Catch Fire | Daryl Dixon

THE CALM BEFORE

Daryl's POV

The sun hung low in the sky, its weak light filtering through the canopy as I led Negan through the woods. He shuffled behind me, that damned smirk probably still plastered on his face, even though he knew he was one wrong word away from getting a bolt through his skull. My crossbow was slung over my shoulder, but it wouldn't take much to raise it, fire, and shut him up for good.

I didn't look back. Didn't need to. I could hear him breathing, hear his footsteps shuffling against the leaves and branches underfoot. My mind wasn't on him anyway. It was back at that cabin.

Kennedy.

When I saw her slumped against the wall, barely holding herself up, covered in blood, my heart stopped. For a second, I thought she was gone. It wasn't until she blinked those hazel eyes up at me that I could breathe again. But the sight of her, the way her skin had lost all its colour, how she was still trying to act like she was fine when she looked like she was about to drop dead, it haunted me.

Willow, too, standing there, trying to be brave but looking more scared than I'd ever seen her. She's tough, but that doesn't mean she's not a kid. She shouldn't have to see all this, go through all this. Not her.

I kept walking, focusing on the sound of my boots crunching against the dirt, keeping my pace steady. The farther I got from the cabin, the more the worry gnawed at me. I hoped Glenn could get Kennedy and Willow to safety. Kennedy wouldn't admit it, but she wasn't okay. She'd tried to argue, told me she was fine. But I saw the way she winced every time she moved, the blood soaking through that makeshift bandage, how she struggled to keep herself upright. She was hanging on by a thread, and she knew it.

"You're awfully quiet," Negan said from behind me, his voice cutting through the silence.

I didn't respond. I wasn't in the mood for his bullshit, and I wasn't about to start swapping stories with him like we were old pals. I kept my eyes on the trail ahead, ignoring the prickling sensation crawling up my spine at the sound of his voice.

He kept talking, though. Of course he did.

"You know, I get it. Alright, you're pissed your gal pal didn't let you in on the plan. Nobody asked you. Look, I'm pissed too. Lone wolves, they're not thinking about the pack."

I clenched my jaw, feeling the anger simmer just below the surface. 

"Maybe I'm pissed 'cause of Hilltop," I said, my voice low, barely more than a growl. My fists tightened at my sides, the memory of the flames consuming everything we'd built burning fresh in my mind. "Maybe I'm pissed 'cause my wife nearly died 'cause of you."

The words slipped out before I could stop them, and I winced, knowing it wasn't entirely true. Kennedy wasn't my wife. Not anymore, anyway. Hell, we'd been more off than on lately, ever since the whole thing with Leah. I didn't even know what we were anymore. We were together, yeah, but we still fought like we weren't. Like everything we'd built could fall apart any second.

There was a beat of silence behind me, and I felt Negan's eyes on my back, his mind working. Of course, he didn't let it go.

"So that's what Kennedy is, huh? Your wife?" His voice dripped with something I didn't like. It wasn't surprise, not exactly. It was more like... curiosity. Like he was picking at a scab, trying to get to the tender part underneath. "Funny, 'cause from what I heard—"

"Shut up," I snapped, cutting him off before he could finish. My hands itched for my crossbow, but I kept them steady.

Negan fell silent, but I could feel the tension between us thickening, hanging in the air like smoke. He didn't need to finish that sentence for me to know what he was getting at. He knew. Somehow, he always knew just enough to twist the knife where it hurt most. He was about to bring up the affair, the separation, all of it. I could feel it on the tip of his tongue.