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stonecoldjerseyfox · 1 year

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Jersey on my mind (Part 56)

With a violently beating heart Daryl places two knocks on the door before he turns the shiny knob and opens it.

“Jersey?”

No reply. From the bed, there’s no movement. All he can see is Mila’s back and her silhouette underneath the covers.

“You awake?”

Again, no reply. He takes a step in, closes the door almost fully behind him and continues to move towards the bed.

Daryl sits down at the bedside and strokes his hand along her side, over her shoulder, down her arm and continuing over her waist, hip and then back up.

“Hey?” He says faintly, wanting it to be soft and gentle, but it comes out more husky.

No answer.

“Hey?” Daryl attempts again, this time leaning over her, looking at her face that’s turned away from him. “Ain’t gonna do you any good just lay here.”

“I know.” Mila replies. “I’m just… tired.”

She sighs. Daryl bites his lower lip. She’s been laying in bed for three days since they returned from their grand escape from the Sanctuary. The doc has been checking in on her daily and the night before he took Daryl aside.

“She’d do good if she came out. Took a walk.”

Daryl had just nodded. He already then knew it wouldn't be easy. How do you convince the most stubborn human being in the world to just ‘take a walk’? Especially if that person was in such a condition as this?

Daryl looks at her. He knew this would be hard, getting her out of her head, trying to help her heal and recover. Easier said than done. He have no idea how to fix this.

If Carol was here he’d ask her what to do. Asked her to help him. Now she’s not and it’s excruciating not knowing where she is. Dealing with pain and grief has never been easy, but to deal with it like this for the both of them.

When he’s been low Carol, then Mila, have been there to pull him up. Now Carol’s gone and Mila needs him, and he feels like a useless sack of shit for not being able to make it better instantly.

At the same time he too feels broken, filled with remorse for leaving to go after the Saviors, putting her and the others at risk and for causing her so much stress. Partially he feels responsible for everything; for Glenn, Carol, Abe, the baby.

“Ya’ wanna go for a ride?” He asks.

It comes out of nowhere, just rolling off his tongue. But at least it’s a concrete suggestion, a lame one, but something that might get her out of bed.

First there’s no reaction. Then Mila turns around on the other side, facing the door instead. She looks up at him. There’s no spark in her eyes. He noticed it two days ago when he came to bed. It was noticeable even in the faint light of the bedside lamp.

“Why not.”

It’s neither enthusiastic or- well, anything really. Just a vocal response. But it’s better than nothing.

“I’ll see ya’ downstairs.” Daryl gives her a wry smile, strokes her cheek and gets up from the bed.

He wants to hug her, take her in his arms, bury his face in her neck and inhale her scent and tell her how much he loves her and how sorry he is. But it might make her withdraw even more.

There’s something about her state that makes him think of a wild deer. A shy, fragile creature that at any sudden movement could turn around and escape.

As he backs off towards the door, he watches as she slowly rises out of the bed and stands up, looking around the bedroom lazily. The curtains are drawn to shut out most light. One window is open, letting in a breeze that causes the fabric to sway. From the street the rhythmic sound of a hammer working on a nail seeps in.

“I’ll take a shower.” Mila declares monotonous and walks into the adjacent bathroom.

Daryl remains on his spot, listens to as the faucets are turned on and the water starts to drizzle down in the shower before he leaves the bedroom and walks downstairs.

As he puts his feet on the last step he spots Rick in the kitchen, feeding Judith something mushy from a bowl. The mush is all around the baby’s face and Rick tries his best to make her open her mouth so he can give her another spoonful.

He looks up as Daryl approaches and sits down at the kitchen island with a sigh.

“How’s she?” Rick asks and adjusts Judith on his arm. The girl’s small, still chubby baby hands start to fiddle with the small button in his shirt.

Daryl shrugs and looks down on his hands.

“Dunno what to do.” He admits with another, even deeper sigh. “I can’t make ‘er happy.”

“Not what it’s about, is it?” Rick says. “Ya’ gotta give it time.”

“How much?”

Rick looks down, not knowing what to say. It’s a trick question, they both know it; that depends on so many variables. Too many for Daryl to handle. Mila’s the strongest person he’s ever met, psychologically, but such a thing as this is different.

“How are you then?”

“What?” Daryl looks up and frowns. His gaze flickers and he can’t really meet Rick’s worrying eyes. Honestly he doesn’t want to talk about it. “Tryin’ not to think about it.” But when Rick doesn’t reply and just continues to look at him, Daryl sighs. “It’s ma’ fault. All of this. How ya’ think I’m feelin’?”

Rick shakes his head and once again adjusts the girl on his arm.

“It ain’t all your fault.” He objects. “It’s a tragedy, but it ain’t your fault.”

Well, why does everything point to that then, Daryl wonders and starts to feel angry. It’s gotta be someone’s fault, right? Someone he can blame? It’s too fucking easy to blame Negan and the Saviors. He’s retraced every step, twisted and turned every goddamn scenario that’s happened so many times.

Everytime it all ends up with him leaving Alexandria to go after the Saviors. To get his revenge on Denise.

It’s as Rick can read his mind, because he says:

“If ya’ have to put the blame on someone, put it where it belongs.”

“Which is-”

“You know damn well what I mean.” Rick cuts him off. “We all knew it was just a matter of time before shit hit the fan with ‘em Saviors. We knew when we left Hilltop.”

Daryl can’t object to that.

“It will hurt, but it’ll get better.” Rick’s eyes soften.

Daryl nods. If anyone knows it’s Rick. Lori’s death put him in a place where everyone feared for his life. The pain and the grief overtook his mind for a long time. Somehow -Daryl can’t really remember now how and when- it got better.

“Yeah.”

“She’ll be alright.” Rick says and nods towards the stairs. “And when she’s better-” He pauses and his gaze turns stern all of a sudden. “-we gotta make sure she’ll not run off to have her revenge.”

Yeah Daryl has thought of it too. Honestly he’s been tempted to drive over there and put that whole darn place on fire. Then he thought about it a second time and realized that it could end just as bad as when he drove off after Denise’s death. What Mila would do he can’t even imagine.

“Easier said than done.” Daryl says. “She doesn’t listen.”

An understatement. It’s like trying to tame a goddamn dragon.

“We gotta try.” Rick replies, walks around the kitchen island and puts Judith down on the living room floor. “Guess it’s best to involve her in our plans of action as much as possible. Or else she’ll go rogue again.”

“She does it well though.” Daryl says. “She gets things done.”

Rick lingers with a reply; he agrees, but it’s obviously hard to admit it out loud.

“Yeah.” He says after a few seconds. “But it’s goddamn frustrating.”

“Ya’ not married to her.” Daryl scoffs.

“Well, sometimes I wonder.” Rick chuckles dryly.

Daryl can’t help but grin slightly.

The sound of footsteps on the stairs makes them turn silent. Mila arrives freshly showered, dressed in blue jeans, boots and a denim shirt. In her hand she holds a jacket.

“Hey you.” Rick greets her calmly.

Mila nods in reply and combs her fingers through her hair. Panic starts to rise in Daryl’s chest; he has no plan for this. It was a plea of desperation to ask her if she wanted to go for a ride. But then what?

“You ready?” Mila looks at Daryl.

Not for shit.

“Let’s go.” He twitches his head and takes the lead towards the door.

Has he ever felt more antsy? Yeah, when Jersey tagged along on that first run, bringing Juri with her, plus at least a hundred other scenarios in the beginning of their kinship.

They walk under silence towards a pickup, get in and close the doors behind them.

“What about-”

“He’s fine.” Daryl says before Mila continues. “He’s with Carl.”

Mila nods. Juri’s been with her much during these days, but everyone in the community has helped out. Daryl’s been in charge of him during dinner and when he’s not out on a run. This morning Carl offered to take Juri for ‘an adventure’.

“I like that lil’ guy.” He says with a wry smile underneath the Sheriff’s hat.

As if that wasn’t obvious already.

“Good.” Mila nods, adjusts in the seat and puts her head towards the leather clad headrest.

Daryl puts the key in the ignition, awakes the car and backs out and slowly rolls through the community towards the gate.

Today’s gatekeepers, Rosita and Gabriel, nod at him through the windscreen before they turn around to open the gate for them. Last night, during guard duty when he felt more lost than ever, Daryl eased his heart to the priest.

He’d never done such a thing before; turned to a man of faith for consolation and support, but it was more because Gabriel was the one lucky, or unlucky, enough to be there with him when his emotions boiled over.

“I can’t take it. I hate to see her like this.” He said huskily with a trembling voice. “It feels like I’m losing ‘er.”

