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Easy Target, Pt.2

Part two!! If you like it, please leave a like. Some of us authors claim we can write without feedback but it surely is much less fun! I would love to discuss headcanons and meta analyses!

Easy Target, Part 2

They thought wrong. Severus/OC

Warnings: cuss words, allusions to trauma and injuries.

MINORS DO NOT ENGAGE

Part 1

When next he saw her, she was considerably more put together. Her hair was pulled back into a neat chignon, she was wearing a simple knit dress, neat but sans teaching robes. She seemed much better rested as she sauntered into the Great Hall, whatever infernal shoes she had on clacking loudly on the stone.

She smiled serenely, lips a fetching red, as she settled her free hand on the back of her seat, the other small hand clutching a newspaper, long, elegantly manicured nails painted a deep, bloody red. “Good Morning.” She chirped as she scooted her chair from under the table, waving a hand over it, transfiguring it in a plush, soft cushioned chair.

Whatever his reservations about her, he had to admit that she was brilliant at transfiguration and likely excellent at spell work in general, considering her facility with wandless and wordless magic.

He looked up and caught her eyes, nearly starting at her bright, friendly smile. “Did y’all sleep well?” There were a few noncommittal morning mumbles, none of which fazed her.

He arched an eyebrow silently as she settled delicately against the right side of her over-large chair and opened her paper. Where was the snippy witch he had met last night? Where was the woman who had called him a dick and sparred toe-to-toe with him?

“Morning person, are you, Ms. de Vilieré?” He groused lightly as he sipped his tea.

Her smile faltered in the slightest as she spared him the barest glance over her New Orleans Magical Post and waved a negligent hand over her teacup. The acrid scent of strong coffee floated over to his nose and he watched as she poured a liberal amount of cream into the cup.

She sipped silently and shrugged. “No, not at all, Professor. I think I got more sleep than I’m used to yesterday and I’m kinda energetic, oddly enough. Before long, y’all are gonna need to peel me out of my chair in the morning.”

Y’all are gonna…

He snorted to himself, what an absurd accent.

Lupin leaned over her teacup and chuckled. “It’s not even brown anymore. Is there any coffee in there, Charlotte?”

She smiled and shrugged. “My hu... ex-husband’s grandmother used to tease me for exactly the same thing.”

Snape could smell blood in the water.

She grimaced slightly and looked up at him as if expecting him to comment. There was a sharp moment in which he could feel her vulnerability, then it was gone and she was looking back down at her paper.

“If it wasn’t the only way for me to get my morning start, I wouldn’t even bother with it. It takes too much cream to cut the bitterness out of coffee.”

He snorted again. “It seems to me that you don’t need a morning start, Ms. de Vilieré.”

She looked up at him, her blue eyes assessing his, as if wondering why he didn’t take the free shot she had all but given him. He smirked smugly at her, one word: leverage.

One pale blonde eyebrow lifted sardonically. It wasn’t the reaction Severus had expected and it set him on edge, as if she knew something he didn’t.

Then with a small smile, she looked back down at the paper. “Appearances aren’t always as they seem, Mr. Snape.”

Severus felt his jaw clench, an involuntary sign of his discomfort.

Then she winked at him. He sucked in a breath, trying hard to pin down the reactivity that still lingered after all this time.

Appearances aren’t always as they seem, Mr. Snape.

He took a few hours to cool his temper, thoughts -irrational thoughts not based in fact- making it difficult for him to not see her comment and wink as anything but meant to embarrass and ridicule.

She didn’t go to Hogwarts. She has no idea how I would take that. She was just being cheeky or mocking, at worst. She was responding in kind.

He kept the mantra up as strode through the blessedly empty halls up to the transfiguration professor’s office.

There was a wreath of seasonal flowers on the door. Severus stared mutely, its presence almost unintelligible.

Shaking loose of the confusion, he walked into her office without knocking, a smug smirk firmly in place, noticing how markedly different it was to Minerva’s former office. Gone were the tartan and biscuits, now replaced with Fleur-de-lis’, deep green, and wrought iron.

At least her color choices weren’t objectionable.

“It seems ironic that both you and the former inhabitant of this office are equally obsessed with your respective heritages.”

She looked over at him and sighed. She turned back to the shelf and released whatever complicated spell work she was performing.

Without a wand. Or verbal spells.

The effortless show of facility irked him.

A vase of flowers landed on a sideboard with a soft thud.

She turned back to him and set her hands on her hips, shrugged. “Must be a transfiguration professor thing. Besides I don’t rightly see how that’s a bad thing, myself.”

Snape ignored her. “You were married, that isn’t in your file.”

She sighed and transfigured a nearby wooden chair into a plush, deep green velvet armchair. “Please have a seat, Professor.” She waved elegantly at the chair and he settled himself in the ridiculous seat. “What is it exactly you would like to know?” He opened his mouth to speak and she quickly cut in. “Mind you, I reserve the right not to answer.”

He nodded. “Does Minerva know?”

She rolled her eyes. “Of course. She decided that it was best left out of the file.”

Interesting. “Why?”

“I don’t know, honestly. I didn’t ask her to.” She sighed and lowered her eyes from his. “I suppose that she wished to shield me from the stigma associated with divorcees.”

He shrugged lightly, his eyes heavy with suspicion, there was more to this story. He crossed his legs and leaned back a little in his chair. “Do you have any children?”

She stiffened. “One, a son.”

He nodded and smirked slightly, trying to see how far he could push her. “One would think that a mother would have her son here with her.”

She perched herself on the edge of her desk, crossing her legs primly at the knee, back straight and rigid. “One would think that a professor would be smart enough to not make such an imbecilic statement. But then, there you have it.”

It took most of his considerable reserve to not gape at her. “Pardon me?”

“You heard me.” She smiled blithely at him, not to be cowed. “I said what I said.”

He arched an eyebrow, fighting against a thrill down his spine that was fast becoming a predictable nuisance. “So then, your son doesn’t want to be with you?”

She rolled her eyes again. “My son can’t be with me.”

“Why is that?”

“The courts weren’t inclined to let me take him off to foreign locales. My ex-husband’s family had something to say, I think.” Her eyes hardened perceptively and her shoulders stiffened. “I have filed numerous petitions for sole custody and they have all been thrown out.”

Interesting. “Why?”

She crossed her arms over her chest. “Not really any of your business.”

He settled back in his chair. “As deputy headmaster, I think you’ll find that’s not a correct statement.”

