Double Crossbow (Daryl Dixon) [The Walking Dead]

Chapter 8 ↣ Was that a compliment?

"We are prepared for insults, but compliments leave us baffled."

— Mason Cooley

↣ ↢

Kathryn

KATHRYN, WHAT THE fuck do I have to do to get this through your thick head? You fucking waste of space!

I woke up with a gasp, my hand clawing at my chest. My heart was bound to break out of its boned cage at the pace it was beating. My breathing came in short gasps, causing my vision to swirl. I took a deep breath in through my nose, counted to five, and then exhaled through my mouth. A few rounds of this and I was back to relatively sane.

Walking out of the R.V., I noticed Andrea was still kneeling next to Amy. She looked up at me. Her eyes were bloodshot from crying and lack of sleep; It was an expression I knew all too well. Giving her a nod in silent consolation, I made my way over to the chairs by the fire pit and sat down, curling my legs up to my chest instinctively.

It was eerily quiet. You'd never be able to guess what had occurred here last night if not for the bodies strewn around camp. I glanced up when I heard heavy footsteps. Soon Daryl was occupying the chair next to me. He rubbed his eyes and yawned.

"What?" I asked. "Not a morning person?"

"Hell no," he said, folding his arms across his chest. He then looked over at me, narrowing his eyes. "You sleep at all?"

I scoffed. "A good night has never been in my vocabulary."

"Yeah? Well a good morning's never been in mine," Daryl grumbled.

A laugh escaped my throat. I quickly placed my fingertips to my mouth as if to remind myself I wasn't supposed to do that. The sound of my own laugh was foreign to my ears. I didn't even recognize it as my own. That laugh belonged to the woman who could've been, not the woman who was sitting here now.

Daryl also had let out a single chuckle. It seemed to me he was a bit shocked at his laugh as well. His fit him, though. It was rough and raspy; overall, what you'd expect his laugh to be, however rare you may hear it. He then muttered something under his breath. It was so soft I almost missed it, but my ears were highly trained to pick up subtle sounds. "You're somethin' else."

I blinked. "Was that a compliment? Now, that's something I wouldn't think to be in your vocabulary."

Daryl's gaze flitted over to me. He scoffed. "Take it however ya want." With that, he picked up his crossbow—which had been resting against the chair—rose to his feet, and disappeared amongst the trees.

My nose crinkled. Why had I gone after that squirrel? I could be alone right now, not having stupid people mess with my head. With a huff, I snatched my crossbow and went in the opposite direction of Daryl. I got about fifty feet from camp when I heard a voice. Raising my bow, I dropped into a crouch and headed in the direction of the voice. I pressed my back up against a nearby tree and peered around it as I was sure the source of the voice would be just beyond its trunk in the clearing. My eyes fell upon a familiar figure, causing me to sling my bow over my shoulder and fold my arms across my chest.

Rick was the source of the talking. He was crouched and muttering words I couldn't quite hear. As Rick rose to his feet, I asked, "The heat getting to you, Sheriff?" He visibly jumped before whipping around, his hand hovering over his holster. As he saw it was only me, the tension in his shoulders eased back. He raised his left hand up, and I saw a Walkie Talkie. "That's a relief."

Rick smiled and walked towards me. "Just...keeping a promise," he told me.

I nodded. It was a long belief of mine promises weren't something to be taken lightly. Promise was one of the few words that still had actual meaning to me. The word promise could never be followed by more words, only action.