yah the world, but I’m selfish, and yer willing.” He nipped at her bottom lip, causing the haze in her mind to build, as she tried to chase after him, but he stayed just out of reach. “Stupid woman. Yah should seek someone better, but yer mine, and I ain’t lettin’ go.”

Calla ignored the stupid comment, chasing after the high that the words ‘I love you’ pretzeled her mind into.

“I’d fight you if you tried.” She pushed forward, forcing him back several steps, toward the bed. “I’m not letting you go, Daryl. You’re stuck with me now.” He hit the edge of the mattress, sitting down, as he continued to watch her every movement. Shifting forward Calla moved to straddle his lap, her lips hovering over his, taking in the lust-filled gaze, noticing something deeper in the depths of his eyes, and allowing it to drive her own flames higher, as it warmed her heart. Her fingers buried themselves in his hair as she gazed back at him with the same intensity and emotion. “You’d miss me if I were gone.”

His fingers dug into her hips, keeping her there, as their lips met in the middle, hungry, and full of desire. Nothing would be slow tonight. She wasn’t looking for slow, and romantic, wanting the fire, and passion that hid inside his gaze.

"Yah, ain’t goin’ nowhere.”

And she hadn’t, spending the night in his bed, neither moving until the early morning hours, where they were greeted with a ‘Fuckin’, thank God there ain’t gonna be no more moppin,’ from Merle the next day as he stumbled through the door, looking knackered, and high giving them a warning of never doing this shit again before carrying himself to his bedroom.

It was a fond memory which had caused Michonne to chuckle, as she shook her head.

“There is no way the two of you won’t find each other again,” she said quietly, as they eased their way down streets, and through alleyways. Each of their backpacks was lighter than they would have liked and only had a few more hours before they were to be back at camp. “I’m calling it now. It would be too damn tragic to rid the world of a love like that. I want to meet this man of yours because no one can be that perfect.”

Calla laughed.

“He is. I only tell what happened. No, making it sweeter, or changing the past, it’s all like what I went through. He’s a little rough around the edges, but he’s perfect.”

“You’re so in love it’s sickening.” Michonne lightly bumped her shoulder against Calla. “My teeth are literally rotting as I listen to you.”

“I don’t gotta keep tellin’ the stories, yah know.” Calla mimed zipping her lips. “I could just stop and keep them all to myself to privately think about at night.”

“Yeah, you shut up about it and I might consider fighting you. Your stories are the only thing keeping me from dying of boredom. There’s only so much a three-year-old can talk about before he starts repeating himself.”

It was Calla’s turn to laugh quietly.

“I understand, Maverick is the same way, and mama doesn’t talk much these days. You’ve got Mike though, right? I’m sure you’ve got a story or two to keep you entertained by your past, and someone to hold interesting conversations with. His friend, Terry, was it, he’s there too, right?”

“Mike is great, but I can’t say we’ve got quite a romantic story like your own. We met, fell in love, I got pregnant, and we kind of stayed together through it all. Our life was comfortable. I was content, but I think that fire burned out pretty early on. I love him, don’t get me wrong, but you, the way you love Daryl, it’s in a league of itself.”

“I guess.” Secretly Calla could see where she was coming from. Calla had always loved a little differently from others, a little more intensely, and Daryl just matched her perfectly. His was a little more hidden, only for certain people’s eyes, but that didn’t matter to Calla, because she could see. “So, the two of you haven’t been having any conversations recently?”

“Things have been tense. Life is a little tense right now.” A bitter laugh escaped Michonne. “We’re constantly on edge, and it doesn’t leave many moments for romance that’s for sure. Our discussions are a little closer to fights than anything else recently. I’ve got to say that talking to you, listening to your past, is the highlight of my day.”

“Despite that being pretty sad,” Calla teased, making sure to turn and allow Michonne to see that on her face. “I’m really glad that we’ve become friends. Our talks are the highlight of my day as well.”

Rolling her eyes Michonne nodded toward a section of the wall they passed, deciding it was time to redirect the conversation.

“That looks like prime writing space right there.” Michonne was hinting at the daily quest Calla had set for herself. A big part of the reason she signed herself up for runs.

Calla pulled the cap from her marker, having written his name and begun on the next couple of words, when a gunshot rang out, followed by more, far too close for comfort.

“What fucking idiot would be shooting, here, of all places?” Michonne hissed, her sword out, and held it in front of her. Calla glanced around, trying to pinpoint the direction it came from so that they could go in the complete opposite direction. “Are they new here? That’s ringing the damn dinner bell for any of the sick in the area.”

“We should get out of here.” Calla was on edge. A part of her wanted to go find whoever was shooting, make sure it wasn’t Daryl, but a bigger part of her knew that this wouldn’t be him. He was smart. He wouldn’t have used a gun, especially not when he had better, quieter options, and just knew that he had drug along his crossbow. She couldn’t picture him using anything else. It was easy to follow Michonne, slinking away, as they made a break for it in the opposite direction.

They dodged the sick, not confronting any unless it couldn’t be helped, before deciding that the city would be useless to them today thanks to whoever decided to announce their presence.

A while later Calla barely managed to catch the sound of another gun going off, this one sounding different, the type vaguely familiar, before deciding that there were a lot of idiots in the city today.

Idly she hoped no one died. Idiots or not people were scarce these days, and she didn’t have it in her to believe that they deserved to die because of a mistake.

· ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · 

The next day Calla opted to stay back, telling Michonne she wouldn’t be going on a run, that Maverick had caught a fever, and she needed to stay with him. Calla also worried about anyone else noticing the sick child, people’s fear was easy to trigger, and they were unlikely to listen to reason given the chance. Michonne had understood, stating she wasn’t going into the city today, but to a nearby town, and would be back earlier than usual. They made plans to catch up later, and Michonne promised to keep an eye out for anything to help with the fever, before heading out.

Other than comforting a sick child Calla had seen the day going well.

She was upset that another day was going by without any sign of Daryl, but she had begun to come to terms with that, and had mentally, somewhere deep inside her mind, begun to prepare for the day when she accepted that maybe they wouldn’t ever find one another. As it was, Calla wasn’t ready to give in to such a notion and allowed it to fester in the darker parts of her mind.

It would only come out in her weaker moments.

This was not one of those.

That’s why when the screaming started up Calla found herself surprised, hesitating, before instincts, that she had grown since her time out on runs, kicked in. She handed Maverick over to her mother, grabbing at her bat, as she poked her head out from the tent, only to be met with disaster.

People were running by faces struck with panic, and a little way away she could see a group of the sick, mauling those too slow to get away, as others were beginning to trample over tents. Something tight gripped her chest before she was twisting around, grabbed the nearest bag, tossing it over her shoulder, before turning to her mother.

“We don’t have time to grab anything else.” It was their go-bag. The one that kept everything important to them inside of it. All that they would be leaving behind were the cots and blankets. Calla had been too paranoid to unpack and properly settle in. It would seem that it had been the right thing to do. “We’ve got to leave.”

Grabbing a blanket she wrapped it around her son, pulling him close, as her mother began to help secure him to her, tying the blanket around her waist and shoulders to keep him in place so that Calla could move.

They exited the tent, Brianna on her daughter’s heel, as they maneuvered around tents, dodging the dead, and when they couldn’t Calla drove her bat through their heads.

“I gotta check in on Andre!” Calla called to her mother, as they took the detour, moving toward the tent that would only be a few aisles from their own. Michonne wouldn’t be back yet, but she was due soon, and Calla would never forgive herself if she didn’t make sure Mike had gotten the boy out.

Only horror met her sight when the tent came into view. It was overrun with the sick. She couldn’t get close, and her heart tightened at the thought that she couldn’t see if anyone made it or not. She prayed that they did. That she wasn’t just going to turn away, allowing them to turn, but there was nothing she could do. There were so many. Her hands shook, but her mother tugged her away, and the heat that burned through her son reminded Calla that not only was her son sick, but they weren’t safe here. It wasn’t just Calla. She had others to protect.

Something inside of her broke at the thought of Michonne, never forgiving her for not being there for Andre. For not getting there sooner, to make sure that he survived, but she buried the hurt, deep down, as she focused on running away, and getting somewhere safe. She couldn’t dwell on such things. Not now. Later.

Her footsteps were too loud in her ears as they ran, screaming at her that they were making too much noise, but they didn’t have the choice to take it slow. It was to rush, or to die, as they were cut off at every turn, their options dwindling fast, as they turned yet another corner flooded with the sick.

“What do we do?” Calla cried, swinging her bat, feeling it catch on one of the sicks’ head, as she fell back. “There’s too many of them.” She was struggling to breathe, finding it hard to keep up and running with the weight of Maverick and the bag wearing her down. She could feel her stamina wearing down fast.

Her mother hesitated, grabbing at her daughter, and kissing her forehead, before moving to do the same to the top of her grandsons’ head.

“You go,” she said sternly. Calla reached out, fearful, as she clutched desperately to her mother’s hands. “You go and live, Calla Josephine Wells, you turn around, and run, and don’t stop.”

“Mama, what are you saying?” Calla could feel the tears building in her eyes. She already knew. She knew exactly what her mother was about to do. Calla had worried about something similar since they had arrived at the camp.

“I’m doing my job as your mother and keeping you alive, baby girl. You remember that your father and I love you. So much. We’re so proud, but you gotta go, and you gotta live.”

“No,” she shook her head. “No, mama, we’ll find some other way. We’re both getting out of here. We’re both living. I can’t lose you as well!”

Brianna took a step away from her daughter. She shook her head. Her lips were pursed, and tears had already begun to fall from her eyes, but she was standing firm.

“This was a long time coming. I can’t live without your father. I can feel it in my heart, I’m already dying, but this way, I go out on my terms, and my heart gets to live on in the two of you. You go be a mother, you get that boy somewhere safe, and you go find his father. You're gonna need Daryl, and I know he needs you. Let me keep you alive.”

“Mama.”

“Go!”

“I love you.”

Calla began to take a step back, her hands shaking worse than ever, wondering if she would even be able to raise the bat to defend herself if she needed to. The tears refused to fall because she knew once they did, they wouldn’t stop, and she needed to be able to see.

“I love the both of you so much. You go, now. I’ll keep them from following.”

Calla turned on her heel, fleeing, ducking behind a tent, as the first screech filled the air. Her mother’s yells, sounding as if she had already been caught, rang through, causing her to flinch, but Calla didn’t stop.

She kept on running.

Dodging, and swinging at anything that dared get too close.

Most were too busy dragging themselves toward her mother to notice her.

Calla ran.

And ran.

And ran.

Even when those screams turned to squawks, that leaked way to moans, before they fell silent.

Calla kept running and didn’t look back.

Chapter Text

Journey to You

Chapter Four

Blossoming Hope, Crushing Defeat

"Only thing that keeps us apart

is seven thousand miles,

running like a mad dog

Only thing that keeps us apart

is a different timezone."

-TIMEZONE by Maneskin

Her legs were tired.

They threatened to buckle underneath her, but Calla was stubborn, and she kept them moving, one foot in front of the other, as the sun beat suffocatingly down upon her. Her feet had long ago begun to hurt, as she roamed aimlessly for days, keeping her eyes peeled for any sign of another survivor from the refugee, and anything that could miraculously lead her to Daryl.

Neither appeared.

The pack on her back, the child pressed close to her chest, heating her skin, as she did her best to keep him shielded from the sun, were all so heavy. The bat she held in her hand had long since become a part of her so that when Calla raised the piece of wood to use it, the weapon felt more like an extension of herself, rather than a separate object. She had become filthy, covered in blood, and guts, of the sick that came too close and had started to feel as if she was becoming one of them.

Lately, they had even started to ignore her when she’d stumble past them, her eyes staring straight ahead when exhaustion tugged heavily at her.

She learned that if she was silent, and as long as Maverick didn’t make noise, they’d leave her be as if she was simply a ghost walking among them.

Calla quit trying to keep herself clean after that.

She was certain she looked quite a sight, her blonde hair, once light, now speckled with blood, having turned a coppery red.

If Calla had been in a better state of mind, she may have realized that she had gone numb, hardly present, not in the way she used to be, and only running on the sole mission of staying alive. She would have realized that this wasn’t healthy. That Maverick deserved better than constant travel, with the few moments of freedom, before being confined to the makeshift blanket holder.

As it was, Calla found it hard to care outside of the knowledge that they were still alive, that every morning they managed to see the sun come up, before another harsh day of moving, and scavenging, was a blessing in disguise.

Her feet simply carried her forward.

Down a road that led to nowhere.

Always circling back toward Atlanta.

Until the day she came to a stop, staring at a sign for a familiar landmark, a quarry, one that she and Daryl had visited together.

Her eyes read the familiar scrawl that had been hurriedly written in black paint, addressed to her.

It was a message from Daryl.

The first one she had run across since the outbreak had split them apart all those weeks ago.

Tears built up in her eyes.

Maverick shifted, pressing against the blanket, as he began to whine.

            Not safe here. If you see this come find me at the CDC.

            -Daryl

There could have been a number of Daryl’s out in the world still alive, but Calla knew this was her Daryl. She recognized the handwriting. Her gut told her that this was it. That it was the sign she was searching for.

She had a destination now.

Only, she was in desperate need of water, and night would be falling upon them soon. They needed to find a place to settle in for the night.

Calla reread the sign, accepting that he had warned her from staying in the area, but the quarry was nearby, the one place she knew would guarantee her water, and though she had been rationing the food, making sure Maverick and she had plenty, she wasn’t going to last long, out in the sun, without more. They were down to half a bottle, and she had been giving most of it to Maverick.

Staring up at the road that would lead her to the quarry her eyes drifted to the sky. It would take the rest of the day to hike up there, to get the water, to boil it, and set up some kind of safety for herself, and her boy.

Maverick squirmed a bit more, his cries turning louder, and Calla gently shushed him, swaying, as she whispered words of comfort, of promises, promising that it wouldn’t be much longer now, he could get out soon, but first, they had to make it to the quarry.

They were close to rest.

Calla felt some of the life return to her.

That sign breathed energy into her body as she focused on her new goals.

They would stop for the night, she’d refill their water, boil it, make it safe to drink, and then tomorrow, tomorrow they would head back toward Atlanta.

They’d be reunited.

In a few days. She kept telling herself that, as she walked, the sun dipping toward the horizon. It kept her going. It pushed her forward.

Hope had blossomed.

· ─────── · 𖥸 · ─────── · 

Calla found herself walking again.

Covered in dirt, grime, and something awful. She imagined if there was anyone to stumble upon, they would shoot first, and ask questions later, there was no doubt in her mind she looked more like the sick, than the living. Calla had long ago stopped smelling herself, and at some point, Maverick had quit complaining about it.

When he was awake Calla found herself softly talking to him, teaching him to stay quiet, to talk softly, but she didn’t want him falling behind, to stop learning, so for hours that’s all they would do. She’d teach him new things, anything, whatever fell from her lips, as she kept him talking, jabbering, stimulated, until he’d grow exhausted, and leave her to her own thoughts.

Sometimes, Calla believed that Maverick was the only thing keeping her from losing her mind.

They had been out here, alone, for several weeks, the progress slow, and tedious, but now, with a goal, she moved faster, swifter, and with purpose. Maverick seemed to have picked up on that. His mood had brightened.

She had no clue how long ago that note had been hastily written on that metal sign, it could have been days or weeks, but that mattered little to Calla, as she realized for the first time, in so long, she had proof that Daryl was still alive, and searching for them.

He was searching for her, just as she was searching for him, leaving notes, and she hoped he would come across one of her own.

By now, not knowing where she would end up next, Calla had simply resorted to leaving words that they were alive, and what direction they were heading in. Vague, but she couldn’t risk settling down in one place for long, the sick always seemed to find them. They were like dogs with scents, who never grew tired, chasing after the bone that dangled precariously in front of it.

She was so tired, but the idea of stopping, to rest, never entered her thoughts the closer she got to Atlanta. Her nerves were high. A big part of her screamed that the city wasn’t safe, that Maverick wouldn’t be safe, and to turn back, that all she had was a bat, and her determination to survive, and she feared that wouldn’t be enough. Another part, a quieter, but far more determined side of her whispered words of affirmation, and reassurance, reminding her that Daryl was close. They would survive this because she’d expect no less.

Her mother had died, giving her life, so they would live.

So, live they would.

It was a mantra inside her head. Put on repeat whenever the day grew quiet, and Maverick was asleep, his words no longer keeping the darker part of her mind at bay. It helped push her forward.

Calla was strong. Maverick needed her to survive. She wouldn’t allow her son to die, to let him fall to a fate destined for pain, and fear.

Her feet carried her further.

The pain was just another part of her. She barely felt it anymore.

They carried her further and further.

· ─────── · 𖥸 · ─────── · 

What little bit of hope had sparked inside of her diminished at the sight of a long-since destroyed CDC. The smoke that would have lingered in the air after such a devastating explosion had dissipated, leaving behind nothing but the putrid stench of rotting, burnt flesh.

The building had been gone for a long time.

She simply stared.

Something broke inside of her, and Calla found herself relieved that Maverick was sleeping, blissfully unaware of the devastation his mother was experiencing. She hadn’t told him about the possibility of finding his father, hadn’t wanted to break the boy’s heart if it ended up not happening, as nothing was guaranteed these days.

Her legs shook. The thought of turning, of going back to aimlessly roaming, bit at her mind, something within her growing feral, as tears built helplessly in her eyes, as she continued to stare at a black, empty hole in the ground.

All that was left of her hope.

Had Daryl been inside when it ignited on itself?

She hoped not, but her heart was heavy, and doubt clouded her mind.

Wouldn’t she have felt it in her soul if he left this earth, moving on to a plane she couldn’t follow after, not when she had Maverick? Her knees felt like buckling, but she held firm, holding herself up, as her free hand, the one not holding the bat, gently laid against her son’s head.

He was her guiding light, keeping her alive, and sane, as she moved through this new world with confusion and uncertainty.

The sound of stumbling, a low moan, announced that they were no longer alone, never far behind, the sick were always right around the corner. She turned, seeing that it was just the one, and she wasn’t bothered by it, seeing as how its gaze drifted past her, moving in the opposite direction, but it wouldn’t bode well to freeze here. Another moment of pause was just another moment of losing daylight, of running into a crowd of those long gone, and she couldn’t risk that, not with the possibility of Maverick making a noise, and giving their trick away. She wished to stay a moment longer, to mourn the possibility of a loss she felt conflicted about feeling, but in the end, Calla couldn’t afford it, wouldn’t risk it, and her feet were once more pushing her forward, back toward the edge of the city.

There was plenty of daylight left.

They’d move on. Search for a place full of possibilities, and she’d continue to leave her signs, denial her greatest accomplishment, as she firmly turned her back away from that scorched earth, that took all of her hope away.

Her legs carried her on.

Past the barricades, the dead bodies, and letters glistening in the light, written in black paint, on broken and muddied concrete.

Calla continued forward, missing the sign of hope that had been left for her, as she fought with the silence inside her head, and in her heart.

       I’m alive. Go toward Fort Benning. I’ll leave you a trail to follow.

       -Daryl

· ─────── · 𖥸 · ─────── · 

Daryl hadn’t given up.

After that night of breaking down, of meeting the group of people he could care less about, not when his world was splintering apart, he forced himself back together, glued the pieces that were cut out of him, and shoved together whatever strength he could, just so he could keep going.

He clung to that stuffed rabbit every night, and every morning, before the sun would rise, he was out in the woods, finding food, before placing himself back at camp, forcing his presence on the kid named Glenn, who seemed skittish of him, and preferred to go on runs alone. Daryl had grown gruffer, his temper barely held together, and had been warned many times to keep his shit together by the cop, who had designated himself as the leader, but Daryl didn’t care, as long as he didn’t keep him from going out every day, searching for signs of his family. He wasn’t like Merle, who whined, and complained about the unfairness of it all, of how the pig just didn’t understand him and held some kind of grudge against him.

Merle brought it on himself.

Daryl felt less inclined to care than he may have in the past. There would have been a moment where he might have made up excuses for the man, just to keep the peace, but Daryl was raw, every day harder for him than the last.

He only ever paid attention to Glenn, making sure to memorize what days he would be going out, so he could make it clear that he’d be going with him. That cop didn’t like them going out unnecessarily.

It worked in his favor that the self-designated leader preferred if they went in pairs, feeling paranoid of anyone going alone, as they bunkered down and waited for help.

Daryl hadn’t made it common knowledge that his family was lost, he kept it to himself, and he knew Merle hadn’t mentioned anything, not to strangers who weren’t blood. He would more likely laugh in their faces than tell them something personal. All this group saw them as were the Dixons’, one rude, and the other quick to anger. They stayed clear of them unless they were proven useful for something.

It didn’t bother Daryl any.

He was used to living like this before Calla came into his life, and now that she was gone, he didn’t have it in him to show who he really was. The man behind the anger, the one who feared for his family, who wished to have back the love of his life, and the child that shared their features.

He scoured for signs of them, never hinting as to what he was looking for, not even when Glenn would ask, growing curious, as it was obvious that the youngest Dixon was out there for more than food and supplies. He never seemed to find what he was searching for, making the redneck easy to temper after yet another day of failure, and causing Glenn to avoid saying anything, but every day he was back, demanding to join, and Glenn had long since stopped denying him. It had never worked and only caused that volatile temper to flair, and an almost desperate quality to enter his eyes, that caused Glenn to hesitate, before giving in.

He didn’t know what Daryl Dixon was searching for but whatever it was, was important to him.

Nothing changed until that day Daryl had gone off into the woods, his heart heavy with doubt, and broken thoughts clouding his mind, keeping him from joining the bigger group that had gone to Atlanta. Merle was with them, his first trip, purely for selfish purposes Daryl suspected, but he would keep an eye out, would do it because Calla and Maverick were kin. He’d do it because something had dug itself deep into his brother, keeping him from searching for them himself, and had driven him to seek solitude in the woods where no one would dare follow after him.

Today was Maverick’s birthday, the first one Daryl would ever have missed, and the man didn’t know what state his son was in, nor where he was.

It held him captive, that fear, and sadness in his heart. He emptied his mind, following the tracks of animals he was certain to find, he couldn’t fail here, where he excelled, not like out there, where he failed every day to find a trail to follow after his family.

He dug himself into his instinct becoming less man, warping and changing into something animalistic. 

Daryl didn’t manage to drag himself back to camp until the next day, a deer slung over his back, the sounds of children’s screams meeting his ears.

There was no hesitation. His instinct as a father, regardless of these children not being his own, drove him forward, dropping the deer, as his crossbow came up, and he prepared himself for anything to come. He found them, racing through the trees, a walker on their heels, and not a single adult in the nearby vicinity. Oh, he could hear them, yelling in the distance, their footsteps loud, as they trampled through the underbrush, but they wouldn’t have made it. He lined the Walker up in his sights, firing the arrow, not helping the image that this could have been Maverick under attack, as the arrow raced through the air, taking the Walker out.

Daryl Dixon felt anger at those who carelessly left their children’s lives up to fate.

The others were there moments after, watching as the girl, Sophia, clung to his leg, tears streaming down her cheeks, as a dead Walker lay mere meters from them. The boy, Carl, he believed was his name, was not the cop’s son, but that woman who came with him, stood behind him, looking wide-eyed, and shocked over what they had run into.

The mothers rushed forward, grabbing for their children, as fear and shock covered their features, and Daryl felt the sudden urge to scoff. They should have been doing a better job keeping an eye on them, but at that thought, Daryl’s mind began to turn dark, as his own crushing guilt over his kid hit him.

When he caught sight of a man whom he had never seen before, and those uneasy glances being thrown his way by those who had gone to Atlanta the day before, Daryl knew something horrible had gone wrong.

He hadn’t reacted well to the news that the last of his family had been left behind, to rot on some rooftop, while he had been losing himself in the woods.

The guilt was never-ending.

· ─────── · 𖥸 · ─────── · 

They hadn’t found his brother. The fucker had cut off his hand, taken off somewhere into the city, and could have been lying in a ditch, or dumpster for all Daryl knew. He felt the frustration rising within himself. His family kept disappearing, one by one, and he felt the familiar stabbing pain chipping away at his heart as he wondered what the fuck he planned on doing next.

Sticking with this group had never been the plan.

Merle had talked him into it, stating the need to rest, to find supplies, to not go off the deep end, when it was clear he was spiraling, and for once his brother had been the voice of reason, but then they had stayed longer than planned. Now, Daryl wasn’t sure what he should have been doing.

He found himself following after the new guy, Rick, who didn’t seem half bad, even though he had been the one to handcuff his brother to that pipe. He hadn’t been the one to drop the key, but even T-Dog, the one who had done it, hadn’t meant for it to happen, and he had given Merle safety from the Walkers.

Daryl just found it hard to shove back that anger, at first, but now, after the day they had, and the realization that his brother was long gone, all he felt was a deep seeded tiredness.

His mind was pretzeled, twisting itself into a knot, as he tried to work out what the best course of action would be. He could leave, right then, and there, and not follow these people back to camp, to somewhere no one was waiting for him, but something kept him from doing it. Where would he go? He had no direction. There was no magical map that would show him where his family was, or if they were alive, and Merle had left no trail to follow, not in this city filled with corpses.

He had no one, and nowhere to go, so he found himself following after those he had been left with. With them he had at least one purpose, helping them to stay alive, as they were all incredibly incapable of doing so. He would continue to search for signs that would lead him to those he loved, and he’d do the same, but for now, Daryl found that it was only smart to stay in a group. You’d die fast in a world like this, on your own, with no one to watch your back.

He hoped he was making the right choice.

His thoughts were still jumbled, and his heart hurt, but Daryl kept moving forward.

· ─────── · 𖥸 · ─────── · 

Merle felt as his mind drifted, the moments he was coherent were few and far in-between, but the one thing he was certain about was that half-finished note on the wall, written in those perfect looping letters. He knew that handwriting. His baby brother’s name had been on that wall, the words dancing in front of his eyes, popping off the brick, but he had seen what was written there and hadn’t hesitated in moving in the opposite direction of where he knew camp was.

His stump was no longer bleeding, the cooked, burnt flesh, a revolting sight, but it had done the job, and all Merle was left with was a light-headed sensation, at the blood he had lost, and the shock his body was experiencing. There were moments of phantom pains, and Merle knew that once the shock disappeared, he’d feel the full extent of losing his hand, and then burning it.

There were moments of time missing from his memory, as he’d awaken in a new place, stumbling along, with only one thought passing through his head.

He knew where that sister-in-law of his was.

Something had spooked her, not all of it had been left behind, but what she had written, he recognized the location.

She was alive.

He had, at first, been keen on making his way back toward camp, to rain hell down on those who had left him behind, but stumbling past that alley, seeing that section of wall had his one-track mind, hazy with shock, aimed for an entirely new goal.

Merle didn’t have thoughts of his brother clouding his mind. He didn’t feel guilty about not showing back up, knowing that he’d probably be worried when he was told what happened because Daryl had always cared. Merle had always been the selfish one. He had been the one that ran away every chance he got or did something stupid that got him locked up. Merle, simply, had never really been there for his young brother. Daryl hadn’t needed him in years. However, Merle had always needed Daryl, to look up to him, to know that someone on this god-awful planet cared for him.

Daryl didn’t even need him right now.

Hell, the man was used to Merle running away, and probably wouldn’t see this as anything different. He’d just see it as another moment he had failed him.

He needed those two who were out there lost, separated from him, and Merle found himself focusing on that sole thought as it dragged him forward.

He’d keep moving forward. Falling in and out of consciousness, as the streets he’d wake back up on was not the same as what he last remembered. Merle wouldn’t allow himself to stray from this goal.

Not until he came to once more, the situation dire, as he blinked, wondering if he was imagining the Walker barely being held back, as its jaw snapped shut, skin pulling away from the bone, as Merle barely kept it from clamping down on his neck. His head spun, black spots dancing in front of his eyes, as he pushed against the Walker, feeling as the skin began to slide free, and it lunged forward, moments away from doing him in when the creature suddenly slumped forward, blood pouring out from its forehead, as Merle idly thought he had heard the sound of a gun going off.

“Bring him here to me,” a man commanded, his voice low, and dangerous.

Merle felt himself being hauled to his feet, his head spinning, as he felt that familiar daze hover over his mind, threatening to pull him back under. The men holding him up grunted, dragging him forward, before letting him fall to his knees in front of the man. Merle had never knelt before another in his life, his legs shaking as he tried pushing himself back up, determined not to allow today to be the day, but he was shoved back down.

“No, it’s quite all right,” the man in charge chuckled. “Let him get up. If he can.” He looked amused as he watched Merle struggle to his feet, but he did it, a gleam in his eyes, showing the strength the man held.

“Don’ wan’ no trouble,” Merle muttered. His vision swayed, locking in on the grin of the man in front of him, who charmingly held up his hands, as he exclaimed in surprise at Merle looking dead on his feet but still managing to stand. Instinct prickled at Merle, telling him to proceed with caution, that the man was dangerous. That smile hid something malicious behind it. Merle had met plenty of men like the one in front of him. “Jus’ lookin’ for mah kin.”

“We’re all looking for someone these days.” The man nodded. “You’re not looking so good yourself right now. That hand looks like it’s fresh, it’s going to need to be treated, or an infection could settle in. That’s about as good as a death sentence these days.”