“As a man, I think you’ll find that you feel entitled to information for no other reason than you have a penis, whether it’s your business or not.”

He steeled himself, refusing to be set on his back foot by her blunt, provocative verbiage. “You seem to not think highly of men.”

She waved off the statement with a negligent hand. “On an individual basis? Sure, I think highly of a few men. My father, my brother, my brothers-in-law. I hope that my son will be a man to think highly of. As an institution? The whole of the biological sex that makes up men? I try not to make sweeping generalizations.” She examined her cuticles, casually unbothered.

“What was your earlier comment if not a generalization?” He tilted his head, watching her pretend not to watch him.

She shrugged, smirking. “I tried. I failed.”

“And your husband?”

“Ex-husband.” She caught his eyes and held them unflinchingly.

He was tempted to try legilimency, but he decided against it. He wanted information, to be sure, but not information at all costs. It was not war and whatever he thought she may be hiding, to pry into her mind without the justification of impending danger seemed wrong.

He acquiesced with a small nod.

“Beau?” She smiled coyly. “He’s a shining example of his sex. Surely a paragon. Which is exactly why I divorced him, an’all.”

He knew better than to wade into that water. “Why did the courts throw out your petitions?”

She shifted slightly and regarded him coolly. “Because despite claiming that they have entered into the modern era, Louisiana Court judges still can’t understand why a woman without means of her own, a former housewife in fact, would divorce her wealthy, well-loved, politician husband.” She paused and fanned herself with her hand, her accent deepening mockingly. “Well, it’s practically unheard of! She must be outside of her mind to even think it.”

A lone brow arched over a dark eye. “They judged you unfit.”

She shook her head, chuckling mirthlessly. “No, they could not do that. They have no evidence and defamation is a dangerous gamble to make. They tried, his lawyers brought it up once. It was pretty easy for me to dispense with. How lucky is it that one of my brothers-in-law runs the premier law firm in NOLA. His junior is better than the whole, very expensive team Beau hired with a fraction of the experience. Fish in a barrel, and all.” She smiled a shrewd snake smile.

He felt some part of him, long-buried from disuse, rouse and had to fight down his own answering smile.

Though she but little…

Severus nodded. “So shared custody, then?”

“The judge said fifty-fifty, so I guess they decided to play Solomon.” Nodding, she held up a finger, catching his eyes shrewdly. “But my son will be joining me here as soon as he turns eighteen.”

“How old is he now?” Severus wasn’t sure why he was so interested. He couldn’t imagine this woman doing anything nefarious.

His earlier suspicion had almost entirely abated in the face of her clear honesty. That and he could understand why she hadn’t wanted to talk about this at dinner, he could appreciate not wanting to open your chest in front of people who would surely judge you as many had likely done before.

She talked of her son with clear adoration and spoke of her situation with a bitter sarcasm that led him to believe that she knew she had been had and that there wasn’t anything she could rightly do about it.

But still- Severus ran the tip of his finger over his lip. But still that thrill remained.

“He turned seventeen seven months ago.” She smiled with an anticipation that lit up her face. “Any mandated custody is null and void in five months.”

“Seventeen?” Snape frowned.

Charlotte looked young, at first he thought that she was in her twenties. It was part of the reason he had been so suspicious as he watched her hedge and edit herself last night. What had she done in a relatively short amount of time that would warrant such evasiveness?

He knew better than to assume any magical person’s age though, such was the availability of anti-aging potions and charms. Regardless, she seemed too young to have a seventeen year old son. “How old-“

She smirked. “Don’t you know it’s rude to ask a woman her age?”

He frowned. “You’re clearly younger than me, therefore I see no reason to demure.”

She giggled and pulled a face, waggling her eyebrows. “Maybe I look good for my age. My godmother always says that the humidity keeps NOLA young.”

“Humidity has nothing to do with it.” He rolled his eyes. “Aside from potions, charms, glamours and muggle plastic surgery, I don’t see how it could be reasonably possible for you to be substantially older than me.”

“I think you just complimented me.” She smiled wickedly. “Well, this all hinges on your age, so how old are you?”

He reckoned he should be irritated with her. She was playing with him, enjoying being obstinate, but he found that he wasn’t. She wasn’t being manipulative or disrespectful, just coy and almost playful.

It wasn't that she didn’t want to share the requested information.

She was making him work for it.

He sighed. “I’m thirty-nine.”

“Then yes, I am younger than you.” Charlotte smiled smugly but provided no further information.

“By how much?” He drawled.

She bit her lip to avoid giggling. “About five years. Give or take. I was born in 1965.”

He nodded, doing the math quickly in his head. He tried for an even tone, not wanting to come across as judgemental.

It was a novel sensation. He normally didn’t care how he was perceived. “You had a child before you turned eighteen?”

“I did.” She no longer seemed smug, retreating being a mask of guarded indifference.

“‘Life got complicated.’”

She nodded hesitantly. “It did.”

“He turns 18 in January, correct?”

“January 12th.”

The irony was not lost on him, three days after his own birthday. “I see, and what does he plan to do when he gets here?”

“Hadrien wants to pursue an apprenticeship.”

He nodded. “What is he interested in?”

“Potions and Runes.”

“What are you doing, Ms. de Vilierè?”

She started and blinked up at him, quill drooping a bit. “Huh?”

He rolled his eyes, jaw tight, staring down at her with a sneer she wasn’t sure she had done something to deserve. “What are you doing, de Vilierè?”

She shrugged, tired enough to drop the mask of polite indifference she had been conjuring to maintain employment. “Lesson plans?”

His sneer deepened. “In your nightclothes?”

She frowned and looked down at herself. “I’ll admit this isn’t office attire-“

“How magnanimous of you.”

“They’re sweats and a t-shirt!” She huffed out on a chuckle, hoping valiantly that he was kidding, at least, or worried about her health if ‘she caught a chill’ as Minerva had said the first time she had caught her similarly dressed.

Charlotte was starting to think that she would have been better off going to teach on Mars.

In the past two weeks since joining the staff, it had become pretty clear that she was fast becoming odd. While no one was outright mocking or mean, it was crystal clear that most of her colleagues thought of her with fond, if not patronizing pity. It irked her.

She may have thought the social rules in NOLA were stupid, and it was true that she often purposely ignored them to rankle the judgmental fools that relied on them, but she understood them and knew what to do to pretend if necessary. She wasn’t socially acceptable in NOLA, but that had been a choice. Here she was plain inadequate.

