Red ~ TWD (Daryl Dixon)

A White Cross

"How do you feel Alex?" Carol asked.

"I'm 80% sober." Daryl swerved to avoid a walker in the middle of the road, and I clamped my mouth shut so I didn't puke on the dashboard. "Or not."

"We need her sober by the time we get there," she commented matter-of-factly to Daryl.

"I'm sitting right here."

He grunted, completely ignoring me. "She'll be fine."

"Of course I'll be fine."

Even drunk off my ass I could hold my own, and I wasn't even drunk. I was slightly tipsy.

Carol sighed, "Why did you let her drink the wine?"

"Let me?" I scoffed.

"She was halfway through a bottle b'fore Merle found her."

"That's not true." I was almost done with the bottle.

"I'm kind of surprised," she mused, still ignoring me. I pinched my arm to make sure I was actually sitting in the car and not dreaming. "You'd think someone with her..."

"Mad skills," I supplied.

"Violent tendencies," she grinned. Bitch. "Would be able to hold her liquor."

"I can hold my liquor just fine. It's not me. It's the holy wine. That shit is not to be trusted."

Daryl glanced at me, shaking his head. "Communion wine ain't no different than any other. It's just been blessed." Carol and I both raised our eyebrows. "What? Everybody knows that."

"I didn't," I said.

"Me either."

He scoffed, "Yur drunk and yur lying."

Carol laughed while I continued to pout. Maybe if I really focused I could will my blood alcohol level to even out.

"So it was just you and Beth after?"

"Yeah."

"You save her?"

"She's tough. She saved herself." I nodded in agreement, looking out the window. The youngest Greene daughter wasn't as fragile as she appeared. She hadn't been since we lost the farm, and spent a long winter on the road. "We were out there for a while. We got cornered and she got out in front of me. I don't know...she was just gone. All I saw was a car with a white cross."

The guilt in his voice made my stomach churn, and I reached over, taking his free hand. He interlaced our fingers, eyes never straying from the road.

"Just like that one." Carol pointed at the car we were following.

"Yep."

"You were with Merle the whole time?" she asked, finally acknowledging my presence.

"Yeah."

"What was that like?" She sounded genuinely curious.

I shrugged, "We managed to find a boombox, landmines, and Flammin' Hot Chili Lime Cheetos so it wasn't a total loss."

She laughed, "He's different."

That was an understatement. Merle Dixon was a reformed man. Yes, he was still crass, rude and managed to talk about boobs more than social norms deemed acceptable, but he was a trusted member of the group. He'd earned his place long before the prison walls crumbled, and only solidified it in the aftermath. I trusted him with my life. He was my brother and not by marriage, by choice.

Our first night after the prison, by the light of a dying fire, he thanked me for taking a chance on him. He'd expressed hope he'd be worthy of that chance someday. I tried to tell him he already was, but he refused to hear it, refused to believe it. I would prove it to him, someday.