“You’re not losing her.”

“Well what is it that’s goin’ on then?” Daryl scoffed.

Why did it feel like she slipped through his fingers? Why did it feel so fucking wrong in his stomach?

“You’ve gone through a loss.” Gabriel said. “Healing, griefing- it manifests itself in different ways.”

It wasn’t much consolation, but at least it made him feel less wrathful. He still had no control of the situation, but the inexplicable anger he carried around in his chest softened a little by Gabriel’s words.

“Right now she needs you, more than ever. It might not feel like that, but she does. Your love is strong; nurture it and get strength from it.”

Yeah, it was true, also the only thing on his mind since he sat down next to her at the infirmary, after they’d got the news about the misscarriage. He wouldn’t back down from the task.

“Buckle up.” Daryl says and reaches for the seatbelt and puts it over his chest and snaps it in place.

Mila does as she’s told, Daryl puts the car in drive and rolls out through the gate. He increases the speed, throws a quick look in the rearview mirror at the closing gate, then rests his gaze at the road ahead.

The crossbow lies in the backseat, the gun’s loaded and he assumes that Mila carries some kind of firearm on her. He knows there’s some stuff on the truck bed as well.

The ‘if’:s are always present. What if they’re ambushed? What if something happens?

“Where are we going?”

“Huh?” Daryl awakes from his own thoughts and turns to look at Mila. “You’ll see.”

F-u-c-k, Daryl swears inside his head. He has no fucking idea where he’s driving. But no further questions are asked. His vague answer seems to have been enough.

Mila turns her face away again and looks out of the window at the passing trees. The silence between them is torture. They’ve never been this quiet before. Usually they’ve been able to talk things through, solve things together efficiently. Well, those times it hasn’t been this close to the heart.

Daryl glances at Mila’s profile as she gazes out of the window while he, discreetly, puts a cassette into the tape player. A fast paced organ tune starts to play out of the car’s raspy speakers. He’s heard it many times but it wasn’t until he met her that he got to know that it was some band called the Who who’d made the song ‘Baba O’Riley’. He’d heard it many times at bars, parties and more bars; during bar fights, while hungover and whatnot. It’s a pretty fuckin’ good song!

Again Daryl glances at her, hoping to see some kind of positive reaction. He doesn’t expect any miracles, but she likes music.

Somehow the music streaming out of the raspy radio speakers seems to awaken her from her indifferent, lost in thought-state of mind. She adjusts her head, faces the road ahead; the spark in her eyes -he can see her profile- isn’t there yet, but the hands drumming along to the beat, her slightly bobbing head and the silent singing along to the lyrics is absolutely an improvement.

“Pull in there.” Mila says as they drive past a withering gas station sign, covered in rust. “I’m thirsty.”

“Yep.”

Daryl steers into the decaying debris of what once must’ve been a busy spot for trucks and regular Joe gas-clients; the big parking lot next to the store is empty except for an abandoned, looted truck with punctured tires. Glass and shelves from the store are scattered around, a recipe of unaccustomed, uncareful looters.

Probably they’re not even alive anymore, Daryl thinks and lets the car roll the last few meters before he stops in front of the entrance. Sloppy, loud looters usually don’t survive that long.

“What do ya’ want?” Daryl asks and looks at Mila.

She gives him a look, clearly telling him that she’s capable of grabbing whatever she wants on her own. Still without uttering a word, she opens the door and steps out of the car. Daryl hurries to unbuckle his belt and follows her.

“Just want some water or something.” Mila says as she walks towards the entrance doors.

Yeah, good luck, Daryl thinks and looks into the store. The doors are halfway open already, a sign that tells him that this place might have been fully emptied already.

Vigilant as a wolf walking into unknown territory, Daryl follows Mila who, recklessly he thinks, struts into the store as if there had never been an apocalypse. It’s dark and the roof has started to collapse over the cashier desk to the left.

Mila walks past the shelves intended for candy and other quick-purchases on the go and steers towards a blackened fridge with an equally black ‘cold beverages’-sign. It’s empty.

“Fuck-” She mutters, but seems to decide to look further, because she starts to move along the line of fridges.

Instead of standing there like a watchdog, Daryl starts to look around in search of something useful; food, meds, a fucking drink to calm his nerves and make him a little less of a emotional mess-

“Gotcha!”

Daryl turns around and watches as Mila appears from behind the shelf, holding a six pack of Budweiser in her hands. It must’ve been stuffed away on the lower shelf.

“Want something else?” Daryl asks. “Sour Punch?” He holds up a pack of blue sour straws.

“Sure.”

Better than silence. He grabs a handful, presses them into his pocket and then they leave the store. At the car, Daryl feels how his body yearns for her; he wants so badly to grab onto Mila’s hand, take her in his arms and just hold her.

But he’s scared. She feels so distant. So lost in her own thoughts, mentally miles away from her physical self. He needs to figure something out to make her snap out of it.

“God to go.” Daryl says as they’re back in the car, without the slightest clue of where he’s driving.

“Yup.”

As he steers out of the gas station, he falls back in deep thoughts. How does one snap out of- whatever this is? He has no idea. He can’t have her drink it away this time. He doesn’t want her to. Then what?

An idea, or more like the most brilliant idea ever, strikes Daryl like a lightning bolt. How and why is completely unimportant, but it’s sure as hell a goddamn miracle! Without making any noticeable signs of his eureka-moment, Daryl puts in the next gear and increases the speed. Luckily they’re already driving in the right direction.

In the passenger seat, Mila opens a pack of blue sour straws and puts one in her mouth. While chewing away, bobbing her head to the beat of some raspy T-Rex song, Daryl puts a little more pressure on the pedal and glances at her.

Hopefully he’ll do something right. Hopefully it will work.

At the sight of the familiar sun-bleached, cracking wooden sign, Daryl turns and steers the car to the right, into the parking lot. He rounds the corner of the one floor building’s west side, where the lines of windows are covered with wooden boards. The whole complex is empty, he knows it, so they won’t be disturbed.

“What are we doin’ here?” Mila asks.

Daryl doesn’t answer, just kills the engine in the concrete court in front of the gym, where the double doors are standing wide open.

“We’re here.” He declares simply and leans back in the seat.

Mila looks out at the empty area. It’s an old high school. Her eyes wanders between the open doors to the gymnasium, the part of the building to the right -a line of windows that hasn’t been covered let in sunlight that lands on rows of lockers- and then towards the fenced basketball court.

“What are we doin’ here?” Mila repeats. “What’s that-”

“You’ll see.” Daryl replies and unbuckles the belt. “C’mon.”

He takes the lead, hops out of the car and slams the door shut behind him. From the truck bed he takes a sledgehammer that they brought on the run yesterday and starts to walk towards the basketball court.

Inside, lazily baskin in the sunlight, are about 30 walkers roaming around, bumping into each other, growling and hissing. Daryl stops in front of the fence and Mila brakes next to him, silently looking at the walkers.

“Here.” Daryl holds up the big sledge hammer in front of her. “Knock ‘em out.”

Mila looks at the big hammer, then at him and back at the hammer.

“What?”

Daryl twitches his head towards the walkers who seem to have noticed them and have started to move towards their side of the fenced court.

“Knock ‘em out.”

What he gets in reply is silence. Then Mila chuckles dryly in disbelief.

“Oh my god-”

“Thought ya’ might need to let off some steam.” Daryl nods his head towards the fenced basketball court. “Found ‘em yesterday on the run.”

“You didn’t-”

“Nah, they were already locked up.” Daryl says assuringly.

When he first saw the captured walkers he didn’t think about it as anything special; they were on a hasty supply run and the only thing he had in mind was, except Mila, the list of things they had to find.

The idea came to him like an epiphany in the car. If it had been him he’d wanted to get it all out through a fast, explosive attack of rage. Could that work for her as well?

“I need music.” She says while looking at the walkers. “The car stereo-” She twitches her head towards the car. “-turn on the car.”

Of course she wants music. Whatever you say, Jersey. Daryl nods agreeingly. But Mila gives him a peculiar look.

“What?” Daryl frowns.

”I want the Elton John cassette.”

”Fuck off.”

”You fuck off!” Mila exclaims and waves her hand at him. “Gimme the Elton John tape!”

”You gonna do this shit to Elton John?” Daryl scoffs.

Nowadays he knows who Elton John is; before he met her he didn’t. Thinking of the cassette with Elton John’s greatest hits and the funky looking dude in a white suit, white hat and mosquito-like glasses sitting by a piano doesn’t resonate with what Mila’s about to do. One thing is goddamn certain; Elton John couldn’t have survived the outbreak for shit!