This week alone, she had been gaped at when she referred to her ‘pants’ (Remus had actually snickered at her before deigning to point out her faux-paus), she had been gently informed by Pomona that she gave ‘too much detail’ in conversation, Filius had patted her on the head when she had asked about the possibility of having a television, and-

And the man in front of her had taken near every opportunity to point out her shortcomings.

You’re doing lesson plans this late in the summer holidays, Ms. de Vilierè?

Yes, it does rain frequently. You did very little research, then?

Why is it always like this? She sucked in a breath and tried to calm herself.

Snape scoffed. “I know what they are, de Vilierè. Why are you wearing them outside-“

She forced a breath out through her nose. “I’m trying to understand, Sever-“

“Professor Snape.” He seethed.

She froze, staring at him. “I see. Professor Snape, can you please explain why you object to how I am dressed?”

He seemed to flounder slightly and she noticed the clammy pallor of his skin. She had the brief thought that something had happened, that he hadn’t sought her out to lambaste her.

He looked down his nose at her like she was shit on a shoe and she felt her chest tighten and her eyes burn at almost the same time as long suppressed rage boiled over. “Your complete lack of professionalism will reflect poorly on Hogwarts as an institution.”

“It’s midnight.” She sucked in a breath. “I fail to understand-“

“Clearly.”

She sent him a nasty glare. “I do not understand how it is unprofessional to be in a library in comfortable, warm clothing while attempting to complete tasks.”

“What if a student were to see you?” He threw his hands in the air.

She rolled her eyes. “First, the students won’t arrive for another month. Second, I was not planning on regularly roaming the halls dressed so casually once they do arrive.” She shook her head. “You are not stupid enough to assume that I would, surely.”

“Stupid?”

She nodded, a sarcastic smile on her face. “Yeah, stupid. Do you really think that I would’ve dressed like this if I knew I would be seen?”

“Then why are you dressed-“

“‘Cause it’s fuckin’ midnight, Snape! I was alone! There are no students and I had no reason to assume that I would have to speak to you!” She gesticulated widely. “This goddamn castle is cold at the best of times and I wanted to get somethin’ fuckin’ done! That’s why!

“I don’t spend all of my time thinking up ways to flout conventions I didn’t even know fuckin’ existed. I’m not standing in a corner, twirling a mustache, waiting for my chance to embarrass all of you. I just wanted to be out of my office because I thought I might get more done. And I wanted to be comfortable.” She was starting to run out of steam, and she blinked away tears. “That’s all.”

I will not give this asshole the satisfaction.

Snape stared at her like she had grown an extra head.

“Well? Nothin’ to say?” She scoffed. “Typical.” She waved her hand over her belongings, stowing them in the satchel she had transported them in after lunch. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“This conversation is not done.”

He advanced on her and she felt herself flinch, stepping back.

Worse, she saw Snape register her flinch. He stilled, shocked and suddenly pallid.

“de Vilierè-“

She swallowed, voice dropping into a nearly broken whisper. “I know that I am not what anyone expected. I recognize that there is a lot about me that is not-“ she sighed, “not ideal. My apologies. I’ll remedy it.”

She left and didn’t turn back.

Severus stared at her chair the following morning.

Her empty, un-transfigured chair.

His jaw clenched. He would not feel guilty.

His eyes darted to the door, imagining the sound of heeled shoes in the hall.

“What happened, Severus?”

He started and turned to Minerva. She had asked softly enough to not draw attention but he flushed. “I’m sorry?”

“Why is our favorite American not at breakfast this morning?” She sent him a look that made clear who she thought was to blame.

“Why should I-“

Pomona sipped her tea. “Because you have not stopped watching the door, dear.”

Filius cut into his mushroom. “Or the dear girl’s chair.”

Severus flushed. “She was in the library last night…”

Minerva nodded encouragingly. “She has been most nights. What of it, lad? She doesn’t seem to sleep well.”

He winced, noticing for the first time that Lupin and a few of the other professors had left, leaving him with Pomona, Filius and Minerva.

He sighed. “I had a dream and went for a walk and then she was there…” he dragged his hand down over his face.

“Dear me,” Pomona mumbled.

Severus nodded. “I was harsher than I meant to be, then I had any right to be.”

The look on her face right before she had walked away, blue eyes focused on the floor in front of her. He pinched at the bridge of his nose. The brokenness had been worse than the fear.

“I believe I may have scared off your replacement, Minerva.” His posture belied the dryness of his tone, collapsed in and fatigued.

Pomona set her tea cup down and the soft sound resounded in his head. She set her shoulders and asked, more stern than she had been since he was a boy. “What did you say?”

“I objected to how she was dressed- how casually she was dressed-“ he amended. “I called her professionalism into question-“

“Merlin’s bones, Severus!”

Minerva leaned forward, fury in her posture. “And what did she say?”

He glanced at Minerva, wincing. “That she recognized that she wasn’t ideal. That she wasn’t trying to embarrass us.”

Filius hummed, catching Pomona and Minerva’s eyes in turn. “Thought as much.”

Severus frowned. “Meaning?”

“I think Charlotte is feeling inadequate, maybe out of her depth.”

Pomona nodded. “We’ve all tried to help her adjust, but I think she may have more foolish pride than even you, Severus.”

“I think we have been doing more harm than help, whatever our intentions.” Filius crossed his arms across his chest. “I saw it when we had the conversation about the tele- telev- blast, what is it called?”

“Television.” Severus sighed heavily. “And I have been feeding into all of this. Bloody hell.”

“And you must apologize before we really do lose her.” Minerva pinned him with a sharp look. “We will all endeavor to apologize for our own parts and to be more understanding of her cultural differences.”

“Fuck.”

“Do you need something, Professor Snape?”

He winced, still facing the wreath of flowers he had been pacing in front of. He turned and stared down at her.

She was herself and there was a part of him that sighed in relief at her unbothered appearance, as if it let him off the hook.

Her hair was pinned back neatly, her complexion smoothed and perfected by cosmetics. She wore neat dark jeans and a fashionably oversized, deep green silk shirt, teetering elegantly on dark leather boots. She cradled a mug in one hand and directed a levitating stack of books with the other.

“Did you need something, Professor Snape?”

He shook himself free of his inspection of her. “I came to apologize.”

She arched an eyebrow and moved past him to open her office door. She glanced back at him and made a soft dismissive sound. “Mais… it’s not necessary.”

