constant peril → d. dixon

s e v e n

It was like her emotions had suddenly hit a dam. She so badly wanted to cry, to show her mourning for her departed brother but she just couldn't do it. Not until Glenn ran out to see if she was okay.

When she saw her friend, a crack appeared in her dam. Tears slipped through the crack and fell down her pale cheeks.

"Mais —" Glenn said, wrapping his arms around her upper body.

A sob shook her body and he held her tighter until she pushed away from his chest, swiping at her eyes.
She looked away from Glenn's worried eyes, choosing instead to look at Daryl as he exited the store, carrying all the supplies they'd gathered.

Maisie paid him no attention as he put the supplies in the trunk, until he thrusted a gun into her hands. It was Jonathan's, straight from the Walter Winters collection.

"We goin' or what?" The redneck asked bluntly.

With heavy hands, Maisie tucked the handgun into the waistband of her black jeans and fished the keys from her pocket. She held her hand out, the keys resting in her palm.

"One of you guys drive," she said quietly.

Exchanging a look with Daryl, Glenn lifted from the keys from her hand as she crawled into the backseat without another word.

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The drive back to Alexandria was quieter than a ride had ever been. Nobody wanted to talk, nobody wanted to address the elephant in the room: the feral blonde with the broken heart.

Daryl sat beside her, brooding and uncomfortable. He hated emotions. He wanted to say something nonetheless, but everything came out rude and abrasive inside his head. Instead, he glanced at her. With her hair pulled back, her profile was on display; her head was bent to hide her puffy red eyes and her hands were folded loosely in her lap.

When Daryl looked at her, he saw Beth. He saw many similarities between the two, but while Beth made a mistake that she paid for with her life, Maisie didn't make mistakes. It wasn't that she was just a perfect human, it was that she had adapted far too well to this new world that mistakes were a lost concept to her.

He admired and respected that. But he'd never admit it.

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They reached the walled community as darkness began to fall. Usually Maisie found the approaching dusk to be beautiful, but not when she had her own darkness hanging over her head.

Emotionally exhausted, she walked back to Jonathan's house, dragging her feet as if to delay the impending doom that was the empty house.
She flinched when Glenn's hand touched the small of her back, guiding her to the house. He let go of her at the steps and she climbed them slowly, the backpack on her shoulders suddenly feeling like it was full of bricks.

"You sure you're gonna be okay?" Glenn asked, watching her stand still on the porch for a few minutes.

Maisie turned and gave him a small smile. It was all she could muster. "Yes."

"Alright, I believe you. Night, Mais."

"Night."

As she made her way into the empty house, Jackson jumping at her legs, one thing still nagged at her: she'd never gotten the chance to ask if her dad was alive.

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Maisie woke up when something soft hit the side of her face and shoulder. She opened her eyes and saw Glenn standing above her, holding a throw pillow. Ironic.

"Christ, Glenn, that's a throw pillow not a hit Maisie pillow," Maisie grumbled, sitting up and stretching her arms over her head.

"What're you doing here, Mais? More importantly, how did you get in here?" Glenn questioned, tossing the pillow at the other end of the couch.

"Are you really surprised I can pick a lock?" Maisie yawned, pulling the elastic from her hair and massaging her crown briefly. "I'm sorry, Glenn, I just couldn't do it. I couldn't stay in that house."

"It's alright."

"I'm sure I'll be fine by tonight."

Glenn nodded, pulling her up from the couch and into a tight hug.

"I should go, Jack's probably going berserk," Maisie said, offering him a small smile. She bid him goodbye and left his house, squinting in the bright sun.

"I'm very sorry about your brother. Please, come to the chapel if you ever need to talk."

Maisie stopped walking. She didn't even know Alexandria had a chapel.
"Thanks, Father Gabriel," she said, barely glancing over her shoulder at the priest. As she continued her stride, an idea struck her and she turned around completely. "Wait, Father Gabriel, one more thing."

An hour later, Maisie worked to put her makeshift cross into the patch of grass the Alexandrians used as their graveyard. She had nothing to bury, but she knew damn well Jonathan deserved at least a cross. Sweat beaded on her forehead but she didn't care.

When she was done, she surveyed the graveyard, until a specific cross caught her eye. It was more ornate than the rest, with carvings running through the scrap wood's surface. She knew immediately Jonathan had made it. In fact, it looked like he'd made most of them. He'd always had a passion for wood carving, ever since he was thirteen.

But there was something different about this one; the wood was nicer, and the carvings were done more carefully. As she got closer to it, her already fragile heart seemed to plummet ten stories. Etched into the wood's surface were the words:
Walter Winters
and below that,
Father.

Maisie sat back in the grass, her face in her hands. She had no family.

"You alright?"

Maisie raised her head and looked over her shoulder at Daryl. "I'm great," she said stiffly.

Hiking his crossbow on his shoulder, Daryl walked closer and held his hand out to her. When she accepted it, he hauled her to her feet. It wasn't hard, she couldn't have weighed more than a buck twenty soaking wet.

"Tell me something," Maisie said, walking in step with Daryl," Where's your brother now?"

"Dead."

"What?"

"Killed the son of a bitch months ago."

"Uh... why?"

"He turned."

"Oh." Oh.

It always seemed to end in oh with him. Daryl was a man who didn't trust many, and he didn't open up to just anyone. Christ, should she even bother? A bank vault was more open than he was.

It made sense though. Emotional connections make you easier to break in situations where information is needed, and that can get you killed.
It was all about survival at all costs for Daryl fucking Dixon.

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looks like maisie's getting frustrated with daryl's rough and tough image

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-shelby♡