Stumbling upon Alexandria, Reese recounts the events up until now. Meeting Rick's group at the prison, scavenging, sickness, and attacks while creating an attachment to the stoic Bowman.
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“What’d ya want?” The archer grumbles his words, soaking them in a southern drawl.
“I have to go to the lady’s room.” She mumbles so only he could hear.
“Piss pot, princess.” He nods over to a bucket that sits next to her bed.
“No.” She drops her head. “I have to go number...” she holds up two fingers sheepishly.
~.~
Walking to the gate, escorted by an African American man and accompanied by the archer himself. Untying a wire that knitted the severed fence together. The archer grabbed her arm as she prepared to venture out first, pushing her to the side as he went first through the gap, readying his crossbow. Looking at the man she assumed to be T-Dog, he holds the gap open, gesturing for her to go through.
“Thank you....T-Dog.” She says she’s unsure, but smiles as he looks at her. “You’ll be surprised what you can pick up if you just listen.” She informs. “Daryl, right?” she figures, walking alongside the stoic male. Crossing a small wooden bridge across a still pond, murky and green with algae. Stopping a few paces into the tree line.
“Go on.” He gestures in front of him.
“Not with you watching.” She scolds. T-Dog averts his eyes as he goes to turn, but the archer stands firm. “Turn around!” she instructs, but again he doesn’t move.
“C’mon man.” T-Dog reasons. He groans, sidestepping to turn his back to the woman.
“I hope you don’t take this personally.” She sighs, removing the laces from her shoe.
“Ain’t got nothing worth seeing.” He grumbles, shifting his weight from foot to foot. She slowly lowers her head, taking her laces from her shoe, and looks at the back of his head. Wrapping her shoelaces, pulling them taut between her clenched fists. Glaring at the back of the archer’s head, she slowly stood before breaking into a full-on sprint towards him. Looping the lace around his throat and crossing her arms to hide behind his back. He bucked and thrashed like a wild bronco, but she held firm. His crossbow dropped from his hands. Grabbing the shoulder strap, she tossed the weapon into a shallow stream a few paces away. The laces tore into her hands as he took a knee, wheezing for breath. “You’re gun!” she barked to the wide-eyed man going to intervene.
“Shoot the bitc-”
“That’s close enough!” She barks, tightening her grip, causing Daryl to gag, trying to loosen the lace around his throat.
Holding his hands up in surrender and eyeing the ground, he slowly lowers the gun, tossing it over to her.
Quickly scooping it up. Stepping away from the kneeling archer who coughed for breath yanking the lace from her throat now glaring daggers at the now armed woman.
