A simple supply hunt for a source of water in the middle of Atlanta turns sour quickly for Erin as she come fist to face with a fuming, handless Merle Dixon.
Alone in the middle of the apocalypse with only a racist guy who doesn't know the differen...
"First they ignore you, then they ridicule you, then they fight you, then you win." - Mahatma Gandhi
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Content warning: toxic/abusive relationship
The two of them walked in silence for a while. Erin noticed their path was carefully chosen in order to avoid going anywhere near the others as Daryl veered them away anytime they came close to another person. They rounded the house, heading out towards the back where a large barn and smaller shed stood, casting the yard in shadows which faded and strengthened again as the clouds passed overhead.
Her knives bounced against the sides of her thighs as she'd tied her jacket around her waist due to the constant heat of the late afternoon sun. It was annoying as she walked, but she felt a lot safer knowing exactly where they were rather than leaving them in the house.
She'd also found time between transfusions with Rick to stitch up the cut beneath her eye herself - sure, it was haphazard, but this was the apocalypse not a beauty pageant. No one really cared what the people around them looked like anymore...
Daryl maintained a lead of about two feet in front of her, probably to make sure he didn't catch her with his shoulder and make the air between them even more awkward. He'd been acting like that ever since she'd accidentally grabbed him earlier, making her feel guilty for breaking their trust.
Deciding it was needed, Erin turned to him, indifferent to whether he looked at her when she spoke, "I'm sorry..."
He narrowed his eyes, his eyebrows knitting together as he glanced back towards her, "What for?"
"Grabbing your arm earlier. I didn't mean to make you uncomfor-"
She tilted her head at him curiously, though he didn't see as he seemed more interested in the ground in front of his feet, "It did. You don't need to lie to me, there's no one else here." She gestured at the empty space around them to prove her point.
Suddenly, Daryl stopped in his tracks and turned to her, his hard glare meeting her softer gaze, "I ain't lyin' to ya. Even if I was, the hell d'ya think I'd tell you somethin' I wouldn't say to anyone else. Ya ain't nothin' special..."
The snide remark hit her harder than she'd expected it to, but she brushed it off, keeping her expression firm. Though they'd only known each other for days, betrayal was what stung most; she'd somewhat grown to believe Daryl understood her to some extent, that they got along in a begrudging sort of way, that he didn't hate her like the rest.
Of course not - Daryl was just as cold as his brother.
"I never said I was," she replied with what remained of her defiance, "Ain't that gratitude..."