But, Daryl thinks while he sighs loud and clear in resignation; if his woman wants to go rampage to the sound of a lil’ funky englishman dressed in white-

”I’ll get ya’ Elton goddamn John!”

Mila lights up like the sun. It’s the first radiant, charming million dollar smile he’s gotten in days; feels more like years.

”Thank you.” She chirps. “And a beer?”

Daryl hesitates. It’s obviously visible, because Mila sighs, looks up towards the blue sky and then back at him.

“ONE beer?” She holds up one finger. “One!”

Hm. One is better than the whole six-pack. He wants to be able to say no, but he can’t. It’s impossible to say no to her.

“Just one.” Daryl mutters sternly, hoping that he sounds determined, and walks over to the pickup.

“Just one.” Mila repeats.

I’ll make sure to crash the other five bottles before we’ll get back, Daryl thinks as he removes one Bud from the pack, turns the ignition and turns the radio on. He won’t make it easy for her to start to drink again; he’d rather have her be angry with him for that than many other things.

“M’am.” Daryl says, bows a little silly, which puts an amused grin on her face, and lets her enter the cage of death. “I’ll watch ya’.”

“You don’t think I’ve got this?” Mila asks and looks at him while she closes the fenced door behind her. “Relax.”

“I will.”

Knowing more than well that she’s in control of it, plus he’s got a handgun and a shotgun close at hand, Daryl climbs up on the truck bed and sits down.

Leaned up against the coupe he watches Mila through the fence as she, with a beer bottle in one hand and the heavy sledge in the other, swings down walkers while the car blasts out Elton John, singing: “Saturday night’s alright for fighting, get a little action in-”

He can’t believe it seems to have worked. Hours ago she was in bed and he thought she’d stay there forever.

While watching her, he snaps the cap of a Bud and takes a sip; the perks of this new world order is that there’s no one giving a rats ass about him having one beer then driving. He’ll leave the other four bottles behind when they leave later.

It’s like watching a dance performance and soon, the whole bunch of walkers are scattered like bowling pins over the faded lines of the basketball court. Mila looks like she’s just run through a water sprinkler spitting out blood.

“Woha!” She hollers and drags her hair out of her face while she opens the door and walks towards the pickup. “Fuck this was fun!” Mila chuckles happily, like a kid on christmas. “Man, I feel…”

“Tired?” Daryl suggests and puts the now empty bottle away underneath the folded tarp, out of sight from her. “More like alive.”

Daryl hops off the truck bed and stands in front of her. Without a word, Mila hooks her arms around his neck and drags him down, into a kiss. She smells like a goddamn graveyard and he feels something sticky against his cheek that he suspects is either blood or some kind of piece of a rotten brain, but he doesn’t care. The kiss is all he’s wanted for the last few days.

When they separate from each other’s lips he looks down at her, drowsy with emotions.

“I love ye’.” Daryl whispers huskily, digging his fingers into the curvation between her back and bottom.

“And I love you.” Mila says and smiles a little while looking him deeply in the eyes. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“Giving me the best present I’ve gotten in ages.” She twitches her head toward the fence. “And cheered me up. Thank you.”

“No need thankin’ me.” Daryl shakes his head. “Ya’ pulled me out of a lifetime of misery.” He says. “I haven’t done shit to deserve ya’. But I’m here for ya’. Whatever happens.”

“I know.” Mila smiles and once again closes the space between them in a kiss.

Their soft, tender kissing is quickly taken up a notch and quickly turns into a hurricane of clothes being removed and sloppy, sloppy kisses and feverish hands desperately searching for bare skin.

In the blink of an eye Mila has removed her boots, jeans and panties and unbuttoned his shirt, hungrily searching his chest with her bloodstained palms.

With a firm grip around her buttocks, digging his fingers into her flesh, Daryl lifts her up in the air and wraps her bare legs around his waist. He takes a step back and sits down on the truck bed with Mila on his lap.

Eagerly she presses herself towards his crotch while she starts to kiss his neck, downwards towards his exposed chest. Feeling her soft, wet tongue towards his hot skin sends shivers down to Daryl’s groins and a deep, almost growling moan escapes his mouth. He digs his hands into the hair in her neck and he forces her head back up to his.

“Ya’ okay ‘bout this?” He pants softly, tracing her face with his fingertips.

In response, not taking her eyes from him, Mila opens up his pants and releases his pulsating erection out into the wild. She sinks down on top of him and they let out an unison loud moan as they intertwine in one another, becoming one hot organism.

Daryl wants to stay like this forever, have Mila’s body cemented onto his and be wrapped up by her warmth for all eternity. He doesn’t need anything else. This is all he needs; tracing her soft back with his fingers, up and down, over her buttcheeks and grabbing onto them firmly. Rest his head toward her chest and listen to her beating heart. Rip her shirt open, pull her bra down and take her breast in his mouth and devour it as if he hasn’t eaten for weeks.

She’s more addictive than heroin; her body moving on top of him in all her naked glory and to see her, feel her and hear her enjoy the moment with him.

Neither of them takes any notice of the pair of eyes watching them from over the nearby dense vegetation at the edge of the green, lush forest.

#jersey on my mind #daryl dixon x oc #daryl dixon #daryl dixon fanfic #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl #the walking dead daryl #daryl x oc #daryl x female oc #daryl dixon x foc #twd #twd fanfiction #twd daryl #twd fanfic #the walking dead fanfic #the walking dead fandom #the walking dead fanficition

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Jersey on my mind (Part 55)

“Jersey! Jersey!”

Everything around them -all the people, the sound of the wind and the birds- is muted, put on pause. Daryl’s voice gets more and more desperate. For each time he doesn’t get a response, he shakes her a little harder; he can almost feel how her life runs like water through his fingers, now covered with blood he can’t see the source of. He’s gotta get help, but he’s frozen there on the ground, trying to puzzle the pieces together.

How did he not notice her being hurt? Is he that oblivious all the time or was it the rush of being a free man again that he completely forgot about her?

It’s not until Rick grabs a firm hold of him and stares him dead straight in the eyes, that Daryl’s ears and mind seem to work again.

“Daryl! Ya’ hear me?!” Rick’s tone is demanding, very serious. “Get ‘er to the infirmary. Or I will.”

Daryl nods, hears him loud and clear. It is like he sees himself as if he was outside his own body; he adjusts his grip around Mila’s body and gets up from the ground, turns around and sets off towards the infirmary as fast as he can. That his body has been beaten and that he hasn’t eaten properly for days doesn’t bother him. He has never run faster in his life. Her life depends on it.

It’s like a broken record playing all over again; it’s like the first time they met.

It’s not a pleasant moment through and through; him running with a wounded, dying Mila in his arms. And certainly not a memory he’d ever thought he would have to repeat. If he’d known then what he knows now- Daryl quickens up his pace.

“Don’t do this to me, Jersey.” He pants while running. “Ya’ hear me!”

No answer. Damn it, he can’t lose her! Not like this. It would be too fucking cruel. He can’t be responsible for making Juri an orphan, or at least motherless. He’d take care of and watch that kid, protect him with his life of course. But that can’t happen.

Daryl takes the steps to the house in one leap and crashes through the door of the infirmary.

“Holy fuck-”

Tara jumps high in the air and drops a tray of sterile tools into the floor. Over at a counter, the doc from Hilltop, Carson, looks up.

“What the-”

There’s no time to explain. Daryl hurries over to the beds and puts Mila down on the middle one, gently takes her head in his hands and softly shakes it little, pats her on her cheek.

“Jersey! Jersey!”

“Daryl!? What’s-”

“What happened?” Carson, the calm and collected one in the room, is at the other side of the bed in two red seconds and looks in confusion at both Daryl and Mila, trying his best to get a grip around the situation. “I thought you were-”

“Mila!” Tara is at the side of the bed in a second, pale as the sheets. “Daryl, how- what-”

“She’s hurt!” Daryl roars; don’t they have eyes to see with? “She’s bleeding!”

“Yeah, yeah-” Carson says and, without asking any further questions, lifts her eyelids to check her vitals. “Mila? Mila?” He hollers, before his eyes lands on Daryl’s bloody hands and Mila’s wet jeans; his eyes go dark. “You, out!” He commands with a stern look at Daryl.

“What?”

“You heard me.” The doctor says while searching his pockets for his stethoscope. “I’ve gotta examine her! Tara, I will need help.” Carson then says in a steady voice to Tara, who looks completely distraught and panicked. “Out!”

What can he do? Daryl wants to bark back at the doc to fuck the hell off, but for what reason? He can’t do anything.