“Don’ matter. Gotta find ‘em.” Merle made to push forward, to keep going forward, he knew he was close but close to where was when it got tricky. His memory of that note had grown foggy inside his head, he had been moving forward without any real attention, and Merle was no longer certain that he was on the right track anymore.

“Hold up there.” The man reached forward, pushing Merle back, his hand firmly holding him in place, as his eyes lightened, but the grip on his shoulder told of a different story. Merle stiffened. “Why don’t my men help you, we’ve got a nice little settlement, Woodbury, we could use men like you. Look what you managed to do, one-handed, out delirious out your ass. I could use a soldier like you.” The man nodded, looking determined, as his cold eyes settled on Merle. “In return, I’ll help you find these kin of yours. Lend you my man power.”

Merle tried shaking his head. Feeling as if it wasn’t the smart thing to do, regardless of the shape he was in, he was hit with a strong wave of dizziness, knocking him off balance, as he swayed, and nearly toppled over. The black dots that had been dancing at the edge of his vision drew closer, and the reply was lost on his lips.

Everything around him went dark.

Chapter Text

Journey to You

Chapter Five

Winter upon a Farm

"I find the map and draw a straight line

over rivers, farms and state lines

the distance from A to

where you'd B

It's only fingers length that

I see."

-Set the Fire to the Third Bar by Snow Patrol, Martha Wainwright

The cold had seeped into her bones, her muscles aching, as each step felt stiff and unnatural, but Calla ignored it, as she pushed through the woods. The only piece of warmth was from her son, curled up in the thick blanket, and poncho, as he cuddled up into her for warmth. She had been looking for a place for them to stay long-term, but the sick always came, seeming to sense the moment Maverick broke away from the safety of her stench, and out into the open.

The summer had been long, and hard, but the winter had come with its own set of difficulties.

Animals were scarce, and her skills in hunting, while not nearly as good as Daryl’s, weren’t horrible, but she hadn’t come across a single soul in weeks, and they had been living off what Calla could find in homes. She had grown worried, as the weeks went by, and her finds had begun to drag further and further apart.

Barren tree limbs slapped against her face, but the sting was long since lost to her, the cold wind had reddened her face, numbing the skin, as she trudged forward. A scarf covered the lower parts of her face, but her upper cheeks were left exposed to the wind, and cold. They occasionally stung. The worry over needing to find shelter, a place to hunker down for the long term, was at the front of her mind. They couldn’t keep going like this. Calla was wasting away, her movements stiffening, as she slowly froze out in the open.

Her only saving grace was the warmth she felt coming from her son, far more protected than she, as they drifted aimlessly through the trees. A few days ago, she had ducked within their safety, another herd of the sick had been roaming along the road, and while Calla had felt that going through them would have been faster, and an option, she ducked away from them, keeping track of where the road was, as they continued walking.

Maverick didn’t make much noise these days, the cold having sucked out any energy to do so, but Calla didn’t have the strength to fend off the sick if she ended up wrong.

Her mind felt numb.

They had been walking for so long. Each road blurred into the last, and Calla no longer knew where she was anymore. They could have been going in circles for all she knew. The sick had begun to cluster up, and occasionally she found the need to walk among them, forced as there was no other option, and she’d quietly remind Maverick to stay silent before she’d slip free from them as soon as she could.

She drifted in and out of consciousness.

Her legs carried her forward, with no drive, just survival, as she worked on instinct.

When she blinked, realizing she was at a stop, no longer moving forward, and wondering when that had happened, Calla tried to clear the haze from her head, as she took in her new surroundings. Maverick had been what dragged her from the haze. He had begun to squirm, kicking her lightly in the ribs, as muffled words met her ears.

He needed to use the restroom, and they had been just standing there for so long, he complained lightly, his voice not carrying, just as she taught him.

Calla stared up at what once would have been a beautiful farm home. The white of the paint had started to chip, as nature slowly began to take over it, the grass had grown taller without anyone to manage it, and vines could be seen just starting to wrap around the lowest edges of the house.

Someone had been taking care of the building, probably after the fall of civilization, until they no longer were.

Moving toward the trees, Calla helped Maverick down so that he could relieve himself, as she stared at the first building, she had seen in weeks that wasn’t swarming with the dead or placed too close to hot zones.

Calla knew, from her moments of clarity, that they were a decent way away from any town, or problematic areas, that would attract the sick. She wouldn’t know until she took a look around, but there was potential here, for a place to hide out before they were forced to move on again. Maverick deserved someplace to stretch his legs, and they needed warmth, they wouldn’t last much longer if they kept this up.

Her eyes roamed over the signs that something had gone down here. There had been a barn, at one point, that had long since burned down. Calla could see the sick, where they had been put down, littered across the lawn, a clear sign that someone had put up a fight. There was no clear picture of how it ended. Whoever lived here could be dead, lying among the decay, lost, and forgotten, or they could have made it, leaving behind the sanctuary they had thought would last.

Nothing lasted these days.

It had been a hard pill for Calla to swallow, but all that was left inside her was a person who adapted and survived. Reaching out, Calla took Maverick’s hand in her own, watching as the boy sent her a startled expression, showing her how much things had changed. She hardly allowed him to wander around like this, free, holding her hand, out in the open.

He lightly bounced at her side, following closely, as his small fingers wrapped tightly around two of hers, as they walked across the grass. There was excitement in the way he held himself. Calla smiled softly, forgetting that her lips knew how to make such an expression, as they continued forward until they came to the porch. She had wanted him to stretch, to feel a moment of relief, before she swung him back up into her arms, automatically he hid under her poncho, squirming until he lay comfortably in the blankets that wrapped him securely to her.

She had seen the disappointment on his face, but Calla couldn’t focus without knowing he was safe, and she silently promised him this time would be different. They would stay here longer, hopefully surviving the rest of winter here before she’d be forced to move them along. Calla was still searching for Daryl, even if a part of her, the darker side, tried pleading, and begging her to accept that he was gone. That he had died back at the CDC, not wishing to drag the pain out, when one day she would be forced to accept it as fact, but Calla was stubborn.

She slowly walked the porch, peering into the windows, looking for any signs of the dead, and upon finding none she tapped her bat, loudly against the door. The sound echoed from inside the house, filling the silence that had wrapped around the farm, announcing that it was awake once more. Someone had arrived. It was no longer abandoned, frozen in time, as it waited for those who had fled from the sick. Reaching out, Calla was only slightly surprised by the way the door swung open without any resistance. Stepping in, Calla closed it behind her, not wishing for something to stumble in behind her and catch her off guard.

Carefully she slid her arms free of the bag that stayed glued to her back, the weight falling off, causing an inaudible grunt of relief to escape her lips, as she lifted the bat in her hands. It had grown lighter over the months, but it still dug into her shoulders the longer she carried it.

Slowly, and carefully, Calla cleared each room, starting on the first floor before making her way up.

Whoever had lived here had fled in a hurry, Calla picked up on the signs of panic, random bags having been laid down and forgotten during the chaos, and Calla itched to search them. There was potential. No one, no one smart, would drag along things that weren’t essential to survival, and maybe, if she was lucky, this farm would have been untouched by anyone since, and she’d gain from someone’s carelessness. She pushed the thoughts out of her head, about how they were human, and something big had happened here, that she shouldn’t feel happy about gaining anything from someone else’s misfortune, but a bigger part of Calla didn’t care. If it kept her son alive another day there was very little Calla wouldn’t do with a smile on her face.

The second after she cleared the place, having made sure the whole house was free from signs of the dead, Calla allowed Maverick to slide free as he glanced around in curiosity and happiness. Quietly he began to ask her questions and Calla answered them as best as she could.

Yes, they would be staying here.

No, she wasn’t sure for how long but hopefully until it warmed up.

He looked satisfied as he followed along after her. Calla helped him back down the stairs as she set way for the kitchen. There she found hints of food, things left behind, but it had been the bags where most of her goals were accomplished. She found clothes, some that fit her, but none for Maverick, and in one there had been nothing but cans of food, and jars of preserves. It had been carelessly left behind, but Calla silently thanked whomever it was as she fed her son their first decent meal in days.

As Calla searched the bags, their stomachs now full, Maverick walked around the room, climbing on the furniture before sliding back off, as he took in the freedom of simply being allowed to move around. Calla worried he couldn’t walk as well as he should have at this age, her fault, but it couldn’t be helped. Not with their new lifestyle, but he managed, growing bolder the longer he was at it. It reminded her, yet again, of Daryl, as she watched him from out of the corner of her eye. The way he looked determined, the slightest of frowns tugging at his lips, as he gripped tightly at the cushion of the couch and struggled to pull himself up. Daryl had carried the same expression. Every time he found something that didn’t quite click, he wouldn’t give up, would just keep chipping away at it, until it finally slid into place, and he accomplished it.

Instead of hurting, Calla found that this warmed her heart, as she watched her son, and saw that no matter what she would always have a piece of her husband with her.

For the first time in months, she felt something other than a deep ache.

Tilting her head back down Calla reached for another bag, the last of them, as she hesitated at the familiar rip on its side, and the logo from a hunting store Daryl used to drag her to all the time. There, on the bottom left, was a cluster of drawn hearts in marker, just barely eligible as the black ink was just a shade darker than the material of the bag.

Her insides froze.

Maverick had gotten a hold of Daryl’s bag last year, deciding his daddy needed something to remember him by when he went on his hunting trips. The bag had been bland and boring. Daryl loved the reminder of his son every time he took it with him.

With shaking hands Calla rolled it over, searching for the signature right underneath it, Maverick’s name, written in a terrible childish scrawl, but it was there, telling her who had owned this bag, and that he had been there.

She ripped it open, the zipper flying across the material, as a sense of desperation took over. Anyone could have found it, stumbled across it, and decided to use it for themselves, but the inside, the contents would tell her if it had been Daryl.

Hope blossomed back up but Calla was quick to reign it in.

It meant nothing.

In the end, all it told Calla was that he had been alive at one point, inside this house, and not where he was now.

She shuffled through the clothes, smiling slightly at the signs of shirt sleeves butchered, having been removed long ago, and then there, at the very bottom was a photo. Her eyes filled, the tears falling free, as her fingers shook, dropping the picture before she was picking it back up.

There, smiling at her, was her face, leaning into Daryl, his arm wrapped around her shoulders, as he held up Maverick, a look of pride and happiness on his face, as he kissed the top of his son’s head. She had taken it only a few months after Maverick had been born. Calla could clearly see the tiredness etched into their features, from the sleepless nights, but it was outshined by the love that engulfed the small family.

A sob escaped her lips.

It was like a dam had been broken inside of her. Her body shook, as she gripped so tightly the picture dented, crinkling in her hands, as she buried her face in the bag, trying to muffle her sobs.

“Mama,” questioned a soft voice. Tiny hands lightly patted at her head as Maverick thumped, sitting down next to her, his fingers snagging against the knots in her hair. “Mama, no cry. Mav here. Mav loves mama.”

Calla turned, her body still shaking, as she buried her face into his hair, and brought the picture closer.

“Mama loves Mav,” she whispered, as tiny fingers curiously grabbed at the picture. A giggle escaped his lips as he began to crow happily.

“Daddy! It’s daddy, mama, and me.” He giggled again as he poked at the picture. “That’s me, mama!”

“Yes, baby, it’s you.”

He moved, crawling into her lap, as he stared intently at the picture in his hands.

“Miss daddy?”

“Yeah, I do. I miss daddy lots.” Maverick glanced up at her, one of his hands reaching, as he patted her cheek.

“Me miss daddy too.” Calla kissed the top of his head as they both stared at the picture, neither looking away from the man in the photo. “Mama not leave?”

“No, mama isn’t going anywhere.”

“Pwomise?”

“I promise.”

They sat like that, Calla didn’t know for how long, just cuddling, as they memorized the man’s face, they hadn’t seen in months.

· ─────── · 𖥸 · ─────── · 

From that day forward Maverick rarely let the photo out of his sight. Everywhere he went it was held tightly in his hand or stuffed into his pocket. Calla let him. If it brought him peace, gazing at his father, in that photo, then she would not be the one to take it away. Even when her heart had grown heavy once more, with loss, and doubt, she could hardly settle her gaze on it without her head growing fuzzy, as something dark tried to take hold.

A few days turned into a few weeks, and the food that those who had lived here left behind began to slowly dwindle away until Calla felt forced to leave the farmhouse to search for more. They managed not to run into many of the sick there on the farm. The land, besides the bodies that Calla had to clean up so that Maverick could go outside, looked untouched by the destruction the rest of the world faced. You could almost imagine that the barn had simply been an accident, but Calla could still see those bodies she had dragged inside the hollow frame, having no energy to bury people she didn’t know, and not wishing to attract anyone or anything with fire, she settled on simply placing them all in one spot away from them.

Regardless, the sick left a stain on the world. Even pretty places like this one.

“Don’t wanna, mama,” Maverick cried, staring at the blanket holder Calla had tugged on with distaste. He had grown used to the freedom the farm allotted him and the idea of being once more placed inside the confines of that blanket and poncho was suffocating.

“It’s only for a little while, baby,” Calla soothed. “Just long enough to look for food. We’re coming back.”

Huffing and throwing a small fit, trying to fight it one last time, he finally relented and allowed her to swoop him up so he could settle against her. He was growing bigger, and soon this would no longer work, but Calla set that thought away for the future. She still had time. Time for what she wasn’t sure about, but Calla would figure something out when the time came. She always did.

Maverick wrinkled his nose as he settled against her, having almost forgotten about the stench that blanket carried with it, and the poncho that quickly slid over the both of them.

Calla had cleaned up a little since their time at the farm, but she hadn’t bothered to figure out her hair, it was still splashed with blood, and her arms had begun to regain the dirt and grime from before. She felt safer with the blood and grime littering her skin, an anti-sick shield around her, that kept Maverick and herself safe. She hadn’t felt the need to clean herself up completely. It wasn’t like before, caring for oneself in such a way was pointless, and Calla didn’t care what people thought if she were to run into another soul.

If they were disgusted, well, it just meant it had given her another layer of protection.

The bag was thrown over her back, almost entirely empty, and the bat, an object that was to her, as that photo was to Maverick, a form of protection, and peace, was all she needed before setting out in search of supplies.

They stumbled upon a snarl of vehicles first, not an unusual sight, as Calla had come across many like it since leaving Atlanta. Curiously she began to search through them, growing quiet and drifting when one of the sick would join them, until it would disappear somewhere up ahead, aimlessly following a path that was hopefully somewhere far away from the farm. She’d pick right back up where she left off, growing excited at the drums of water, only a few left, before moving on. Later she would figure out a way to get them to the farm, but for right now, it made her happy to just see it.

It hadn’t taken her long to figure out that the abandoned cars had been picked clean, everything useful taken away, and she suspected it had been Daryl, and whomever he was with. It forced her to move on, to follow a road that led them into a town, which she hoped would lead them to find something.

Calla had begun to grow frustrated, wondering if it too had been picked clean, as worry dug at her stomach. It was close to the farm. She didn’t think they would be finding much here, but leaving empty-handed wasn’t an option for Calla, as she continued to search. There had to be something. People didn’t always look in the least obvious places, and she had grown lucky many times in the past searching in spots that were overlooked.

Moving toward a store, not feeling anxious over the thought of the sick, they were hardly ever a problem to her anymore, and with that poncho and blanket back over her, she was protected against them. Occasionally she would whistle lowly, a reminder to Maverick that she was still here, and that he was to continue to sit in silence. Calla was never certain when he was awake, not when he stayed still no matter what, and the reminder was something he found comforting, so she did this periodically. A higher-pitched, almost bird-sounding whistle would tell him it was safe to talk if he wanted to. It had been taken from Daryl and Merle, their own calls they used while out hunting, to keep from chasing away the game when talking wasn’t allowed. The sounds were different, but the idea was the same.

She stepped into the store, not bothering to use the bat to draw the sick out, finding it much safer in situations like this, to just roam carefully, not moving like someone alive, just in case she stumbled upon a group of them. Her heart no longer sped up when she saw them, the fear that had been there at the beginning of the apocalypse had disappeared, and now only acted up when there were signs of people who were alive.

She could blend in and lose herself easily in a crowd of the sick, but people weren’t always nice, and Calla couldn’t gauge their intentions.

People lied.

The sick were only ever truthful.

She knew whom she preferred.

Inside the store was nothing but quiet, an almost unpleasant sensation, as Calla found there was almost, always, some kind of background noise. If it wasn’t the animals, then it was the low hum of the sick, as they wandered in groups.

Here, she could hear nothing, and it set her on edge.

Crouching, Calla kept an ear out for sounds of footsteps, as she reached underneath the shelves, carefully searching for anything that may have fallen down. Her hands bumped into two cans, that were quickly stored away in her bag, as she moved on. Outside, she could hear the distant sound of the sick, far enough not to be a worry, but as focused as she was on the task, Calla still heard the sudden squeak of a shoe on the ground.

Her body tensed, barely noticeable, as she stayed crouched down until she could hear whoever was standing right behind her.

It wasn’t in Calla’s best interest to hesitate, to wonder who this person was, were they good, or bad?

Hesitation got you killed, or worse.

Survival didn’t rely on what-ifs.

Apologies could always be made after. You couldn’t ask for forgiveness if you were dead.

Centering herself, making sure she was balanced, Calla shifted, twisting, as her bat flung forward, knocking straight into the knees of the man who had tried sneaking up behind her. He grunted, a scream catching on his lips, as the nails from her bat dragged across his skin.

Another laughed, finding the scene in front of him amusing, as he stared at Calla in surprise.

“Well, fuck me!” he laughed. “It’s alive!” He took a step closer, peering down at her, but not daring to get within reach of her bat, as he continued to chuckle. “Well goddamn, darling. We thought yah was one of the dead.”

Calla straightened, stepping back, as she held the bat firmly in her hands, noticing that they hadn’t drawn weapons. Either they didn’t have any, or they still thought they could take her. They didn’t know she had her son strapped to her. They wouldn’t know that her balance was not at its best with Maverick and the bag, but they would underestimate her because she was female, small, and weak-looking, and Calla would make sure to use that against them.

“Fuck!” the male she had attacked yelled. “The bitch got me! She got me good.”

“Quit your yapping,” the first ordered. “You were the stupid prick to get too close.” He turned his attention back toward her. “Sorry, darling. You can imagine we thought you were one of the dead. Were just about to quietly take care of you.” His gaze roamed over her, taking in the mess that was Calla, as he tried to look past the gore that coated her like a second skin. “You’re looking a little rough there. Yah got anybody? You could come with us.”

Calla didn’t speak. She didn’t dare utter a word as she carefully watched them and listened for any sign that they had someone else with them.

“You don’t speak.” He held up his hands, shrugging, as he tried smiling calmingly at her. “I get it. A couple of strange guys. One still cursing up a storm.” He kicked the guy, silently telling him to shut his mouth, his focus never leaving her. “Well, I’d be a little apprehensive as well.” He chuckled again, hands still in the air, as he took a step closer.

Calla zoned in on that, her bat raising, as she took a step back. A silent reminder to stay away.

“Sorry!” He froze, but he didn’t step away, not like he should have to earn the trust of anyone. “Do you need food? We’ve got food.”

Her fingers dug into the grooves of the wood of her bat. They were not good. Her mind screamed at her to get away. To flee, and to run. No one offered food out of the goodness of their hearts. No one would try so hard to get someone who just attacked them to come with them. They weren’t there to help Calla. She took another step back, watching as a muscle twitched under the guy’s eye, as he suddenly reached out, grabbing for the bat in her hands.

Calla had been prepared for it. She pivoted, moving just out of his reach, and off to the side, as she swung the bat around, forcing it forward, as it smacked into his side. A rush of air escaped his lungs as he clamped down on the yell of pain that wanted to burst forth.

“Give. Me. The. Fucking. Bat!” He reached out again, but Calla wouldn’t give in so easily, finding that her heart was pounding loudly in her ears, causing a roaring sensation to crowd her head.

She swung again, grazing the side of his head, but he had dodged, growing more careful as he tried herding her back toward the other man, who still lay on the floor.

Droplets of blood stained his white shirt, right on the side, where she had hit him. Calla had injured him. That would be where she aimed again. Darting back, the other man reached out, intent to trip her, but Calla stomped down, catching his fingers under her boots, as another holler tore from his lips.

“Shut the fuck up!” hissed the other guy. “Quit being a damn pussy and grab her. You’re going to drag all of the dead down upon us.”

Calla could hear them outside, her ears tuned to the slightest of sounds, and knew they were already on their way. She swung back around, this time aiming for the shelves behind her, the metal shelves crashing to the ground.

“Shut the fuck up!”

He made to grab her, but Calla aimed for his head, watching as he ducked, and she took the opportunity to slip around the corner. Her steps were quiet in the store as she began to move further back, away from the men, hoping to find another exit, when suddenly there were arms wrapping around her stomach. He made to lift her off the ground, but there was more weight to Calla than it looked, as he still hadn’t noticed Maverick.

Calla’s elbow dug into the side that she had hit with the bat, as it clattered to the ground, and he struggled to keep hold of her.

“You’re more work than I bargained for, but fuck, I’m gonna gouge out those pretty eyes from your head. Fucking, bitch.” He spun her around, shoving her to the ground, as a whimper escaped from Maverick, causing the man to hesitate, uncertain of what was going on. Calla took the opportunity to reach up, her fingers grabbing at the sides of his face, as he pushed weight down on top of her, causing Maverick to yell out. “What the fuck yah got with you, huh?” He tried to grab the poncho, to push it up, but only managed to reveal a small foot before Calla was pushing her thumbs into his eyes.

He yelled, rearing back, dislodging her hold, before snatching at her hands, and forcing them to the ground.

“You should have just come calmly.” He glared at her, with hate, and rage-filled eyes. They both ignored the screams of his partner, the sick had found them, but the man in front of her was far too gone in his anger to care. “Now, I’ve got to kill the both of you. I would have been nice, and the kid would have been kept safe, but now, fuck if I care.”

Calla snarled, her knee coming up, pushing against him, keeping the man from growing closer, from crushing Maverick, as she struggled to free her hands. Behind him, she eyed the way the sick were slowly lumbering toward them, having sensed more activity.

Her other leg wiggled between them, catching him off guard when she brushed against his groin, as he made to move to defend himself, and gave Calla her opening. Her hand slipped free as he used his own to block her knee. She tore across his face, her nails digging into his skin, as her thumb aimed once more at his eyes. She bucked, forcing him off, as her foot dug into his gut, and with a kick, she shoved him back. He stumbled, reaching out with one hand to grab a shelf, as the other covered his face, where he was bleeding. Calla rolled, her hands grabbing at the bat, as she hauled herself to her feet, and swung the weapon for the final time.

It contacted his head, and a sickening crack rang out, as the nails dug into the side of his face. Blood splattered across her face, as she watched him tense, his body seizing up before it automatically made to move back. Right into the searching arms of the sick behind him. Calla held her breath, crouching low, as she fled away from them, keeping out of sight, as she moved several shelves away.

The screams of the men pierced the air, but Calla felt numb. Her breathing had settled as her mind began to drift. The scene in front of her wavered as the pounding in her ears grew louder.

She didn’t want to be here.

Her bat brushed against her leg, as she hunched over, waiting for the screams to quiet.

She wanted to be back home.

Daryl wouldn’t let her open her eyes. He had said it would ruin the surprise, but Calla was impatient, as she wiggled in the seat of his truck, asking, yet again, if she could take the blindfold off.

“Peach, if yah don’ close that mouth of yers I’m gonna have to shut if for yah.” His voice was gruff, but the amusement gave way, telling her that he would not, in fact, shut her up. She rolled her eyes, knowing he wouldn’t be able to see, not with the damn cloth covering her face.

“Oh yeah?” she teased. “You got something to keep me occupied?”

“Don’ get any ideas.” She could hear the way his voice had deepened, her suggestion not lost on him, as he shifted in his seat.

A smile tugged at her lips as she reached out, patting the seat, as she searched for his leg. Her fingers brushed against her target when he was suddenly swatting at her. “Behave, damit!”

Calla could hear the slick sounds of the sick as they feasted on the men who had attacked her. Her arm came up, pressing Maverick closer to her as she felt him shake, but Calla still couldn’t move.

It wasn’t safe.

Her mind screamed it.

It locked her up.

She wanted to be back where she felt safe.

“C’mon Dare,” she whined. “What do you have planned?”

“If yah would just have some patience you’d know soon.”

Unbuckling herself Calla slid over, automatically lifting her leg to avoid the gearshift, as she pressed up against him. Her hands searched for the seatbelt in the middle, brushing against it, and quickly strapped herself in, as she settled happily into his side.

“You’re being awfully suspicious.” She heard him groan lightly from next to her as his arm came up to drape across the back of her seat.

“Just give me this, Calla.”

Calla did, indeed, fall silent, as she listened to the wind race past the truck. Playing with the engagement ring on her finger, she wondered what he had planned for her, as she silently contemplated it. Daryl didn’t typically do secrets, he was an open book to her, which only made this that much more suspicious in her mind, but she would be lying if she said she wasn’t excited. Daryl was not a man of many words, but his actions spoke what a thousand words couldn’t.

The truck slowed to a stop.

Calla had shuffled forward, merging with the sea of sick, that had joined them in that store. They didn’t notice as she passed them by. The bat swung harmlessly at her side, her fingers swaying back and forth, as they kept a loose hold on her preferred weapon.

Maverick had grown deathly silent. He could hear the sick as they roamed around them. The shuffling of their feet, and the quiet sound, almost a hum, clung to them, as they constantly made noise. It drowned out the mess inside Calla’s mind as she slipped back into the memory that had become her temporary oasis.

Daryl gently guided her from the truck, his fingers automatically threading among her own, as they walked forward. She trusted Daryl to not let her fall. That excitement buzzing under her skin had begun to pulse as she lightly bounced on the balls of her feet. She heard his chuckle, as he watched her, before pulling her to a stop. His hand brushed against her cheek, moving toward the cloth that covered her eyes before he hesitated.

“Yah ready?”

“Daryl Dixon, I’m gonna combust if you make me wait any longer!” Sunlight blinded her eyes, causing her to blink, as she adjusted to the sudden change. She reached out, without thinking, to reconnect them, as she glanced around, confusion clouding her mind as she took in the foreign neighborhood. “What are we doing here?”

His arm wrapped around her shoulders, drawing her closer, as he led her up a path, toward a little house she was just now noticing.

It was beautiful.

The white picket fence that surrounded its perimeter was exactly what she had pictured having when she was a child.

“What is this?”

Daryl smiled at her, moving to unlock the gate so that they could step inside.

“This is ours.”

“This house?”

She stared up at it in amazement.

“If you want it.”

Calla turned, staring at him, as she tried piecing together the thoughts racing through her mind.

“You got us a house?”

“Didn’ think yah wanted to keep livin’ with Merle.” He had begun to bite his cheek, the nerves growing, as he continued to watch her carefully.

She turned to him, jumping suddenly, forcing him to catch her, as her legs wrapped around his waist.

“I love it!” Her voice was full of excitement, the confusion disappearing, as she held onto him tightly. Their lips met as she vibrated with happiness, raining affection down on him, as he slowly began to carry her toward the door.

“Wanna see the inside?”

“Yes!”

He carried her across the threshold, into the little home that was now theirs, where they would start the beginning of the rest of their lives.

Calla blinked, refocusing, as one of the sick bumped into her, the growl a warning, as it continued on, moving to run into another like it. Carefully, she leaned down, grabbing the bag that the man who had gone down first was carrying, as she allowed it to dangle from her fingers, inconspicuously, as Calla escaped the store, walking away from the disaster that had happened, and back toward the farm.

Not a single one of the sick followed her out.

She held that memory close to her chest, as she walked back toward their makeshift temporary home, thinking of the one who could bring a sense of safety to her, even when he wasn’t there.

Chapter Text

Journey to You

Chapter Six

The Man with a Charming Smile

"You fall through the trees

And you pray with your

knees on the ground

For the things that you need.

-Willow Tree March by The Paper Kites

Winter was holding fast, slow to fade away, but their time at the farm had come to an end, quicker than Calla would have liked. She had picked clean the surrounding towns, and developments, finding what others had overlooked, but it hadn’t lasted as long as Calla would have liked.

A part of her didn’t want to leave that farm. Hope nagged at the back of her mind, telling her to stay, that Daryl would come back, someday, and when he did, she would be there waiting. A bigger, more realistic part knew that if she did stay, they would slowly starve. There was a reason he hadn’t traveled back this way.

There was nothing here to survive on.

Maverick kept a firm hold on to the picture, every night before bed he took it out, whispering goodnight to his daddy, before kissing it softly.

It caused her heart to feel as if it was being crushed, under a weight of helplessness, and hope, that battled viciously inside of her. Neither had enough weight to push her one way or the other.

Before they had left Calla emptied Daryl’s bag, and her own, repacking her things into his, adding a few of his shirts so she could wear them when it grew warmer, and feel closer to him before she repacked her old bag full of his stuff. A part of her wanted to bring it all with her, to just have a piece of him with her, but she didn’t. There was only so much she could hold.

Turning toward the farm Calla silently wished it goodbye. It had taken care of them well over the last month.

She stepped out onto the road, drifting past the trees that she had grown familiar with, not hesitating when she came to the two cars that once had something written on them. One in white paint, and the other in black. Neither was legible, but Calla had suspected the blank paint had been meant for her, but nature had washed away its message long before she had been able to see it.