She strode into her office and set down the books and the mug. She seemed to take an extra moment to fiddle with papers on the desk before taking a deep breath and turning to him. She smiled, but it was hollow, empty and Severus felt his gut twist.

“All is well.” She shrugged. “No apology necessary.”

“I am sorry, de Vilierè, truly.” He swallowed. “It’s no excuse but I often take walks when sleep is difficult. I took my frustrations out on you. You didn’t deserve it.”

She smiled her hollow smile again. “Thank you. It’s fine, though really.”

He watched the shutters go down in her eyes and felt an answering hollowness in his chest. She is not likely to ever be open to me again, if she ever was.

He nodded and stepped further into her office. “Minerva said you also don’t sleep well-“

“You spoke to Minerva about last night?”

She seemed upset, her brow furrowed. He made a vague gesture, looking down and away. “She noticed you weren’t at breakfast and rightly guessed that I was the cause.”

He thought he heard her scoff, but the hollow smile was back when he glanced back at her.

“I see.”

He watched her for a small moment. “If sleep is an issue, I can retrieve a Dreamless Sleep potion for you.”

She shook her head. “That won’t be necessary. Thank you though, Professor Snape. I am capable of brewing a potion if I need it.”

He fought not to flinch. “Of course.”

Silence settled heavily over them and he set his jaw to avoid fidgeting.

She sighed sharply. “Was there anything else?”

He shook his head and moved to leave, catching the shimmer of a glamour out of the corner of his eye.

He turned back to look again and noticed that some of the smoothness he had attributed to her use of cosmetics was in fact a spell.

She is hiding.

He caught her eyes and held them. “For the record, de Vilierè, I know that you are capable and competent. My social skills are sorely lacking. I apologize.”

She turned away, the briefest flash of vulnerability swimming in her eyes before the shutters came down again.

“I’m fine.”

A dark owl sat ominously on the perch next to her desk, staring at her with large, round, dark eyes, a folded piece of parchment in its beak.

She breathed deep, fighting down a stab of panic. That’s not an owl I recognize. The Beauregards all have great greys because they’re bougie as fuck. It’s not their owl.

The owl vocalized softly and dropped the note. She reached for a jar of owl treats she kept by the perched, eyeing the owl as the owl eyed her back.

She held up the treat and reached for the note with her other hand. The bird took it almost gingerly and flew through her open window with the barest of whispers of wings.

None of them have ever had such a mild-mannered owl either.

Comforted by that fact, she unfolded the note and huffed.

Come to my office. -S

She was tempted to send her own note back and briefly amused herself with the look that would be on his face at dinner if she did.

Thanks but no thanks. -C or maybe How about you walk your happy ass up here? -C

She snorted and reckoned that being fired for being contrary after only a month wouldn’t do. He was the deputy headmaster after all.

She rubbed at her face, her temples twinging sharply.

Still, though the tension had eased considerably, she had spent most of the past two weeks avoiding him. Something he seemed to be aiding her in, by making himself equally scarce.

She could feel a migraine starting. She had spent the time since lunch in the library, alternately cataloging the reference material future students would have access to and watching for approaching company. It would be good to take a break anyways. She glanced down at the note and rolled her eyes.

Not much of a break.

She shrugged. Nothing to it, but to do it. At least, he’s interesting.

Sighing, she pinched at the bridge of her nose, chastising herself for continuing to entertain even an iota of interest in a man who plainly didn’t like her.

Glutton for punishment.

As if escaping that thought and the accompanying feelings, she all but sprinted out of her office and had to force herself to slow down and take her time walking down to the dungeons.

It truly was no chore to walk the long hallways and grand staircases and she imagined Snape would be less than delighted to hear that she actually enjoyed what he certainly thought was at least an inconvenience.

She grinned, maybe she should mention it.

But somewhere between her office and his, she forgot all about wanting to needle at him.

Such was the power of this place. She had thought that the mysticism of this place would have worn off by now, replaced with staff duties and routine, but it had yet to do so.

She breathed deep, enjoying the wet smell of old stone and the cool, clean air that got cooler and damper the further she trekked. The impending migraine lessened somewhat as if the magic etched into the stone could reach inside her and permeate the tangled mess of scars she often felt made of.

She shrugged. Maybe it could.

As if wanting to connect further with that possibility, with that power, she traced her fingertips into dips and crevices, scuffed the toe of her loafer against floors that had witnessed so much. Hundreds of years of history and conflict, a recent battle even. She kind of wished she had attended school here, as opposed to the Convent, with its rigid social rules and roles, a structure that she hadn’t been able to get free from no matter how hard she had tried.

But then this place has rules too. They’re just nicer about it. And I don’t fit in here anymore than I did at the Convent.

Sooner than she would have liked, she found herself in front of a blackened, aged wood door.

She took a deep breath and thanked whatever god applied that she hadn’t gotten lost. She hadn’t been paying much attention as it was and she had simply been shown what hall to traverse to find Snape’s office and classroom.

She knocked right under where his name had been painted in an elegant silver hand. S. Snape, Deputy Headmaster

She heard steady footfall on the other side of the door and marshaled herself into some semblance of professional disinterest.

He opened the door and by virtue of his height alone, filled the doorway. He cast a look over her, clearly taking umbrage with her jeans and cardigan ensemble. She bristled.

Be polite, Charlotte Theodosia.

She held up his note.

Be polite.

“You rang?”

He met her eyes and held them. “You came.”

She arched an eyebrow, slightly shocked by his tone and the unreadable something in his eyes. She swallowed, eyeing him in his trousers and shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His collar was undone, no cravat or tie to be found, and she caught her first sight of the remnants of the wound that nearly claimed his life.

She thought better of lingering overlong on that spot, not wanting to make him uncomfortable, and not to add to his obvious antipathy.

And honestly, she’d much rather keep looking.

Clearly having come from working on something, he bore all of the marks of potions-in-the-act. He was slightly flushed, skin dewy from the humidity of a cauldron. He had tied his hair back, inky strands slipping from a low ponytail that was losing its battle against gravity.

His limbs were long, his forearms looked strong, if wiry, and his hands were large with prominent veins and knuckles. There was strength and hard work written into his calloused fingers and she fought the slightly hysterical thought that Beau had baby-soft hands until he didn’t. Severus’ hands didn’t engender the same response.

But then Beau had never engendered anything other than fear and apathy from her. Snape, it seemed, called forth an emotional range she had not thought existed, or at least had no longer existed.