So he leaves, reluctantly, feeling as if he breaks into a million pieces for each step he takes away from Mila.

Outside, around the corner of the infirmary building, Daryl sinks down against the wall and lands on the grass with a thud. He can’t move any more. All his spare energy is consumed. His brain has shut down completely and he feels dizzy.

It’s all gone too quickly, like a rollercoaster. Confusion, then sudden happiness and the feeling of freedom, followed by complete and utter fear.

There’s a billion things he could or should do right now, but he can’t move, can’t get up from the ground. Juri’s probably worried sick. He should more than anything go and check on him and tell him everything’s gonna be alright; give him a hug and try to keep him occupied, maybe read a book or draw something. Mila would do that. But he’s not her. He’s not good at this.

“Hey.”

Daryl looks up. Rick is standing over him, shielding the sun. The dark curls with gray streaks hang down into his forehead and he hasn’t shaved for days.

“Hi.”

Without another word, Rick scoots down against the wall next to him, imitating his posture; arms on knees, feet a meter apart. Between them, words are sometimes unnecessary.

“She’ll make it.” Rick says. “She’s strong.”

Daryl sighs. He thinks about what Mila said once; about her being a cat with nine lives. It was of course a joke, but it wasn’t far-fetched. Being as reckless as she is, she has an enormous portion of luck. But how many lives had she spent by now? When would it be past nine?

Sooner or later, luck runs out.

“I don’t know what I’d do without ‘er.” Daryl mumbles husky.

“She’s strong.” Rick repeats.

That’s not what I say, Daryl thinks to himself. He knows that more than well.

“I doubted her.” Rick continues. “Going after ya’, saving you. Maybe because I was scared.” He holds out his hands in a gesture saying that he maybe should’ve known better. “Thought it was taking too much of a risk. It WAS a huge risk-” Rick says, maybe trying to make himself feel better. It’s not hard thinking that he tried to stop her. “But she didn’t listen.”

No she rarely does, Daryl thinks.

“Deep down I- I dunno-” Rick sighs. “-knew she could, maybe, make it.”

“She was magnificent.” The words burn his throat. Daryl turns his head and looks at his friend; Rick looks so full of compassion. He’d really missed him. “Like- always.”

“I can imagine.” Rick smiles faintly. “But god she’s stubborn.”

Daryl can’t help but chuckle, a thick, near to tears-sound.

“Impossible.” He says husky.

Rick tunes in and lets out a faint laugh. Despite the situation and the fact that his heart is about to crack into a million pieces, it feels good to laugh.

“Good having ya’ back.” Rick gives Daryl a pat on his knee.

They remain on the ground until a familiar sound of a door opening is heard. Both men get up at the same time and quickly go around the corner of the infirmary-building, where Carson stands on the small porch, drying his hands.

“How’s she doing?” Daryl asks, feverish with anticipation. “She’ll be alright?”

Carson looks at the two men with an inscrutable expression, but nods. Daryl holds his breath for what to come.

“We think she miscarried.”

Daryl furrows his eyebrows in confusion. Miscarried? He thought she’d been shot or stabbed. Or even bitten. He doesn’t understand. Miscarried. Does that mean that the child survived Negan’s abuse in the glade AND the aftermaths? He was so sure that the gut punches was enough for it to-

“Think?”

“Very likely, yes.” Carson nods and continues to wipe his hands on the red stained towel. "Probably, yeah."

Daryl can’t utter a word. What’s he gonna say? What’s he gonna do? He looks down at his feet, then back at Carson.

“What does that mean?”

The doctor shrugs and holds out his hands.

“Her body’s been put under a lot of stress-” Carson continues clinically. “It was inevitable, probably. During the circumstances.”

“How’s she?” Daryl stutters sheepishly, still unable to grasp the fact that she’s alive.

“She’ll be alright, with time.” Carson replies. “She didn’t lose too much blood and- She’s strong. She’s asleep right now. Tara gave her some valium, cleaned her up a bit.” He gives Daryl a sympathetic look. “I’m sorry.”

“When can I-”

“Let her sleep for a while. An hour, maybe.” He shrugs. “Get yourself cleaned up.”

So an hour later, after he’d washed up and made sure Juri’s been taken care of, Daryl is standing outside the door to the infirmary again. He makes sure the shirt looks clean and adjusts the rolled up sleeves before he enters.

It’s empty besides for Mila, lying under the covers in the bed he put her down on earlier. She’s cleaned up but looks pale against the white sheets. Her arm is connected to an IV drip.

Carefully, he moves over to the side of her bed and sits down on the chair next to it. Her eyes are closed and she’s breathing calmly, thanks to the valium.

But as soon as Daryl sits down, Mila begins to speak in a dry and cracked -caused by crying and dehydration- voice:

“How come that always when I’ve saved you, you always have to save me right after?” She opens her eyes and looks at him through heavy eyelids. “It’s getting old, Dixon.”

Daryl takes her hand and entangles his fingers into hers like a braid. With the other hand he carefully caresses her cheek, as she was made out of delicate porcelain.

“Schh-“ He hushes. He knows she tries her best to make a joke, but even if it’s funny, he can’t laugh. The timing is not quite right and he wants her to stay calm. “It’s gonna be alright.”

Mila lets out a faint exhale and closes her eyes again; like she’s able to rest for the first time in days. The valium has done its job.

Daryl lets out a deep sigh. She’s alive and thank god for that, but she’s broken, completely defeated; he’s never seen her like this. And he knows that besides what’s important right now, to be here with her, he mourns the loss of their child just as much as her.

There’s nothing any of them can do about that. What he can do however is to be there for her, with her; after all, that’s all he ever wanted.

All he could think about was being away from her. How he yearned for her embrace and her voice. She came for him. That’s what baffles him the most. She came to save him, after he left Alexandria to go after the Saviors on his own, knowing more than well she could get killed by doing so.

A dangerous rescue mission orchestrated by one person, his crazy, stubborn wife.

It cost her everything and yet she doesn’t shun him like the plague. No cursing, no yelling. And yet, he’d preferred that than seeing her like this. Just sad and weak.

“It would probably have been something wrong with it anyway. No head, eleven toes. Twelve fingers.” She swallows and lets out a dry chuckle. “I’ll be fine.”

Daryl hears her, but he’s not convinced. He squeezes her hand a little tighter and places a kiss on her cheek, regretting it immediately when he notices how he scratches her face with his stubble. How will he ever be able to mend this?

He sits at her side the whole day, holds her hand, strokes her cheek and makes sure she drinks water. She won’t eat, but at least she drinks. They don’t say much, but there’s not much to be said. Not until Mila, in a cracked voice, says:

“Jim always dreamt about kids.”

Daryl looks up. Mila’s eyes are focused out into nothingness. She looks distraught and very tired; she really should try and get some sleep, but at least she’s speaking, which he’s very thankful for. Daryl swallows; even though he knows he shouldn’t, he feels slightly uneasy and insufficient when she mentions this guy.

Just as fast as he thinks it, the shame flows over him. It is unfair and foolish; The guy’s dead! But Daryl knows, is absolutely convinced, that if Jim was still alive, he would never have stood a chance. And still he knows that she needs to, have to, talk about him. Process it. Jim’s death was a trauma to her. A trauma she, as well as many others in this world, was thrown into without the slightest warning, as well as being in charge of a very difficult choice; to survive or succumb.

Jersey did it the hard way. She suppressed her grief of losing Jim for the sake of Juri’s wellbeing and instead drenched her grief in booze.

Right now, she seems to have to speak about him. Something has come across her mind. The least he could do is to listen to her and be there for her. For crying out loud, he promised her that as soon as he put that ring on her finger.

“He did?” Daryl therefore asks.

Mila nods.

“Yeah. He wanted-“ She chuckles. “-at least four, two of them had to be twins, he always pointed out. ‘I want as many as I can carry around on my back’, he used to say. We tried again and again and again. After a while we figured out it wouldn’t be a simple mission. But- wasn’t like we were in a rush. We had time. At least we thought.” She grimaces. “It was probably for the best.”

Daryl squeezes her hand.

“I’m sure the kiddo had the energy of at least five other kids.”

It’s maybe not the best thing to say, but it’s all he can think of. And it actually makes the corners of her mouth go a tiny bit upwards.

“He doesn’t talk about him much.” She says. “Juri, I mean. About Jim. I know it-” She sighs. “-I can’t imagine how he took it, really. So much time went between his death and… the moment I realized that I had to actually try and live -not just exist- without Jim for Juri’s sake, to realize that I should’ve talked more about Jim with him. And now-” She sighs even deeper. “-it’s like I can’t bring myself to do it. It’s been too long. I guess I’m… scared?”