Life on the road had been easy for Calla to slip back into a role that never quite left her. At night they slept in trees, Maverick anchored to her, and she to the trunk, before dawn would rise, and she’d be back to walking once more.

The days began to grow warmer. Still too cold to ditch the poncho, but Calla could feel it, in time the heat would once more become suffocating, and they’d be back trying to fight against an entirely different evil.

She’d revel in the small opening they would get, where the weather would be on the brink of perfection, before dipping into another extreme.

Life quietly slipped them by.

Until one day, as she was walking down a deserted road, the sound of an engine cut through the silence. Calla stumbled to a halt, her knees locking into place, as she realized, due to her spacing out, it was far too late to slip into the woods and go unnoticed. Instead, she shifted her grip on the bat and waited as she watched the truck slow down, passing them, before coming to a complete stop a few yards ahead of them. The passenger side door was thrown open, revealing a man dressed in black, a heavy coat thrown over his shoulders, and an easy smile on his face as he dropped from the truck, rounding it, before stopping at the tailgate.

He didn’t try to get closer.

 “Hello there!” he called out. The window of the driver’s side rolled down, smoke billowing out, telling Calla that they weren’t going to leave the cab, but they were watching. “My name is Philip.” He paused, a clear indication that he was waiting for her to introduce herself, but Calla didn’t. She eyed him warily. Carefully. He tilted his head to the side, his smile softening, as he moved to lean against the truck, putting more space between them. “I run a community, not far from here, and we take people in. People like you.”

That was new.

She hadn’t run into someone who claimed to not only be part of a group of people but lead one that they had deemed a community. Calla was uncertain if she had come close to anything that could be considered anything like that since she fled from the refugee camp.

Then again, she avoided people like the plague.

Especially, since her last run-in with the living hadn’t gone over well.

Most days she pretended as if it hadn’t ever happened.

It struck her mind, causing unease to cloud her thoughts, as memories of the screams dug into her mind. Calla shifted, her mind playing tricks on her, forcing her to focus, as whispers to not trust dug at her mind. It was a cacophony, full of vicious whispers, words sweet, but deadly, as they reminded her of just why people were more dangerous than the dead. Her body tensed in an attempt not to give away what she was feeling or thinking.

“I’d like to tell you more about it, maybe tempt you to come along, but you don’t have to. We don’t force anyone to join us. We only want to help, and you look like you could use some help. A shower. A safe place to rest.” Calla hardly cared about showers, but the fact that they even had a system rigged up caught her attention. “Food.” Her stomach rumbled at the word. Her bag was dangerously low, most of its contents having gone to Maverick, as Calla kept putting off her own meals. “You don’t have to be afraid. If you’d prefer, we could get you cleaned up, fed, take care of any medical issues you have, and then you can be on your merry way.”

He was trying too hard.

It brushed against her mind that while his words were even, careful, there was a hint of something more, of the need for her to say yes. Without being able to delve into his mind, to see what exactly was going on inside his thoughts, there was no way to know if his intentions were pure, or otherwise.

Calla watched him, but his body language didn’t give anything away, and that smile on his face looked genuine.

People were liars.

Instinct told her not to trust.

He sensed her unease, her unwillingness to come forward, as he nodded. His face pinched into concern, shrugging, as that smile turned sad, just a slight tilt downward of his lips.

“All right.” He chuckled softly. “I get it. You can’t save everyone. You don’t trust me. Smart. If you change your mind, we’re only ten miles down that road.” He pointed ahead of them. “Take your first left, and another right about a mile further, and you’ll come upon our front gate.”

Calla didn’t move, hadn’t spoken the entire time, and here, as he gave her directions, seemingly intent on leaving her, she still didn’t let anything slip about what she was thinking, or feeling. Her eyes, however, drifted behind them, off in the direction he spoke about, curious at how easily he gave away their base location. It spoke of confidence. He felt that they could protect themselves if need be. He was telling her that by her knowing, it wasn’t going to put his community in danger. She wasn’t dangerous to them.

Something tugged deeper inside her mind, a more feral part of herself, the half that had long ago decided to keep them alive for as long as it could, bristled, as it silently whispered that she was dangerous. She could be. Only if she needed to be.

Maverick moved against her, just a bit, his hand pressing against her in a silent question. She softly clicked her tongue in answer.

The stranger made to turn around, having said what he wanted, his hand on the handle of his door when suddenly the back driver’s side swung open, stepping out a third man. Calla felt herself reacting, stiffening, as the bat raised in an attempt to make them think twice. Only it faltered as she came face to face with someone familiar.

“Calla, that you?” asked a man she hadn’t seen since the refugee camp.

Martinez.

Her thoughts were dangerously dunked back to that day at the refugee camp. She could smell the smoke, death, and rot. It filled her nostrils. She choked on it.

The only sign that something had changed was the acceleration of her breathing, but they were too far away to notice.

Maverick’s hand pressing against her chest, feeling the difference, brought her back abruptly. This was not the time to be distracted by past demons.

Blinking, she refocused on Martinez.

He hadn’t been someone she had grown really close to, not like Michonne, who had become an anchor in this new, and dangerous life, but he had been good. She remembered that he had helped, always pitching in, and had been one of those that enjoyed her stories, always pressing for more, and lingering behind when the group would make it back to camp.

“Martinez,” the name fell from her lips, as the bat dipped from its aggressive stance. “You made it out.” She reaffirmed herself in the present by her fingers digging into the wood, feeling the familiar grooves, ones she had spent countless hours running over. She knew every bump, every dip, and chip like the back of her hand. It reminded her she was alive. That this was real. She wasn’t in the past.

“I don’t think many did,” he said. “I had just made it back from a run when the dead arrived. Probably the only thing that kept me alive.”

“You were with Michonne. Did she make it?”

“I don’t know.” He shrugged, forming something akin to a sorry in his eyes, as he stepped closer.

“You had a kid.” His eyes glanced around, not seeing anyone else with her, and hadn’t noticed the odd-shaped lump under her poncho. He wouldn’t have. Not with how the fabric rose up as she gripped the bat.

“Yeah.”

His eyes narrowed, falling toward the only place she could have hidden him, and nodded, looking impressed.

“You should come with. You’ll be taken care of at Woodbury.”

Calla hesitated still. Martinez had been a good man. Only, she hadn’t seen him since the middle of the summer, and a whole winter had nearly passed by.

People changed.

Calla had.

She was no longer the same woman from before, who would have hesitated to hurt anyone, but now, she could remember the fear, the desperation, that came with protecting oneself, and child. It was white hot, spiraling, something that gripped tightly to you, and dragged you down in a dizzying sensation of anxiety, and fear.

She licked her lips, shifting her weight to the other leg, as she attempted to get herself to say yes. They were offering everything, anyone, these days would want or need.

But what would the price be if she said yes?

“I don’t know.”

“Come on, kid.” She bristled at the familiar nickname. He wasn’t that much older than her. He knew she hated it. That had never stopped him before. “It’s a stupid offer to turn down. You’ll end up showing up at the gate sooner or later. Your cheekbones have sunken in, and I bet that boy of yours could use several good meals.”

She felt Maverick move at the talk of food, his fist pressing against her chest insistently, as he silently asked her for something to eat. Lately, it was like she wasn’t able to keep him full, forcing her to eat less, so that he could have more. Calla suspected a growth spurt. He needed the extra calories.

A breeze shifted the poncho, tugging at her knotted, bloody hair, hiding the movement of the boy.

“You’ve got a kid?” called out the man from before. The leader.

Calla’s eyes locked back onto him, having not forgotten that he was there, not daring to allow such a threat to go unnoticed. Maverick continued to shove at the fabric. He didn’t hear the dead. His mama was talking, and there was someone replying, a voice that he recognized, but another that he didn’t. Calla whistled lowly, sharply, a warning, as Maverick went still.

She fell silent once more. The man frowned, the first time she had seen such an expression on his face and felt herself breathe a little easier. It was always the ones that smiled with ease that should be watched. He was showing her his true colors. He was still a threat, but he was more humane now in her head.

“Think about what they need,” Phillip continued. “Are you really going to turn down such an offer?”

Martinez held out a hand, directed toward her, as he patiently waited for her to take it.

Her eyes followed the motion, locking onto it, as she calculated the risk that he posed to her, and Maverick. It wasn’t high. He wouldn’t force her hand.

Calla didn’t take it.

“I think I’ll wait and see if I show up at your gate.”

She took a step back, each step deliberate, as she watched their reactions until she was certain they would allow her to leave in peace. Neither one made to follow after her. Nothing was spoken, as they silently watched her leave until she faded into the woods. She easily blended in, becoming one with the trees, as she kept close to their trunks, the bare branches, that would soon be back in full bloom, her only cover. There, once she was certain neither could see her, Calla waited and watched.

Phillip stared after her, his eyes drifting over the trees, no longer able to see her, as he called out to Martinez. She couldn’t hear what was said, but the man she had grown familiar with turned around, moving toward the truck. He disappeared inside the cab, suddenly reappearing, a small bag in his hands before he placed it down in the ditch before climbing into the truck. Phillip disappeared next, and this time neither reappeared, before the truck was rumbling to life and taking off down the road.

Calla watched, and waited, not moving from her spot, as she patiently allowed time to pass her by. No one had returned, she hadn’t sensed anyone watching her, nor had she seen anyone. The only sound came from the wind, whistling through the trees, and the songs of the birds. Only then did she step forward, reemerging from the woods, as she cautiously stopped in front of the bag. Crouching, her hand coming up to press against Maverick, securing him to her, she unzipped what was left behind, and stared at the contents inside.

Applesauce, cans of green beans, and beef ravioli.

It caused her stomach to cramp.

At the very bottom were two bottles of water, and a bottle of apple juice.

Zipping it back up Calla glanced around once more and secured the smaller bag to her larger one before she began walking again.

This time she carefully stuck to the edge of the trees.

· ─────── · 𖥸 · ─────── · 

Calla had found herself, two days later, circling the town that Martinez had called Woodbury. She didn’t get close, having noticed the way each gate held sentries, people watching for the dead, and for others, like her. Occasionally, when she grew closer, Calla could hear the sounds of people, and once, in the breeze of the wind, she had heard children.

They had children.

Who sounded happy.

Their shrieks of joy were a song inside her head. Had she ever believed the world could be filled with such a sound again?

Even Mavericks were kept quiet, on the rare occasion she got him to giggle, during those nights they had holed up inside the farmhouse.

Maverick had shifted, turning his head, as he tried to listen for a source of noise that he hadn’t heard in so long.

They never moved that far away from the town, as Calla struggled with the decision to turn up at the gate or to continue life as she was. She had some luck in the surrounding towns, finding food, and a few other essentials, but it wasn’t like they were thriving, and she could only hold so much. Calla had begun to take the things she found, and could not carry, and hide them, sometimes burying them, and leaving behind some kind of sign so she could come back for them later. It wasn’t much, but it set her mind at ease, knowing that there were a day’s supplies waiting for them, for when they needed them. That was a day’s difference between starving and not.

A day later, after Calla had moved a little further away from Woodbury, settling in a camping area where she and Maverick slept in an actual tent, that was when she heard the sound of a familiar engine. It broke through the trees, bouncing around the once silent area, as it automatically turned toward where he would appear. Her eyes narrowed, as she motioned for Maverick to go back inside the tent, to hide there until she said otherwise. Calla, herself, drifted into the surrounding trees, watching, and waiting, as the truck pulled up, and out stepped a lone man.

The leader.

He glanced around, moving to search a tent, that she knew he would find nothing in. She had already searched the place, and there had been nothing to find, except for a lantern that still worked. Nothing, except, for her child, and the lone pack of supplies.

She waited until he had gone to the next tent, only one away from her own, the last in the line, as his back was to her, before making her appearance known. Her bat settled calmly against his back where she could jab at him, throw him off balance, before taking a swing, if he ended up being trouble for them.

“There’s nothing here,” she said.  He froze, his hands coming up, as an easy chuckle left his lips. It was breathy with surprise. Not fake. He hadn’t known they were here.

“I didn’t realize the spot was already called for.” He didn’t try to turn around, not while that bat was still digging into his skin. “Just found this place on the map. Decided it might be worth checking out.”

“It’s not.”

“Do you mind if I turn around?” He shifted on his foot, not trying to turn, but to displace the weight from one foot to the other. He was still slightly bent at the waist. It was probably uncomfortable. Calla only frowned. “I’d like to talk face to face. It’s always nice to know whether or not I’m starting to offend the person with a weapon.”

Calla bit her lip.

He hadn’t tried anything back on the highway.

He had carefully kept his distance and showed her how he could keep to the invisible boundaries that she had sprung up around herself.

He was with Martinez.

None of that was enough for her to trust this man in front of her.

It didn’t matter that at one point in her life, for a short period of time, Calla could trust Martinez, to have her back, and to work with one another toward a common goal. None of that same trust existed anymore, and she wasn’t willing to reach out blindly and give this man in front of her the same benefit of the doubt. Not even with the offer of a safe place, and the food he had left behind for her, and Maverick.

 Shifting, and stepping back, Calla brought the bat away from him but still held it defensively.

He took that as his sign that it was okay. She watched as he turned, staying put, as that polite, but charming smile was back on his face, and the only sound came from the crunching of his shoes on the dry, dead, grass.

“Calla, was it?” he asked.

She didn’t confirm or deny, but they both knew he remembered what Martinez had called her the other day. She suspected it hadn’t been the last time her name had been brought up.

“Are the two of you doing, okay?”

She tensed at him asking about her son, a boy he hadn’t even met yet and wasn’t sure if he even still existed. He hadn’t caught the movement under the poncho, too busy watching her face, her expressions.

Again, she didn’t respond.

She watched as the muscles in his jaw tensed, annoyed, before he frowned, once again showing his true colors. He brought a hand up to ruffle at the clean hair there, clear signs of being washed and maintained. It was wavy, curling just right, as it bounced back into place as soon as he dropped his hand. She noticed the obvious signs of how he had shaved that morning, his skin smooth, and clear of stubble. He had the means to take care of himself. It spoke even more of what type of community he had managed to build in this world.

“Back to silence again?” He shrugged, before holding up his hands once more, telling her silently that he didn’t want her to start to swing the bat. It caused her to be tense. That meant he planned on doing something that would cause her to go on the attack. “Don’t hit me. I’m just grabbing something from my truck. All right?”

Calla stepped back, permitting him to move, but she followed closely behind, not allowing him to do anything without her first being able to see. He made to grab for a bag, but she pressed the tip of her bat into his back, a warning, the only spot that didn’t have a nail embedded into it, besides where she held it.

“It’s nothing to be worried about,” he said soothingly. “Just got something for you. Martinez asked if I had run into you again and sent a care package your way. Just in case.”

“You’re out here often?” she asked. “Being the leader and all, I figured you’d stay with your people. Leading.” Her words were accusatory as she tried to ignore the fact that Martinez was sending her things to keep Maverick, and herself, alive. She wondered if he had felt closer to her than she had to him. At least she wasn’t worried about any secret feelings of love on his end. He knew how in love she was with Daryl. He had heard all of the stories, and she knew he had lost his family at the very beginning before he joined them at the refugee camp. He had been mourning. Probably still was. Just like herself.

This was more than likely just him not wanting anyone else to lose their lives in this world. He had seemed the type. Especially when it came to children.

Phil, or whatever his name was, Calla couldn’t quite remember, not when her mind was spent in a daze half the time she was out here, handed her another small bag. Carefully she reached out, made to grab it, as she took several steps away from him. Distancing herself from him.

“More of the same from last time. I think this time there’s no juice, but stale cereal, and powdered milk. He put a little more water in there for you.” Calla glanced up at him, deciding to check the contents later after he left. “As for your question, I’m not out here often, but if I’m going to be sending my men out, then I should live by example. Don’t you think?”

Calla held no personal opinions on this matter. The last time she had been a part of a group she had been a volunteer to go out there, knowing it was the only way to get what she needed for her boy, and mother, without worrying about someone putting their own family above hers. Being a leader was not what Calla wanted. She didn’t have many opinions on how this man should run his town.

He seemed to accept her silence. Beginning to expect it now.

“I can see this spot is called for. There won’t be anything for me to find. I’ll be on my way now but know you’re welcome back at Woodbury. If you’d like.”

Calla’s eyes watched him, the brown hard, darker than its normal warm honey tones.

He seemed to get the hint.

“All right. See you around.”

Calla hoped they didn’t, but she was going to find that it wouldn’t be the last time he stumbled upon them.

· ─────── · 𖥸 · ─────── · 

She spent weeks holding out. Avoiding going to Woodbury and joining the community.

It hadn’t been the last time she ran into Philip either.

A name he had insisted she used, those rare moments she spoke at all.

Not every time did he have a bag of food for her. He didn’t find them often enough to cause Calla to believe that they were being followed, it was always by accident, and sometimes, she would stumble upon him instead.

This happened to be one of those times.

“I don’t have anything for you today,” he called out, having heard the way her foot crunched against loose gravel, as she snuck up behind him. The weather had begun to grow warmer, she wasn’t wearing the poncho today, and it left a clear sight of the blanket tied to her, and the bulge inside it. He turned around, slowly, and carefully, a practiced dance, having only ever seen the bat on her, but he couldn’t be sure that there wasn’t a gun. He knew she’d shoot him first, ask questions never if he accidentally spooked her. “Didn’t think I’d run into you again. You seemed to have disappeared from the area. I thought you moved on.”

It had been a while since he had seen her, but Calla had been aware of where he was at, watching from a distance as she tried figuring out what type of man he was. Calla was wearing down, and their way of life was harsh and tiring. So much of her wanted to finally give in, settle down, and take the offer of safety that was being handed to her. She had lost so much weight, the food Martinez kept sending them was the only thing keeping her from growing so weak that staying out here on her own hadn’t become a concern, as of yet. Calla had barely managed to keep Maverick from suffering similar consequences.

It was the single most important reason that she kept accepting the food.

Otherwise, she may have told them to go to hell sooner.

It was hard to trust.

Harder than anything Calla had ever had to do in her life.

She wasn’t sure if she could manage it.

The urge to sway on her feet was brought on by a moment of vertigo, but it quickly fled, and Calla righted herself before he could notice.

“I will be,” Calla said, startling him, as he had turned back to searching through the clutter at his feet. “I’ll be moving on soon.” Daryl wasn’t here, she hadn’t found any sign of him, and Calla wasn’t sure what was keeping her close.

“Why’s that?” He raised an eyebrow, honestly curious, about why she hadn’t accepted his offer and seemed hell-bent on ignoring Woodbury.

“I’m looking for someone.” He continued to stare. Not enough information. He wanted more. “My husband, Daryl.” She took a step toward him, before stopping, freezing, as she wondered if Daryl had already stumbled upon Woodbury. “Have you met anyone by that name?”

“Short on Daryl’s I’m afraid.” His eyes fell to her hands, catching sight of the wedding band, and engagement ring, having missed it all those times before as they were just as dirty as her hands. “I don’t think I caught your last name.”

“Dixon.”

“Supposed if I come across anyone by that name, I’ll let him know I saw you.”

“I’m not telling you where I’m going.”

She didn’t trust him enough to give that type of information out. Even if it could have led to Daryl finding her. Her instincts, and heart, battled for dominance, but instinct won out. It was louder, trying to keep her alive, and Calla was skittish enough to always lean toward it.

“You’re a hard one to gain the trust of you know.” The man chuckled a little. “More like a wild animal.” His gaze swept over her, taking in how true his statement was, Calla was the perfect picture of feral. She belonged to the woods. “You know, I’m not just offering you safety, and food, but we’d help you find that man of yours. My people go out almost every day. We’ve met many people, and have brought in more than you could know, we could help you.”

“I don’t need your help. I didn’t want your help.”

“You keep reminding me.” He straightened, wiping his hands onto the fabric of his jeans, as he narrowed his gaze to her. “That first bag of food we gave you, it came from the town’s supply, but I couldn’t keep doing that, not for an outsider, when I had plenty of mouths that needed to be fed. Martinez took that food out of his own personal supplies. To keep that boy alive. That wasn’t me. My help has only come in the form of an offer. Nothing more. You should thank him personally for that.”

Calla bit the inside of her cheek.

“I hadn’t asked for him to do that.”

“No, but you took it anyway because you’d do anything for that boy. You’re looking for your husband, I get it, I’d be looking too if my wife was still alive, but he’s not here, and you have no clue where he could be. Seems to me I’d be taking the offer that helped me keep my boy alive.” Phillip bent over, snatching up the bags he had been messing with, before tossing them over his shoulder. “I hope I see you around, Calla Dixon.”

She watched him climb into that truck, the engine roaring to life before he drove away, and Calla watched him, making sure he had left, before turning to leave.

· ─────── · 𖥸 · ─────── · 

Calla had every intention of leaving, just as she had told him, but every time they hit the road, she found herself circling Woodbury, knowing she needed to head out further if she was going to find food, but in her spaced-out moments, she found herself hiding in the trees, watching the town. It was not her finest moment. She told herself it was because deep down, she thought of this place as somewhere safe for her son, that it would be hard for any mother to walk away from those walls. To willingly stay out in the world, where danger was literally around every corner, but Calla still held herself back from actually walking up to that gate.

Who knew what waited for them on the other side of those walls? Would it be the paradise she so desperately sought after, or a prison, that she had willingly walked into because she had given in, and desperation had called louder than instinct to survive?   

Nothing worth fighting for was free, not like what this man seemed to offer, and Calla knew, the moment she gave in, and walked through those gates, there would be something taken for such a privilege.

That was, until the morning she woke, her mind feverish, her body aching, as she felt more dead than alive. Shadows of memories long lost hovered above her. Beckoning her forward, but Calla resisted, catching onto the sickness that flowed through her body. That twisted her mind.

 A headache pounded away at the back of her head, and the ability to walk, to do anything other than sleep was simply impossible. She faded in and out of consciousness for hours, always waking with a start, panicking, as she sought out Maverick.

One of the sick would stumble upon them. Eventually. Calla was so sick she couldn’t hold anything down, not even water, and felt as if her strength weakened with every coherent thought she managed to have.

Maverick wasn’t safe.

Calla couldn’t keep him safe.

Not like this.

On shaking legs, ones that refused to hold Maverick, and herself up, Calla forced them to move forward, as she held tightly onto her son’s hand. He was wrapped in the poncho, complaining about the heat, but he would smell like one of the sick, and they would let him be, and that was all that mattered to Calla. She kept them walking, and even when Mav grew tired and begged for them to stop, they didn’t. Calla simply hushed him, swaying with the breeze, the pulsing of her heart rang loudly in her veins, reminding her that she was alive and that they needed to keep moving, as she felt as if they stopped, even for a moment, she wouldn’t be able to get back up.

That would be it.

There was no doubt in her fevered thoughts that if she didn’t keep going, they would die.

She whispered encouragements the entire way, sometimes the only things that her mind could latch onto, as Maverick repeatedly asked if she was okay, and Calla had to make him promise to stay close, to not let go of her hand, as it grew harder to think straight. More often than not his hands, holding onto her own, were the only thing keeping them tethered together, as thinking caused her to grow weary, and heavy, and such thoughts would slip right out of her head.

More than once she would come to realize that she had led them astray, wandering away from their goal, and being forced to correct their stance. She was beginning to act more like the sick, than the human that she was.

Maverick was more than fearful, as on occasion his mama led them toward the sick, but he never let go of her hand, remembering the rules, to stay quiet, as they walked among the creatures he feared. They smelled, stinging his nose, causing tears to build behind his eyes, as he forced the sneezes back.

Sometimes he’d have to tug quite harshly on her arm, to wake her back up, and force the glassiness from her eyes, to lead them out of the throngs of the sick. She would be horrified, apologizing quietly, as she guided them away from the danger.

Eventually, they saw the walls. High up, makeshift, not pretty to the eyes, built from random parts, but spoke of safety. One’s that he recognized from the times his mama would watch, and listen, as they slowly walked the perimeter. He wondered if this would be their next temporary home. He hoped so. There were children on the other side of the wall. He could hear them. He didn’t want to be out here, among the sick, anymore. Not where his heart pounded so loud within his ears that he could hardly hear anything else.

Glancing up Maverick saw the way his mama stared ahead, not seeing anything in front of her, merely on autopilot as they continued to walk. He tugged at her hand, hoping to pull her from wherever she had drifted to, but there was no acknowledgment. They walked past cars parked in a way to corral anything that would try to sneak up, only allowing so many sick in the space at one time. He stumbled over a rather large rock in the road, accidentally tugging against his mother’s hand, as he tried to regain his balance, to not fall over, but she hardly seemed to notice.

“Inbound!” called out someone on the wall. Maverick could make out movement. He grew afraid. His hold tightened, as his hands grew sweaty, threatening to cause him to slip free, as the rushing in his ears came back.

“Is that a kid?”

The voices drifted to him, sounding muddled, and far away, but he tried to focus, to know whether he was safe, or his mama had brought him somewhere dangerous. Maverick remembered his mama saying that they needed to stay away from people. That they couldn’t be trusted. That many would be bad.

Were these people the bad? Or the good?

He tugged some more but his mama still didn’t say anything. She just kept walking.

Maverick watched as something was pointed at them. He felt like crying. Tears began to fall down his cheeks, as his free hand came up to rub at his face, the skin raw from previous tears, before he was now forcefully pulling at his mother. He didn’t know if she had meant to bring them here.

There was something wrong.

He didn’t understand.

“Hold your fire!” That voice was familiar. A figure jumped over the fence, landing in a crouch before the man began to jog toward them. “Calla?” His voice was rattled, sounding confused, but Mav felt better at seeing him. He remembered it had been full of laughter the last time he had heard it back at the camp before they had run away. He preferred that version of this man.

His mama came to a stop, swaying in place, as a relieved breath escaped her lips before she suddenly collapsed. Her body fell limp, like a noodle, startling Maverick so badly he hadn’t managed to let go of her hand. He hollered out, wondering if someone had hurt her, as he was dragged down to kneel next to her. His knees scrapped against the gravel of the road, stinging, causing hiccups to fall from his lips. Their hands were still connected. She hadn’t let go. He couldn’t let go.

“Help, mama!” Maverick turned toward the man. He recognized him from so long ago. “Help her.”

The man, Maverick couldn’t remember his name, other than that it started with the same letter as his, scooped his mother up into his arms, before softly nudging him to follow along.

“Come on, little man,” he said. “We’ll get your mother some help.” His voice had softened, the tone soothing, and nice. It eased the anxiety building inside Maverick’s chest. Easing it and forcing down the phantom sensation of not being able to breathe.

Maverick reached out, his fingers digging into the cloth of the man’s shirt, as he followed along silently.

The gate was opened, beckoning them in before it closed with a thump behind them.

Maverick stared wide-eyed at his surroundings.

Chapter Text

Journey to You

Chapter Seven

The Stubborn Man

"And in our travels,

we found our roads.

You held it like a mirror

Showing me the life I chose." 

-Dear Fellow Traveller by Sea Wolf

The fever lost its grip on Calla, allowing her to breathe, to think, and with the newfound freedom it allowed her to worry. It prickled at the back of her mind, keeping her on guard, leaving her vulnerable and exposed. She missed the layer of grime on her skin, her only assurance that the sick would ignore her, but the female doctor of the community had helped her wash up when she had been so out of it that simply eating by herself hadn’t been an option. Calla understood it hadn’t been helping her health, but she felt too clean, knowing she would have to fight her way out if the sick suddenly appeared and took down the town

Paranoia had its talons dug deep into her mind.

“You look like an entirely new woman,” the doctor had complimented, a smile on her face, as she helped Calla back into the bed at the makeshift medical space. “Such a gorgeous face shouldn’t be hidden by all that dirt and blood.”

Calla felt entirely the opposite as the sudden rush of new fear overtook her racing thoughts. That had been a deterrent toward people as well.

She shouldn’t have felt so uneasy being surrounded by people. They had been nothing but nice, showing how much they wished to help one another, and Calla hadn’t been the first to be brought in. She wished she could tell that to her frantic mind. Her heartbeat hadn’t settled since her first night truly awake. Her pulse kept pounding away in her veins. A mantra had started up inside her head.

'Got to get out. Woods safe. Got to get out.”

Calla hadn’t caught a single glance of Philip; the doctor had let slip they called him Governor here and wasn’t that a strange name for a man. She wasn’t sure how she felt about this new piece of information. It was a title, not a nickname you gave to someone. Was he simply not called by Philip here? What did that say about those who lived here? What did it say about him?

Martinez hadn’t been in to see her since that first day after she had arrived. The doctor had told her he brought them clean clothes, for her, and Maverick, and their portion of food for the week. Calla had been assured that soon an apartment would be set up for her, and her son.

No one seemed to catch onto her inner turmoil as Calla fought with the demons inside her head as she tried reaffirming to herself that this place was safe and that nothing bad would happen because of the choice she had made. They hadn’t seen her struggle. The way her fingers would bounce with anxiety as she was forced to stay in that bed for several days after she had felt she had recovered. Her thoughts were private, and she wouldn’t allow these strangers to see this side of her, as she quietly filed away any new knowledge that was sent her way.

Would they stay?

Or would Calla disappear the first chance she got?

She struggled with the decision as she watched Maverick play with toys, a smile on his face, as one of the ladies working at the clinic smiled, and cooed over how cute he was, constantly doting on him with some new treat, or object.