She breathed deep and worked to put that thought away.

There was a nasty scar on the inside of one of his forearms. She knew immediately what that was- or what it had been- and, shrugging, she met his eyes again. “I wasn’t aware it was an invitation. Felt more like a summons.”

He moved wordlessly back, a clear indication that she should enter.

She felt the air, heavy and loaded, and then broke eye contact, staring down at the toe of her loafer. She stepped past him and risked a glance up at him. He caught her eyes again.

He closed the door behind him and fought the urge to fidget with his collar or unroll his sleeves.

‘You came’? How bloody asinine. Collect yourself, Snape.

He honestly hadn’t expected her to show up at his office door. The note had been the result of a fleeting thought, one he hadn’t caught and suppressed before Blodeuwedd flew from her perch by his desk.

A thought born from lingering guilt and some cockamamie desire to see her outside of meals. Guilt and desire that led him to act rather rashly.

Not that she needed to know that.

But then here she was, dressed casually, comfortably, sans heeled shoes and cosmetics since the incident.

She was so small.

He had almost forgotten, her personality was bold enough to create a mirage of physical presence, but the top of her head didn’t even clear his shoulder. There was something soft and feminine in her oversized cardigan, which had slipped from her shoulder in an effortless show of allure that reminded him of the courtesans of old.

Courtesans? Hell, Snape, get a hold of yourself.

She looked around, some of the same wonder he occasionally saw on her face at meals when she didn’t think anyone was looking.

She crossed the room to look at one of the jarred specimens on his shelf, stretching up on the toe of her leather shoe. “Do you use any of these or are they just for intimidation?”

He considered her quietly for a short moment, unsure if she was mocking him or curious.

She glanced back at him, blue eyes genuine in her curiosity. There was no meanness that he could catch and he cleared his throat.

“Some of these specimens have been in this office since I was a student.” He watched as she meandered down the line of the shelf. “But generally, no, they are not ingredients.”

She smiled. “So, intimidation then.” She chuckled and caught his eye over her shoulder. “And something you inherited from potions masters in days gone past at that.”

“What is it that you Americans say? If it’s not broke, don’t fix it.” He sneered or, at least, he tried, it felt more like a wry twist of his lips. “It has worked for as long as anyone can remember, so why change it?”

She turned and her face was lit by the glowing liquid in the canister nearest to her. “I never did know when to leave well enough alone. When is well ever enough?”

He hummed. “Are you feeling philosophical, de Vilierè? You’ll not find a ready conversationalist in me.”

Snickering, she ran her finger over the edge of the shelf, nails a deep, almost black shade of purple. “For the record, we woulda gotten that saying from y’all. The language is called English, after all. And if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.”

He scoffed. “Hogwash. The only thing broken is that grammatical structure.”

“Fair enough.” She threw her head back and laughed. “Back to the matter at hand then. You mean to tell me that tradition has kept preserved animal parts on the shelves of your office and you’ve left them there because it ain’t broke.” She tapped her finger against the glass. “So, then I can conclude that intimidation is precisely what you’re going for.”

He shrugged. “It gets me what I want.” At her look, he added. “Peace, quiet, a controllable classroom.”

She leaned her hip against the row of cabinets under the shelves. “My-oh-my, dontcha know you catch more flies with honey?”

Severus felt his chest warm at her coy smile. “Why would I want flies?”

She nodded. “I asked my grandmother that very same thing when she told me that it would be easier to get what I want if I played nice.”

He sneered. “We are generally not considered to be nice. Potions masters, I mean.”

“I dunno…” Laughing, she turned to stare at a preserved sheep’s heart. “I know a nice potions master or two.”

He knew that. That was why he sent the note to begin with. He shifted, suddenly aware of the time they had wasted… doing whatever it was they had been doing. “I’m aware.”

She turned and smiled up at him again. “Ah, so that’s why I’m here. I thought maybe this was some sort of tactic, a power play. Tryin’ to intimidate me or somethin’.”

No, I lack impulse control on occasion and we’ve been avoiding each other.

He rolled his eyes. “I wouldn’t expend the effort. I don’t spend all of my time scheming and plotting, contrary to popular belief.”

She stilled, watching him with intensity. “So you haven’t tried to intimidate me?”

Staring into her very serious eyes, he again wished to use legilimency, his fingers veritably aching to retrieve his wand and do just that. “Are you intimidated?”

She turned and leaned against the door jam that led to his private study. She smiled and he was briefly relieved to see a real smile from her. It wasn’t the cheeky grin he had seen her share with Filius and Pomona, even Minerva recently, but it was some amount of progress.

Progress towards what? He lambasted himself. The most he could truly hope for was the warm professionalism he shared with Minerva and some of the other staff. To not actively be enemies.

That is all it will ever be, Snape. Don’t get your hopes up.

She had been watching him as he chastised himself. He thanked whatever god applied that he was already flushed from potions making.

Her smile took a cheeky, mischievous edge. “Should I be?”

“Answering questions with questions.” He sighed. “I have not tried to intimidate you, de Vilierè. I’m sorry that I have failed to communicate effectively.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that, cher. You’re a very effective communicator.” She smiled, eyes dancing in the light of candelabra above her. “It’s just that I’m veritably bulletproof at this rate. Un-intimidatable, nearly.”

He should be irritated with her. Should take affront at her cheeky, cavalier attitude, but he found it almost refreshing that she didn’t shy away.

He had seen her eyes find what remained of his Dark Mark, had seen the comprehension on her face. He had been prepared for her to turn on her heel and sprint back upstairs.

After the Incident, he expected that she would.

But she hadn’t, she had shrugged.

He didn’t have time or predilection to examine his feelings on the subject but he didn’t have it in him to totally eschew the attentions of a pretty woman, however fleeting they likely were.

The silence stretched for a brief, but not uncomfortable moment, as they considered each other.

He motioned to the door behind her. “I have something to show you.”

He unwarded and opened the door, gesturing for her to enter in front of him. On his study desk, sat a stack of half a dozen or so books.

She lifted the first book and smiled down at the front cover. “My dad’s book!”

He breathed deep. “So, you are Theodosius de Vilierè’s daughter?”

She nodded and opened it, idly flipping through and reading his personal annotations. “Yep.” She glanced up at him. “Should I tell him he has a fan?”

He sent her a baleful look.

She chuckled. “I mean he’s read your work, he’d be pleased to hear you’ve read his.”

He ignored her. “Your father is a prolific writer.”