“The time will come.” Daryl says. “It just… takes time.”

“I hope so.” Mila looks at him. “I’m glad I’m not alone this time.”

“Ya’ won’t get rid of me that easily.”

Mila laughs, a dry, but hearty laugh. Daryl leans in and kisses her; her lips taste like salty tears and is dry and cracked.

“We’ll be okay.” He says, as soft as he possibly can. “I’ll make this up to ya’, for as long as I live.”

“What part?” She wonders. “You mean me saving your ass?” Mila puts her head to the side and strokes his hand. “Don’t get me wrong but- the baby- it was an accident. A happy accident and- and I-” She swallows hard, pushing tears back. “-but… can we leave it there?” Mila sighs and looks at him with pleading eyes. “I love you, but… I don’t want more kids. I want to be able to make that choice. It’s hard as it is, bringing up kids in a world without zombies. If everything was different-”

“Hey.” Daryl interrupts her calmly. “It’s okay.” He says as assuringly as he can. He hears her loud and clear. “You don’t have to explain.”

A tear runs down her cheek. Mila presses her lips together and nods.

“Thanks.” She whispers. “It’s- I mean I thought I’d lost it when- you know. But now… I don’t know, it just feels so…”

Harsh? Final? Painful? Difficult? Daryl’s own head spins with so many thoughts and feelings, but whatever he’s feeling doesn’t matter. It’s her choice. A choice he has to stand by, accept and be okay with.

“I won’t tell anyone if ya’ wanna cry.” Daryl whispers husky, kissing her hand.

Mila smiles faintly.

“Thanks.”

He puts his big hand on her head, gently starting to stroke her hair.

“We’ll be alright.”

#jersey on my mind #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon fanfic #daryl dixon x oc #daryl dixon #daryl dixon x foc #twd #twd fanfiction #twd daryl #twd fanfic #the walking dead daryl #the walking dead fanfic #the walking dead fandom #the walking dead fanficition

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stonecoldjerseyfox · 1 year

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so pretty

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stonecoldjerseyfox · 1 year

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Dear AO3 readers please know that if I do not reply to your comment it is because I am laying it on the ground and rolling in it like a cat in a flower bed

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stonecoldjerseyfox · 1 year

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When can I read the next part?

Well, actually, I’ve already uploaded part 55 on my Ao3! Usually, due to the simple fact that I get more reads and has much more interactions with readers of the fic there (seriously it’s so much fun), I upload there first!

You don’t follow me on Ao3?

Well, why don’t you!

I’d love to talk about the fic with you there and you will absolutely get to read new parts there before you can here.

I also post my other fic, Haze & Hellfire, there! I’d really appreciate it if you would like to check it out!

Xoxo

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stonecoldjerseyfox · 1 year

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Daryl: *accidentally brushes Y/N's hand with his own*

Y/N: *aggressively holds his hand* Fucking commit to it, Dixon!

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stonecoldjerseyfox · 1 year

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DARYL DIXON + his crossbow

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stonecoldjerseyfox · 1 year

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No one touch me 😭😭😭

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stonecoldjerseyfox · 1 year

Text

When can I read the next part?

You don’t follow me on Ao3?

Well, why don’t you!

I’d love to talk about the fic with you there and you will absolutely get to read new parts there before you can here.

I also post my other fic, Haze & Hellfire, there! I’d really appreciate it if you would like to check it out!

Xoxo

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stonecoldjerseyfox · 1 year

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Jersey on my mind (Part 54)

“Not a wise move, man.”

Negan chuckles and wipes his cracked lip, leaking blood from the fist punch, and sends off a spit-spray of saliva and blood over the ground next to him.

The steel tip of the heavy booth hits him hard straight in the solar plexus. Daryl grunts and once again arches his body in reflex where he lies in a fetal position on the dusty ground. At this point, after having already been kicked twice, his midsection is in a constant state of excruciating pain.

Of course he knows it was fucking stupid, but what else could he do?

About an hour earlier they brutally awoke him from his restless sleep by throwing a bucket of ice cold water over him. He was then dragged out of the building and thrown out in the courtyard, blazing with sunlight, and shackled like a dog in a chain to the wall without as much as a word of what they were going to do with him.

A while later, when he’d dried up and felt like he was gonna pass out with thirst, Negan appeared over him, oozing with aftershave and smugness.

“Let him loose!” He hollered. “Gotta get this son of a bitch a lil’ playtime!”

Playtime as in using him as a punchbag, enraging him to the point where he started to fight and then beat the hell out of him.

The well aimed fist towards Negan’s face and his fruitless attempt to get the hell out of there by spurting towards the fence was what got him down on the ground. Three big Saviors caught up with him and Daryl fell to the ground like a skittle. He was dragged back, once again beaten down on his knees and tried his best to cover his head and face from the punches and kicks.

“Atta boys!” Negan cheers on somewhere over him. “Give him a real fancy smancy-”

This is it, Daryl thinks and grunts out loud as another shoe hits him in the guts. If they don’t stop soon, they’ll kick him to death. He won’t last much longer.

He presses his eyes together and tries to think of something else, just as when he was little. If he gives up now he won’t see the others again. Mila, Juri, Rick, Carol-

A sound, coming from outside the walls, makes everyone stop what they are doing and prickle their ears. It's very weak at first. Silence falls like dominoes over the group gathered around him and the only sound heard is his own panting breath and that faint, distant sound.

Gasping for breath, Daryl lifts his face from the ground. With aching lungs and a body that almost screams in pain, he tries his best to calm his breath to be able to hear the sound clearer. Is it a guitar solo? That’s not possible. The sound intensifies, as if someone is turning the volume knob up, just as-

“Dun dun- THUNDER!”

“What the-” Negan frowns and looks around.

Is he dreaming?

“What the heck?” One of the brute apes standing over him mutters in confusion, putting words on Daryl’s own thoughts.

“What is that?!”

“Where does it come from?”

The sound is getting even louder, to the point of it being too loud.

“THUNDER!”

The first thought that strikes Daryl where he lies is that someone has to put an end to the noise, or else it will attract- he stops right in the middle of the thought.

It will attract walkers.

“THUNDER!”

This is not a coincidence. Somehow everything falls into place; but at the same time it would be impossible. Not only impossible, completely idiotic too. He’s probably hallucinating, not thinking straight. He’s received a few punches to the head.

”End that goddamn’ noise!” Negan shouts and spins around on the dry, dusty ground, while frantically searching the air, until he stops and catches sight of something.

Daryl sees it too. In the distance, on the roof of a truck, they can see a silhouette. A silhouette he for some reason thinks he knows.

“I’ll be damn-” Negan says faintly, as if he too has an idea of who it is, but can not believe it either. “The fuck-” He shouts to the group. “Don’t just stand here- get over there!” He waves at his henchmen. “Grab ya’ walkies!”

But as soon as five of them start to sprint towards the fence nearest to where the truck is, the unknown silhouette jumps down from its high point and disappears out of sight.

“He’s gone!”

“Where’d he go?!”

While Negan starts to shout orders at them to get out there and ‘find that rascal’ as well as ‘silence that fuckin’ radio’, Daryl desperately searches for the person on the other side.

Negan’s agitated, stressed even - put off guard for the first time since Daryl got here. The henchmen do as they’re ordered. One by one, half of the group participating in his abuse disappear out of the gate, while the other half remains inside, taking their positions in the guard towers and at the gate.

For a brief moment Daryl deliberates with himself if he should try and run.

“Oh no you don’t.”

A click is heard and the next second he looks straight into the pipe of Negan’s gun, as if he read his mind. The mad fuck chuckles and grins wide down at him.

“I blow ya’ brains out.” Negan warns and wiggles the gun tauntingly at him. “Gladly.”

So Daryl remains on the ground, panting like a bull, listening for any sounds; gunshots, loud voices- anything really. But besides the loud music, he hears nothing.

After a while Negan grabs a hold of his radio, strapped to his belt, and puts it up towards his mouth.

”Ya’ rats see anything?!” He shouts into the speaker. “You’ve located that fucking racket!?”

”It’s a car, chief.”

”Really, Carter?” Negan scoffs back, irritated. “Are you fucking kidding me?” He lowers the radio and bites his lip in frustration. “Dumb fucking son of a-” He takes a deep breath and puts the radio towards his lips again. “And? What else?”

On the other side of the fence Daryl sees walkers, shit loads of ‘em, coming out from the woods, searching for the source of the music.

”A patrol car, with one of those goddamn megaphones on the roof, you know-”

”I don’t fuckin’ care if it’s fuckin’ AC/DC themselves having a goddamn live concert or a patrol car, turn that fuckin’ noice off!”