Calla felt the softness of the blanket as she ran her fingers over it. It was clean. It smelled of soap and sunshine.

They had been by themselves out there, in the wild, for so long, that Calla wasn’t certain what instincts were right, and what had been built out of necessity.

Survival and living were two separate things.

What part was fear conjured by that feral, desperate, portion of her that had kept her alive in that isolation, of day, after day, of living among the dead, and what part was instinct from who she was before? The Calla that had been human, and not other.

What she had been doing was surviving. Just making it to the next day without getting attacked by the sick, or starving. Woodbury offered more than that. It offered sanctuary, and safety.

Would Calla really allow her paranoia to keep Maverick from something that could be exactly what they needed?

She didn’t have an answer for that.

Instead, one morning, she found herself waking up, being directed to change into a set of clothes that were now hers and to ready Maverick. Not understanding what was going on, Calla did as directed, carefully keeping watch, as she searched for anything that would cause her to grab Maverick and run, but the shoe never dropped, nothing ever felt off. Her racing pulse never calmed, but Calla had learned to live with the fluttering of her heart, as it threatened to beat out of her chest. One day it would be pushed into exhaustion, Calla knew this, knew that it wasn’t safe to constantly live in a panicked state such as this. It didn’t calm when a familiar face stepped into the makeshift room, pulling back the curtain, as he smiled in a greeting.

“It’s good to see you in better health,” Philip acknowledged them. She would never call him by that title of his. That had been decided the moment the doctor had let it slip. “I thought you two had moved on. It looks like it’s a good thing you haven’t. That fever, when you arrived, was rising to deadly levels.”

“Thank you for taking us in.” Calla decided to be nicer, for now, as no one had given her bat back, and it was yet another thing that left her feeling exposed. Her fingers spasmed searching for the familiar wood that rarely ever left her grip.

He blinked, gazing at her in curiosity, having expected a different answer, or no words at all, not this politeness.

“But I’d like to leave as soon as possible. It’s not needed to be given an apartment.”

There it was. A smile, brighter than the courteous one from before, took over his facial expression, as he chuckled. He truly looked amused. He found her fascinating. She couldn’t be pinned down, nothing Calla ever did was expected, and he liked how he was forced to stay on his toes, waiting for what she would do next before he could play on.

A frown tugged at Calla’s lips as she listened to him. She wasn’t sure how to feel about this man standing in front of her. He had been nothing but polite, and kind to them, but Calla was weary of trusting him.

“That’s what I was expecting,” he said, noticing the way she had stiffened. “For a second I thought you were going to just accept my help.”

“Since you understand-.”

He held up his hand, cutting her off, as a serious, stern, expression wiped the smile that had been covering his face. He reached up to rub his chin as he narrowed his eyes at her.

“Before you finish that sentence darling, I’m gonna have to cut in and tell you that you’re not going anywhere for at least a few weeks. The doc explained to me what your condition is. If I let you run off back out there you wouldn’t make it very long before you’d wind back up seeking us out or getting overrun by the biters. I didn’t use precious resources on you just so you could run off and waste our efforts.”

Calla felt her hackles rise. The sudden urge to bite back, to lash out with her words, and flee with Maverick heightened, rising up in a tidal wave of fury before it was batted away before she could even begin.

“I can see it in your eyes. You’re thinking about fighting me over this, but I can’t, in good faith, allow you to step foot outside those gates until you’re back to full health. Especially, now that I see you really do have a son. You’re weak, Calla.” He spoke bluntly, not slowing down so that she could take it all in, as he rushed on, damning her with every word. “You’re malnourished, barely holding on when you walked up to my gates. Your body can’t keep up like this much longer before it’s going to collapse out from underneath you and quit working. That fever, the sickness that hit you, it was just a warning. You need help, somewhere safe to stay and recuperate. Quit being stubborn and take this helping hand. You’ll get that boy, and yourself, killed if you keep this up.”

He had lowered his voice, down to a whisper, as the last sentence left his lips. He hadn’t wanted the boy to hear him. Calla couldn’t help the way her legs shook, they had started growing weak, the longer she stood there. It spoke of how true his words were.

Tears built in her eyes. They frustrated her, but Calla knew, she knew how what he said was the truth, could fill it in her body, the way it refused to keep going, and how it rebelled against her. Even now, there was a slight tremor in her hands, as the doc hadn’t allowed her to eat full solids, or too much at one time.

Calla had been in a state of dying, her body giving up, as the weeks of eating too little, and walking too much, caught up to her. The only reason Maverick wasn’t in a similar state was that she had allowed herself to get this bad.

Angrily, knowing he had won, and that she wouldn’t go anywhere until she was better, Calla rubbed harshly at her face, willing the tears to disappear, until they were alone. She didn’t want to show this man in front of her any more weakness. He couldn’t see her like that. There would be nothing for him to exploit if there ever was a time that he proved himself to be that type of person.

“Where will we be staying?” Her voice was quiet, not defeated, but tired.

That sternness in his gaze softened, and a flicker of that smile from before, the charming side of him, and not the leader, peeked through. Calla found this side of him frustrating, and annoying, but she didn’t quite like the bossy leader side of him either. She wasn’t certain where this man fell on her list, somewhere between stranger, and do not trust, she suspected. Martinez was past being a stranger, but he hadn’t quite made it to an acquaintance, or trustworthy. Simply, he was someone she could reluctantly agree would have her back if they were placed in a situation that called for it, but that didn’t mean she would lower her guard around him.

She’d always be watching for the moment when her life meant less than their own.

That’s what went through her mind as she listened to Philip telling her about the apartment, how it would give her, and Maverick their own room, not that Calla would feel safe enough to separate them, but she didn’t tell this man that.

They stopped in front of a door, the building a little run down, but in far better shape than some of the places she had seen over the last year.

He handed her a key, motioning for her to unlock it, and open the door, and so, Calla did.

The place was small, opening immediately into a living room, with a small kitchen off to the side. Beyond was a hallway that Calla suspected would lead them to the bedroom, and bathroom.

It was furnished, probably with whatever the previous occupants had in it before the sick began to walk, but Calla hardly cared. They weren’t here anymore. Probably hadn’t been for quite some time, and it would work for them until they left.

She turned toward Philip, who had followed them into the apartment, glancing around, as he politely let them take it all in without talking.

Philip wasn’t her friend.

She didn’t treat him like one as bone-deep tiredness washed over her, and all Calla wanted was to be left alone. Where she could give in to the temptation of crying without the searching face of someone she didn’t trust. The urge to bury herself in a blanket, surrounded by warmth, and comfort, that hadn’t been afforded to her in so long, was strong.

“I’d like to be left alone now.”

He didn’t look offended, only giving her an expectant nod of his head, as if he knew she would do this. With how their past interactions had gone Calla didn’t doubt it. Polite was something she had long since stopped being.

You didn’t survive by being polite.

“I’ll let you settle in. Get some rest. I’ll send Martinez over tomorrow to check in with the two of you.” His eyes drifted down toward Maverick, waving slightly at him, making the shy child give a small one back.

“That won’t be needed.”

“Gotta make sure you didn’t kill over in the middle of the night.” He dipped his head at her, that infuriating smile back on his face before he was turning to leave, and the door shut, leaving the mother/son duo alone.

· ─────── · 𖥸 · ─────── · 

True to his word, the next day, after Calla had a good cry, allowing herself to properly mourn, in the safety that the apartment gave to her, Martinez knocked, bright, and early on her door.

She was already up, rising with the sun, after a particularly harsh night of sleeping, nightmares, and untrust, keeping her from completely settling into the action. Maverick had laid at her side, hardly showing the same issues his mother was, as he slept peacefully next to her, used to the sudden jolting awake that Calla had fallen into, and learning to ignore it. Calla had left him on the bed, searching the new apartment, learning the layout, and what had been afforded to them.

All of it seemingly free, and just thrust upon them, caused Calla more unease. Nothing had been asked in return, but Calla knew that once she was strong enough, she’d be finding a way to earn her keep.

Martinez had thought it funny, how willing, and eager she was to be given a task. He didn’t understand her thought process. How she would constantly be wondering what would be asked of her if she didn’t find a way to pay it back. He had tried to ease her mind, telling her that all newbies were given this experience and that eventually they were given some job within the community, whatever fit them best, and helped make them stronger. If Phillip had thought having Martinez visit would put her at ease, he had been wrong.

Working up her strength, and sticking to the doctor’s meal plan, Calla could feel some of it come back a week into their stay at Woodbury. It still wasn’t where it needed to be. She found herself tiring easily, but she fought against her instinct to rush her progress, of trying to find a way to fast track, knowing it would get her nowhere. Only taking it slow, to go at the rate her body needed her to, would get Calla back to where she felt comfortable, and allow them to leave if she chose that option.

It was part way through the next week before Phillip graced her with his presence again. She had started to believe he had forgotten about her, allowing Martinez to take over watching over her, and Calla had grown happy, and comfortable with that line of thought. Except, as she opened the door of her apartment, she found herself to be wrong, when that irritatingly charming smile greeted her on the other side.

For half a second, she considered closing it again in his face.

His smile widened as he caught her line of thought, pushing forward, as he greeted her, effectively cutting off what she had been on the verge of doing.

“Good morning, Calla,” he greeted. “Maverick, have you and your momma eaten?” Calla frowned as he directed the question at the boy. Before she could speak up Maverick was shaking his head. That only widened the man’s smile.

“We haven’t gotten that far.” The frown tugged at her lips as she spoke. She began to fidget, her finger rolling her wedding band around her finger, as she watched the man in front of her turn, motioning for them to follow.

“I’ve assigned you a job to do while you’re here. We can talk about it while we get breakfast.” Calla opened her mouth, to rebut him, to tell him no, but Maverick was already jumping to his feet, excited at the prospect of getting to leave these walls, as they hadn’t left since the day they were placed inside. Not because they had been told they couldn’t, but because Calla’s distrust, and anxiety, kept her from wanting to mingle with those outside.

“Mama, we get to leave? We go eat?”

Fear clutched at her throat, refusing to allow words to escape, keeping her from denying what Phillip had said, as Maverick took it as a yes. He darted forward, trying, and failing to put his shoes on. Calla was worrying her lip, the taste of copper tinting her tongue, as she bit down harder. She bent down, giving in, far too tired to properly fight, as she helped slip his tiny feet into his tiny shoes. Philip waited patiently at the door, watching the small family, until Calla turned, rising, Maverick in her arms, and silently asking where they were going.

She was surprised, but not entirely, as he led them down the hallway of the building, up a flight of stairs, to a door she had never seen before, except for the fact that it looked just like her own. It had quickly become clear that this was where Philip lived, he had brought them to his apartment, which was in the same building as her own, to eat breakfast.

“I don’t think we can accept it,” she had said, firmly putting her foot down, as she lingered in his opened door. She didn’t bother to glance around in curiosity, not wishing to get to know this man, nor his personal space.

“'Course you can,” Phillip shrugged, moving to the side, where his kitchen was. “I’m offering to make both of you breakfast while we talk about your job.”

 “I won’t really be here long enough for a job.”

Hadn’t it just been a week ago that she had been adamant about earning her keep, telling Martinez just how she felt, and expected from her time here? It was simply the fact that Philip himself was giving her one, in such an intimate, personal, setting that was throwing her off, and forcing her rougher exterior to come out.

She still hadn’t made a move to enter the apartment, even as he began to mix up powdered eggs, and was no longer really listening to her.

“You’ll be here long enough to figure out if you really want to leave, and in the meantime, you need something to keep you busy and earn your place, that’s not too strenuous. I remember what the doctor said.”

He kept his back turned toward them, a silent declaration of trust, telling her that he didn’t find her dangerous, look at me, I’m giving you the opportunity to harm me, but I know you won’t. It caused something to bristle inside of her, poking at the human part of Calla, as she bit harder against her lip, knowing it had begun to split under the force, but finding the anxious action hard to stop. She took a step forward, feeling awkward, and uncomfortable, wondering what the old Calla would do if it had been her placed in this situation.

She would have never been rude.

Old Calla would have smiled, offering to help, as she asked about the job, wondering what she could do to help, to become a part of the community, instead of living on the edge. Old Calla, and new Calla, were two very different people. Sometimes, she hardly recognized herself. These circumstances would have come about differently, and she doubted she would have been alone inside this man’s apartment, with only Maverick to keep the two of them company. Daryl would have been here as well. He would have made sure he could trust this man before allowing his wife to be around him in such a way.

Daryl wasn’t here.

It was just Calla.

She needed to make these decisions for herself, and continuing to place a wall between her and Philip would not help decide whether or not he could be trusted. It made it harder. Caused her to fight against everything as she couldn’t be sure about anything.

Taking another step, Calla allowed the door to swing shut behind her as she walked toward the small dining table, big enough to hold a small family, but not big enough for a party with guests. She took everything in as she strode forward, placing Maverick calmly in a chair, knowing she would make sure Philip had no choice but to sit next to her, and as far as she could make him from her son. Instinct told her to be careful, to protect her son. Calla was a weapon, she had turned herself into one, and even now, in a weakened state, she would make sure to protect the one she loved.

Shifting, still standing, not feeling comfortable sitting down while Philip was still standing, preparing their food, Calla struggled with what to say or do. It had been far too long since her last opportunity to make small talk, of having talked to anyone that wasn’t trying to harm her in some way, and she felt out of her depth. Completely tossed out to sea, far away from the comfort of land, and peace of mind.

“This job?” she asked, turning to watch him, carefully, as he finished with the eggs. No, with the omelets. “What is it?”

“As I said,” Philip continued, his face set in a stern line of concentration, as he flipped the egg, plum full of canned meat, and wild mushrooms. Her mouth watered at the sight. If she closed her eyes, it almost felt as if she had been placed into the past, about to have breakfast, food that she remembered, and missed, where stomachs were always full, and the sound of a rumbling stomach was only caused by forgetfulness. His voice pulled her from her fantasy, as he smiled blindly in accomplishment, as he readied their plates. Whatever peace Calla had managed to find in that single moment broke and the frown he was used to seeing still covered her face. “It’s not hard. Doesn’t require a whole lot of work from you, but I’m in need of an assistant, and you’ll do perfectly.”

That frown tugged harsher at her, as Calla wondered what in the hell, he would need an assistant for, and why he wouldn’t choose from someone he already knew, and trusted.

Philip walked over toward her moving to place the plates of food in front of them, only hesitating as she moved his, away from her son, and on the opposite side of herself. The smile didn’t fade from his face at the subtle change, the clearly unspoken words of distrust, as he easily slid into the seat next to her instead.

“Why would you give me a job like that?” She spoke her thoughts, not bothering to hide how she felt, or that she viewed it as stupid. “Shouldn’t that go to someone whom you trust? Not a complete stranger who’s only ever been rude to you.” She was questioning his logic and sanity. Maybe she wasn’t the only one who had a few screws loose in their head.

“The job isn’t that important,” he said with a chuckle, not offended at all by her words, and only feeling amusement. He lifted his fork to his lips, took a bite, and pointedly reminded her to eat as well. Maverick hadn’t even hesitated. He had dived into the food as soon as it had been placed in front of him. He was already messy, and his plate was littered with decimated brutality that the egg went through from his clumsy attempts at eating with the fork. “I made the position because I could use the help keeping track of the goings on in the community. It’s a lot for one man to remember, and I’ll admit, I find it hard to remember to write certain things down, forget about them, and struggle to bring them back to my attention later. Being a leader has become more than I expected, and I find that the minor things slip away from my thoughts.”

“So, what? I would write things down for you. Remind you of upcoming events? Do you even have events?”

“You’d be an ear for the people to speak to. I can’t be around for every little thing, and some people have demands, and expectations, that aren’t the highest priority. With you around, having someone to speak to, and then being written down would make sure that I’d be able to find the time to hear it all. To deal with it all. You’d be keeping me organized and functioning as a better leader. I could use someone like that, and I have a feeling you wouldn’t half-ass it, nor would you let me push it to the side. I need someone who isn’t afraid of speaking their mind to me. Someone who’s not afraid of being rude.”

That smile grew wider as he spoke.

Calla frowned, her brows furrowing, as she tilted her head to the side, trying to take it all in. She decided that she understood what it was he wanted her to do, latching onto her worries, and what he had said.

“People are afraid of speaking up against you?”

Did he rule with fear?

It hadn’t seemed like it when the doctor gushed about it. Even the others who worked in the clinic, making sure it ran smoothly and was kept clean, hadn’t had a bad word to say about their leader.

“They feel indebted to me. Only a few feel comfortable enough calling me out on things, but they work outside the walls, and I can’t pull them from their jobs. You’ve shown you’re not afraid of putting me in my place.”

“Would you force them to leave if they did?”

“Of course not.”

He eyed her, purposefully lifting up his fork, making a show of him eating the bite, reminding her that she hadn’t touched a single portion of her breakfast. Carefully, she stabbed at the egg, eating a small bite, allowing it to settle in her stomach before taking another, knowing it was important to take it slow, even though her stomach had turned ravenous as soon as it touched her tongue.

“Then it’s just because they respect you.”

“I’d like to believe that.”

“Why do you think they’d talk to me? A stranger?”

“If I assigned the role to you, no one is going to question it, and soon they’ll grow comfortable with you. Everyone settles in eventually. No one bats an eyelash at the newcomers. Their already curious about you, and if I show that I have trust in you, then they will too.”

“Why do you trust me? I haven’t shown you anything that should make you feel that way.”

“I don’t know about that Calla,” he chuckled. “You’re honest, even to the point of aggression, sure, but I know where I stand with you. I can tell you’re not the dangerous type. Why, you could have attacked and killed me a dozen times over, I bet, but you didn’t.”

“That doesn’t mean you should trust me.” She took another bite, beginning to feel full, and having only finished half of the portion he had given her. “That makes me question how smart you really are.”

“I think under that brash personality, and scary, mean-looking frown you use to keep people at a distance, there’s a woman who’s broken, and looking for help.” Calla felt the defensiveness, the need to snap back, to tell him that he was wrong, spring up, only barely held back by pure stubbornness, and the desire not to make his words true. She knew they were. “I’m rarely wrong about people, I’ve got a good eye, and gut instinct about people’s intents, and you come across as someone who’s only trying to survive. Why, I bet, once you grow comfortable, you’ll reveal that you’re actually quite lovely, and less prickly than you make yourself out to be.”

“I wouldn’t hold my breath on that.”

Calla never wanted Philip to see her like that. It was dangerous. She wasn’t here to make friends with him. She’d take the job, to make sure he knew she would pay back everything that was given to her, but there would be no opening up, and showing a softer side of herself. That Calla had been drug through the mud, rubbed raw, and formed into this much darker, callous version of herself.

She was determined to make him see her like this, to stop looking at her with expectations, that only grew higher as they began to work with one another. Calla planned to have kept her distance from him, only allowing him as close as he needed to be in their work together, but Philip, she would find, would constantly push against those restrictions.

Chapter Text

Journey to You

Chapter Eight

Feral Calla vs Human Calla

"Come on and break me down

I'll let you ruin my day

Flow through my veins

I need a fix

bitter and sick

-Bitter and Sick by One Two

At the end of the first week of working together, Calla opened her door to the sight of Martinez, and Philip, both invited her and Maverick to dinner, congratulations of sorts for her surviving the first week. She hadn’t been allowed to say no. Philip had been pushy, leaving little room for her to respond, as he used her weakness against her, speaking directly to Maverick, getting him to want to go, and forcing her to agree, or risk breaking the child’s heart.

He had very little in things that made him smile.

Maverick didn’t like being alone and holed up inside the apartment, and Philip’s offer was easy for the boy to get excited about.

They usually had better-tasting food at Philips.

It burned Calla up inside with anger, one she was barely able to hold back, before following after them.

This quickly turned into a habit, she found, as at the end of every week, one or both of them would appear at her door, and ask her to join them at Philips. It was always with the two of them. She had managed to avoid one, but Philip, the crafty bastard, was quick to work around that, always backing her in a corner, until it became easier to agree with them.

He simply wanted her to open up.

It was better for Maverick to have time out of the apartment.

It was good for her to be around people.

At least this way she wouldn’t have to be surrounded by a group of people she barely knew as she entertained them with small talk.

His points made sense.

He had seen the way Calla put up a front for the others that lived in the community. She was kind, and open, with no rude or sarcastic comments, and he had taken notice of the way it heavily impacted how she felt.

She was free, and encouraged, to be as rude as she wanted to be around him. Calla wasn’t bothered by Martinez seeing this side of her. If she was being honest those two were the only ones, she felt she could open up to. To show how she truly felt without gaining odd looks of concern, or fear. She couldn’t afford to alienate Maverick from the others. He needed, and deserved, contact with other people. She didn’t want him growing up emotionally stunted.

All of it was incredibly tiring for her.

By the middle of the second month of her working for Philip, Calla had stopped arguing about joining for the weekly dinners and had truly given in.

Even some of the rudeness had escaped her, a desire for friendship wearing her down, but something about him just dragged it from her, the occasional rude remark, but she couldn’t help the ease at which she spoke to him, and Martinez as time went by. He never seemed bothered by her behavior. The walls over her mind, and heart, were still high, but she had begun to let them in a tiny bit.

Every week Philip would have a report to give to her, about how Martinez would go out and search for signs of her husband, but never had anything to give to her in terms of good news. She wanted to believe that he was truly doing this, and there was no reason for her to believe otherwise, but that dark part of her whispered it, nonetheless.

The routine that had snuck up on her, having become normal, came to an uncomfortable, and awkward halt one night when Calla begrudgingly showed up at Philip’s apartment for their weekly dinner. It was no longer the worst thing she could be doing. Maverick was bouncing at her side. Loving that his mama had friends now and that it gave him something to look forward to doing. It was better than the life they were living before, and though he missed his daddy, that sensation had slowly begun to dull to the back of his mind the longer he was away from Daryl, and the more people he was surrounded by.

Calla took in the way that only Philip was in the apartment. By now it was just expected for her to show up. If she didn’t, usually Philip would show up at her door, and refuse to leave, making himself a nuisance until she agreed to come along. She had grown tired of the dance they had been keeping to and decided it was just easier to come willingly and leave as quickly as possible. Only lingering on days when the loneliness was at its worst, and the dark spiraling thoughts inside her mind wouldn’t relent. It helped, she found, when there were others to speak to, to make them disappear. Philip may think of her as a friend, but Calla stood strong in not allowing the same emotions. A battle that she knew she was slowly losing. Philip and Martinez were quickly becoming her only allies.

Today, Martinez’s usually rambunctious, and welcoming face, was not ready to greet her from the dining table, as Philip ushered her further inside the apartment. She had grown comfortable with the knowledge that he was always here. He was like a comforting, and safe wall, placed between her, and Philip, who seemed determined to tear down her defenses. Calla was simply waiting him out, knowing that eventually he would grow bored, and decided that getting to know her wasn’t worth it. Except he never seemed to pick up on the memo.

It was increasingly frustrating on which side she was leaning more toward. Wanting friends or being far too terrified of the mere idea of letting anyone in.

She instantly went on edge, eyes narrowing on Philip’s form, watching as he finished up with dinner. He was the only one that ever cooked. Calla never asked to, not wishing to do anything that might make it seem like she was the one giving in, and Martinez admitted to being a terrible cook.

“Where’s Martinez?”

“He sent word that he wouldn’t be able to join us tonight,” Philip said calmly. He eyed her, taking in the way she was already drawn up tight, put on edge by his sole presence. “Work is running longer than normal, an issue was brought up before he could leave, and he’s the best man for the job.”

“We should just postpone then,” Calla said quickly. The idea of being here, alone with this man, put her on edge, making her uncomfortable. She didn’t know what to do when it was just the two of them. Philip almost seemed to have expectations of her. One’s that had never been put into words. Nor had he ever shown her what they could possibly be, but there was something there, always on the edge of the words he spoke to her.

He kept his distance.

Even when his words were teasing, and friendly, he never grew physically close to her.

It was the only thing that ever kept her from bolting.

Philip knew that, but it never felt as if he had bad intentions toward her. There was never anything that should put her on edge. Yet she was. He was simply frustratingly nice.

Perhaps Calla had allowed herself to slip into the role of one of the sick for far too long and she no longer knew how to interact with others. She felt awkward, confused, and uncomfortable. Her people skills, which she had always been proud of, were nowhere in sight these days.

The lack of them made her even rougher around the edges.

It’s why she tried being so nice to those that lived here, whom she listened to and had to work closely with.

Everyone except Philip, who seemed to have no problems with her attitude, as he continued to place himself directly in her line of annoyance. Almost as if he was drawing all of that negative energy and focusing it solely on himself. It was yet another thing that put her on edge, but it also made her feel grateful to him.

"No need.” Philip strode forward, moving carefully around them, as he placed a pot on the table. Inside smelt like some kind of soup, and she wondered if it was just leftovers of the food he had left, and needed to get rid of before they went bad. It smelt good. Begrudgingly Calla had to admit he could cook decently. “He’ll just join us next time. He’ll swing by after if he can, and I need help clearing out this food.”

He motioned for her to sit.

Calla couldn’t help the way her eyes turned back toward the door, the desire to retire to their small oasis of freedom, and solitude calling out to her, but she sighed and helped Maverick up onto the chair he normally sat at.

“How was your day, Maverick?” he asked the boy kindly. Calla frowned, the urge to keep him at a distance always drifting away when he kindly included her son in a conversation like this. How could she hate him for that? Was friendship really such a terrible thing? Scooping up a small bowl of soup for her son, she listened to the way he spoke excitedly about the other kids he played with today. It had taken Calla time, a lot of it, to give in, and allow him to stay at the little daycare for the smaller children, while their parents worked during the day.

The place had a daycare.

The woman that ran it was kind, older than her, and she suspected Philip, but held no problems keeping up with the more rambunctious children. After meeting her Calla’s worries had eased, and eventually, she had given in, letting Maverick try it out, for small periods of time, that slowly built up to the point that he stayed the entire time she worked.

This community was slowly growing on her, the people within it pulling at her walls, but Calla was far too afraid of letting them all in. Her walls had been built for a reason, but they hadn’t seemed to figure that out. Though her mind hadn’t figured out that this place seemed safe, and that she could finally rest, it refused her that.

“What about you?”

Startled, Calla glanced up, freezing in the action of bringing the spoon up to her lips, as she blinked, trying to figure out what Philip had been saying to her.

“What?”

“How was your day?”

The question set her on edge. Most things he asked, or said to her did, and there was no real reasoning for it. The question felt far too intimate, which was confusing, as she had been asked that question countlessly by those that lived in Woodbury. It shouldn’t have been any different from Philip, but there was always an edge underlying his words when he spoke to her, and it caused Calla to grow defensive as his mouth opened, and before words tumbled out. She thought he found it amusing. He was usually smiling, or chuckling, before she ever even spoke, finding something entertaining about her actions, and the way she held herself.

"It’s just a question,” he said soothingly when she still hadn’t answered him. “Will there ever be a day when you feel comfortable enough around me to drop your guard?”

“No.”

“And here I thought we were becoming friends.”

That annoying smile was still tugging at his lips. He found enjoyment in this conversation, not bothered by her rudeness, even when others would have been. Calla grew silent, internally debating on what he was to her, friend, or not. He waited, sensing the unease, and uncertainty, but that smile never left, even as the seconds ticked by.

“I don’t know if I’d call you a friend or not.” Calla decided to be truthful. She wasn’t trying to be rude at that moment. He seemed to just know that.

“You call me Philip.”

“Simply because I refuse to call you Governor, and you won’t tell me your last name. It’s not out of closeness.” She angrily swallowed the mouthful of food, cursing that it tasted delicious, and wished to focus solely on finishing so they could leave. His line of questioning, what this had turned into, caused her to grow uncomfortable. All etiquette that she once knew had fled her mind, and she found herself anxious at the fact that they were probably actually friends by this point.  “You shouldn’t get your hopes up on me becoming close to you. It probably won’t happen.”

“Friends eat dinner with one another regularly.” He said this slowly as if explaining it to a small child who found themselves confused on the topic, and even though she wished to be angry about it, Calla knew that’s how she was acting.

“You’re annoyingly persistent. I’m simply here because if I said no, you’d linger outside my door like a kicked puppy and bring upon more rumors.”

Uncalled for, but her anxiety had her lashing out, trying to push him away, to make that smile leave his face, but it never did. He expected this from her. Philip didn’t judge her for it. Not like how others would have had in the beginning, when her slip-ups happened more frequently.

Her shoulders tensed at the reminder of what had happened the second time she had told him no. She had made sure Maverick wasn’t nearby and couldn’t be tempted in agreeing to go eat with them, so Philip had simply leaned against her door, calling out to her, and whining about how he simply wanted to hang out with her. He wanted to be her friend.

It had kicked up an annoyingly high number of rumors the next day, about how he had stayed outside for a good portion of the night, trying to tempt her into agreeing, and by that afternoon everyone was convinced that he was in love with her, and Calla wasn’t interested in him trying to win her heart.

Some of the more gossiping older ladies had cornered her, asking why she wouldn’t give the man a chance, singing his praises, and how her boy would need a good man around as he grew. Calla had been horrified at the idea that people thought Philip had somehow fallen in love with her, she was certain he hadn’t, he merely enjoyed messing with her, and she made sure to tell them as such. By the end she had begun to grow furious, firmly asking them to rid their minds of such things, as her son had a man in his life, and she didn’t want anyone trying to take Daryl’s place in Maverick’s life, nor hers. She may have been a little too harsh in saying this last part, scaring the women, as they hastily apologized, but Calla hadn’t cared.