She nodded and picked up the next book in the pile. “He enjoys research and writing.”

He sighed. “Since you are Theodosius de Vilierè’s daughter, I have also found a book by your grandfather. Aurelius de Vilierè.”

She smiled. “The History of Southern Potions Making.”

“Quite.” He leaned back against his desk as she perused his annotations in the next book in the stack.

She set her fingertip over one of his annotations. “Milk Thistle as opposed to Milkweed?

He nodded. “Milkweed is not indigenous to Europe.”

She made a soft exclamation. “I’ll have to tell dad that.”

“Why did you not tell me who you are?”

She froze, a deer in the gaze of a predator, and he wondered at her reaction, having not intended to cause such a reaction. “What do you mean? I did tell you who I am.”

He nodded, aiming for a softer tone. “You neglected to mention who your father is, who your grandfather is.”

She relaxed and smiled, setting the book down on the stack. Wandering past his overstuffed bookshelf, she made a parody of looking at the titles, though her eyes were more often studying him.

“I really didn’t think it would matter.” She shrugged. “You didn’t seem predisposed to liking me and I’ll be damned if I name-drop to impress someone.”

He hummed. “Too proud?”

She shrugged. “Where I’m from, everyone already knows who I am, who my family is. It was nice to escape that, I think. Honestly, it was refreshing to be disliked because of something I did, separate from my family or what I was expected, but ultimately failed, to be.” She smiled again, though softer and more sad. “How dumb is that?”

“Your pot was too small.” He drawled. “I don’t dislike you, de Vilierè.”

She snorted. “Coulda fooled me.” She held her hands up. “Well, is that all, Professor? I am released on my own recognizance?”

He moved to stand, mistakenly knocking over a small stack of books that had been precariously placed on the edge.

She flinched minutely at the clatter, but Severus caught it. “What is it?”

She hummed and he noticed the tightness around her eyes and the tension in her neck and shoulders.

He scoffed and moved toward a closet in the wall opposite the bookcase. “Foolish woman.” He all but whispered and held out a vial for her to take. “You should’ve said.”

Migraine/Tension. 1-2x/day SS

She caught his eye with a speculative look.

“What?” He groused. “Take the bloody potion or give it back. I wouldn’t poison a colleague.”

She shook her head, before popping the cork and throwing it back. The difference was immediate as her shoulders dropped and her eyes fluttered open. She smiled, relieved. “I didn’t think you were going to poison me, for the record.”

He doubted that. It wouldn't have been the first time someone assumed negative intentions on his part.

She handed the now-corked vial to him and laid her hand on his elbow, getting his attention. “I assumed you didn’t like me, professor. Not that you’d poison me but that you wouldn’t expend effort on my behalf.”

“You can use my name.”

She tilted her head. “I’m sorry?”

“You don’t have to call me professor. It will be odd if you are still doing so when the students arrive.” He nodded, feeling supremely awkward when she shot him a cheeky grin. He shifted away from her, turning his back on her with a dismissive wave. “Now, I’m busy. You may leave.”

She nodded. “Alright. Thanks for the potion, Snape.”

#harry potter fanfiction #severus snape/oc #fanon severus #pro severus #severus snape fanfiction #pro severus snape #severus x oc #harry potter

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rfsak2 · 2 months

Text

Easy Target, Pt 1.

So we'll see if anyone even reads this but Ima post it anyways. This has been brewing for decades at this point and it is somewhat of a rewrite of something I posted on Sycophant Hex (~I’m aging myself~) years ago.

For the record I acknowledge that Snape is OOC. He’s taller (by a lot), capable of healing and kindness, and has a sense of humor and hella PTSD.

His characterization is due partly to having started reading these books as a kiddo well before the end of the series (which ended when I was in college ~I’m old~). I have been collecting and revising headcanons since I was a child and now, as an adult and a therapist, I have a very specific idea of Snape that may not be canon, but I might like better.

I also have un-unalived some characters. Lupin and Tonks and maybe more as we go. We’ll see. Again it may not be canon, but I like it and my Snape better. (Fuck JKR).

If you like my Snape, let me know. If ya don’t… also let me know. I’d love to discuss and compare our thoughts

Easy Target

They thought wrong. Severus/OC

Warnings: nothing right now, some bad language words. There will be warnings if continued including mentions of past abuse/assault, violence, smut.

MINORS DO NOT ENGAGE.

“Little Lottie Beauregard.” The woman grinned maliciously. “How the hell are you doin’?”

Charlotte sighed and set down the book she had been perusing. She glanced over her shoulder and made sure her son was out of earshot. “My last name is de Vilieré, Annabelle, or are your drinking habits finally impairing your memory?”

Annabelle grit her teeth. “No, ‘course not. Say, did you hear about who was at Antoine’s last night?”

Charlotte made a face. “Can’t say I care about gossip.”

“Beau was seen with the Dreaux girl.”

“Good for her.”

Annabelle fidgeted with her hair, disconcerted that she wasn’t getting a reaction. “I mean, I would think you’d be interested as that’s why y’all got divorce ‘n all.”

“I didn’t get divorce because Beau was fuckin’ other women. Sorry that I can't validate your petty jealousy.”

“My petty jealousy?” Annabelle shook herself free of following that line of thought. “Why did you get divorced then?”

Charlotte caught her eyes and held them, dispassionate and disinterested, sliding a book back onto the shelf.

Annabelle shied away from her. “I just know that the Beauregards aren’t the kinda family you leave. So you had to have reason to try.”

“I didn’t try, Annabelle, I succeeded.” Charlotte began flipping through another book. “Maybe, they aren’t as bulletproof as all y’all thought.”

“Rumor has it, your mother has already started undoing all your success.” Annabelle managed to make faux sympathy look as vicious as direct assault. “I reckon you’ll be back at home in no time.”

Charlotte chuckled, eyes fixed on a spell in the book she was reading. “Well, my mother is hot on the heels of her own divorce, so maybe she should mind her business.” Charlotte turned towards Annabelle and shut the book with a snap. “Ironically, that’s advice you’d find helpful too.”

Annabelle batted her eyelashes. “Oh, didn’t y’know: my business is anything I make my business.”

“That’s why your family business is failing, ain’t it?” Charlotte nodded. “Makes sense, too many fingers in too many pies.”

Annabelle blanched.