“There’s too many buttons-”

“Ya’ kiddin’ me?” Negan swears. “Ya’ a fuckin’ idiot?! Push all of them! Blow ‘em up, I don’t care!”

The henchman on the other end of the radio doesn’t reply. All that’s heard is a muffled thud, on which radio silence follows.

“Carter?” Negan calls into the radio. “Carter!”

Carter doesn’t reply. Did the walkers get him, or was it the mysterious stranger on the truck?

The confusion among those that has comed out in the courtyard starts to go over in enraged panic as the music does not fall silent and the walkers start to approach the perimeter; pressing themselves against the fence and gate without thinking of the risks of getting turned into minced meat. The tall fence won’t break that easily, but the gate might.

“Kill the radio!” Negan shouts into the radio. “Now!”

A creaking noise tattles that the fence is under a lot of pressure. Daryl shifts his gaze from the Saviors in the courtyard, preparing for an invasion, and looks through stripes of hair as more walkers are coming out of the woods. The gate looks especially infested.

“Hold ya’ positions!” Negan hollers, also looking towards the gate, knowing very well it’s a weak point. “Hold!”

Again, the gates give off a loud creaking noise, before two loud gunshots are heard; two big bullets hitting a metal chain echoes over the area. The tall metal gates fly open as a result of the weight of the walkers, desperately trying to get inside. The ones at the front trips and falls over and the ones in the back start to walk over them, causing a sound hauntingly similar to when you put your boot down into an overripe apple.

Simultaneously the Saviors goe to attack to defend their stronghold. Commotion and panic is a fact. People run around screaming, guns are fired and loud screams are heard as walkers with some extra stamina in their rotting legs sink their teeth into unprepared Saviors.

At the same time a smoke grenade goes off, thick smoke rises and fills the courtyard and encloses Negan’s companions, who shout at each other blindly for support.

“What’s goin’ on!”

“What the hell?”

“You seeing any-”

No one has time -or can- give the faceless voices an answer, before a shot goes off and he goes silent.

Just seconds later, a juicy thump is heard, skin slapping down on hard ground, as the man lands just a short distance from Daryl inside the enclosure. He must have been standing somewhere above them, but who shot him?

The answer to their questions comes at them through the horde of walkers, revealed solely because of the determined steps and the straight posture; she’s camouflaged from their sense of smell with their own rotten blood, painted on the face as if she was on the front of a death metal album, while raising the Russian rifle in front of her, vigilant as a sniper.

The entrance is magnificent, bombastic even, but Mila wastes no time on the theatrical details; instead, in protection of her entourage of a dead army and the smoke, she begins to eliminate what’s left of Negan’s disoriented men out in the courtyard, ducking after each shot, she hides her position in the swarm of walkers searching for fresh, live food.

The men have no chance of seeing her. At the same time as they fruitlessly search for her, they realize the threat that flows into their domain and realize that they are facing a crossroad; eliminate the walkers or find the unknown shooter among them.

While they shout orders at each other Daryl realizes he’s gotta help her somehow; frantically he looks down at his shackled hands, desperately looking for anything to use as a weapon. A few meters away a dead Savior lies in a pool of his own blood, still holding on to a baretta. Daryl leaps for it, grabs it with both hands and raises it just in time to put a bullet in between the eyes of a walker, missing both its arm and its nose.

“Let’s get outta’ here!” He shouts when he sees Mila in the swarm of Saviors and walkers and attracts her attention. He then looks around, trying to spot Negan. But the walkers are too many. They have to leave, now. With force he pushes his way over to Mila. “Come on!”

Mila seems to think the same. They turn around, ready to sprint towards the gate, just in time to see Negan turn around as well, too far for them to reach him with a bullet, and look straight at them. His gaze, somewhat startled with that spark of crazy, fixates at Mila. It takes a moment before he recognizes her, then his mouth turns upwards in a chuckle. As if his gaze said ‘I'll be damn’ at her bold one-woman invasion. Nonetheless, it’s as clear as day that he’s impressed.

In reply, Mila raises her rifle, possibly able to make the distance, and fires. The bullet digs into the wall next to Negan’s head. It’s just as much of a miss as it is a warning.

“Let’s go!” Mila shouts at Daryl and turns.

They start to run in the opposite direction of where the walkers are heading; pushing through the hungry horde, before they can start sprinting for real. Mila takes the lead through the woods and Daryl follows as best as he can; he’s exhausted, tired, his whole body aches and above all he’s thirsty, but he doesn’t stop, not until Mila breaks in front of his motorcycle, leaning up against a tree.

The sight of it baffles him. She must’ve gone to where he left it -before he went after Dwight- picked it up and driven it here somehow. Panting, they fold in on themselves, before ending up in a frenzy of hugging and kissing.

“Ya’ fuckin’ insane.” Daryl says as soon as they tear away from each other. “Ya’ hear me?”

“Shut up.” She closes the small gap between their lips again.

“Ya’ came for me.” He whispers huskily. “Ya’ brilliant.”

“There’s clothes in the bag.” Mila swallows and points at the bike. “Hurry up. We gotta move on.”

While Daryl removes the shabby gray, prisoner clothes and puts on his own, neatly packed down into Mila’s backpack, Mila washes her hands from walker’s blood and her face from paint in the nearby stream.

“Where are we?”

“Far enough away from the Saviors, and close enough to Alexandria.” Mila replies and dries her face on her shirt.

“How’d you-”

“I had some help.” Mila cuts off and reaches Daryl his shirt. “Carl and Enid came with me last night, helped me retrieve the bike and get it here and helped with the diversion. They’re back in Alexandria by now, I hope.”

With a faint grunt she grabs the bike by the handles and pushes it over to Daryl.

“All yours.” She says. “I’ll kill us both on this.”

Daryl grabs the handles of the bike and feels the familiar weight of the machine; for a while he thought he’d never seen it again. He straddles it, feels the bike’s body towards his inner thighs and gives Mila a hand so she can climb up behind.

“You okay?” He asks when he hears her let out a faint grunt.

“Yeah.” She insists shortly and gives him a stubborn look. “Let’s get out of here.”

The ride back to Alexandria goes in the light of speed. The green, lush, albeit desolate landscape flies by them and the air whips Daryl in the face, but he’s just enjoying the ride. He’s free; beaten beyond measure and maneuvering the bike does actually hurt after what happened earlier in the courtyard, but the feeling of freedom triumphs it all. Having Mila sitting behind him, safe and sound, hugging his chest tightly is heavenly. There’s so much he’d like to say to her, but the whipping wind makes it hard to talk.

As he steers the bike in on the straight road, framed with car wrecks, towards the gate to the place that he calls home, he revs the motor, to announce their arrival. Immediately he hears hollering and loud, shouting voices. People appear over the wall, peeking out to see what’s going on.

Daryl wants to say something, but his heart is too full and he can’t utter a sound. Only a deep sigh of relief escapes his mouth. He puts his feet down into the pavement and brakes in front of the gate.

“It’s Daryl!”

“What?”

“Daryl and Mila!”

“They’re back!”

“Come, look!”

“Oh my god-”

Towards the gate, inside the safe-zone, Daryl sees how Michonne comes running, followed by Carl, Gabriel and many others of his closest friends and family; people that came back safe and sound from the glade. At the same time, a rush of grief comes over him; some people he hoped would come and welcome them back are not there. They’re not even alive anymore.

The metal gate opens up for them to enter inside. Daryl revs the engine once again and with a heavily beating heart they roll through the opening to the sound of cheering and applause mixed with the sound of the rumbling engine.

Hours ago he was like a caged animal, wondering if he’d ever seen this place again.

As soon as they’ve stepped off the bike he’s embraced in a tight, warm hug by Michonne.

“I knew you’d be back.” Michonne whispers into his ear as she, once again, has put her arms around him after he’d stepped off the bike. “We all knew.”

People are gathering around them, looking happy. He’s getting pats on the back from left and right, Carl hugs him too and Gabriel squeezes his hands. But Daryl’s attending is drawn elsewhere, at someone coming running down the street towards them. Despite the distance, it’s as clear as day that Rick is shaken, shocked even. As if he can’t believe his eyes seeing them back there.

What must’ve gone through his head when Carl wasn’t there, then came back and probably told him what Mila was going to do is hard to imagine. However, all the anger and internal strife surrounding Mila’s actions seems to drain from Rick as he slaps Daryl’s arms and pulls him into a warm, sweaty embrace.