There was no one else that would ever belong in her heart.

Calla believed that firmly.

Even if Daryl had died, and she was to know with certainty that he passed away, Calla would never move on to someone else. She loved him fiercely, with her whole heart, and there simply was no room for someone new. She’d go to her grave with him being the only man who had her heart.

“Are you still worried about those?” he asked her curiously. “I’ve told you, I’ve spoken to everyone, and no one believes that ruckus anymore. You’re afraid that being here alone with me will start them up again.”

“No.” She wasn’t afraid of that. Calla had long since accepted that there would be rumors flying around like that, as long as Philip continued being an idiot who seemed to enjoy rude women. “It’s annoying to hear, but I don’t care.” As long as no more people came up to her trying to get her to go out on a date with the man.

If he ever even tried something like that Calla knew it wouldn’t be long before he stopped.

She dealt with his persistent, sometimes annoying, demands, but she would not entertain the idea of him wishing to date her, or even having a chance at it. She had made her views of him quite clear. Calla was certain that he understood she wasn’t interested in him, and that there was no interest in his end. He just seemed to need her close, but Calla suspected it was to make sure she held up her end of the deal of getting better, and not being a danger before she decided to leave or stay. Perhaps he would be the one to kick her out when the time came.

“It’s best to simply ignore such claims. Eventually, they will fade away.” He shrugged, finishing his bowl, as he leaned back in his seat. Seeing her opening Calla hurried her own movements of eating, nearing the end of her bowl, before her quick getaway was set back. “Mrs. Jenkins gave me a basket of freshly baked cookies. Would you like some Maverick?”

The kids' blue eyes widened in joy. Freshly baked cookies had been a thing of the past. If they had been lucky Calla had found them stale prepackaged cookies. She could see the sparkle in his eyes light up at the idea of something that would surely taste better than the stuff they found out on the road.

“Mama?”

“Sure.”

Begrudgingly she sat back in her chair, slowly finishing her soup, knowing that they wouldn’t be leaving as quickly as she wished to. He had set her on edge tonight. It wasn’t his fault that she was feeling the need to escape. Understanding it mentally, and getting her mind to accept that, were two very different things.

Her eyes followed Philip, carefully eyeing what he was doing, as he went over to the kitchen, and placed his bowl in the sink, before grabbing the cookies he promised. He gave the boy two. It brought a huge smile to Maverick’s face as he thanked him before shoving them into his mouth. It was the grossest display of cooking eating that Calla had ever seen, but upon witnessing the wince on Philip’s face, she didn’t dare try to correct the behavior.

Maybe Philip would think twice before inviting them over for cookies in the future.

He reached out, a cookie in hand, waving it in front of Calla, who not being able to stop herself, snatched it up with a muttered thanks. Manners had been engrained in her since she was young, and the thank you slipped out before she could think about stopping it, as her mother’s voice nagged in her ear.

The rest of the night was spent in a somewhat pleasant atmosphere as Calla waited for the exact moment that Maverick had finished his cookie, before thanking Philip for dinner, and then herding her son out the door. All the while Philip watched them, that smile firmly planted on his face, as he waved at them from his doorway. Maverick excitedly waved goodbye back, and Calla felt herself giving into the urge to be human, and decent, as she returned the wave.

The next week went back to being normal, and the week after that, before Martinez ditched them yet again, leaving Calla to try to figure out if this was on purpose, or if it was just another coincidence. Surely, there would be times like this, Martinez was a busy man, and Calla wondered if she could use an excuse like that. The idea of getting out of one of the dinners was highly appealing, and Calla decided to try it the following week. That anxious sensation was always right under her skin, prickling, and digging at her.

A part of her, the paranoid part, the one that Calla was certain she would never get rid of, no matter what happened in the future, nagged at her that maybe something more was going on. Philip was always pleasant at these dinners, stating that he enjoyed the company, but when Martinez was absent, he seemed to grow happier, and more content. Calla wasn’t certain if this was the truth, or if was she just seeing this, making it materialize because she still hadn’t allowed herself to trust the man. Maybe it was because she had begun to trust him, and that thought kicked a new kind of panic deep inside of her.

The next day, when she ran into Martinez, who had been lazily walking alongside a male that she didn’t recognize, Calla decided to stop and ask him. He waved the other man away, a departing joke fell from their lips, a laugh, and then the stranger was gone, and Martinez’s entire attention was on her.

“Do you find it funny to leave me alone with him for those dinners?” she asked, falling in line next to him as they both moved toward the daycare. He knew exactly where she had been heading at this time of day.

Curiosity swam in the depths of his eyes before a spark of realization rushed them, drowning out the dark color, and lighting them with amusement. He was another annoying person who found her amusing.

“I didn’t do it on purpose,” he said with a laugh. “There was work to be done, and we’re a little short-handed right now. I’m picking up the slack. Though I do find it amusing about how it bothers you so much.”

“He pushes my buttons.”

“You let him.”

“I don’t understand why he feels the intense urge to annoy me so much. You’d think he’d grow tired of being snapped at all of the time.”

“I guess you could see it as the equivalent of a boy pulling a girl’s pigtails.”

Calla froze, her body had stiffened, completely going still, as the blood in her veins froze. Martinez, noticing, stopped, turning to look at her with a tilt of his head, showing his confusion, before a rush of red flooded his face, as he realized what had escaped from his lips.

She hadn’t been expecting something like that to be said. Not by Martinez. He had never fed into the rumors. He had been around the two of them often enough that Calla knew if anyone understood what their relationship was like, it would be Martinez. There was no way she could just ignore what the man had let slip.

He had been implying that Philip had a crush on her.

From anyone else, she would have laughed it off, snapped out some kind of rude retort, and fixed their way of thinking. She couldn’t with him. Martinez knew Philip better than most. How could she ignore that?

The breath in her lungs had gotten stuck, refusing to rush back out, as her mind and body panicked. Calla was beginning to feel lightheaded.

“Fuck.” Rushing forward Martinez lightly gripped her shoulders and shook. “It’s really not that bad. Come on, snap out of it.” He gave her a stern glance. His eyes had narrowed, and he looked completely done with her shit. “It’s a fucking crush, Dixon. Not the end of the world.”

“How do you know?”

“It’s pretty fucking obvious. The way he pushes at your buttons, always smiling, inviting you to dinner, asking me to be there so you’ll have no reason to say no.”

“He did that?”

“What? Thought he was having me over before you showed up at our doorstep? Naw. We weren’t that close. He saw me as someone you knew, and were comfortable with, and used it to his advantage. I’m not saying it was a bad thing. You needed to get used to being around people. Those dinners with the Governor and I weren’t a bad thing.”

Calla forcefully shoved the air back through her lungs, breathing in, and then back out, as she tried telling her body that this was not a flight, or fight instance. It vaguely shook, as that sensation flooded her body, the desire to run and hide, and the need to fight, until Philip changed his mind. Neither would be helpful at this exact moment so she tried bottling it up.

“I don’t like him like that. Or at all. I don’t like people.” The words tumbled from her lips in a wave of emotion as she tried halting her frantically racing mind. She curled her fingers, digging them into the meaty part of her palm, as she tried gathering the shock, and fear that had flooded her body.

“Yeah. I caught onto that.” His tone of voice was flat, unwavering, as he sent her a deadpan stare. “Look, for what it’s worth, there’s no way he hasn’t caught onto it either. Has he tried to do anything about it? Other than try to befriend you?” Calla didn’t like that she automatically wanted to say no. He may have been annoying, and now some of his actions made a little more sense, but he had never come out and told her he liked her and wanted to be with her. There had been the opportunity to do such a thing when the rumors had first started to spread. Instead, he had cleared them up, guiding his people away from the gossip.

“No.”

The word felt like acid in her mouth because she knew it was right. That didn’t change the fact that she felt entirely out of her depth, knowing that there were such emotions swirling around inside of him, and wondering what kind of fucked up person he was if he decided to fall for the likes of her.

“See. No harm done. Just pretend like you never heard me say that. He’s being respectful of your feelings. You should show the same courtesy. Don’t go treating him like shit for it. Okay?”

Pretending as if she had never heard of it wouldn’t be likely. It rang inside her head, bouncing around, and loudly blaring that there was danger. It was an idiotic reaction. Martinez was right. Philip hadn’t tried to make a move on her. He knew that she was in love with her husband, stuck on him, regardless of not knowing if he was alive, or where he was at all.

“You should have kept your mouth shut.”

The anger slipped out, falling past her normally carefully crafted control, as it bubbled over. It was pretending as well. She wasn’t angry. Calla was frightened.

She was still learning how to be okay with them being friends. This complicated her already irrational thinking.

The thoughts were already beating her up inside. They left gashes, and bruises, as she tried to figure out how she was going to act around him from now on. It made her cringe, the idea that he liked her like that. She wasn’t certain she’d be able to act like how they used to. She’d probably be meaner, or just plain rude and not talk to him, that sounded like the course of action she would take, and that brought on a lash of pain. Silence would mean that there was no conversation. There would be no way for him to fall into any kind of deeper liking for her if they just simply stopped interacting.

A part of her shied away from this course of action. The part that had started to accept him as a friend. Calla didn’t want to go back into that loneliness, where there was only herself, and Maverick, knowing that was the worst choice she could make for them.

She wanted to be a good mom. To be a good friend. That dark part inside of her refused to let it be easy. The feral part of her raged at the idea, not finding the action safe at all, and not for the first time did Calla think that staying outside the walls, drifting as if she was one of the sick, had been far easier than this.

That awkward, uncomfortable feeling nagged at her, dragging her down, as she felt the heavy sinking sensation of knowing that there would be yet another person she was going to have to actively avoid. In general, she only ever sought out Martinez for any actual conversation, and lately, she had begun to do the same with Philip, growing somewhat at ease with their roles toward one another, but that had been pulled out from underneath her.

Calla knew she shouldn’t have allowed anyone to ease their way past her defenses.

It only ever brought trouble.

This could only cause issues for her in the future.

Speeding up, Calla decided to ditch the man she had been walking with, her thoughts a raging mess, as she decided to lock Maverick and herself up in her apartment for the night.

From behind her she thought she had heard Martinez mutter, “I’m screwed.”

· ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · 

As promised Calla had begun to avoid Philip as much as possible, which was hard to do, as she worked closely with the man. It tugged her in so many different directions emotionally, as she had begun to do the same to Martinez, as well, trying to sort everything out, before confronting them, or herself. Fortunately, he spent most of his day disappearing to do secret matters with that guy Milton, talking with the men who went outside the walls, and occasionally going with them. It meant that they only had a few moments where they would be inside his office, discussing any issues the people were having, or upcoming events.

Every time she felt like her skin would begin to crawl, she was hyper-aware of him and wished to just leave almost immediately. It was probably highly unfair of her. It wasn’t like he treated her any differently, and if Martinez hadn’t said anything to her, Calla would never have suspected him of feeling anything toward her except curiosity and amusement.

That window of deniability had been utterly ruined.

For the first two days, Calla suspected that he wasn’t aware of any change within her. She spoke less, yes, but Calla hardly ever volunteered to speak first. It was only recently that she had begun to speak more freely, and longer, in his presence, and so, at first, he just assumed it was Calla being Calla. She was short, brash, and rude, especially toward anything that made her feel uncomfortable, but he had begun to catch onto her inability to be near him, which wasn’t normal.

Not like this.

Calla finished telling him what a few of the families had asked for, things for their children, and necessities that had begun to grow scarce in the inventory that was given out weekly to everyone from the stockpile in a small warehouse. Typically, she wouldn’t stick around, but with the speed at which she tried to escape, the way her face pinched, and the way she had spoken to him during their debriefing, Philip knew something was wrong.

Calla was better at hiding her emotions from him. It was eerie and spoke of how startled she was that he could.

“Have I done something to offend you?” he asked before she could leave. “More than usual I mean.” That annoyingly charming smile slipped back onto his face. The one that she had now become unhappily aware that was never shared with anyone else. It was a smile that only appeared in her presence, and Calla didn’t like that knowledge.

“No.”

It was just your emotions that needed to be shoved into a deep dark corner of your mind and forgotten.

The thought was spiteful and rude, and Calla felt herself feeling a little bit of regret over it.

“You’ve been especially cold these last few days.”

“We’re not friends. I warned you of that.”

“So, I have done something.”

Eyes setting into a glare, hands shaking with nerves, and anger, Calla twisted around to pin him with it.

She should stop here. Turn around, and walk away, because in control Calla had fled the building, and emotional Calla was in charge. Emotional Calla had been tarnished by the more feral part of her, twisted, and no longer calling shots that were remotely okay.

“How could you go and have feelings for me? Knowing that I’m emotionally and physically unavailable.” She was accusing him as if he sought out these emotions, purposefully, and though she knew logically, that it was wrong of her to feel this way, Calla hadn’t been known to be very logical since the end of the world crashed down around her.

Calla was walking a very thin line.

She should leave.

Really, she should.

Except her feet stay planted.

Philip blinked.

Slowly.

Carefully.

His arms uncrossed, deliberately, moving to fall at his side, all in a way that wouldn’t startle her, in a way that kept him in control of the emotions that whipped out at the sudden accusation. He was far more in control of himself than Calla was.

Calla watched as he shifted his weight. He blinked again, this time in surprise, and confusion flickered to life in the darkness of his eyes. He licked his lips as the unsteadiness of being caught wracked through his form before Philip suddenly walked toward her, only stopping when she took a step back from him. He hadn’t even made it far. Just a step or two, but Calla didn’t want him any closer to her, and he sensed that.

Logically Calla would have known he hadn’t meant anything by it, but running on instinct Calla took everything as a threat.

“Do you think I did it on purpose?”

A harsh little laugh huffed from his lips. It prickled at her. Setting her on edge as she continued to glare at him.

“Do you like disappointment?” The words spilled from her lips before she could stop them. She should have just turned around, walked out of his office, down to the stairs, and out of the building. Calla should have picked Maverick up early, taken him to that apartment, and hidden themselves away. She still could. If only she could get her mind to work, and her body to follow.

Instead, she felt the urge to hold her ground, to bare her teeth, and make sure this man knew she wasn’t available. To forget about her, and finally, leave her alone.

Calla had lived out in the wild for a little too long.

She didn’t choose the safe option.

"It’s not like I get my kicks going around, and finding women who don’t want me,” he snarled back at her. Calla had never seen this version of Philip before.

Annoyed.

Yes.

Angry.

No.

She was always the one that got angry as he stood there, smiling, amused by the buttons he could push.

It allowed a peek inside of him, the side of him that he hid from everyone, and Calla wasn’t certain it was a side she ever wanted to see again. This was not Philip; he had allowed her to see in the past. This was someone entirely new, different, and her instincts screamed at her that he was more dangerous than she had given him credit.

“You’re married, taken, a fact that you’ve made abundantly clear about, Calla. I had no plans of acting on these emotions. Simply being your friend was enough.”

Something flashed in the depths of his eyes.

Lies.

It wasn’t enough.

Calla didn’t like that look.

He was just fooling himself but letting her know that to let that be known would mean Calla removing herself completely from him. Philip wasn’t willing to let that happen. So, these dinners, being her friend, and gaining her trust, would all have to be enough.

Calla could feel something spark inside of herself, that nagging sensation, it burned, and tugged at her, as the dark corners of her mind took control over. Martinez may have been right, before the end of the world, maybe Calla could have given Philip the benefit of the doubt, and believed that he could get over his crush, but it wasn’t like the world before. Calla would never have allowed herself to hang around with a man that had feelings for her. It would have been disrespectful to Daryl, and she still felt that way now, even being in the dark on whether he was alive or not, it didn’t make a difference to her.

There would be distance put between herself and Philip. Perhaps she shouldn’t have snapped at him, and accused him of falling for her on purpose, but it didn’t change what she had to do in the end.

He may have never tried anything, or even let his feelings be known, but Calla knew now, and there was no pretending to be ignorant.

She could see the look in his eyes that he knew what she was about to do, there was panic, and something darker, angrier, in the depths of his eyes. He wasn’t going to like what she had to say.

It only made her believe in the fact that what she was about to do was right.

A man, with a look like that, would never have been just okay with being friends.

There was nothing left for her to give. Her heart belonged to another, and it always would. It was best to throw away whatever friendship she could have had with Philip before he did something that he wouldn’t be able to take back.

Old Calla felt far away, untouchable most days, but right now, in this moment, Calla knew this would have been something she would have done before. Daryl wouldn’t have even had to ask her.

They never had problems with friends, most of those they knew were couples anyhow, but there was no doubt in Calla’s mind that Daryl would have done the exact same thing.

Pursing her lips, battling for control over her emotions, Calla began to feel confidence tugging at her stomach. Being a normal human was hard, sometimes it was easier to bare your teeth, and snap at people until they backed away, but that never seemed to work with Philip. He didn’t respond in kind, but it didn’t set him on edge, and he always took it with a smile. Calla would need to take a different approach to him.

She watched his body language regardless.

“Being my friend?” She shook her head. It wouldn’t pain her exactly to say this. They hadn’t grown that close, but Calla would be wrong if she said it wasn’t a slight disappointment in the friendship that could have been formed. He had always been kind to Maverick, making the boy happy, and giving him things to be excited about. He could have been a good friend. “I’m sorry, but I just don’t see that being able to happen.”

Calla reaffirmed it in her mind, that she had made the right decision when Philip tensed more, his body wound tightly, as something hot, and filled with hatred flashed across his eyes. There was an anger like none Calla had ever witnessed before. It set her on edge. She felt herself instinctively draw back her lips, flashing teeth, as that part of her that lived in the wilderness told her to show no fear, even when it nagged at the back of her mind, and could be seen in the slight shake of her hands.

“You find out my feelings and then you’re going to punish me for it?” Philip snapped, his hand striking out, without a single thought, across his desk, knocking a mug that had been on the edge, as it clattered against the floor, and with a sharp sound broke into pieces. Calla barely contained the flinch that had tried to break free. She couldn’t show her fear. She wouldn’t. “I’ve been nothing but good to you, and to that boy of yours, you didn’t even know how I felt, because I knew you wouldn’t like it. It wasn’t even on your radar when those harpies started gossipin’ about what they could see. Fucking Martinez had to have said something, he’s the only one you would have listened to, I know it. Why can’t you just keep pretending and go back to the way it was.”

The need, a desperate urge, inside her body, told Calla to take a step back, to move for the door, but another part of her told her to stay still, and to not move. The part that told her not to move won out.

She watched the way Philip eyed her. Every movement was immediately latched onto and she was uncertain of what he would try to do in this state he had been worked up in. It would have been better for her to stay quiet, to not talk, and have him tell her to leave, but that part of her that couldn’t back down flare up.

“I can’t just pretend that I don’t see it! I won’t do that to Daryl. We can’t be friends anymore. No more weekly dinners. No more trying to get me to come over for coffee before work.” She had never taken him up on those offers but he had persistently kept them up. “We only talk when my work here makes it that way.”

The anger sparked out, drowning the dark colors of his eyes, making them almost black, as a desperation rolled in.

That was just as dangerous as anger.

Calla wanted to leave.

She didn’t want to be here anymore.

“Come on, Calla. You can trust me. These feelings will go away. They’ll fade, it’s just I haven’t met someone as interesting as you in a long time, that’s all.”

Trust was asking a lot from a woman like Calla. She ran on survival. It fueled her. Kept her going. There was no one in this world she trusted outside of Daryl, and he wasn’t here right now. Maybe, if she ran into Merle, she would trust him. Trust in the knowledge that as his kin, the woman his brother took as his own, he’d do right by her. Protect her. But this man standing in front of her, going from foaming at the mouth, to meek, docile, still strung up like a wild animal that was about to lash out again, would never have her trust. Perhaps it would tear her apart from the inside out, and cause her to fail Maverick, something she was already afraid of having done, and she knew that you had to trust in people, or you’d lose an important part of oneself, but Calla didn’t care. Let the darker side of herself win.

At least she knew she would be alive.

Her son wouldn’t be dead.

Calla would never make a mistake when it came to another human being if she never let them in. If she died, or Maverick, then it would have been by her own stupid, and selfish decisions. Not by someone else taking that decision away from her.

She was not weak.

This line would be drawn very clear between them.

Philip would just have to deal.

"If you can’t respect my decision then I’m going to have to politely remove myself from this job and go somewhere else.”

She thought maybe he would lash out again. His hands had curled into fists but instead of saying, or doing anything more, all Philip did was nod.

Only then did Calla take a step back.

Then another.

And another, before she was suddenly at the door, pushing it open, and disappearing behind it, never having shown him her back the entire time. Whatever trust he had started to gain from her was crumpled, left stomped on the floor after that display from inside.

Calla wanted nothing more than to turn around, and flee, to grab Maverick, and leave Woodbury, but she still wasn’t completely okay. She was still weak, less than as the days go by, but until she was certain that there would be no falling back into sickness like before Calla wouldn’t risk it.

Not right now.

Chapter Text

Journey to You

Chapter Nine

Cost of Admittance

"So you feel entitled to a sense of control

and make the decisions that you thin are your own

You are a stranger here, why have you come?

Why have you come, lift me higher, let me look at the sun

Look at the sun and once I hear them

clearly, say

Who, who are you really?"

Who are you, really? by Mikky Ekko

The roar of the bike’s engine soothed Daryl’s nerves as he led the single car down the dirt road that led to an oasis that had dried up all those months ago. He remembered back to that night when the group had fled the farm. A part of him, a large part, was glad that he had managed to stick with these people, his family, one built from trust, and experience. Another part, the one that constantly thought of his family, wished that he was out there, drifting, increasing his chances of finding them.

That line of thinking always brought on a deep sorrow, a well that was nearly bottomless, as it threatened to drag him under and drown him. Once those thoughts were allowed to freely take hold inside his head it took a lot to drag himself back out of the devastating space.

It was not the mental space that he needed to make sure he kept the other two safe while they were out here. Rick had sent only three of them back for the things they had left behind, hoping for food, and medical supplies, and that another group hadn’t already stumbled upon it, and ravaged it all. Recently they had found the prison and made it safe, but now it was time to settle in and survive there for the long term, and getting the supplies they had left behind would go a long way in helping with that goal.

If it hadn’t been for the constant need to move during the winter, to survive, they would have made their way back by now, but something had always forced them in the opposite direction of the farm.

Coming to a stop in front of the house, the first thing Daryl took notice of was how all the Walkers from that night had been cleared out. There should have been many of the dead littering the yard of this place. They had taken a stand before fleeing this place, but there were no signs of the battle that had taken place.

He gazed in concern, and confusion toward Maggie, when she stepped out of the vehicle with Glenn. Daryl had thought it would be hard for her to return, but she was taking it much better than he expected. Like him, they were just as confused at what they were witnessing.

“Startin’ to look like our supplies might be gone,” he said, biting on his cheek, saying what was on their minds. He’d be surprised if any of the food had been left behind.

“At least there should still be some of our things left behind,” Maggie said, deciding to stay strong. “It would be nice to have more options for clothing.” All of theirs had begun to become a little threadbare, coming apart in places, and looking more like rags by the end of the winter rather than clothes.

Daryl was itching to get inside but refused to move without them, knowing it was safer to go together. Maggie hadn’t been the only one that left their bags behind. Everyone had, but Daryl hadn’t managed to grab his own, which held the most precious thing left to him.

Sometimes, when he closed his eyes and tried to picture the faces of his wife, and son, he found it harder than it should be. It crippled him, causing his heart to ache, as he spent hours desperately chasing after any detail that floated aimlessly inside his mind. Maverick would be older now, he had been rapidly changing when Daryl last saw him, he couldn’t imagine the stark differences there would be now. Would he even recognize him anymore?

The thought left a hollow feeling inside of his chest where his heart should have been.

He led the way inside, carefully making sure it was safe, before shooting inside, and quickly clearing the house.

Maggie had gone instantly into the kitchen, while Glenn and himself walked toward the bags, all still piled up in the corner of the living room, but the one he was looking for was missing.

Cursing under his breath, he began to look around, not spotting it anywhere, and growing more agitated by the second. He knew he had tossed it somewhere close by the others. It had been a long winter, but he had played this memory over inside his head, assuring himself of where the picture would be until he could get his hands on it again. It was why he had volunteered for this and hadn’t decided to stay back at the prison and made sure the prisoners they allowed to stay kept to their end of the deal.

He knew whoever had gone would have grabbed whatever it was that he asked for, but Daryl had to make sure this wasn’t accidentally left behind.

Except, his fucking bag wasn’t where he left it, and it was nowhere in sight. Whatever asshole that had been here, obviously for a long while, otherwise they wouldn’t have bothered clearing the yard, had taken it with them.

Daryl felt like punching something.

The irritation that had built under her skin threatened to break through, and the only thing keeping him from flinging one forward was the fact that this was Maggie’s home. It would upset her. He shoved that old, familiar action deep inside himself as he knocked his head against the wall roughly instead. His eyes squeezed shut as he tried imagining their faces again, bringing them forward in his mind’s eye, but they were blurry, not fully formed, as the details tried to grow hazy with time.

"Hey,” Glenn called out. “Isn’t this your stuff? It’s not in your bag.”

Daryl wrenched himself from where he had leaned in despair against the wall. Grabbing the bag, a little rougher than planned, he quietly apologized, before roughly shoving everything out of the bag. It was his clothes, but several were missing, along with the picture, and in his rush to get to the bottom, Daryl didn’t notice the piece of paper fluttering free from a shirt as it fell to the floor.

“What’s this?” Maggie asked, having joined them from the kitchen, looking disappointed at her lack of finding food. “Looks like whoever was here cleared out all of the food.” Growing curious she opened the letter before narrowing her eyes. “Who’s Calla Dixon?”

The bag fell from his fingers, completely forgotten, no longer worried over the missing photo, because there was only one way Maggie would have uttered Calla’s name.

He hadn’t mentioned his wife, and child, only hinting at it on his more vulnerable days, but the action of speaking out loud, of telling the group of his family, always left a lump in his throat. Nothing ever made it past the notion that it hadn’t always just been Merle with him. They were curious, wishing to know more about the silent hunter, a part of their family, but no one ever pushed it. They had sensed the sadness, how much it hurt, and were quick to change the subject.

She had been here.

His heart soared at the notion.

Calla had been here, alive, and well. She had left him a note. They had taken the photo. His bag. The food. He couldn’t even find himself disappointed in the fact that it was all gone. Not when it clearly had gone to keep his family alive. His family was still out there. He had a direction to go in, something vague, and would lead to nothing, he already knew it. She had signed her letter with the first winter, meaning he had missed her by a couple of months. It was unlikely, without knowing a specific place, that he would find her by wandering around. They had moved on out of necessity, staying for however long they could, but they were gone. Still searching for him as he was for them.

It lit up a new heat inside his heart. They had been alive just a little while ago, and Daryl knew they still were. Whether she was following his signs or not, she was out there searching for him, and wouldn’t give up.

Neither would he.

· ─────── · 𖥸 · ─────── · 

The dinners at Phillips had stopped, Maverick had asked, and Calla simply answered that Phillip was no longer a friend of theirs. He had been confused at first, but he was young. It hadn’t taken long before he stopped asking altogether, and just accepted the new way of their life, just like he had when they first started the dinners.

Martinez was still coming around, but instead of meeting at Phillips, he came over to her apartment. They had continued the weekly meetings, Calla believing he should have starved a long time ago, the man couldn’t cook and had taken pity on him.

She couldn’t get it out of her head, how he had been the one to give them food, allowing them to last just a little longer, and had become someone she could rely on during her time in Woodbury. That didn’t mean the constant state of paranoia and unease weren’t on edge when he was around. She just trusted him a little more than she would anyone else and felt there was a debt to repay back when it came to him.

For Martinez’s part, he didn’t question when the Governor told him not to come to the dinners anymore, or how Calla was never seen talking to him unless he cornered her for work. He didn’t try to get her to rethink her decision.

They fell into a comfortable new routine.

That didn’t mean Calla didn’t struggle daily with the desire to disappear, to run away, and put distance between her and Phillip. Slowly, over time, he had begun to reveal a different side of himself. It wasn’t pretty, it triggered every single cell in her body that told her to run, but Calla was beginning to think that it wouldn’t be that easy. Martinez may be her only ally in this place, but even she knew there was only so much he could do, and if it came down to an order, his will to live was stronger than any sense of responsibility he felt toward her. Calla could feel that the part of her shrouded in paranoia may not have been as crazy as she thought.

She may have fucked up coming here.

Calla was stuck now and would do what was needed to survive.

She wanted her bat back, something that had been taken when she first got here and had never been returned. Calla knew she could make a new one but that one held importance to her, it had been through a lot with her, and she found comfort in knowing that it had kept them alive.

“Hey, Calla,” called out a voice, someone she vaguely recognized, but hardly ever dealt with. “Could you help me with the newbies? The Governor is a little busy right now with someone else and can’t do it himself.”

 The only reason she bothered even stopping, and not continuing walking, Calla did not like dealing with people, let alone the new ones, was the voice that she heard directly after. It was familiar, one she hadn’t heard in months, and it brought on a wave of relief, and for the first time in a long time, an actual want to be around someone.

