Trespassing (Daryl Dixon x OC)

Champagne Supernova

"A dreamer dreams she never dies. Wipe that tear away now from your eye."

I lost track of the days once I was moved to quarantine. The cell block was always dreary; there were no windows to alert us to the time of day, I didn't sleep at normal times--it came in intervals--and the only contact I had to the outside world was Hershel and he didn't tell me much. I was left with myself and the last memory of the fear in both Daryl and Carl's eyes. I wanted nothing more than to be comforted; the more time I spent in solitude, the more anxious I became. I didn't know what this virus was or how I got it, but it was slowly deteriorating me from the inside out. 

I found it ironic that we made Death Row our quarantine zone. Prisoners were sent here to wait to die; were we doing the same thing? Was I going to die? Do Rick and Hershel think we're all going to die? It's funny, I'm not scared of death or dying, but it makes me nervous that the potential outcome of this virus is not waking up the next time I fall asleep. I fear the possibility of leaving everyone behind prematurely. I fear losing everyone I love permanently. 

"Belle," Hershel called to me, taking me out of my small trance. "Come with me." I weakly stood, wrapping my arms around my torso beneath Daryl's poncho that I refuse to take off. 

Hershel brought me to the room where lethal injections took place. The aura of the room was daunting, to say the least. In the center was the table in which a prisoner would be strapped down. I wonder how many people have died on that table. There were various movable tables that contained different medical equipment. On the opposite wall was a large window where others would watch the injections. In that room, Daryl was pacing back and forth, his hands laced on the back of his neck. 

I turned to look at Hershel. "Maggie convinced me to use this room for visits with the sick people," he spoke, answering my silent question. His voice must have caught Daryl's attention because when I looked back to the window, he was staring back. That same fear was still there. 

"D'you think you could move the table closer?" I asked Hershel, my voice frail and weak despite it sounding coarse. He quietly muttered an affirmation before pushing the injection table to the wall. 

"Take as much time as you need. I'll be close by if you need me," Hershel reassured. I mumbled my thanks before he left. 

Turning back to Daryl, I slowly made my way to sit on the table. I partially leaned against the window due to my lack of body strength. Daryl stood right in front of the large window, barely any space between himself and the wall. From the glass, I could faintly see my reflection; I could see why Daryl and Carl looked so afraid. My typically-fair skin was pale but flushed at the same time. Cold sweat glistened across my skin, causing small bits of my hair to curl and stick to my forehead. The tip of my nose was red, as were my eyelids and waterlines. My eye sockets looked to be a deep purple.

"Hi, baby," I said quietly, a small smile adorning my chapped lips. 

"How're you doing?" he asked. 

I shrugged, a small sniffle following. "I'm tired and weak and cold all the time. I don't ever know when it's daytime. I don't even know how long I've been here."

"Eight days," Daryl mumbled.

I closed my eyes, letting out a small sigh. "Fuck."

"Yeah."

"I miss you," I stated, lazily opening my eyes. 

"I miss you, too," he replied somberly.

"Will you sit down, please? You're making me nervous," I chuckled. The lighthearted action caused a small half-smile to graze Daryl's lips. He pulled his own table to the window before sitting on it. I missed being this close to him. I wished I could feel the warmth he always radiated and feel comforted in his hold.

"Is this God's way of punishing me for smoking and drinking? For killin' people?" I asked in both a somber and joking manner.

"Don't talk like that," Daryl said. "You know he ain't got nothin' to do with it."

"Yeah, I know," I replied with a small eye roll. "Anything exciting going on?" I asked curiously. He shrugged slightly.

"Not really. Most people are scared shitless. Carl's been tryin' to stay by me a lot."

"Are you letting him?" Daryl looked away timidly. "Babe, he's scared. You and him are my boys, please, just...be there for him. I can't right now," I pleaded. Daryl looked up and met my gaze again.

"Okay," he muttered with a small nod. I smiled. My mind wandered to different places, all places filled with me and Daryl. 

Rolling my bottom lip between my teeth--my smile never fading--I asked, "You know the first time I realized I liked you?" He let out a small huff of a chuckle, smiling himself before shaking his head. "When you taught me how to shoot. You held me and stood so close to me...you made me so nervous" Daryl chuckled, reminiscing at the memory. I placed my small, shaking hand on the window. "I've loved you since I was sixteen...but I thought, 'why would Daryl Dixon want someone like me?'"

Daryl remained silent for a moment before placing his hand on the glass in front of mine. Noticing this, I looked up at him.

"I've loved you ever since the shine," he confessed. I just stared back at him, not knowing if I should speak or let him continue. "When you left, I realized I pushed away the only person who's ever shown me any type of affection. I was so pissed at myself for letting you walk away. And for not going after you." His fingertips pressed into the window. "And then, when I went to say I was sorry, you took me back right away. That was really when I realized I'm in love with you, Belle."

I couldn't help the way his words made me smile. The story itself was bittersweet but the underlying confession purely sweet.

"You know what Merle said to me before we went to Woodbury?" I asked. Daryl shook his head. "Well, first he apologized for everything the Governor did. But, he told me he never thought anyone but him was good enough for his little brother and no one could ever make him happy. He saw the ways I changed you, and because of that he said, 'You, Matthers, are a Dixon.'"

Daryl stared back at me with a mix of emotions. The shock was probably the most evident, but I could see the love and appreciation and even relief in his ever-glowing blue eyes. His lips slowly crept up into a smile, mine doing the same. Daryl gave a lighthearted laugh which quickly turned to small chuckles. Seeing him this light and relieved made me feel happiness in its purest form. Tears brimmed his eyes, as they did mine, while we just looked at each other with love and admiration. I wanted nothing more than to jump into his arms and for him to kiss my temple before burying his nose into my neck.

A small cough rattled my chest in between a meager laugh. That one cough grew to be two, and from two to three. I couldn't stop it. I placed both of my hands on the window to brace myself. My head hung heavy on my shoulders as the air was constantly being pushed up and out of my lungs violently.

"Belle," Daryl called to me desperately. I fell to my knees off the table, one of my hands remaining on the wall while my other held my throat. I was releasing oxygen more than I could take it in. Tears slid down my cheeks in both fear and because of the sheer force of each cough. Each attempt to take in a breath was heavily labored and nearly impossible. 

One cough caused my free hand to fall to the floor. I felt a warm liquid fill my mouth and dribble through my lips, splattering to the floor. Deep, crimson blood left a small pool beneath me, gliding down and warming my ever-cool chin. I became light-headed. I barely noticed Hershel and Sasha rushing into the room and pulling me off the floor. The room spun in every direction. I lost focus on everything but Daryl. I turned to look at him while I was being dragged back to my cell. He was crying, fists barely hitting the window as he broke down. The fear had resurfaced in his eyes. The fear just never left.