“Though, gotta say, don’t know why’d you want me to remarry Beau.” Charlotte mimicked her simpering tone. “After all, now you can fuck him all you want and you’ll be the only one committing adultery. I mean, he may need to hire a secretary to manage his… social calendar but I’d imagined this would be good news for you… and the others too, ‘course.”

Annabelle ignored her, pushing her straight, dark hair over her shoulder. “Don’t be silly. Your father isn’t going to divorce your mother. Seriously, it’s a bluff.”

Charlotte smiled. “Would you look at that? There’s at least one thing you don’t know anything about.”

Annabelle hummed, trying very hard to remain calm and disinterested. She failed.

Charlotte bared her teeth. “You don’t know my dad.”

Annabelle rolled her eyes. “No one knows your father.”

Charlotte nodded, eyes on Hadrien, lest he hear more than he should. “That’s not one hundred percent true. I mean he is the eldest son of one of the founding families of this city, a descendant of the first Creole governor of Louisiana. He’s a philanthropist, an expert in his field, he’s active in all the right circles. Everyone knows my father. My father just doesn’t cast pearls before pigs.”

“Pigs?” Annabelle sucked in a breath and looked down at her hands, trying to school her emotions. “And yet, even the illustrious de Vilierés needed the Beauregards-“

Charlotte laughed. “We didn’t need the Beauregards. My mother made what she thought was a calculated bet. She put her money on the wrong horse, hence the divorce.”

“What horse should she have betted on?”

Charlotte grinned. “Me.”

Annabelle swallowed. “Seems to me that the de Vilierés aren't as prominent as they used to be. Seems to me that she bet on the only horse she had.” She simpered. “After all, the shame was only narrowly avoided. If she had not acted so soon… well, one shudders to think.”

“Must not shudder often, huh?”

Annabelle shot her a nasty glance. Charlotte returned it.

“I just think y’all are awfully big in your britches, considering…”

“Considering, what?” Charlotte challenged. “Quit pussyfooting and say it.”

Annabelle demurred.

Charlotte nodded, sighing. “See now… That’s how I know just how prominent my family is. You wanna drop hints and flirt with what you think is true, but you are too coward to say it. You lack conviction. I doubt you really believe the shit in your mouth. It’s just fodder for your imagined superiority.” Charlotte shrugged and returned Annabelle’s earlier malicious grin. “But then, maybe you just don’t know. Just like you don’t know my dad. You don’t run in the right circles. You want to, for sure. Badly. Desperately. You spend too much money -more than the rumor mill says you have- on dresses for balls and cotillions hosted by social circles you’ll never be welcomed in, to climb a ladder you can only get so high on.”

Annabelle shrunk back.

Charlotte didn’t press forward. Her posture remained loose and unbothered. “Just remember, Annie, my family built the ladder you’re trying to climb. I firmly believe everyone deserves a chance to try to climb the ladder, but knocking us off won’t get you any closer to the top any faster.”

“How egalitarian of you.” She sneered

Charlotte shook her head. “It’s not equality per say, but desire for quality competition. Can’t know how good I am if I don’t know how good my competition is. As it is, I’m not sure I have competition.”

Annabelle flushed. “See, the problem with y’all is-“

Charlotte hummed, cutting her off and set the book in her hand back on the shelf. “The problem is you decided to make my life momentarily difficult instead of minding your damn business. The problem is you’re boxin’ outta your weight class. Shoulda kept your mouth shut and you wouldn’t have embarrassed yourself. But then, the problem is that you got that inferiority complex gnawing at your brain. Makes it difficult to think, I reckon.”

“Charlotte.”

Charlotte turned over her shoulder, away from Annabelle’s slack-jawed stare, and smiled at her brother-in-law’s mother, her godmother.

“Bonjou, Mama Oya! Koman sa va?”

“Mo bon, babygirl.” Tall and ebony-skinned, Oya Dillioles glared down her nose at Annabelle with more regal dignity than any monarch the world over had ever possessed. “Mrs. Brennan.”

Annabelle just managed to not sneer. “Mrs-“

Charlotte tsked. “Madame.” She tilted her head, blonde ringlets tumbling over her shoulder. “I mean, you gotta know I ain’t about to let you address her recklessly.”

Annabelle locked her jaw. “Madame Dillioles.”

Charlotte smiled. “That’s better.”

Oya hummed and turned sharply away from the fuming brunette. Leaning down, she placed a kiss on each of Charlotte’s cheeks. Charlotte stretched up to return the gesture.

Oya shifted so she was standing full in front of Annabelle. “Charlie, cher, I was on my way to the Shop and felt faint. I was hoping you and my strapping, young grand-baby could walk me over, if y’all were done here?”

Charlotte fought back a smile, knowing full well that Oya Dillioles had never felt faint a day in her life. Charlotte would unhesitatingly put money on her living forever.

“Of course, Mama. We’re meandering that way.” Charlotte called over to Hadrien, who stood from where he had been inspecting a low shelf of books. “Baby, is there anything you wanted to buy? We’re gonna walk over to the Shop with Mama Oya.”

“No, I’m good. I didn’t see anything that we don’t already have at the house.” Hadrien approached with a bright smile, giving Annabelle Brennan a wide berth. “Hey, Mimi!”

Oya’s smile was beaming as she reached up for Hadrien’s peach-fuzzed cheek. “I see you everyday, baby, and I swear you get taller every time. Just the spittin’ image of your Grandpa and Uncle.”

Hadrien beamed and stopped ever so slightly to press a kiss to his de facto grandmother’s cheek.

They left without glancing at Annabelle Brennan. Meandering idly, Hadrien regaled Mama Oya and Charlotte with a complicated potion he had been helping his uncles with all summer.

“Nonc Ogun said that my-“ he stopped short in front of a beignet shop. “Do you think they’ve eaten?”

“Your uncles?” Charlotte glanced at her watch. “I doubt it. It’s only 10:30, baby.”

“I’ll get them coffee and some pastries then. Be back in a second.”

Charlotte smiled. “Get me a coffee too, H. Mama Oya?”

Mama Oya pinched Hadrien’s cheek. “Me too, baby. Thank you.”

When Hadrien was clear of the door, Mama Oya glanced down at Charlotte. “You shouldn’t let her get to you.”

Charlotte smiled. “She doesn’t. I’ve known her all my life and the worst she can do is try to taunt me about my divorce? A divorce I wanted and instigated?” Charlotte grinned. “Pathetic. I ain’t worried about her.”

Oya hooked her hand in Charlotte’s elbow. “Who then? Who are you worried about?”