“Dixon?”

Calla spun sharply on her heel, aborting the action of escaping, as she stared wide-eyed at the taller woman, who had barely changed since they last saw one another.

Michonne looked well enough, dirty, if a little hungry, but what had changed the most was the way she held herself. Gone was the woman who smiled easily, and in her place was one who seemed to have perfected the scowl that stated her dislike over the situation. She looked like a perfect reflection of what Calla felt like on the inside.

Calla couldn’t help noticing the lack of Andre on her hip, and instead, a blonde woman hovered close by, like she was worried about getting separated from Michonne. They both looked unsteady and uncertain of their surroundings, and Calla couldn’t blame them. She had been the same way and still was.

“Michonne? When did you get here?”

“Buddy of theirs brought them in,” said the guy, looking annoyed, as he expected her to just take the two women off his hands, and be done with it.

“I wouldn’t call him a buddy,” the blonde muttered darkly.

“Look, I got to be somewhere else, can you take them to the apartment set up for them? It’s a few buildings down from yours.”

Calla knew what he was talking about. She had noticed it being prepared earlier in the morning and now knew why.

“Sure.” Her answer was short, clipped, but the man didn’t seem to mind, or care, as he quickly ditched them as soon as the word left his lips.

“You two know each other?” the blonde asked.

“Met back at the beginning,” Calla said, not certain why she was replying at all. Maybe it was her excitement at seeing Michonne again. One person she felt she could actually trust, even with-it being months since they last saw one another. For a second Calla felt like she could breathe easier. Knowing there was someone here that didn’t know Phillip and wouldn’t immediately be swayed by his words.

"She has good stories,” Michonne said, an effort of a smile pressing against her lips, before they fell, and the serious stern look came back.

“Come on.” Calla waved them forward. “I’ll show you your place.”

Calla didn’t bring up Andre or ask what happened back at the refugee camp, she knew it would be a sore subject, and there was no reason to alienate the one person she actually wanted to be around. She did tell Michonne about how Martinez was here, and though it brought up a small interest, it wasn’t enough to drag much out of her. Andrea ended up being a well of conversation, constantly asking questions, and wanting to know what was going on around here. Calla quickly decided she would direct her straight toward Phillip, and let him deal with it, as Calla did not have the patience, nor want, to explain anything. It would piss him off, as it was Calla’s job technically to be the one to handle this, and that thought only brought on a hint of joy.

She had almost completely written Andrea off when the woman mutters her last name, tilting her head to the side, and comes to a stop in the middle of the street as if something just clicked in her head.

“You called her Dixon, right?” she asked, turning toward Michonne. Her tone of voice had grown softer, no longer the commanding and demanding one that she gave to Calla, as Michonne was someone she respected. “Any relation to Merle? I bet he drives you crazy living in this community with him if you aren’t. Am I right?” The blonde shook her head, looking amused by something, as she shrugged carelessly.

Calla, who had started to grow annoyed at the unexpected stops, those seemed to be quite frequent with this one, her curiosity knew no bounds, came to a sudden screeching halt as well, before turning, and clearing the distance between them quickly. The blood in her veins chilled, her heartbeat speeding, threatening to break free, as she focused on the words, and what they implied.

Did she just imply that Merle was here?

In Woodbury?

A vice-like grip strangled her heart at the implications of what that meant.

Nothing other than needing to know was circulating through Calla’s mind, as she reached out, grabbed at Andrea’s shirt, and dragged her forward, yanking the other woman almost off balance, as Andrea gasped, and Michonne stepped forward. Her carefully guarded expression almost dropped, revealing one of confusion, and concern as she had never seen Calla react this way before in the past. There seemed to be an almost desperate, dangerous, sort of way that Calla was holding herself, and it put both women on edge. Michonne hovered close, watching, and waiting to see what Calla would do before she tried to separate the two.

“Merle is here?” Her fingers dug in painfully, causing Andrea to wince, as she tried prying the smaller women from her. “What did you mean?” It only caused her to dig in deeper, no trace of sanity, or coherency leaking from Calla, as her eyes had turned wild. A plea had been ripped from her lips, begging, needing to know what had been kept from her. Had Merle been within her grasp?

What hadn’t she known?

“Calla, calm down for a second,” Michonne said, reaching out to touch her arm, but Calla held firm. “Let Andrea speak. This isn’t like you.”

No. It wasn’t like the Calla that Michonne had known, but Calla had been twisted, and warped, the winter dragging out a survivor, coaching her into someone new.

She was more like the sick rather than the living.

When would people understand that?

“What about Daryl? Is he here?”

Her fingers had begun to shake, and his name falling from her lips had Calla close to crumbling, as she watched confusion deepen inside Andrea’s eyes, just in time for her to shake her head in denial.

"Daryl?” Andrea denied. “No, Merle wouldn’t have been asking about him too if he was here. Who are you? Do you know Daryl?”

Something inside of Calla, the part that clung to the idea of seeing Daryl again, withered, drying up, as whatever moment of hopeful excitement had filled her, was dampened once again. Her fingers, which had started to cramp, loosened, as she felt her head fall forward, hanging as Calla began to take deep breaths. She was trying to calm herself, to force the tears back, to keep them at bay, as she struggled to grasp onto anything that would keep her from falling apart.

Daryl wasn’t here.

But Andrea had mentioned Merle, that she had spoken to him, and that meant he was here, somewhere nearby. She just needed confirmation.

“You said Merle was here?”

“Of course. I was under the impression he lived here. How do you not know that?”

Andrea was beginning to feel frustrated by the bombardment of questions, but no answers, and it left her more confused with each word that left Calla’s lips.

“Where?”

"I don’t know. If you know him and share a name, shouldn’t I be the one asking you that? Are you guys related or something? I don’t remember them ever mentioning your name, but Daryl seemed pretty intent on leaving clues behind for someone to follow. Always just assumed it was for Merle.” She had never really focused on the hunter of the group. She hadn’t bothered to ask him much of anything, and only felt relieved that Merle wasn’t around to hit on her anymore.

Calla took a step away from Andrea as she continued to prattle on, demanding answers that Calla wasn’t interested in answering. She was no longer any use to her. She didn’t know where Merle was. She may have known Daryl, but it was obvious she no longer knew anything about him as well.

Turning to Michonne, the one who hadn’t spoken up since initially trying to intervene, and who had been watching her carefully, Calla decided to direct her next question toward her.

“Where did you last see him?”

“We haven’t seen him since last night. He was talking to that man that calls himself Governor.”

Calla bristled at that.

For months that man had been telling her that he hadn’t heard of the name Dixon before she dropped into their lives. That he hadn’t known who Daryl or Merle was, but that he would have someone out looking for them. She felt like she couldn’t breathe. As if all the air had been squeezed from her lungs. Calla began to feel faint as if she was about to float away or fade into darkness. It all felt like too much, as if she was going to pop.

“Did they act like they knew one another?”

The question felt like torture, trying to get her lungs to work properly, just so she could ask. Calla had to know. How bad had she fucked up?

“They were pretty chummy,” Michonne reluctantly admitted. She watched as a variety of emotions clung to Calla’s face, dragging her deeper, as she grew as pale as a ghost before something sparked back to life within the depths of her whiskey-colored orbs.

Anger.

White, hot, burning rage prickled at the back of her mind, darkening her eyes, as the realization of Philip knowing where Merle was this whole time engulfed her thoughts. A piece of her family, someone she would have died to find, had been right there the entire time, and Philip had known.

“I’m sorry I can’t take you the rest of the way to your apartment,” she muttered, taking a step back, as that anger burned brighter inside of her. “I wouldn’t recommend sticking around for very long. The Governor is an ass.”

Her fingers curled reflexively, the desire to have her bat back in her hands uncomfortable, as she thought about swinging it straight at Philip’s face. They had danced around one another, like a game of chess, and it would seem that Calla had finally learned a vital part of Philip, and it wasn’t one that made her warm up to him in any way.

"Where are you going?” Andrea frowned, watching as their guide, their second guide, made to ditch like the last.

“I’ve got to speak to the Governor.”

She wouldn’t be uttering his name anymore, the one he had wished for her to call him, as the Governor seemed a better depiction of the man.

“Maybe you should calm down first,” Michonne tried, beginning to worry for her old friend. Calla may not have been someone she had been able to grow incredibly close to in their short time of knowing one another, but they had become friends, and Michonne still felt a spark of loyalty toward the woman.

"Naw.” Something dark and twisted clouded her features, warping Calla’s normally charming face, into rough corners and harsh expressions. “I think it’s about time the Governor starts telling me the truth. We’re long past due for a real conversation.”

“Shouldn’t you be looking for Merle first?” Michonne wasn’t sure she wanted Calla around the brash, and gruff man, but she hadn’t gotten a very good feeling from this Governor guy, and it set her on edge that Calla was going to storm up to him in this mood. Out of both of the men she seemed to have a better relationship with Merle and Michonne thought it would have been a better idea for her to go after the one she wasn’t angry with.

“I’ll figure out where my brother-in-law is after I talk to the Governor. Merle’s always had a habit of appearing where he’s not wanted, and something tells me the Governor really doesn’t want him around me.”

Calla felt the urge to ditch her original plan and just go after Merle first, to finally see a part of her family that she desperately missed, but that anger wouldn’t be snuffed, and setback for later. It desired for her to rush at the Governor, to accuse, fight, and maim. A more bloodthirsty part of her was slowly rising from the flames, and Calla was helpless in denying it. It clicked into place, settling into her mind, and bones. She didn’t hesitate in turning around and leaving her charges. Michonne was smart, she would figure it out, and Calla hoped she would decide to leave as Calla planned as soon as another piece of her family joined them.

No one dared to approach her as she stormed through the town. Her face was stony, and anyone who had dared to look in her direction quickly glanced away.

Not knowing where he would be, Calla checked his office first, before making her way toward his apartment, hoping he was there, and not outside the walls, away from her clutches. The anger that festered inside of her would only grow out of control until she could take it out on the person that had made her this way.

Not caring about etiquette or what was considered nice, Calla twisted the door handle to his apartment and upon it giving in, announcing that he was home, she threw open the door. Calmly, the man in question turned, looking surprised, before it gave way to confusion at whom he saw.

“What do I owe this pleasure?” he asked, moving round the table as he sat a map on top of it. “I was under the impression you were avoiding me.”

"Not avoidance when I made it clear I didn’t want to have anything to do with you outside of what was forced by my staying here.”

“Are you here to say you’re leaving because if so I’m gonna have to advise against that.” He didn’t try to tell her that it was about her health. They both knew they were beyond the regular excuses.

"You’ve known about Merle this entire time.” Calla didn’t have it in her to play this game with him. To dance around what needed to be said until he admitted it, or she grew pissed enough to toss it at him. She was already there. “How long has he lived here? Before, or after, we arrived. I haven’t seen him around so I’m assuming you’ve made some reason to keep him holed away, or outside the walls.”

She was only given a flicker of surprise, of disturbing dislike, at the knowledge that she now possessed before Phillip wiped it off his face, and it was replaced with a carefully portrayed nicety.

"You’ve been talking to the newcomers.”

It caused Calla’s stomach to flip harshly at the thought that everyone in this town had known about Merle and her sharing a last name, but no one bothered to mention it. She was certain it had to do with this man in front of her. She had been out of it for days when they first arrived. Plenty of time to spin a story and keep her in the dark.

“You should have told me.”

“I didn’t see a point in it. He was out, searching for his brother, this Daryl, already. He hardly ever entered Woodbury except to drop off supplies or pick up more. I’ve had little need for the brash, and easily angered hothead inside Woodbury, so I was more than happy to fund his little search for his family.”

“Except, I’ve been here, and since I haven’t seen a trace of him you haven’t told him.”

“He’s only been here once since you’ve begun to stay with us. Yesterday. When he dropped off our newcomers. I hadn’t done it out of anything other than having no way to contact him. I did tell him last night, but he seemed content with the fact that the two of you were safe and planned to leave once more to find Daryl.”

Calla shook her head, denying his words before they ever even left his lips because she had expected something like this. Philip was a liar. She knew Merle. He was rough around the edges and had a mouth on him that didn’t know when to shut up, but he cared about his family. More than anything. Even if what Philip said was the truth, and this had been the first time Merle had been back in Woodbury since they arrived, he wouldn’t have just shrugged and not tried to find Calla, and Maverick. He would have demanded to see them.

She was starting to believe he would have even tried taking them away from this place.

Woodbury was not what Calla had thought it was. She was seeing its darker side, its leaders’ darker side, more and more every day.

“I think you’re lying.” Calla continued to shake her head, spitting out the words harshly, as she began to pace. Her fingernails dug into her skin as she hesitated in acting on the urge of throwing a punch at Philip’s face, right here, right now. “Merle wouldn’t have just abandoned us like that.” In Calla’s heart, if Merle had done that, it would have been seen as abandoning them. Daryl wouldn’t have allowed it to happen. Merle would have known that. Kin was everything to that man. Merle wouldn’t have tolerated it.

“I’m sorry to say that he did.”

“Shut up! Just shut up, stop sprouting out lies, and just tell me the truth already. I’m sick and tired of everything coming out of your mouth being nothing but a lie.”

“What do you want me to say, Calla? That I’ve been lying to you because I have. I feel bad about it because I don’t. If I had told you any of that, if I’d given you the truth from the very beginning, you would have fled. You're right. Merle has been here many times since you arrived, but I wasn’t going to tell that asshole about the family he’s been looking for because he would have just taken you away from Woodbury. He likes to play that his loyalties lie with me, but I see it. The moment he found that brother of his, or you, he would have been gone, and then I’d be a man short, someone who does a damn good job of following orders that I give, and a woman I’ve fantasized about being in my bed, and at my side.”

Instinctively, Calla took a step back when Philip grew nearer. She was still pissed off, and itching for a fight, but Calla knew he was bigger and stronger than her. She would need to be careful, or the fight, if he wanted to, would be over before it started. Calla refused to flinch at his words, as he spoke about her being with him, could see the moment of desire that imprinted itself in his expression. It was as if he had decided to give up pretending, he didn’t want her. That the charade he put up was no longer needed.

If Calla had been thinking more clearly and hadn’t been driven by her rage, she would have been put on the defensive, taking this as the clear sign of danger that it was.

All she was thinking about was how she would attack him if he took another step closer or uttered another disgusting word about them being together.

"Tell me where I can find Merle, and we’ll be leaving. There’s no reason for us to stay here anymore. It’s clear to me that our desires in life are vastly different. I no longer wish, nor want, to be here.”

His eyes darkened.

“Now, Calla, after everything I’ve done for you, you’d just leave? All of those resources I willingly gave to you to help you get better, and you believe you can just fucking leave. Like that? You’ve barely begun to pay me back. You’re not going anywhere until I’ve decided that you’re no longer in my debt.”

Calla saw it, the way his body tensed, muscles rippled, as he leaned to his left, right before he lashed out, clearing the distance between them. Her knee came up, jabbing him in the gut, as she harshly brought down her elbow on his back, as she felt the way the blow rippled throughout her bones, causing her to feel achy, and weak far too soon in any fight. She still wasn’t in her peak condition. Even after all the healing she had undergone.

“Don’t fucking touch me.”

Instead of backing up as she should have, what would have been smart, Calla allowed the side of her that had been living out in the wild to merge and take over. She wanted nothing more than to rip him to shreds, to let it be known how fucked it was to keep her family from her and to lead her around like the asshole he was. Calla was far from being satisfied with yelling at him before leaving. She wanted him to feel the pain that she was currently experiencing. To have it rip through his chest, to burn in his bones, as he struggled to breathe, and think straight.

As soon as he gasped for breath when her hits made contact Calla was moving again. She tackled him to the ground, fists wailing, as she hit everything that came within reach. Philip struggled to contain the rage that was littering down upon him as he made work of grabbing for her hands and trying to contain them within his own.

“You could have been mine,” he growled out, snatching up one of her fists, and tugging her violently to the side. “Things would have gone smoother. I could have given you safety and comfort, and you wouldn’t have needed anything. It’s been hell trying to get past your defenses. To get to know you. To show you what I could have given you.”

“You’re fucking crazy. I never wanted any of that from you.” Not from him. Calla wanted Daryl. He gave her all of that. She didn’t need it from this psycho. “I made it clear what I wanted, and you kept that from me!” That’s what had pushed her to this point. His secrets of the one thing Calla wanted more than anything else in the world.

She lunged forward again, not allowing him to gain his bearings, or for his shoulders to even leave the wood of the floor. Her fingers made to grip at his face, intent on gouging her fingers through his eyes, just as she had done to the man in the past. Nothing else would have made her satisfied other than to know that she had blinded him and made him weak to this new world of theirs.

He was sick and twisted.

Calla may have been the same.

It easily fled from her thoughts as he fought against her.

“I’ve fucking wanted you from the moment I saw you on that road.” He growled as he knocked her loose, rolling her to the side, and before she could react, he shoved himself on top of her, pinning Calla in place. “I get what I want, Calla. You don’t know that yet, but this town perseveres because I’m not scared of taking what is needed. I do whatever I have to. You’ll be no different.” He locked his hands around her wrists, pinning them above her head, against the floor as he breathed heavily. Her hips came up, bucking against him, trying to knock him away or hook a knee underneath him, but Philip stayed in place. Excitement had entered his gaze. “If I can’t have you willingly, then I’ll just have you any way that I can. It didn’t have to be this way, but you’ve forced my hands. Maybe a few months inside the room I’ve prepared for you will change your views.”

Calla froze, the excitement had been twisted, and tainted with desire, as he gazed down at her, and paired with his words, Calla didn’t want to find out what room he had made up for her.

The part of her that knew how to survive was calling loudly, giving her the strength, she needed, as he leaned closer to her, his nose running across her jaw, down her neck, to her collarbone.

Yanking with her hand, she was able to free herself, but as she didn’t move to attack him Philip had taken her, freezing up as fear, that she was now docile, and wouldn’t be moving in hopes that he wouldn’t do as he said.

“Don’t worry, I’ll take care of Maverick, I won’t let anything happen to him until you’ve decided to come back to us.”

Tensing, Calla forced herself not to react to those words, that burning anger almost gaining the best of her, but she forced it back down, as she focused on searching the floor above her hand for the pen that had fallen during their struggle.

He would not have anything to do with her kid.

Calla would make sure he died before he touched her son.

His nose brushed between the valley of her breasts, and instead of fear, determination, and bitterness rose up inside of her, as her eyes focused, and everything else bled away. Her fingers curled around the cool metal of the pen. She kept her hand raised above, lax, as she gently tugged until he let go of her other hand.

She could see the surprise in his expression but as she wasn’t fighting, he was lulled into a false sense of security, as what he wanted was now propped deliciously below him. It seemed as if Calla was giving in. That she finally saw it his way.

Reaching for him Calla gently grabbed his chin, raising his head from where they had been hovering above her breasts until he was looking directly at her.

For one moment they stayed like that, suspended in time, as something soft seemed to filter out the possessiveness of his gaze.

Calla held him like that until the moment her other hand, which now held the pen, lashed forward, embedding it into his left eye with a sickening squelch.

A scream tore from his lips.

He shoved himself away from her, a knee gutting her, as Calla gasped for air before he rolled off her.

Pain-filled noises fell from his mouth as he whimpered and forced himself to his knees. Calla was already to her feet, desiring to do more, but survival had her fleeing, moving toward the door.

A weight shoved itself into her back, knocking her off balance, as she hit the wall. Fingers knotted themselves into her hair, yanking her back, dragging her across the floor, as Philip continued to whimper, breathing deep, ragged, sounding as if every single one of them hurt.

"You’re gonna fucking wish you had killed me with that move.”

The words were hissed into her ear, causing her skin to crawl, as she aimed to hit the eye she had already wounded, only for him to slam her forward. Her head smacked against the edge of the counter.

Her body crumpled.

For a split second, black dots danced across her vision before they engulfed her entirely.

Chapter Text

Journey to You

Chapter Ten

Set in Motion

Am I gonna swim, am I gonna sink?

Am I gonna bend, am I gonna break?

Will I make it out alive?

Make it out alive?

-Will I make it out alive by Tommee Profitt and Jessie Early

Daryl felt the lump in his pocket, a familiar weight all week long, one that had been weighing heavily on his mind, tangling up his thoughts, almost as bad as the woman standing in front of him could. He was a mess. She made him this way.

He wouldn’t have it any other way.

She looked nervous, test in her hand, as she stared at the small stick she had just peed on.

"What if it’s positive?” she asked, her voice carefully blank, her eyes the only giveaway to what was going on inside her head. “We’ve never spoken about this. I don’t want to force you into anything that you don’t want.” The words kept spilling from her lips, faster than the ones before, leaving Daryl spiraling to catch up as he watched her unwind, and work herself up.

Daryl knew what he wanted.

That stick, and what it had to say wouldn’t change what he felt.

Nothing before had ever felt as right as having Calla by his side.

Having her right here, panicking, and worrying herself to death over something that she thought would drive him away prickled at him, but the words, to comfort, and ease her mind stuck in his throat, losing themselves before they ever even formed in his head.

Daryl was not a man who knew how to comfort.

He hadn’t been raised by hands that uplifted and brought out a side of him that knew exactly what to say to ease someone. He only knew hate, and words of hurt, fists of fury, as they pounded into flesh, and left an imprint of their intentions.

None of that was something he ever wanted Calla to know from him.

Seeing her like this. Nervous. He could fix that.

What he wanted to say, what he knew was probably what she wanted to hear, disintegrated right as he opened his mouth, and something truer to himself, closer to his heart, escaped his lips.

“Yah should marry me.”

“W-what?” Wide whiskey-colored eyes blinked up at him, as her lips fell open, and formed an ‘oh’ shape of shock. He loved the colors of her eyes, wishing to drown himself within their depths, to grow drunk on what they had to offer. His hand reached out, cupping her cheek, keeping them pinned on him so they had nowhere else to go. “Daryl, what are you saying? We can’t just marry cause of the possibility of a baby.”

That’s not why he had said it.

It had been on his mind for quite a while, but he had never gained the courage to ask.

“Marry me, Calla.” His other hand raised, cupping her other cheek, as he drew her closer, so that his lips could press warmly against her own. “It don’ matter what this test tells us. Yah want a kid, we’ll have one, yah wan’ a dozen, I’ll give yah whatever yah want. I love yah, Calla Wells. I want yah to share mah last name. A future without you in it isn’t one that I want. Marry me.”

His words left his lips far more determined than what Calla had ever heard come from Daryl before. She could see it in his eyes. How serious he was. This was not the same man who had run away from her when she had told him she loved him. Calla froze, having opened her mouth to respond, but the box he pulled from his pocket had her stopping as she stared in awe. There was barely any room between them, as they crowded one anothers space, him still holding onto her with his free hand, as he flipped open the lid, revealing a small diamond wedding band nestled beautifully in its velvet confines.

“I want you, Daryl Dixon.”

There was nothing else Calla was more certain about.

“That a yes?”

"Yes!” She tugged him closer, melting against him as they kissed, before he was taking a hold of her hand, and then carefully slid the ring onto her finger. “There’s no one else I’d rather have in my life.” Tears had built behind her eyes, the need to release them, to become overrun with the joy she felt in that moment was momentous as she clung to him.

They stood like that, holding one another, basking in the glow of knowing what their future held. As long as they had one another they could do anything.

Baby or not.

"What does it say?” he asked her curiously as he nodded to the test she had dropped. Bending over Calla picked it up, taking in that there was no second pink line, as she squinted and made sure she hadn’t just missed it.

“Negative.”

She wasn’t sure how she felt about it. Moments ago, Calla had been worried. Sometimes she felt as if they had been moving fast, that things were progressing at a speed that none of her past relationships had ever made it to. It was frustrating not knowing how he would react to something new. She knew how his childhood had gone, his misgivings about his father, and how he struggled with his own emotions on the subject. Calla hadn’t known how Daryl would take the possibility of her being pregnant when they hadn’t even been together for a full year yet. They had never had a conversation about babies, and where they stood on it.

Calla had never given any true thought to the prospect of babies.

As she stared up into Daryl’s eyes she couldn’t help but imagine a little boy, or girl, with his eyes and suddenly the need for a little human, a perfect mixture of them, blossomed in her chest.

“I want a family with you Dixon.” She wanted it something fierce.

Daryl leaned over her, just a bit, as his hands grabbed at the back of her thighs, lifting her up, causing her to gasp, and instinctively wrapped her legs around his waist. He pressed his forehead against her own. His eyes had darkened, with desire, or happiness at her words, Calla didn’t know, but she suspected it was a mixture of the two.

“I think we should start practicin’, don’ yah?”

Her heart fluttered in her chest.

Icy, cold water drenched Calla, forcing her from the sleep she had managed to snag, and the dream where she had been safe, and happy. Her hair stuck to her face, her clothes dripping, but she continued to hang her head forward, not bothering to utter a sound, knowing it pissed him off when she didn’t react. The pettiness would probably get her killed but Calla refused to back down and show defeat to this man.

“You are not an easy one to break,” Philip scoffed, as he glared down at her, the bucket he had used to carry the water clattering to the ground. “I would have thought you’d give in by now. Seeing this room, being chained as you are, but that spirit of yours, it’s strong.” He squatted in front of her, not touching, just looking, as he frowned. “It’s what captured my interest. That first conversation we had, well not so much a talk, as I was the only one doing much of that, but I could see that determination inside of you. I think I’ll like it more when it’s gone.”

He reached out, patting her cheek, a brief spark of warmth, on her otherwise chill skin.

Her arms ached, the chains forcing them out to her side, and slightly above her head, as she knelt against the ground, the cold concrete bruising her shins. The only clear indication of time passing was from the window, a small thing, close to the ceiling. She had been here for three days already.

She hadn’t spoken once, even when he goaded her, but she could see how it made him feel. Her silence was the only control she had in their game.

“That boy of yours,” Philip moved on, frustrated by her lack of reply, or reaction. “He misses you something fierce. He’s afraid you’ve left him like his old man. Don’t worry though, I’m takin’ real good care of him. Treating him like I would my own kid. Won’t be much longer before he starts calling me, daddy.”

Calla’s eye twitched, her lips twisting, as she forced the crass words back down her throat, refusing to let them out, even as she felt the desire to lunge forward. It wouldn’t do anything other than give him what he wanted.

She took pleasure in seeing how he had covered his eye with gauze, stating it couldn’t be saved, that she had ruined a part of him. It curled inside her chest, beaming with pride, that for the rest of his measly life, he would be reminded of what happened when you fucked with her.

Once she was free she’d take his other eye as well and set him loose out in the world.

Between sliding into her mind and remembering her life with Daryl, and imagining the future where Philip would be dead, Calla spent a lot of time floating aimlessly inside her head.

It felt like what she had begun to do out on the road when her only goal was to survive another day.

That’s what this room had become to her.

Just another obstacle and her goal to live through another day until her opportunity came to break free.  

Calla was patient.

Philip would break before her. Free her from these chains. He would want to regain control where he could, and that would be her time to strike.

She’d take his other eye, and she’d be the one to decide the fate that led to his death.

That darkness inside of her grew bigger every day. A little more of the Calla from before drifted away, breaking to pieces, as it turned to ash, making way for the woman who would survive.

Philip didn’t know what he was creating. She allowed him to keep talking digging his grave deeper with every word he uttered.

He stood, stretching his legs, as the frown on his face turned harsher before he suddenly reaching out, grabbed her by her neck, and dragged her to her feet.

“Things can get much worse. I’m holding myself back.” Her feet scraped against the concrete as she was yanked forward, until their noses touched, as she steadied her breathing, showing no signs of fear, even as a small amount spiked against her pulse, while a hungrier sensation took hold inside of her. Blood lust. Calla wanted to force his hands from her, to break the bones in his fingers until he screamed, just so he knew never to touch another woman like he was her.

He didn’t do anything else, dropping her without warning, and watching with a scoff of disgust and irritation as Calla simply slid back to the floor, to lean on her knees.

· ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · 

Michonne frowned as she watched the Governor pick up Maverick from the daycare for the third day in a row.

There had been no sign of Calla in that entire time, though those she asked held whispers of the woman getting in trouble, having been the one to hurt the man’s eye, and was being held for her own safety, and the safety of others. They had been rest assured that Calla was fine, that she simply had a nervous breakdown, and was being kept somewhere comfortable until she was feeling better.

Michonne wasn’t buying it.

Her taking his eye wasn’t surprising in the least, not with the way Calla had looked pissed, but there had been no nervous breakdown, and Michonne was certain the Governor had some dealings in what had happened. That’s the part that made her nervous because nothing about this place, and that man screamed safe. There was something off about everything.

This being only the tip of the iceberg.

Michonne didn’t like anything that she was finding out and concern for her friend was high on her list of things to be worried about. Andrea didn’t share her sense of concern and waved away every shred of evidence that Michonne had brought to her.

Glaring at where the man had disappeared with the boy Michonne turned on her heel and began to seek out Martinez. Seeing him come off his rotation on the wall, Michonne didn’t hesitate as she fell into step alongside him, her lips set in a firm frown as she eyed him carefully.

“It’s strange that the Governor, or whatever his name is, would be the one to watch Maverick when his uncle lives here.”

Martinez stiffened at her line of questioning.

“I wouldn’t know anything about it.”            

“I think you know more about it than you’re saying.”