“I’m sorry-” Rick says in a low voice. “I thought it was a damn bad idea-” He swallows, puts his hand behind Daryl’s head and bumps his forehead into Daryl’s. “I’m glad you’re back.”

Daryl’s just about to tell him that Mila should get some goddamn credit for the spectacular rescue mission instead of a scolding, when a hard thud is heard behind him and how people gasp and exclaim. Daryl turns around and feels how the blood in his veins freezes when he sees Mila, lying on the ground.

“Oh my god-” Michonne gasps.

“Mila!” Rick exclaims.

In the matter of seconds they have fallen to their knees around her. Daryl grabs a hold of her limp body and holds her in his arms, shakes her. What’s going on?

“Jersey?” He shouts, shaking her a little bit harder. “Hey, Jersey?! Mila?!”

No answer. She’s uncontactable, unconscious. Her mouth is slightly open and when he puts his ear to her lips he feels that she is breathing.

“She's burning up.” Michonne states, who’s put her hand to Mila’s forehead. “Is she wounded?”

“I-” Daryl can’t get a word out. He’s about to panic. He doesn’t understand anything. “She-”

What catches his sight and makes him feel numb and completely speechless is the small, heavy red stain of bright-red blood underneath Mila’s black denim-clad legs.

She’s hurt.

#jersey on my mind #daryl dixon fanfic #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon x oc #daryl dixon #the walking dead daryl #the walking dead fanfic #the walking dead fandom #the walking dead fanficition #daryl x female oc #daryl x oc

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stonecoldjerseyfox · 1 year

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I’m back!

First of all, hiii!

This hiatus was longer than I originally planned, but in the middle of it I got a full time job (yay I guess) AND (most importantly) I started a new Eddie Munson x OC-fic (go check it out on my AO3 or my main tumblr, I'd love some more readers and feedback) so "Jersey on my mind" fell behind a little.

Anyway, enjoy part 53 (and the ones that are coming)

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stonecoldjerseyfox · 1 year

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Jersey on my mind (part 53)

“Open the gate!”

The screeching gate, worn out with heavy usage and time, is being pushed open and Sasha rolls the car through the gates of Alexandria. They got to oil that shit, Mila thinks to herself as they pass Eugene, ready to push the gate close again after them. It feels so wrong, going back without Daryl.

The journey back was quiet, contemplative. Mila sat in deep thoughts, not hearing or seeing anything; she knew the chances of her leaving the Sanctuary with Daryl was minimal, but of course she had an itty-bitty feel of the ‘what if’-nerve. Inside her head, a plan started to take shape. She had gone to the Sanctuary with two goals in sight. Make sure Daryl was alive and -somewhat- unharmed. But she also wanted -and also got- insight in the area. While Sasha was in charge of taking them back home safely, Mila painted up the location, the surrounding area and the road away from there as vivid and detailed as possible in her mind like a skier memorizing the slope for their upcoming competition.

“Home, safe and sound.” Sasha says as she lets the car brake softly to a halt. She turns the ignition and the humming of the motor dies.

Outside the car, they see people approach; Carl, Gabriel and some others who are curious of their recent whereabouts.

“Yeah.” Mila nods.

“You okay?”

“I could ask you the same.” Mila says in reply, mostly so she can avoid answering. “Let’s go. Can’t sit here all day.”

Quickly, before Sasha protests, Mila opens the door and steps out of the car. Sasha follows and slams the door shut simultaneously with her. While Mila opens the back door to grab the sack with Daryl’s clothes, Sasha’s greeted by Gabriel and Carl, giving her a hug.

“Where’ve you been?” Gabriel asks.

Mila can’t really hear Sasha’s reply as she closes the back door, but Sasha must’ve said something about the Sanctuary, because Gabriel exclaims:

“You went there on your own?”

His tone is reproachful.

“Blame it on me.” Mila says with a grunt and swings the sack over her shoulder. “Calm down, it went fine.” She sighs. “We’re alive, aren’t we?”

Gabriel doesn’t say anything, just makes a ‘hm’-noise, clearly telling her how much of a bad idea he thought it was.

Instead of starting an argument, Mila walks past them and moves towards the part of the community where they live. Sasha hurries up beside her.

“Care to let me in on your plan?”

“What plan?” Mila lies.

“I’m not an idiot.” Sasha looks sharply at her. “You don’t think I’ve noticed you’re up to something? You were like in another dimension back in the car.”

Mila hesitates. Letting others into her mind isn’t exactly her favorite thing. Luckily, Sasha’s mind seems to wander away, as she turns her head and catches sight of something.

“Uh-oh.” She whispers.

Frowning, Mila turns to look as well. Rick comes walking towards them, or more like striding. Judging by the look of his walk he’s not coming to greet them with open arms and joyful exclamations.

“That looks like trouble.” Sasha whispers as Rick comes closer.

“Go.” Mila says. “I’ll handle it.”

If she reads his face correctly, which even a blind person should be able to do, he’s not happy. On the contrary. Rick’s resemblance to an active, lava-shooting vulcano is striking! Mila takes a deep breath before she stops in the street.

“Happy to see me?”

It’s dumb to challenge him like this, but it’s like she can’t stop herself.

“Ya’ went.” Rick’s tone is sharp as he breaks in front of her with his hands on his hips.

“I did.” Mila replies doughty.

“Even though I asked you not to?” Rick snaps. “Why?”

Mila shrugs. The movement seems to irritate Rick even more.

“I wanted to. Had to.” She corrects herself.

“Without tellin’ me?” Rick’s sharp hip shoots out even further.

He’s pissed off, that’s for sure.

“Didn’t think I had to ask you for permission.” Mila replies and lets go of the sack. It drops to the ground at her feet with a thud. “Sheriff.”

Rick remains silent, bites his lower lip and tries to restrain himself. The way she said ‘sheriff’ really hits his buttons. It’s like waving a red napkin in front of an already enraged bull.

“What the fuck’s wrong with you?” He says snappy.

“Nothing.” Mila says sincerely. ”I’m still a little sore but-”

“Oh, don’t bullshit me!” Rick scoffs and shoots his head forward. “Why, Mila?”

Silence. She knows that if she opens her mouth, Rick will cut her off as fast as it takes her to blink. Her silence seems to annoy him even more, so after a short, tense paus she resigns and answers:

“I think you know the answer to that.”

“Damn it, Mila!” Rick explodes.

His sudden outburst actually makes her jump on the spot.

“What?” She exclaims in reply. “You thought I would just LET this happen?”

He really should know her that well by now.

“That you’re out of your goddamn mind?” Rick shouts. “Yeah, I knew that, but not to this extent.” He sighs deeply. “But I didn’t know you were that fucking stupid?”

Mila’s eyes darken with rage.

“They’ve got Daryl as hostage!” She sputters in reply. “Keeping him in chains like a fucking animal! You think I’ll just let that happen? He’d done the same for me- for anyone, if it was the other way around.”

“He would be just as much of a risk as you just were if it was so.”

“Yeah, because we’re not grown ups who can fend for ourselves.” Mila scoffs ironically. “Are you serious?”

People walking past them have stopped in the street to listen to their loud argument. Mila wants to turn around and shout at them to ‘get a ticket or get the hell out of here’, but she won’t break hers and Rick’s eye contact. She won’t be the one to look away first.

“Risk behaviors are not what we need right now!”

“Oh, please, enlighten me.” Mila says, voice dripping with irony. “What DO we need, then? Enlighten me, Rick. What is it that you know that the rest of us don’t?”

“Don’t you-”

“Because last time I checked, we’re in this pile of shit together, on the same crappy terms.”

“That’s exactly why we have to uphold rules, and reason-”

“Oh bullshit! There’s no rules or reason in an apocalypse!” Mila shouts. “You can’t be so fucking naive, not after what happened in the glade. Besides, not all actions have to go through you, Rick.” She sputters. “You don’t rule here.”

That last part causes Rick’s eyes to turn dark. No verbal reply follows. But how bad it ever feels to have said it, she doesn’t regret it.

”This ain’t a one woman job, Mila.” Rick says, trying his best to remain calm as he does. “You cannot do everything on your own.”

”I ain’t any woman.” Mila shakes her head.

“You’re thinking you can just- what? Go over there on your own and get Daryl out? They’ll kill you.” Rick shakes his head. “This ain’t a fairytale.”

“Oh, yeah, thanks for thinking so highly of me.” Mila replies dryly.

“I think it’s foolish, that’s what I think.” Rick says and points out in the air. “And I think you’re going to walk right into your own death if you do it. So I’m just gonna say this one time. Don’t!”

“Again, thanks for thinking so highly of me.”

