Instincts (Daryl Dixon FF)

e i g h t

[Season 4, before Internment]

No P.o.V.

Her body jerked when she woke up. For a brief moment Margo couldn't remember where she was, nor why she allowed herself to fall asleep. She was laying underneath the plain white sheets of the prison bed, body slightly turned against the grey wall on which the reflection of the sun formed beautiful, unique shadows. There were some dust particles dancing through the air, changing their direction whenever she exhaled. Margo snuggled under the duvets, nose touching the itchy fabric. After months of pain and suffering something finally felt comfortable and warm, something felt safe and it made her unsure, because things don't just return when they were gone for years, things don't just get back to normal. Of course, it would be great, hell yes it would be awesome and she should be shouting out in happiness and delight but instead her body feels heavier than ever before. Every bone, every muscle, every cell felt numb and hard, sickened with comfort. It wasn't only the loss of control but the feeling of charity, of trust. Suddenly there was a group of people embracing her (well kind of), sharing their food and water and it felt unnatural, almost suspicious.

Margo turned, looking at the big, dirty windows of the prison. It was already dusk, the sun hanging just above the treetops, colouring them in a rusty green. She had slept almost a whole day, which was enough time to torture and kill both, her father and her little brother but strangely she felt like they were okay. Her heart wasn't beating wildly, her legs not burning with the want to jump off and run after them.

Suddenly she heard someone entering the prison block, the footsteps echoing in the hallway. It was Hershel, Margo instantly remembered his wooden crutches which were making a dull sound on the hard floor. The old man had lost his lower leg due to a zombie bite, without hesitation Rick had chopped off the infected body part, saving his life. At least that's what Beth told her when they met at the clothing shelf, Margo merely interested in the stocked items.

The thumping got louder, turning into a banging when he reached the metal steps. Margo felt uneasy, firstly she still didn't wanna talk to anybody, secondly the thought of the crutch getting stuck in the grid had a cold shiver crawling down her spine.

A few moments later Hershel came hobbling into her cell. Margo had gotten out of underneath the covers, sitting on the bed, her hair falling down onto her lap. It had gotten long, too long to still work and hunt without being bothered 24/7 and she probably had to cut them short soon. "You're awake, good", Hershel stated, leaning against the wall next to the door. Margo just smiled, her hands playing with the strands to lower her current stress level. She leaned back against the wall, stretching out her long legs in front of her still not looking away from the split ends curling between the tips of her fingers. "Can we..talk?", the old man asked, leaving Margo confused, "Talk?", she repeated, asking for an explanation. "Yeah, I wanna tell you how my daughters and I met Rick", Hershel said, sitting on the edge of the mattress, carefully leaning the crutches against the bedframe. The white sheets dipped down under their weight, crinkling, shadows jumping over the fabric. Margo frowned, why would he want to tell her that? Yeah they somehow met somewhere but it was past, irrelevant for her to know but Hershel didn't seem to notice or care about her disinterest and started talking.

The story was long and exhausting but Margo didn't miss one sentence of what Hershel told her. His voice was warm and calm, fluently, embracing her like a fluffy blanket, making her feel like home. What is home even anymore? The elderly man told her absolutely everything, from how Carl got shot and Rick being overly intrusive to get his group to safety, to how the herd destroyed their beautiful farm and killed everything alive. Hershel was so passionate, intrigued by his own story, however he never got emotional, not even when he talked about all the people who died, the suffering of starvation and thirst they had to survive, for him there was a reason behind all of this, which was everything he had to know. God handled their destinies.

"So the point of me telling you all of this, is that I want you to know, Rick's a really good man-", He paused, his hand touching Margo's knee, making her flinch in discomfort, "-I know you don't trust us but we trust you, all of us", and with that Hershel stood up, hobbling over to get his crutches before leaving the cell without looking back. Margo felt like her brain was reeking, two parties fighting over her feelings when maybe, she should just listen to her heart instead. If she was going to accept this group as a family, as her pack, she committed herself to every single one of them. She was educated to loyalty being first priority, no exceptions, if she was going to accept, Margo would risk her life for them, whenever they needed her to. But that wasn't the problem, her mind would never question her selflessness, she was trained to protect, the problem was, that she questioned this group's altruism. Would they even be able to incorporate them as members? Of course, Margo would always have a special connection to her father and brother, but even with them being family, the moment she would promise herself to Rick's group, there were no preferences allowed, which was also the reason why they indeed did help people they met on the road, but never took the poor souls with them, because they didn't have the capacity. Margo couldn't protect three people, if no one protected her. And that's what is the real question which was wandering around her mind the last couple of days, were they even physically and mentally able to be the group they pretend to be? But maybe there was a way to test this.

Margo pressed her palms into the mattress, pushing herself off the bed. Once again she took a look into the mirror, her fingers brushing over the smooth surface in an attempt to make it a bit more clear but sadly the dirt was almost burnt in the reflective material so it remained clogged. But however she could still see that her cheeks had gotten a little rosier and her lips seemed to slowly heal, the cracks were closed but not sealed yet, the moment she would laugh, they'd rip again but still it was better than having them bleed non-stop. Luckily Margo didn't laugh that much. After eyeing her face for a few more minutes, she turned around and walked out of their cell, down the stairs, heading directly to the communal room. Still the large wooden table would irritate her but without the people sitting around it, the whole thing wasn't as scary as it seemed the evening before. "Maggie?", her voice called, to which the answer came immediatly, "In here!". Margo started jogging towards the opened door to her left, were Maggie's light voice was echoing through the dark hallway. "What is it?", she asked, once she had found her. The Blonde started fidgeting with her fingers, trying to meet her gaze, "Do you have a pair of scissors?", she asked. Maggie frowned a bit but then she slowly nodded, smiling, "Yeah, c'mon we'll go get them".

Together the two of them walked back to the C-Block, where Maggie made for a small wooden shelf in the corner of the room, in which so many different things were stored, that Margo wondered how anyone could find anything on there. But Maggie seemed to know exactly where the scissors were so she quickly grabbed them out of an old jar, handing them, handle forward, Margo, who just thanked her and quickly wandered off to her cell. When she was back in her four grey walls, she, once again, stood in front of her mirror. Margo thought she would be more hesitant but in reality, she just took her long blond strands, held them away from her head and cut them off.