"I’m telling you I know nothing. He told us Calla attacked him, he was forced to protect himself, and that she’s being kept onsite in a room, and being watched after by a doctor.”

“Merle, that’s his name right, should be the one watching that kid, not him.”

“Merle doesn’t stick around inside Woodbury.”

“You’re lying.” She had seen the way he twitched, his shoulders tightening, as he looked away from her as he spoke. “You know whatever is going on is wrong.”

Martinez came to a halt, grabbing Michonne by the arm, not hard, but a warning.

“Look, I don’t know anything. He won’t tell me. All I know is that there’s all kinds of red flags hanging around this situation, and the Governor is not someone you want to fuck with. Calla went and got tangled up in something she shouldn’t have, and instead of keeping her head down, she agitated the man. I can’t do anything else without having his wrath come down on me. I’d love nothing more than to help her, and that kid, but he’s not a psycho to the point that he’d hurt that boy. He see’s him as his.”

“That’s what’s fucked up.” Michonne shook her head. “That boy isn’t his, and whatever he did to Calla is more than setting her up inside some cozy room until she gets better. You know that. It makes you no better than him.”

Michonne went to walk away, pissed, and irritated by the lack of answers when Martinez stopped her.

“Look, I can’t get involved, but I do know he decided to keep Merle in Woodbury. He didn’t send him away as he had been. He’s kept busy away from the daycare, not like Merle had any reason to want to be near the kids before, but he doesn’t know anything about what’s going on with Calla. Most ignore him and give him a wide berth as he scares them. You could probably find him over by the garden today. The Governor has got him doing some shit job that’ll keep him irritated enough to avoid the man just so he can’t be assigned to something worse.”

There was no thanks, or nods his way, as Michonne took off toward where she had been told to go. It was the least he could do in this situation and they both knew he was falling way short of the mark on what to do when a friend of yours got in trouble.

As it was it hadn’t taken Michonne long before she found the man in question. After stopping someone to ask if they had seen him, she had never seen Merle before, and didn’t know what to expect, she found herself only slightly startled by the man that had been pointed out to her.

He was cursing up a storm when she neared.

A scowl was set firmly on his face, and it only deepened when he noticed her walking toward him.

“Yah can just fuck right off,” he grumbled, not letting her get a single word out. “I ain’t interested in nuttin’ that you could have ta say ta me.”

“I know Calla and Maverick Dixon.”

By the way the harshness left his gaze, softening into something full of shock, before giving way to distrust, and uncertainty, Michonne knew she did indeed have something worth hearing to him.

· ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · 

Parched lips, dry, and cracked, parted when the glass of water was pressed against the tingling skin. She greedily drank the liquid even as it dripped down her chin and soaked into her shirt. The same shirt had begun to grow itchy, and rough, as it stayed in a state of wet more than it ever did dry.

The water was taken back far quicker than she would have liked, but Calla didn’t cry out, or make a noise that reflected the deep need inside of her for more. She accepted this like she had any time Philip made his presence known, whether it be in the form of substance or her least favorite form of conversation.

“Did you want more?” he asked her sweetly, the words full of sugar, that threatened to curdle one’s stomach if you ate too much of it. She didn’t respond.             “All you’ve got to do is say yes. I’ll give you more.” The silence wore on between them. “Have it your way.”

He tipped the glass over, pouring it on the floor in front of her, forcing Calla to watch as every drop splashed against her bare feet. He had made her stand when he first entered the room.

Philip didn’t linger today. Seeming uninterested in her today as he escaped as quickly as he had come in.

Calla suspected he enjoyed the torture part of this more than his wish for her to give in to him.

She was simply his plaything in his mind. Nothing more.

The idea of him ever wanting her because of any spark of desire over her personality was laughable. He was a psychopath. He didn’t have emotions. She was certain Philip got off on having her like this. The type of man he tried to portray may think he wanted a picture-perfect relationship, but this is where he truly gained pleasure from.

He was the sick one, but Calla suspected if they had to measure their darkness against one another that hers would win.

She’d be able to test that theory out. The idea of it kept her going during the long hours of time when she was left alone with her own thoughts.

Daryl’s fingers glided across her skin, tickling her, as he followed the path he made with his lips. Calla’s eyes were closed, taking in the sensation that bubbled up at his actions, as peace and comfort settled against her soul. She sighed softly, arching her stomach further into his touch, as her lips parted. She felt the smile form against her skin as a flush of heat warmed her skin, building a pool of desire in her lower stomach, as his innocent touches grew more mischievous. He gripped her hip, easing her wiggle, as she moved against where he had settled himself between her legs, so he had easy access to her stomach, and the bump that seemed to grow every day.

“Daryl,” she grumbled knowing he hadn’t meant to start anything. It didn’t take a lot these days for her body to respond to any sort of stimuli.

His cheek nuzzled against her stomach in reply.

“Don’t act cute. If you keep that up you’re going to start something, and I feel like a whale. It’s not sexy.”

His lips brushed against her stomach once more.

“I don’ know what yer talking about.” His nose brushed against the underside of her breast, forcing her breath to catch in her throat, as she wondered if he’d continue up until he brushed against her nipples. They hardened at the mere thought, and she squeezed her eyes closed tighter, knowing if she were to open them, to spot how he was looking at her, there would be no turning the desire off. “Yer the sexiest woman I’ve ever seen. Especially with my child growing inside of you. That does not make yah look like a whale.”

A hiss of air escaped her as he moved, shifting up, moving to hover over her.

Pressed against her thigh there was no denying his words about how he viewed her. Her pulse quickened as the heat fanned out, spreading down to her core, as he drew a moan from her lips when his teeth scraped deliciously against a nipple. His tongue darted out as he drew it into his mouth, not bothered by the shirt he was ruining still between him, and his current goal, and Calla found she didn’t care as it added an extra layer of friction that urged her arousal to grow.

He had long since grown accustomed to the bump between them, easily maneuvering around it, almost making her forget that she had grown bigger, and normal things like having sex had grown more complicated, and exhausting.

With the way he ground their hips together, one hand lifting the skirt of the dress she wore, and the other palming the breast not being nuzzled, Calla found it hard to think of why she had made her earlier comment as pleasure invaded her senses.

A sigh slipped free as a finger danced lightly over her clit, spiking a new wave of desire, that caused her toes to curl, and her knees to bend, as her legs widened letting more of him settle between them, and his hand better access.

“Ahh…. Daryl,” her voice hitched, words slipping free, as no true thought process conjured them. “Please.” Please, what? She had no clue, but it didn’t matter as long as he didn’t stop.

“I should remind my wife of how much I desire her,” he whispered into her ear, his nose having carved a burning path from her breast to his desired destination.

What had even been the reason she questioned it in the first place?

Her mind felt hazed, and full, as arousal kept any thought other than where his hands, or lips, would or could go next.

"Make me feel good,” she begged, urging him on.

He lightly nipped at her ear, dragging another desire-filled response past her lips, before they were kissing, and sparks of pleasure shot through her body, as wave after wave of her orgasm crashed through her unexpectantly.

Her body was his instrument to pluck, tease, and play however he pleased, and he knew her well.

· ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · 

Michonne wasn’t certain how well this was going to go. The plan the two of them had concocted felt flimsy, and full of holes, but they didn’t have many options outside of letting everything be, and going on as they were.

Merle hadn’t been pleased with Michonne’s knowledge about how Calla had been here for months without his knowledge, and that she had gone missing. The fact that she had been right under his nose seemed to ruffle quite a few feathers, and the man had instantly demanded to know everything that she did.

The Governor was going to be a dead man unless he somehow slipped through Merle’s clutches because Michonne had shivered at the look on his face when she was done telling him everything she had found out.

She could tell he wasn’t certain about trusting her, but the idea of his family being in danger, and that Maverick was staying with the Governor, pushed her high on a very short list of people he was willing to work with.

That’s how she ended up hiding in a warehouse, waiting for him to show up with the kid, a day after he found out where Calla was being kept.

Her heart pounded away in her chest, wishing they were going to free Calla, but understood his desire to get the kid out of the line of fire. Michonne felt partly disappointed in not being a part of the rescue of Calla later on, and partially relieved that her only assigned job was to get Maverick out of Woodbury and to the town Merle had shown her on a map.

If something were to go wrong Merle didn’t want him remotely in the same area as the Governor when he figured out what was going on. He didn’t want him ending up being a hostage, or a pawn, in whatever fucked up plan the man had for Maverick and Calla.

So, she waited. Even as her skin crawled, and nerves rose up inside of her.

· ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · 

Merle had to keep the rage he felt controlled inside of himself as he made his way through the town and came to a stop in front of the daycare that had been set up for parents who had young children. Through the glass of the storefront, the building the daycare was hosted in, as they no longer required a space solely for selling furniture, Merle spotted his nephew sitting by himself, idly playing with a toy.

He looked bigger than when Merle had last seen him. His brown hair, the same shade as Daryl’s had grown longer, and now nearly reached his shoulders. Merle was certain those baby blues would reflect the same shade that Daryl and his own did. The only thing the kid got from his mama was the upturn of his nose, the long lashes, and the softness of his features that had never been seen on a Dixons’ face until Maverick came along.

He was innocent, something that reflected in everything he did, as he had been raised among those that loved, and adored him. Something a Dixon hadn’t experienced before Daryl and Calla broke the fucked-up tradition each hollowed-out kin of his seemed intent on continuing.

Except before this moment Merle had never seen such an intent look of sadness, or loss on the little man’s face, which brought on a new wave of rage that he had to force back in place. His instinct to tear apart whatever fucker had put it there was strong, but Merle’s desire to protect, and to get the kid out of here was stronger.

The lady that ran the daycare glanced up, a smile carefully plastered onto her face when she heard the door open, and only faltered slightly when she caught sight of him.

“Is there something I can do to help you?” It was obvious she believed he was in the wrong place. They had never spoken to one another before, never had a need to, not when she ran around rugrats all day. Merle despised kids, but his baby brother’s spawn had never bothered him. Maverick reminded him of what it had been like to have a little Daryl running around, looking up to him in admiration, as protectiveness tugged at his heart, a piece of him that had been kept carefully guarded since he was young. The boy seemed to have the same gift for breaking down his walls as his daddy had been able to.

“I’m here ta pick up Maverick.”

He spoke deliberately. No hesitation. It was his right to pick up his kin. More of a right than that bastard had, prancing around like the boy was his own, and fuck, that was another line of thought that had him scowling, and forcing back the rage that prickled under his skin.

“I’m sorry, but you’re not on the list.”

“The Governor on that list of yers lady ‘cause I know he ain’t that boy’s blood.”

The woman bristled, flustered, as she blinked, and frowned, trying to regain her bearings.

"You know he’s our leader, Merle,” she tutted, finally settling on something. “With what’s going on with Calla right now he was nice in offering to take the boy in. I don’t know what your thinking, or why you’re here to get the boy, but you should just go on or I’ll be forced to get the Governor involved.”

Merle felt like scoffing, but he didn’t want to bring attention to himself right now. He needed to go unnoticed as long as possible or his window to get to Calla would be forcefully shut before he could even try.

“I’m that boy’s blood. He’s my nephew. I’m here ta take him in.” This gave her pause as she looked uneasily toward Maverick, uncertainty painting her features, as she searched for the obvious similarities between the two. There weren’t many but the Dixon genes were strong in the kid, and what little was there that Daryl and Merle shared was obvious. “Yah knows I’ve been gone, I just found out that they’ve been here, and when the Governor told meh what happened I told him I’d take the kid in until Calla was better.”

“I don’t know.”

He wanted to push past her, and the pricklier side of Merle would have, but there was very little Merle wouldn’t do for his blood, and sucking it up, and playing nice was a small price to pay if he got what he wanted. If the boy had been older and was able to properly protect himself, Merle was certain that the aggressive side of him would have won out, but Maverick was still just a small thing. He couldn’t risk it.

“Don’ believe me. Ask the kid yerself.”

The lady looked as if her better judgment was telling her no, but she ended up relenting, seeming to think if Maverick acted like he didn’t know him, then she could get rid of Merle faster and did exactly what he wanted her to. The boy glanced up at her voice, looking a little lost until his eyes landed on the familiar sight of his uncle.

A man he hadn’t seen in months.

One that told him his daddy wouldn’t be far behind.

He pushed himself to his feet, toddling over as fast as he could, which was as slow as molasses in Merle’s opinion, but he played by the rules and kept close to the woman who seemed to do nothing but glare at him.

“Unc’ Erle’!” the kid crowed in happiness at the familiar face.

Maverick was excited at seeing the man. He hadn’t seen his mother in ages. Worry and sadness at her disappearance had tugged at him, making him cry, even when Philip tried soothing him, but if his uncle was here then his parents wouldn’t be far away. They never were.

Without an ounce of hesitation, Maverick tossed himself at his uncle’s legs, knowing the grumpy older man wasn’t a danger to him, as he remembered the rare moments when they were alone and Merle would have tossed him up into the air, causing him to giggle, as he asked him to do it just one more time. He didn’t understand that Merle had felt helpless in those moments, not sure what to do to make that look of tears leave his eyes when he had told him no, and his normal method of telling someone to shut up couldn’t be applied. The action between them had stuck and the tension of being alone with the kid had slowly eased away. He hadn’t been about to offer up his services for a whole weekend of freedom for the parents, but Merle had felt confident enough to take the rugrat for a few hours every once in a while.

“Yah doin’ okay, little man?” Merle asked as he knelt down to view the boy more closely. He looked all right. No obvious signs of being harmed. It settled him a little more, helped ease the panic that had flooded him, and refused to leave after that lady had explained what she knew about his family.

“I want daddy, unc’ ‘Erle,” Maverick sniffles. The kid moved forward, to bury his leaking nose into Merle’s chest, as he rubbed his face soothingly against the rough fabric of Merle’s wife beater. “Mama’s gone.”

“I know, bud,” Merle tried to soothe, his hand moving to rub at the boys back. Nothing was all right at the moment but even he knew that wasn’t something the kid needed to be made aware of. “You’ll come along wit meh. I’ll see what I can do ‘bout those parents of yahs.”

“Now, Merle, I really shouldn’t release him to you without permission. Those are the rules.”

“Listen lady,” Merle crooned, feeling that anger bubbling up, as he moved to pick Maverick up. “Without his mama bein’ here I’m his closes blood relative. Its mah right ta take ‘im. Now yah can try ta keep me from takin’ ‘im but I ain’t gonna be as nice as I have been.”

Maverick wrapped his arms tightly around Merles neck as the realization of possibly being taken away dawned on him.

“I wanna go with Unc’ ‘Erle!”

“There yah have it. He’s comin’ wit meh.”

Merle swiftly left the building, holding him close as they walked down the sidewalk, ducking into the garden, where Merle disappeared around a corner, taking to alleys as they carefully made their way to the meeting point. The whole way Merle felt doubt eating away at him as he wondered if sending Maverick with that woman was the right thing to do. A part of him bulked against the idea. He didn’t know her, and other than her words on the matter of Calla being a friend, he didn’t know if it was true or not. It wasn’t like Calla was around to back her up.

It didn’t settle right with him, leaving that boy in the hands of a stranger, but it felt even worse keeping him around, dragging him through dangerous situations, and Merle knew he would just have to deal.

He just got a piece of his family back.

It was a struggle to let his grip on the situation go.

If all went well it would only be for a little while. Then he and Calla would be reunited with the kid, and they could go off and find Daryl. They’d go by that little farm Andrea mentioned and figure it out from there.

Swiveling his head around Merle made sure to check if the coast was clear before he slipped inside the old building, the creaking of the door announcing their arrival to Michonne, who was still standing stiffly where he left her.

“Yah better not be playin’ me,” Merle growled when he entered. “I’mma trustin’ yah ta do the right thing here and keep yah word.”

“I’m not going to do anything to the boy,” Michonne scoffed, her eyes settling on him, as a rush of uncertainty rammed into her. The last time she had held a kid, a baby, cause the boy was younger than Andre had been, and fuck if he wasn’t still a mere baby in her mind when he died, had been ages ago. It scared her a little. Michonne began to wonder if she should have been the one to grab Calla from wherever she was. Merle could take the boy and run. He’d be safe with him. Only they had already had this conversation, and she knew Merle didn’t want to trust her with the boy, but he also didn’t believe she’d be able to actually get Calla out of there without them both being caught. Michonne couldn’t help but agree with him. “Hello again, Maverick.”

Starting out small was for the best.

Greet him. Remind him that he knew her. Then she could try getting over the overwhelming fear of holding him.

It was all just terrible muddled thoughts in her head. They weren’t real and held no true place in her ability to keep him safe, but it was hard not to listen to the demanding tones that rang loudly inside her thoughts.

“Yah take ‘im where I told yah.” Merle was still holding Maverick close, defensively, but the way the kid glanced over at Michonne in curiosity and then acceptance, was enough to get him to ease up a little.

“Mi!”

Saying her full name had always been hard for the kid. The shortened name wasn’t totally unwelcome, and Michonne had thought it cute at the time. The way Merle’s expression relaxed, his body not as tense, told her that it had been a saving grace to her just then.

“We’ll go straight there. Nowhere else unless it’s not safe.”

“You’ll leave me a trail to follow.”

“Yes.”

They had already been through this, but Michonne understood his hesitation.

This entire situation was difficult, and she would have had a hard time trusting a stranger if she was in his place.

“Ta Governor will send people after yah, once he realizes what happened, but I’ll do mah best ta keep that from happenin’ right away. He won’ send meh after yah, and there ain’t no other person here that matches meh in trackin’. Stick to ta plan and yah should be fine.”

Michonne held no desire to deviate from the plan. This was not a man’s bad side that she wanted to be on. Regardless of the fact that she wouldn’t have done that to Calla.

The kid was traded, and words of comfort were spoken awkwardly on Merle’s end, as he tried to explain why he couldn’t go with him. Knowing that Merle was getting his mother helped soothe any panic within Maverick at the realization that another family member was leaving him yet again.

Michonne and Maverick were led out by Merle, showing them a weak spot in the wall, where no one was watching, and as soon as they slipped out, Merle turned back to find Calla.

He wouldn’t be made aware of the fact that the whistle had been blown shortly after they left the walls, and that the Governor would soon have someone tracking Michonne down.

· ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · 

She hadn’t been running for long, a machete given to her by Merle, and her brains the only protection she had out here when she realized they were already being followed. Someone outside the walls had spotted them, and due to a recent plundering of radios, the Governor had been made aware of Maverick being spotted with a strange woman, and the direction she fled in.

The connection with Merle hadn’t been made and wouldn’t for a little while yet.

Michonne held tighter to Maverick, trying to control her breathing as she ran, the extra weight that the boy added causing her to grow winded faster, as she changed course. Merle had warned her not to go this way, that it was called the red zone because of the dangerous number of Walkers in the area, but Michonne knew how to trick the dead. It was the living that was chasing them that caused her to grow uneasy.

Behind her she could hear as they grew closer, neither seeming to understand that yelling at one another gave her the edge of knowing they were nearby, and how many were following them. Feeling frustrated with how slow she was going, and how they were gaining, Michonne knew she needed to do something about them. Slow them down, take them out, it didn’t matter what she ended up doing, just that it was done.

Not daring to risk Maverick’s life in the process, Michonne made a split-second decision, hiding him in a hollowed-out tree, and making him promise to stay inside, and hidden no matter what, she prayed he stayed safe, as she separated from him.

Climbing up into a tree a safe distance away from where she hid the kid, Michonne knew they wouldn’t expect her to come at them from up above, not when they knew she had a kid. It would gain her just enough of an edge to keep her ahead of them.

Patiently she waited up above, watching as they moved past her, before she suddenly dropped from the branch, landing with a scuffle onto the guy in the back, as her machete cut through his shoulder blade, before she wrenched it up, across his neck. Blood sprayed out, coating parts of her skin, but she was mostly protected by his own body, which she was quick to rid herself of. Reaching for his gun, which now was strapped uselessly against his leg, Michonne managed to raise, aim, and fire at the second one before they gained their bearings.

She only had a second to dodge out of the way before the first one was aiming, and firing at her, and as she ducked into the foliage, disappearing from view, she felt a sharp, burning pain in her right thigh. The bullet had hit her, but she knew now that there were only two people left, and her odds of getting out of there had risen when she heard them begin to fight over following after her.

Michonne didn’t hesitate to take off, reaching Maverick, where she found him still safe, and hiding, before going deeper into the red zone.

Time would tell if they’d follow after her, but Michonne didn’t plan on making it easy for them.

· ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · 

In the end, they had followed her, but Michonne had coated herself, and Maverick in Walker guts, which helped them maneuver through the dead, while the other two had to fight their way. It allowed Michonne to make it to the town ahead of them, but she already knew it wouldn’t be safe to stick around, not when her two stalkers were still around.

That all changed as Michonne drifted slowly through the town, keeping out of sight, as she searched for a place for them to rest, and leave a sign for Merle before they moved on. She would not ditch out before doing as promised. The last thing she needed was that man on her case on top of the shit that was going down with the Governor. Her stomach twisted, and her instincts begged her to make it fast, as her arms shook with the exertion it took to keep holding Maverick.

They’d rest later.

She’d set him down when she knew it wouldn’t end with them being killed, captured, or both.

The thought didn’t ease the anxiety that was steadily rising, but it didn’t make it worse either.

She came to a halt, hearing voices, those that she didn’t recognize, and realized that two strangers had been searching through a long-abandoned store.

Michonne didn’t call out, she didn’t try to get their help, knowing that people were dangerous, and it wasn’t just her life that required her to make smart choices. For all she knew these people were just as bad, but as she hid in the shadows, watching them, and wishing that they would just leave already, Michonne heard them talking about the formula, and the baby they needed to get back to.

The couple seemed nice.

Normal.

Except looks were deceiving, and though she didn’t feel her gut telling her that they were dangerous, she still wished they’d hurry, and move on before her stalkers arrived.

If only there had ever been anyone listening to her.

Pressing closer to the building she was hiding beside Michonne watched as the men took the couple, looking pissed, and she could hear their voices, carried by the wind, that they thought the couple knew something about Michonne and Maverick.

Guilt tugged at her gut, but Michonne wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth. She was hardly capable of stepping in and saving those people, not without possibly injuring herself, and there was no way she could hide Maverick like before. There was no time. She simply watched as the couple was taken away, arguing over not knowing whom they were looking for, as they were shoved into the car the couple had been driving.

It had been obvious to her that the men were looking for an excuse to ditch chasing after Michonne and were hoping to appease the Governor with some half-ass bullshit about how they believed she was meeting up with those two.

After they left Michonne limped toward the basket that had been discarded on the ground. She stared down at the formula, remembering the couple’s conversation about how a baby needed it, and the place that had been briefly mentioned in passing. It was enough for her to go off if she wanted to chase down this group and give them their supplies. It could possibly even earn her an ally long enough to get patched up, and to get help for Merle, and Calla. With how quickly they had started to chase after her, Michonne knew that Merle wouldn’t be grabbing Calla, and making a quick break out of Woodbury.

All hopes of that part of the plan going easily had been dashed even before they had made it. Neither of them truly thought it would be that easy. Just yet another reason he had wanted to do it himself.

Shifting her grip on the boy Michonne leaned over, wincing as it irritated her bullet hole, as she felt the slick wetness of the blood ooze free before she grabbed at the basket.

There was no way Merle would be meeting up with her as planned. More than likely he had probably been caught as well, and there was now no one that would be able to save the two of them.

This group, if they were decent people, would have an interest in getting back their own people. Michonne could work it out so that they’d help her with her people as well.

It was another shit plan, that relied on too much luck, but there wasn’t any other option besides ditching Calla, and Merle altogether.

Begrudgingly Michonne began to leave town, searching for signs of the prison, as she made slow work forward.

The boy on her hip stayed quiet, his head leaning against her arm, as he quietly took in the events unfolding around him.

Luck, Michonne would soon find out, followed Maverick around, and soon fate would reveal that her decision to head toward the prison would be life changing.

Chapter Text

Journey to You

Chapter Eleven

As Luck Would Have It

Am I gonna swim, am I gonna sink?

Am I gonna bend, and I gonna break?

Will I make it out alive?

-Will I make it out alive by Tommee Profitt, Jessie Early

Calla felt the change in Philip as soon as he walked through the door. A scowl was set on his face, one that normally didn’t appear until after he had spent a couple of minutes in her presence, and it became clear that she held no intentions of cooperating with him. It was a new approach, and Calla wondered if he had finally lost it as she felt the danger rolling off him in waves.

The chains jingled lightly as she shifted, the only sign that she was awake, and knew he was there, as she shifted just enough so that she could view him through her lashes, and hair that fell in her face.

“Did you go to Merle before going to find me?” He knelt in front of her, his fingers lifting her chin, forcing her to look at him, as she kept her gaze toward the floor regardless of how he pulled and tugged at her face. “Answer me, Calla.”

Her face was carefully kept blank, almost bored, as she traced a crack in the cement at his feet. She had been losing time more often lately, living inside her head, within the memories nestled there, so it truly had been harder to focus on the words he said. Calla preferred to live where she could see Daryl, and not worry about what was happening to her son, and whether or not Philip was taking care of him as he stated. She’d prefer him not in the care of the asshole in front of her, but if he wasn’t being harmed then she could at least feel appeased by that.

“Don’t fuck with me today, Calla,” Philip hissed, as he yanked, quite harshly on her chin, causing pain to ripple through her neck. “That woman who arrived was seen fleeing the walls with your kid. Was that part of your doing? Have you fucked me over once more?”

Calla blinked, slowly, her eyes dazed, and hazy, as a small, lazy smile lifted the corner of her lips.

A laugh slipped through, high-pitched, and joyous, as her whole body shook with it.

He lost her kid.

“Fuck you.”

She spat at him. He flinched, a hand lifting to wipe at his cheek, as all emotion, except for one, slid from his face, leaving a sight that Calla had never seen directed at her before. She had only ever witnessed it the one time a friend of hers had left her boyfriend, and she hadn’t wanted to do it without witnesses. It was a look beyond pissed. Eerily calm. Like the calm before the storm.

Fear didn’t spring up inside of her. It probably should have. The waves of danger that had begun to roll off him were suffocating, but Calla was a little unhinged, and she felt like laughing again.

If Michonne had Maverick then it was possible Merle had a hand in it, but Calla wouldn’t know. She hadn’t gone to Merle as she should have. Instead, her rage and rabid side had gotten the best of her. Maybe, if she had gone to Merle, she would be outside these walls with Maverick, rather than stuck where she was now.

Calla felt every bit like a chained, and caged animal.

It was only fitting that she had started to act like one.

His fingernails began to dig into the skin of her face, but she didn’t flinch, even as the grip turned bruising, and he drew her closer.

“I’m growing tired of this game we’re playing.” Calla was too. “You don’t seem bothered by any of this. Maybe I should go talk to Merle and see what he thinks about all of this. He’s been reported still inside my walls. I should see if he’s loyal to me, or if you hold it. Do you think he’d follow my orders if I told him to hurt you?”

Calla wanted to spit on him again, to scream, to laugh, anything other than listen to Philips’s voice.

She wasn’t worried about Merle following his orders. She knew who Merle was loyal to, but she was worried about what this man would try to do to him if he didn’t. Her family getting hurt was not something she wanted. Part of the reason she had stayed quiet was her fear that if she opened her mouth she would have pissed Philip off enough to take it out on Maverick.

The controlled anger he held over her staying silent meant that he wouldn’t blindly react in rage. Or at least, Calla hoped it would be the case, more than anything.

Maverick may no longer be within his grasp, and she was thankful for that, knowing she owed Michonne big time if she made it out of here alive, but Merle was still within reach. Calla had to stay smart.

“Merle doesn’t know shit,” she spat out, words garbled, as she forced it through lips that were still being squished between his fingers. “I never spoke to him. As far as I know, he doesn’t even know we’ve been living here. Just like you wanted.”

His grip eased, soothed by her replying, as the deranged glint in his eye let up.

“Good, you replied. That wasn’t so hard, now was it?” He gently caressed her cheek, right over where he had hurt her as if he was rewarding her for good behavior. Just as one might do to a dog. It caused her to bristle but Calla held her tongue. “But it isn’t going to protect that oaf of a man. I know he had something to do with this. I don’t need proof. No one is going to miss the likes of him if I take care of him.”

Calla lunged forward, reacting, not thinking, as her teeth snapped around his wrist, digging in, as her vision turned red at the thought of him hurting anyone in her family. It wouldn’t be the first time Calla heard Philip scream, a painful noise that she brought out of him, and she hoped it wouldn’t be the last time. She’d pay this man back a thousandfold before he died by her hands.

A metallic taste flooded her mouth, as her teeth ripped into his flesh, but she refused to let go, not until he suddenly smacked her, and the force of his hit knocked her grip loose. He huffed, cradling his wrist, as he glared, eyes hard, and cold, as something dark swam within the depths of his gaze.

“I’m going to kill you, Calla. You’ll never see that boy of yours again. Never feel the touch of your husband. I’ll be the last thing you feel, or see before the life drains from you, and I fucking plan on taking everything I want from you before then.”

The words curdled her stomach, and for the first time since meeting this man, Calla felt true fear. She kept her face carefully blank, refusing to show him this, knowing he’d get some sick joy from it, as she merely dropped back to her knees, head bowing, as something stuck in her chest. It felt like a pressure, harsh, and pressing, as it bubbled up, and threatened to spill over. Calla wasn’t certain if it would be another laugh or a sob that slipped free, but she refused to give in to it while he was in the room.

