Trespassing (Daryl Dixon x OC)

Even Robots Need Blankets

"I'll lose my courage when I need it the most."

"Hey, me, Glenn, and Maggie are gonna go and find some formula and stuff for Little Ass Kicker," I said to Daryl, leaning against the railing of the perch. He gave a quick nod.

"Okay, just be careful." I nodded in return, leaving him with a quick peck on the lips before we parted.

We had found a convenient store a little ways up from the prison, each of us taking as many diapers and as much formula as we could, even taking some extra rations for the rest of the group.

"Well I'll be damned," I heard a rough, ragged voice from behind me. I stood up straight, the hairs on the back of my neck doing the same. "Never thought I'd see you again, Matthers." I was about to turn around, to face the ever-so annoying excuse of a human being behind me, but I was knocked out getting hit in the back of the head with the butt of a gun, hard.

***

Upon waking up, I was in a strange room with a table, two chairs set at each end, and not much else accompanying it. I was sat against a support beam, my hands duct-taped around it. I stood up, becoming slightly dizzy from the blow to the head I took. My knife and gun were laid side by side on the table. I tried to somehow shimmy my way out of the restraints around my wrists, but they must have wrapped those suckers good. After a few minutes, the man who knocked me out opened the door, leaning against the door frame.

"Matthers, Matthers, Matthers," he said, a cocky grin on his lips. I tightened my jaw. 

"Merle," I said, still greeting him the way I always have. My eyes were caught on the makeshift weapon he had attached to his arm. It was a few sheets of metal with a knife taped to the end of it. He raised it up, staring at it as he twisted it around. 

"Like it? I made it myself. Kinda had to since your friend, the sheriff, cuffed me to a roof. With walkers at the door, might I add." I clenched my jaw again, glaring at the older Dixon who I thought I'd finally gotten rid of. "But," he continued, "we aren't here to talk about me." 

"Really? I thought that's what you did best," I interrupted. He glared momentarily before speaking again. 

"You'll never guess who we picked up in this lovely community." 

He brought in a woman; she was skinny, her brown hair was slightly graying, she had a small button nose. She looked vaguely familiar, and it took me a few moments of racking my brain for memories to think of who she was. I'd seen her in pictures before, old ones. He brought in my goddamn mother.

"Belle," she exclaimed with pure shock but what also sounded like joy. 

"Julie," I said bitterly. She seemed a bit taken back by my rudeness. 

"Wow, you look-" 

"Oh, fuck off," I interrupted. She blinked a few times. "What, you think you get to walk out on the twenty-three, maybe twenty-four, years of my life and act like I'm visiting for the weekend?" 

"Belle, I-" 

"No, you're not sorry, if that's what you're gonna say." She was awkwardly silent for a few minutes. 

"How, um, how's your father?" she asked. 

"Dead," I said flatly. "Terminal cancer does that to a man whose wife walked out to fuck her husband and kid over." She, again, stood there awkwardly.