Catch Fire | Daryl Dixon

together

Kennedy's POV

The morning light filtered through the small window, casting a dull, greyish glow across the room. I was already dressed, sitting on the edge of the bed with my arms crossed, waiting for the inevitable knock on the door. It came sooner than I expected; a quick, firm rap that told me my time was up.

I stood, squaring my shoulders and taking a deep breath as I moved toward the door. When I opened it, Rosita and Aaron were standing there, both with unreadable expressions. Rosita nodded to me, her lips pressing into a thin line as she motioned for me to follow. I fell in step between them as we made our way down the hall and out of the house.

As we walked, Rosita leaned in slightly, her voice low enough that only I could hear. "For what it's worth, I support what you tried to do last night. Negan deserves worse."

I didn't respond, just gave her a quick nod. It wasn't like I needed validation for what I'd done, but it was nice to know that at least someone understood. Aaron, on the other hand, shook his head, his disappointment palpable. He didn't say anything, but I could feel the weight of his disapproval pressing down on me.

We continued in silence until we reached the cars. Jesus was already waiting by one of them, standing next to the open door. His expression was tight, guarded; he wasn't thrilled about what had happened, but he'd always been good at keeping his thoughts to himself when he needed to.

As we approached, I noticed Rick and Michonne standing by their own car, watching us. Rick took a step forward, opening his mouth to say something. "Kennedy—"

Without even looking in his direction, I lifted my hand and flipped him off. The gesture was quick, dismissive, and it was all he was going to get from me. I didn't care what he had to say, didn't care to hear more of his self-righteous lectures. The time for talking was over.

I reached the car where Jesus was waiting, and he handed me the weapons I'd turned over before entering Negan's cell. I holstered my gun and strapped the hunting knife back to my thigh. Then, I grabbed the small throwing knife, the one I'd lodged into Negan's shoulder. I turned it over in my fingers, surprised they were giving it back to me.

Jesus watched me for a moment before speaking. "I'll drive."

I didn't argue; I just nodded and climbed into the passenger seat, lounging back comfortably as he started the car and pulled away from Alexandria. The tension from the past few days hung heavy in the air, the silence between us thick and unspoken.

I flicked the small blade around with my fingers, the motion almost absent-minded as I stared out the window, my thoughts miles away. We drove in silence for what felt like hours, the only sound being the hum of the engine and the occasional rustle of the wind through the trees.

Eventually, Jesus broke the silence, his voice careful, probing. "Why did you do it, Kennedy?"

I didn't look at him, just kept my eyes on the passing landscape. My response was simple, almost too easy. "You know why."

Jesus didn't say anything right away, but I could feel the weight of his gaze on me, the way he was trying to piece it all together. He'd always been the type to look for understanding, to find the reasons behind every action. But sometimes, things were just as simple as they seemed.

He sighed, his hands tightening on the wheel as he finally spoke again. "I get it, Kennedy. I do. But this... this could've made everything worse."

I turned to him then, my voice sharper than I intended. "How much worse could it get? Negan's alive, Rick's still playing peacekeeper, and we're all supposed to just fall in line? I'm not doing that. Not anymore."