His blood covered her lips, smeared across her chin, and speckled her nose.

Whatever happened Calla knew she wouldn’t go down without a fight.

The crackling of a radio hooked to his belt sprung to life, cutting off whatever he may have said after, as a man’s voice relayed that something important required Philip’s attention. They had found something involving her son.

Philip’s eyes lit up at the thought of Maverick being back.

“I’m going to go take care of this. I hope it’s that boy of yours. I’ll kill the woman who took him, and maybe, I’ll keep him alive. Raise him. If I’m feeling generous.”

Calla made to lunge again, missing him only by inches, but it was Philip’s turn to laugh as he turned his back on her, wrapping a rag around his wrist, as he scowled at her before disappearing through the door.

She wasn’t sure when she had started, possibly before Philip had ever even left the room, but her screams bounced off the walls as they slowly drove her mad, reflecting the fear, and sorrow inside her heart.

· ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · 

Michonne had instructed Maverick to hold onto her tightly as they walked through the trees, breaking out into a clearing, where tall fences kept the Walkers that lined up against it, away from the people that lived inside its safety. In the distance, closer to the building, Michonne could see where four people stood, only catching sight of her the closer she got.

One man came out to greet her, staring wide-eyed, confused, and full of distrust as he eyed her first, then the boy, before finally, his gaze landed on the basket of formula. Formula that couldn’t be for the kid she held, he was too old, and Rick didn’t think it was a coincidence that she had them, standing in front of strangers she shouldn’t know anything about, who had a baby who needed that supplies when two of their own had left earlier in the day to search for such a thing.

Michonne didn’t speak, and neither did Rick, as they watched one another. She shifted Maverick in her arms, carefully, slowly, so as to not gain the attention of the Walkers that surrounded her on both sides. They both held enough Walker guts on their clothing to stay hidden, but Michonne’s wound was still bleeding, and it wouldn’t be long before the dead around her caught on to the smell.

It had been a risk to get so close, one she would have felt less nervous about if Maverick wasn’t with her, but as it was every instinct inside of her screamed at her to take the boy and run. When all the man seemed to do was continue to stare, without saying a word, Michonne wondered if she had made the wrong decision.

A Walker to her right began to growl, growing curious, as it drew closer to her. Michonne could feel the way the blood from her wound continued to bleed, how her head had grown lighter, as her body got heavier. She had chosen the prison for more than one reason. Soon, she would hardly be able to keep Maverick safe if she didn’t get medical attention. If it was between people who were willing to keep a baby alive, the Governor, or the dead, Michonne chose to rely on the strangers.

As it was she found herself afraid that she had made the wrong call after all.

Dropping the basket of formula Michonne began to take steps back. Her grip tightened on the boy as she sent another look toward the man, this one desperate, as she thought over what could happen to Maverick. She did not try to help her friend just so she could get said friend’s kid killed. Rick continued to watch her, following along with her movements, but he had noticed how the Walkers began to take notice of her, and more importantly taking notice of the kid.

His paranoia may have met heights greater than anything else he had ever felt before, but even Rick couldn’t stomach the thought of watching as a kid was ripped apart in front of him.  

“Are we going to help them, dad?” Carl asked, sounding worried, as he followed his father’s lead.

Michonne yanked the bag from her back, allowing it to drop as well before she set Maverick on the ground next to her. She placed a hand calmly on his back, before pressing him close to her, a silent reminder to stay nearby. The sword slid from its sheath right before it slammed into the first Walkers head.

Maverick let out a little whimper.

The sick had never paid attention to his mama, and by extension him.

He knew they were scary, but his mama had always kept this part of them away from him, ever since that scary day at the refugee.

Terror flooded his lungs, as small squeaking noises, began to flood the area around him.

She took another step back, gently guiding Maverick with her, as she sliced through two more. Her head felt lighter than before. Her legs trembled, and the only thing keeping her up was the sight of another Walker stumbling toward them. Her sword came up, slashing through its neck, as her legs finally crumbled, and she hit the ground with a thump. The boy who was still holding onto her cried out in panic. He knelt beside her, too afraid to move, as he watched the creatures that looked like people grow closer.

Michonne tried to get her voice to work, to tell Maverick to run, hoping that he could get away while they feasted on her flesh instead of focusing on him, but the words refused to leave, and she felt the continued pressure of his hands on her side.

The face above her blurred, going in and out of focus, and every time it came into sharp emphasis the Walkers were closer than before. Too close.

She tried once more to talk, to say anything, as she tried forcing her arms to work, but nothing responded.

There was a gunshot. The startling contrast to the moans that had buzzed in the back of her mind brought her back, as she watched their heads slump forward, as they dropped like flies around her.

Maverick would be safe.

It looked like the strangers wouldn’t let a kid die after all.

Her vision went dark as a pair of hands tugged her up. She wasn’t able to plead with them to take the kid instead of her before her mind slipped away.

· ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · 

Maverick watched it all, shaking with fear, as his body refused to respond to anything as he kept a firm grip on Mi. Even as the man picked her up Maverick’s hand simply grabbed at whatever part of her that was still within reach. He heard the man grunt something to him, possibly telling him to follow, but Maverick held no wishes to separate from the one adult he knew.

He felt stressed.

Scared.

Too much had happened in such a short amount of time that all he wanted was his mama.

Tears had begun to slide down his face, as sobs wracked his body, and he was certain that the others could hear him, but they didn’t react.

Instead, the man pushed forward, moving slightly too fast, as Maverick’s short legs stumbled, and almost caused him to fall as he tried keeping up. He was scared, wondering if they’d leave him behind, as he clutched desperately to Mi’s leg, barely managing to keep up. If he let go now Maverick just knew that he’d be left behind.

“Carl,” Rick called out. “The kid.”

Nodding, Carl pulled the bag over his back, shifting the basket in his arms, as he scooped Maverick up. He could feel as the other kid struggled to hold him, along with everything else, but he didn’t drop him, and Maverick found comfort in the action. He had been forced to let go of Mi, but Carl was following after the man, and that meant he wouldn’t be separated from her. He’d only cry harder if they tried to take her away.

Maverick wasn’t allowed back down, or near Mi again until they entered the strange building that startled, and scared Maverick a little bit. He didn’t like how it was dark and unfamiliar.

He really wanted his mama. His daddy. Uncle Merle. Any one of them would have been nice and would have known how to make him feel comfortable again.

The older boy set him down as the man laid Mi on the floor.

Maverick stood there. Crying. Tears rolled down his cheeks, and the older boy looked uncertain about what to do, as he set down the things Mi had been carrying.

“Mama!” he cried, giving in to the demands of his body, as fear leaked through his voice. His mama had promised not to go away, and then she did. Maverick didn’t know why, but he didn’t like feeling like this. He didn’t like these people. He didn’t want to be here. “Mama!”

“Carl bring him over here.”

Gently, the older boy whispered words of encouragement, trying to get him to stop crying, as he led Maverick closer to Mi.

“Hey,” the man said. “Hey. Don’t worry. You’re safe. We’re not gonna hurt you. What’s your name?” Maverick wasn’t certain if he was talking to him, or to Mi, but the boy didn’t care, as he knelt on the floor, burying his face in Mi’s arm, as he hoped she woke up and took him back to his mama.

The words slipped by him as he listened to the adult, the man who scared him, as Mi tried focusing, her hands gripping at him, keeping him protected, as she regained her bearings.

“Rick,” called out a voice that had Maverick’s head snapping up. That voice was familiar. It had his heart soaring. “What’s going on?” The new man stepped through the doorway made out of bars and into the room the other man had placed them in. Mi still held onto him tightly, but Maverick had begun to struggle in her grip, and where before she would have been able to keep him close, in her current state she was too weak. Maverick broke from her grip, startling Rick, and Michonne as he suddenly climbed over the woman. He shoved past Rick, who had been crowding into their space, hovering above Michonne to keep her laying down.

Maverick knew the man that had just joined them.

Mi had taken him to his daddy after all.

Not his mother like he had wanted, but that hardly mattered to him at that moment, as he hadn’t seen this particular person in so long.

“Daddy!” he screamed, hollering loudly, the sobs still wracked his body, as fear lingered within his bones. He tripped over Mi’s sword, his little shoes catching on the edge of it, but before he could scrape the skin of his hands against the concrete floor, his daddy was there, swooping him up into his arms. “Daddy, Mav finds you.”

He could hear the small noises that his father made right before he cried like when he was trying to hold it in. His breathing was ragged, sounding whiny, but quiet, as he buried his face into Maverick’s hair. His father shook around him, but that was okay because Maverick was shaking as well. Mav buried himself in his father’s warmth, seeking the comfort that his uncle lacked the experience in giving, but no one felt like his dad. No one could make him feel as safe within their arms. His mama was good at it, but she gave him another sense of security.

A tiny nose, sniffling, and full of snot, pressed against his dad’s neck, as little hands, and arms wrapped around as much of his father as he possibly could. He was afraid to let go.

Daryl, shocked, and wondered if he had finally lost it because the thought of this being Maverick in his arms felt hollow, and like a fantasy. Hadn’t he imagined similar moments like this?

Instead of the stranger on the ground, it should have been Calla. There would have been less blood. It would have followed more like one of those hallmark movies Calla loved to watch, and less horror filled as his life had turned into.

"Maverick?” he whispered, pressing kisses to his kid’s hair, as he breathed him in. “Is that you buddy?”

“Silly daddy,” he hiccupped. “It’s Mav!” He pressed closer, rubbing his face against his father, and breathing in the familiar scent that had always eased him in the past. “I missed you.”

“God, bud, daddy missed yah too. Daddy missed yah so bad.” Daryl had fallen to his knees, moving to cradle Maverick firmly in his arms, as the two wrapped themselves around one another.

“Mama said we’d find you. I want mama, daddy. Mav misses mama.”

“Where’s mama, buddy?”

Calla should have been here. Not this woman who was now staring at them, looking as if something was clicking in her mind, as she watched the duo closely.

“Mama gone.” The words made the boy begin to cry again, and Daryl stiffened at the implications of those words before beginning to soothingly move his fingers through Mavericks hair, lightly carding them through the tangles that had formed on the journey to the prison. “Mav wants mama!”

Rocking Maverick back and forth, Daryl tried calming his son, feeling as if something broke inside his chest, as all he could think about was that Calla was dead. He couldn’t help where his thoughts had automatically gone, as he stared at the stranger who had his son, and the way Maverick said she was gone.

“Where’s his mother?” Daryl asked, pinning the stranger with his stare, his voice gruff, and hard, as he continued to hold Maverick close to him.

“That’s Mi, daddy. Be nice to Mi. Mi was nice to Mav. Mama likes Mi.”

The words pulled the anger from his body, easing the prickling sensation that stabbed at Daryl, as he stood slowly to his feet.

“She’s in the same place as your people.” The words left clenched lips, falling into a hiss, as the pain wracked through Michonne. She felt unsettled, and on edge around these people, but this was Daryl, the man she had heard so much about, and Michonne knew without a doubt that the help she had been searching for to get Calla, and Merle, would be found here after all.

“Start from the beginning,” Rick ordered. “Tell us everything you know.”

He had been watching his friend, his brother, and part of his found family in surprise, as Daryl reacted to the kid’s cries of daddy. He had seen the look of awe, the adoration, and shock as Daryl scooped the kid up. Rick had never seen Daryl so open with his emotions before, and he realized how much of himself Daryl had kept from them. They had only just learned about him having a wife a week before. The man had slowly been revealing more about himself, but they hadn’t felt hurt by him keeping it from them, not when they all witnessed the pain that flooded his expression each time he spoke about Calla.

Being away from her, away from his kid, had been tearing Daryl up inside.

Rick couldn’t fault him for not wanting to tear that wound back open every time he spoke about them.

As he watched the two in front of him interact there was no doubt that Daryl was this boy’s father. The love that flooded his face, and the actions of comfort, and familiarity that they surrounded themselves with couldn’t be mistaken for anything else.

This is where Daryl learned to handle a baby with ease.

Judith hadn’t been the first he had held or taken care of. That had been clear in the ease with which Daryl had handled her.

If Rick had been more put together he would have noticed the signs sooner.

As the woman spoke of how Glenn and Maggie had been taken by the people chasing after her, and Maverick, Daryl stiffened. Growing angrier as she got to the point of saying that they were only taken because they believed Glenn and Maggie were there to help them, that this Governor who was in charge, held Calla, and that his brother had stayed back to save his wife.

He felt like he had been placed inside a movie, and every one that he ever loved, and cared for was right within his reach for the first time in months but was held in the clutches of danger. They had been nearby the entire time. Always just a little out of reach.

Only the knowledge that he was holding Maverick kept him from lashing out in anger. The urge to punch a wall was strong, but he wasn’t willing to let go of Maverick, afraid that he would disappear in a puff of smoke as soon as he put him down.

His family was close. Daryl shared a look with Rick, and the other man, their leader didn’t even try to tell him no. There was no way they were allowing any of their family to stay in this man’s clutches, and even though Rick didn’t know Calla, it didn’t matter. Calla was Daryl’s wife. That made her family. Rick would never ask the man to give up on his family. Even the thought of Merle being around didn’t make Rick feel like backing out.

He would do this for his brother. Daryl deserved to have his family back. Rick had once found his wife and son when all odds were against him. It was Daryl’s turn to experience that for himself.

· ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · 

Philip felt the rage simmering under his skin, the deadly coolness of it, as it surpassed burning anger, and had fallen into dangerous territory. A lesser man would have flown into a fit, bashing skulls in, as he took out his anger in any way that he could, but Philip was not a lesser man. He allowed it to simmer within him, growing, and right before it boiled over he’d make sure those that he wanted were within his sights.

That bitch had managed to fuck him over once again.

The people his men brought in didn’t seem to know anything, about anyone, and Philip wondered where he had gone wrong in choosing his men. Could they have gotten any dumber? Bringing in people, to his sanctuary, that could possibly ruin everything for him if they were released. Fuck, if he wouldn’t have to do damage control. They’d have to be willing to assimilate and follow his orders, or any of their potential would just have to be ended. Philip couldn’t have someone else out there ruining his chances of thriving in this town.

First, he needed to make sure these two weren’t lying to him, because if they did know Calla, and were working with that other bitch, Philip wanted them dead.

Leaning against a wall he waited, knowing that it wouldn’t be much longer now, before his favorite, now soon-to-be dead soldier was brought before him.

“Found him nearby, sir,” said one of the strays Philip had sent out to collect Merle.

“Oh?” Philip glanced up, an easy smile on his face, hiding the sinister desires that hung right below the surface. “What could you possibly have been doing in this neck of the woods, Merle? I don’t think I assigned any of the cells to you.”

“Been tryin’a find yah,” Merle answered easily. He shifted, moving to press weight against the leg furthest from the Governor. There wasn’t an ounce of unease clinging to the redneck as he nonchalantly lit a cigarette and took a drag from it. “Was thinking it’s ‘bout time I head on back out there.”

Philip’s eyes narrowed. Merle had always been one of those he found hard to read. The man was shrouded in nothing but mystery until he flew off the handle, and his anger had the best of him. He could be lying, or he could be telling the truth. Philip hadn’t managed to make it to the Daycare owner yet to ask his questions. Regardless, she’d be hearing about protocols and not allowing the kids to go with anyone but the parents until they’d be explicitly told they could go with someone else. Philip decided to ignore the fact that the rule went against his own actions in taking the boy, but he didn’t give a fuck that there was no real claim there.

He was tired of having things not going his way.

Calla Dixon was a fine example of things not going his way.

He itched to teach her a lesson, but first, he had other pressing matters to attend to.

“Come take a look at these fine folk I’ve got here today,” he beckoned. “I want to see if you know them. You see, Merle, there were a couple of people that came in recently. A woman by the name of Calla Dixon, and a little boy. She states she’s related to you, and well, before I could reunite the lot of you another woman, also new, took the boy and ran. Now, I know how important family is to you, so I want to help you get this figured out as soon as possible. These people may know where your nephew is at.” As he talked Philip kept a close eye on the other man, watching for any reaction to what he was saying, but Merle didn’t give a single one. There was no surprise, or realization, not even a fucking flicker of contempt. He was a vault. That irritated Philip even more. Dixons were starting to become a thorn in his side. He was regretting letting any of them stay alive. “Tell me if you recognize any of them.”

On the outside, Merle struggled to show nothing. He didn’t want to tip the Governor off with him already knowing about Calla and Maverick. It was best that the Governor only suspected and not actually knew, because it would give him just a little more freedom to find Calla and get out of there.

He hadn’t realized people had been brought in. That they would all be huddled in this building tonight when he had gone to grab Calla.

It threw a wrench in the plans, but when Philip shoved open the door to the first cell, and Merle was met with the sight of a beat-up Glenn, the man had to force any and all recognition from showing in his body language. His muscles felt tight, strung too sharply, as he tried conveying to Glenn to keep his mouth shut.

None of this would go down all right if Glenn started sprouting out that they knew one another.

But if Glenn was here, and the Governor’s men thought Michonne had been working with him, then that meant his baby brother was nearby as well.

He hoped Maverick somehow found his way to him, but in the meantime, Merle was going to have to find a way to get Glenn out of here alive with Calla. The Asian in front of him was his ticket straight back to his brother, and Merle wasn’t about to let that go.

It was as if everything was lining up for Merle and all he had to do was make sure he survived long enough to grab the opportunity before it slipped away from him.

“Don’ know ‘im.” With ease that came from months of being forced to stay one step ahead of the Governor, Merle took another slow drag of his cigarette. “Whoever he is he ain’t associated with mah brother. If that woman set anything up with him I don’ know ‘bout it.”

Merle could see the frustration on Glenn’s face, as he struggled to figure out why Merle was pretending not to know him, and Merle felt the urge to smack the look off his face. He was trying to keep them both alive. The man could be quicker on the uptake. When Glenn’s mouth opened to talk all Merle could do was hope it wasn’t something stupid that would get them both killed right then and there.

“I don’t know what’s going on. Where’s Maggie? What did you do to her?”

“Don’t worry about her. I promise she’s being taken better care of than you.”

Merle almost winced at the words. Maybe not being beaten was a good thing but he knew the Governor and there were much worse things that could happen to a person.

“Yah said Calla was here,” Merle said, pretending that he still didn’t have a clue, as he played the role the Governor expected from him. “The boys lost, but where is she?”

He kept his face blank as he continued to stare at Glenn. He was trying to come off as not bothered by the whole situation. As if he could care less and was asking because it was expected from him.

Merle had gotten the message from Glenn. He’d stay quiet about knowing him, but if Merle had a plan, it needed to include this Maggie. His face wanted to pinch at how complicated this was becoming, but it didn’t. Merle made it clear to Glenn that he also had someone important that needed to be fetched.

“She’s stricken with grief over the whole ordeal. I’ve got her somewhere safe and comfortable.”

Doubtful but Merle didn’t react to the lie.

“Supposed I should thank yah for that.”

“We’re all family here, Merle. It’s simply what one does for family.”

A load of shit.

They both knew it.

It was a dangerous game Merle was playing. There was no way the Governor would sit back and allow him to ‘work’ over Glenn so that Merle could bust them out. There was distrust in every word that the Governor spoke to him. He’d probably end up in one of these cells himself before too much longer.

He took the final drag, allowing it to fill his lungs, as the nicotine kicked in.

Flicking it toward the floor his boot went to crush the smoking end just as the Governor turned, eyes lit up with evil intent, and Merle reacted by throwing the first punch.  

· ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · 

Calla was drifting again, feeling light, as comforting images spun like silk inside her mind. It was a dangerous temptation, to decide never to reemerge into the real world again, as she thought about staying there with Daryl and Maverick. Where the new world and its dangers could never touch her again. She’d be safe and sound until something finally took her out. It was tempting.

It just wasn’t in Calla’s blood to do such a thing.

When the door to her prison was thrown open Calla idly drug herself from those mesmerizing mirages, simply so she could look into the face of a smug-looking Philip.

Not a sight she cared to see, and she allowed the feeling to show on her face.

“You’ve become much more expressive recently.” His voice sounded pleased, but Calla could see it in his eyes, she had fallen short of his expectations.

“My son is safe. I could care less about what you have planned for me now that I don’t have to worry about his safety.”

Calla didn’t see the point in holding back. She could see that Philip had lost interest in her, and all that was left was how she could benefit and amuse him in her final hours. He hadn’t even taken enough interest in her survival to make sure she had been given food or water in the last twenty-four hours.

No, something had flipped inside of him, and Callas’ hours were numbered.

“I’ve got to say, I’m disappointed in how this is going to end.” He moved around until he was standing in front of her. “I would have preferred if you ended up in my bed, like a good girl, but I can see that it would be asking for too much. I’m not exactly willing to see where else you plan in maiming me.” Reaching out Philip began to undo the chains that had forced her into the worst position of her life. As soon as her arms were free they fell limp to her sides. The blood rushing through them hurt, as she barely contained the wince at the discomfort, and the lack of strength she held in them. “I’m hosting an event tonight. You Dixon’s are going to be the main entertainment.”

He pulled her to her feet, hardly allowing her to gain her bearings, or remember how to walk before she was half dragged across the floor.

Bruised, and scrapped up, Calla was taken to a different building, and yanked along as they made their way back outside, and to a makeshift arena. Calla hadn’t bothered to ask questions, knowing they wouldn’t be answered, but as she watched people stick Walkers inside the arena, she felt her heart pound a little louder within her chest.

What exactly did Philip have planned tonight?

How was she going to be the entertainment?

The answer wasn’t looking good.

“Here Merle,” Philip said breezily. “Your sister-in-law as asked. I can be a courteous man.” She was tossed to Merle’s feet, and her legs, which had just started to regain the strength to hold her up, collapsed from underneath her. Merle was quick to lean over, grabbing at her with one hand, the only one he had, she realized.

“Merle?” she asked horrified. “What happened?”

“Long story.” He carefully pulled her back to her feet before two men roughly grabbed them, using another chain to connect them together, by their feet, and Merle’s one hand.

“The two of you are gonna fight that herd of Walkers, and if yah survive I’ll allow you to pick which one of you die by my hand. Personally, I’m hoping it’s Merle, cause Calla darlin’ we’ve got some unfinished business to attend to.”

Philip winked at her, or at least Calla assumed he had, as she stared in satisfaction at the fact that it was the only one he had left.

“Then, those two over there will get a turn at survival.”

Calla glanced over toward the unknown male, and female, who huddled close to one another, as the man glared at anyone that got too close.

“Who are they?” Calla asked softly to Merle.

“Our ticket ta finding Daryl,” Merle muttered lowly. “We gotta make it out of here, sweetheart.”

“I wasn’t planning on dying today, Merle.” Calla rolled her eyes before they were suddenly no longer alone, and Philip was shoving her bat under her nose.

“One of you get a weapon to protect yourselves,” he said with a shrug. “I don’t want you dying easily now. Where would the fun be in watching that.” He then tossed it into the arena, before shoving the two adults in after it.

The dead noticed right away that they had entered their territory, wandering over as they spotted what looked like easy kills. Calla and Merle dashed over toward where her bat had been tossed to the ground. She scooped it up, not thrown off at all by having to use only one hand, she had had to do it many times in the past. Instinctively, as if the bat was just an extension of herself, Calla swung it out, clipping the nearest of the sick in the face.

Blood splattered against her face, the kill having gotten a little too close, but she didn’t find herself bothered by it at all. She had survived months while being covered in the guts, and gore, that came from the sick. If anything it felt like a piece of her armor had slid back into place, and if she got enough on her, she’d become invisible to them.

Yanking Merle around, Calla placed herself between him, and the next sick, as she continued to swing, and bash skulls in.

The familiarity of the action brought peace to her.

It didn’t matter that her blonde hair had started to change to that rusty color in places the blood fell on, or that the wrist connected to Merle ached something fierce, as yet another chain had been placed on it. Her limbs felt like they might fall off with how tired, and weak they were, but Calla could ignore that. It didn’t own her. She wouldn’t let it. After all, she had been in similar situations before and survived.

With the knowledge that she was around people that knew Daryl, and could potentially take her to him, there was no way she would allow herself, or them, to die today.

Her family was close to being complete.

Merle knew where Michonne had gone with Maverick.

Daryl was nearby, so close Calla thought she could actually feel him, and that realization caused joy to sing inside her veins.

It gave her the strength to continue on, working her way through the sick, as if it were just a simple dance to her.

This was her element.

She thrived in survival.

It wouldn’t be too hard to include someone else’s survival, that wasn’t Mavericks, into her mindset.

Being connected to her bat left her feeling as if nothing could stop her as she remembered everything it had helped her live through in the past.

Her breathing came out in rough gasps as she made to swing at the next of the sick that came at her, only for its head to explode right in front of her before she ever even touched it.

Merle was quick to snatch her up, dragging her back, and away, as gunshots sounded throughout the arena. He wrapped a protective arm around her waist as he tugged, and lifted her up off the ground, before dropping them both behind a section of the wall that jutted out. The arena became impossible to see through as some kind of smoke bomb was set off. It caused Calla’s eyes to water, as she gagged on the smell, it stuck in her throat, and even lifting her shirt to cover her face wasn’t enough to ease the sensation. Behind her, she could tell Merle was feeling similar effects, but he kept them hidden as chaos literally broke out around them.

“What’s going on?” she whisper yelled to him as they stayed hunkered down.

“Don’ know,” Merle replied. “Don’ seem like the doings of the Governor.”

“Isn’t that saying the enemy of my enemy is my friend?”

“Sweetheart, if I knew who ta fuck was doin’ this I’d agree wit yah, but we gotta play it smart. We should find Glenn and get ta fuck out of here while the Governor is busy.”

“Right!”

Calla itched to take the man out herself, but she knew, in her weakened state, she wouldn’t get far, and would probably only end up getting killed. Being killed by Philip was not how she had pictured dying. Before the end of the world, she had always thought it would be of old age, with Daryl, their kids, and grandkids, at her bedside as she passed away peacefully, not at the hands of a psychopath.

Not having much of a choice, and wishing to be out of here just as much as Merle wanted to, she followed him out of their hiding spot as they stuck close to the wall, and looked for a way out. Around them, even though they couldn’t see it, they could hear the struggle between the two forces that were going at it. Sometimes, she felt as if they were right on top of her, but they never ran into another person, and Calla just hoped a stray bullet wouldn’t accidentally hit them.

Whoever had attacked Woodbury had just saved their lives, and she didn’t want to be a casualty by accident after everything they just went through.

So, when a silhouette appeared from out of the smoke, Calla being the only one with a weapon, reacted on instinct. She didn’t know if this was one of Philip’s men, or not, but in her head, it didn’t matter. Dying was not an option. She swung out with her bat without much thought, almost clipping the man in the head, but he managed to dodge at the last second by throwing himself to the side, and forward. It ended up with him nearly knocking Merle off his feet, as her brother-in-law reacted by shoving the guy away and having the unfortunate chain reaction of the man not only knocking into her bat but Calla herself.

She ended up on the dusty ground, Merle yanked down near her, as the man landed up on top of her, groaning, and trying to avoid being punctured by her bat. Within seconds Merle was reacting, sitting up, ready to pull the guy off from on top of her, when Calla froze, staring up into the eyes of a very familiar face.

Her heart jumped up to her throat, pounding loudly inside her head, as she nearly choked at the realization of whom she had almost just bashed their brains in.

The bat slid from her fingers as she shoved at Merle, the man in question reaching out to grab at their attacker, as Calla’s only intention was to wrap him up within her arms, and never let go.

The noise around her became nothing but background noise, a simple buzzing, as she closed the very small distance between her and the man still leaning above her. Her arms wrapped around his shoulders, tugging him down, causing him to lose his balance, as they both landed with a small thud back onto the ground. It forced the breath from her lungs, but Calla didn’t mind. She had already felt breathless and like she didn’t need it to survive. This man above her was enough of a life force to keep her going for the next hundred years.

Who needed to breathe?

She heard a curse from Merle, but it barely registered in her mind.

Those familiar blue eyes, like a cool lake on a summer day, were staring back down at her, familiarity, and love lighting up his gaze.

Calla’s lips sought out any part of him before her mind even registered the desire to want to do such a thing. She fumbled, missing her intended target, landing somewhere against his jaw, as he dove forward, seemingly intent to do the same thing. It wasn’t as if her lips minded, they sought out the skin there instead, nipping, and sucking, afraid that he would disappear in a puff of fantasy, her mind just playing another awful trick on her.

How many times had she slipped inside her head and seen something of a similar nature?

His hands moving against her skin, gentle, but forceful in the way he guided her to his lips had Calla gasping, as none of her fantasies had ever felt this real. Suddenly, she was a woman dying of thirst, and this person in front of her was her oasis.  

Their lips melded perfectly together, in sync, as if no time had passed them by. Without a doubt, as she leaned further into the kiss, desperate for more, Calla knew who this was.

There was no mistaking him.

Angry with her own choices, and wishing to continue like they were, Calla still forced herself to pull back, to put distance between them, as best as she could, as she stared up into the face of her husband.

“Daryl.”

Nothing else needed to be said. That one word echoed a million things as love, and giddiness dripped into the syllable.

“Let’s get yah out of here, Peach. I’m taking yah home.”