Rick stares at her, breathing frantically through his nostrils. It’s more likely that he’ll die of a brain hemorrhage, caused by her, than being bitten by one of the walkers right now.

“It’s you against- what, almost a hundred of Negan’s soldiers?” Rick lets out something very close to an ironic chuckle. “You think you’ll survive that on ya’ own, in your state? You’ll get both you and Daryl killed and Juri’s-”

“Don’t even dare to try and use my own son against me.” Mila utters between clenched teeth.

“It’s doomed to fail from the start, Mila!”

“They will fear me!” Mila roars at Rick, feeling her cheeks burn like fire. She’s about to explode with anger. ”I am the daughter of the Moscow Butcher, I am the spawn of the Russian satan! That crazy motherfucker-” She points out into the air, in the direction where she thinks the Sanctuary -and Negan- is. “He WILL know who he’s fucking around with! I won’t show him no mercy.” She takes a deep breath. “Trust me, I know exactly what I get myself into. I’m not that clueless - I know very well what I put at stake here. But I don’t trust them- him, to keep his word! And since you are so veeery unhelpful-”

Mila pauses and holds her arms out to her side, signaling that ‘here we are’. At this point, she wouldn’t even want his help, how much he would insist on it. Right now she doesn’t even want to see him.

Rick looks pleading at her and takes a step closer to her, almost so their noses bump into each other. It strikes her how worn his face is up close and he looks tired. Very tired.

“Carol’s gone-” He says in a much lower tone than before.”Morgan’s gone. Glenn’s dead, Abe’s dead… and Maggie-” He stops and swallows before forcing her to meet his gaze. “I need you here, Mila. Ya’ hear me?”

Loud and clear, she thinks. But that’s not the point. Stubbornly, Mila looks at Rick with tightly pressed lips and breathes through her nose.

“Daryl needs me, Rick. Not you.” She says and shakes her head. “Not this time.”

Without letting Rick get the last word -a pleasure she intends to withhold with joy- Mila bends down and grabs the sack from the ground; too stubborn to let out a grunt in pain as she does.

With one last look at the sheriff she pushes past him, towards the house. She’ll have to drink at least one bottle of liquor or break something really big, like a car, to feel calm after this so-called discussion.

She marches up the stairs, into the house, up to the second floor and into the bedroom. It’s empty, so Juri must be out playing. Thank god for that, because the rhyme of swear words coming from her mouth would scar him for life.

She plops down on the bed and bends over, leans her head in her hands and tries to collect herself before she’s having a seizure. She’ll have to! If she doesn’t at least try to be calm and collected, she won’t be able to solve this - to save Daryl.

Or maybe she’ll let the anger and the ‘crazy’ out. With a deep sigh she falls back on the covers and looks up at the ceiling.

Partially, Rick is right. Mila knows that. She’d never admit it, but it’s true. It IS foolish what she wants to do and it WOULD be wiser not to go on her own. But she also knows that there’s no time to waste. And time is something she doesn’t have. They can’t sit down to discuss strategies and who should and who shouldn’t go. Things HAVE to happen ‘on the go’ this time.

So screw it if they think she’s crazy. That’s what kept her alive in one way or another, besides having a kid to look after and being incredibly fond of alcohol.

She doesn’t leave the room for the rest of the day. Mostly because she doesn’t want to give the other inhabitants of Alexandria exactly what they want; a damn show if she and Rick starts to argue again. She could go and find Maggie, but right now she can’t let herself ‘feel’.

For what’s to come she’ll have to be totally blank of emotions.

Three times Sasha comes and knocks on her door, asking if she’s alive, to tell her that there’s dinner and that she’ll take care of Juri and make sure he’ll get some food in his stomach.

Guilt washes over her for not taking care of Juri herself, but she’s also too fucking proud and stubborn to go down to dinner and face Rick.

She only leaves the room to put Juri to bed. With sleepy eyes he tells her that he ate two portions of dinner before he bombards her with questions. Where’s Daryl? Where’s Carol? Where’s Glenn? Will they be alright? When are they coming home?

“It will be alright.” Was everything she could say.

That she would be the one making sure it would, she leaves out of the equation. She kisses him good night, tucks him in and makes sure his night light is on before she leaves his room and closes the door.

Back in her bedroom, she makes a quick change of clothes to fully black, gears up and lies down on the bed, waiting for the sound of doors closing and people going to bed. She only has to wait for two hours, in which she just lies there staring up into the ceiling. Then she sneaks out of the room and downstairs. Yup, she’s the only one awake it seems.

In protection of the darkness she sneaks out of the house, snatches a pair of car keys on the go, and runs towards the armory and storage. The moon is almost full in the sky so she licks the walls of the buildings on her way, to avoid being too visible in the pale moonlight.

At the armory and storage Mila pulls out a flashlight from her backpack and puts it in her mouth. She bolt cuts the padlock, preferring a scoldering rather than ask for the keys, and sneaks inside. There, she collects ammunition, a kit of pliers, smoke grenades and some other useful bits and bobs she might need.

When she considers herself done, she leaves -without bothering to close the armory after her- and sets off towards the cars. Standing in front of them, she holds the keys up and pushes the ‘unlock’-button to see which car the keys belong to. As she does, the lamps blinks merrily on a silver sedan.

“Thank god.” Mila sighs, thanking her lucky star that it wasn’t a SUV.

She wouldn’t be able to push it on her own. Carefully, to not make any unnecessary loud sounds, Mila opens the driver’s side door and throws her backpack over the middle armrest, into the passenger seat.

Just as she’s about to turn the ignition one step and begin the heavy work to push the car out of the community, she hears a sound behind her. Despite her aching body, she moves impressively fast; she pulls her gun and spins around. The sight of Enid and Carl both startles her and makes her mildly relieved. But she quickly puts on her stern mom-face.

“Fucking hell, Carl!” Mila hisses and lowers her gun. “I could’ve shot you!”

She looks seriously at the two teenagers, geared up with backpacks. Where are they going?

“Sorry.” Carl says.

“Where are you two going?”

“We wanna help you.” Enid answers. “To rescue Daryl.”

Mila feels how her right eye starts to twitch ominously.

“No, you won’t.”

“Come on!” Carl says, a little louder than he probably anticipated. Angrily, not wanting her chances to get out of here screwed up by Carl, hush at him. “We can help you!”

“Yeah, uh, well… how about NO!” Mila replies with emphasis. “I’ve had it with help, thanks!”

“Listen, I know dad didn’t mean-”

“Carl, no!” Mila cuts him off, not wanting to hear Carl having to apologize for Rick and looks at Enid. “You’re in on this too?”

Enid shrugs.

“He’s right.” She says simply.

“Jesus Christ…”

“We wanna help!” Carl insists stubbornly. “Daryl’s family! And you need us.” He holds his hand out towards the car. “You gonna push that on your own?”

“What’s this with everyone doubting me all of a sudden?!” Mila mutters irritatedly.

“At least let us help with that.” Enid nods. “Then you can decide whether you want us to come or not.”

“Enid!” Carl hisses.

It WOULD actually be nice to get help with the car. Somehow, maybe because Carl activates his puppy eyes and Enid looks at her with her sweetest smile, Mila buckles in.

With collected force, doing an impressive job with keeping quiet, they push the car towards the gate. Mila wants to cheer out loud when it’s clear that the gate is unwatched. It’s too good to be true! Knowing they have no time to lose, they quickly and as silently as possible open the gate, and push it outside.

“So?” Carl asks when they are standing on the other side. “Can we come?”

Mila hesitates. It would be wiser to just point towards the gate and ask them to close it behind them and go to bed. But on the other hand it would be smart to have a little help. It would save her lots of precious time.

“Fine” Mila sputters and points her very stiff, angry index finger at the stubborn teens. “But you do exactly as I say, or else-”

The threat is taken seriously. Both Enid and Carl nod gravely.

“Good.” Mila nods. “Enid, watch the car. Carl, you and I push the gate close. If someone sees us, screw the gate and head for the car.”

As soon as they’ve closed it behind them, they continue to push the car further down the darkened, desolated road, until all three of them hop in.

“Buckle up.” Mila commands the two teens in the back. “At least I can say I forced you to wear seatbelts.” She mutters and adjusts the mirrors. “I’m not candidating for mom of the year, that’s for sure…”

She would absolutely lose that competition if it existed.

With one last look backwards, making sure no one has seen them, Mila turns the key and drives off into the night on a rescue mission, totally bound to fail.

#jersey on my mind #daryl dixon x oc #daryl dixon fanfic #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon #daryl #the walking dead daryl #twd fanfiction #twd daryl #twd fanfic #twd

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