“My son, me, all of my family including the Dillioles..” Charlotte shrugged. “I love NOLA, it’s in my blood-“

“But?”

Charlotte sighed. “But I’m not sure how much longer I can be here without hexing someone into the next century.”

Oya frowned. “Are people harassing you? If so, I can get Amadioha or Eshu to walk around with you.”

“No… that’s not necessary. They both have more important things to be doin’ than babysitting me.”

Oya clicked her tongue. “They would happy -proud- to keep their Auntie Charlie safe, you know that, especially if you’re being harassed.”

“It’s not that bad.” Charlotte sighed. “People mostly just stare or make little snide comments. I kinda wish someone would try something. Give me a reason.” Charlotte caught her eyes. “I just- I’m done. I don’t have it in me to pretend anymore. To show people only what they want. To allow them to spew shit about situations they know nothing about without retaliation. It’s killin’ me.”

Oya nodded. “You’ve never been good at politicking, playing nice. Straight to the point. It’s one of the reasons we should’ve known that you didn’t want to be with him. That there was more going on.”

Charlotte shook her head. “I worked real hard for a long time to keep y’all out of it. I just wish I had said something sooner.”

Oya nodded. “I know, baby, I know.”

“I just don't know if I can be me here. Everyone already has an opinion here. About me, about the family, about the divorce. I feel like I’m suffocating.” She sighed. “I'm trying to make it to January but I don’t know if I can.”

“When Hadrien turns eighteen.”

Charlotte nodded. “I have an interview. I haven’t told anyone yet.”

“For a job?”

“Yeah, with a school out in the UK.”

“Hogwarts?” Oya whistled. “Ain’t that somethin’?”

Charlotte swallowed. “They’ve finished fixing up the school after the- after and the Headmistress was their transfiguration professor so they need a new one.”

Oya smiled and pinched at her cheek. “Well, I’ll miss you for sure, but I can’t think of a better person to take over a transfiguration professorship.”

Charlotte turned wide, vulnerable eyes on Oya. “Are you sure?”

Oya pressed a kiss to Charlotte’s forehead. “Never been surer about anythin’, cher. You are the best transfiguration master I’ve ever met.”

Charlotte breathed deep and nodded. “One thing that would make it easier, tell you what. Once Dad’s divorce is final…”

Oya sucked on her tongue. “Hush you.”

Charlotte grinned. “Gotta get rid of your boy toys though.”

Oya pursed her lips to tamp down her smile.

Charlotte yawned and glanced at her watch.

6:00 am. Goddamn.

She could barely keep her eyes open as she dropped her portkey into the waiting basket, set down the bird cage in her hands and stepped off the platform.

This is bullshit. People don’t actually exist at this hour.

She looked around quietly, hoping to catch sight of not only the customs office, but also a coffee shop? Or at least someone who could tell her where to find one?

She sighed upon seeing the customs office, sans coffee, and made her way towards the line she could already see forming, catching a brief glimpse of herself in a large decorative mirror.

She winced, taking in her bedraggled appearance.

As per normal, her blonde hair was a mess of frizzy ringlets, her blue eyes tired and clouded over the bags that normally haunted the sleepless. To top it off, she hadn't really even bothered to get dressed beyond a faded t-shirt and a pair of cuffed, faded blue jeans that had once been dark. It just seemed too much effort to get all dressed up for traveling and the inevitable errands she had to run.

She shivered. It was full-summer sweltering, bordering on hellish in NOLA. She had worked up a sweat walking from the car to the porkey office in NOLA not thirty minutes ago. She would have to dig a sweater out of one of her bags at first opportunity.

She swallowed dryly and set her shoulders. She was a de Vilierè. She could do this.

She felt her posture collapse, the energy required to keep upright almost too taxing on her frayed nervous system.

I’m not sure I’m human currently, much less me.

She pinched the bridge of her nose feeling the caffeine headache starting up.

There was so much to do after she finished fighting her way through the red tape. There were new clothes to buy, books to peruse, money to exchange and bank vaults to set up. She then had to portkey to some remote town in Scotland and become acquainted with the school that she would be living in for the foreseeable future.

She sighed and shook off a raging headache and a distinct sense of melancholy. Best get to work.

After an hour waiting in the line at the customs desk in the British Ministry's International Portkey Office, she imagined she had seriously considered casting nearly dozen unforgivables, a great majority of them directed at either the execrably slow customs officer or the man in front of her that sported excruciatingly severe body odor.

It took a further fifteen minutes of abject torture before the man in front of her moved away from the counter and cleared the way.

To be fair, she tried valiantly to put on a smile and remember the manners society expected of her, but upon reaching the front of the line, the portly woman found there launched into a laundry list of items that the Ministry had deemed 'restricted.'

No hello. No good morning. Just a list of vegetables and restricted potions ingredients.

It took another ten minutes and all of her easily exhausted patience, after pulling nearly all of her worldly possessions out of her bespelled satchel, to convince the officer that she was carrying none of the restricted items in her luggage.

Finally, after checking the last item off her list, the witch turned back to her and held out one chubby hand. “Hand me your wand, Ms. de Vilieré.”

Charlotte raised a blonde eyebrow in response, both at the butchering of her name (de Vil-ear) and the idea of placing what amounted to a part of her soul into the hand of a customs officer who she doubted would treat it with the respect it deserved. Knowing it would get her nowhere, she relented and handed her the wand.

The woman examined the wand carefully and then measured it, calling back to one of her cronies, “Yew, ten inches, with...” She paused and cast a spell on the wand, “A snake's scale.” She shot Charlotte a skeptical look. “You yanks believe that snake scales hold magical properties?”

Charlotte smiled frostily, her deep south accent deepening further (if that was even possible) in irritation. “It's not just any snake, it's Li Grand Zombi and it does hold magical properties or it wouldn't be in my wand.”

“It's a zombie snake?” The woman guffawed. “I'll believe it when I see it.”

“I can demonstrate if y’want.”

The woman froze, staring at her from under her lashes. “No, mum, it’s not necessary.”

Charlotte simpered. “If you’re sure.”

She cleared her throat and gave the wand an experimental flick, turning her back on Charlotte. “Yew, ten inches, springy and with a zombie snake's scale at the heart.”

A red-headed man sat behind her and stared at Charlotte from behind a set of clerical file drawers. “Got it, Matilda.”

Matilda cast an appraising look at Charlotte and whispered, a bad parody of sotte voce. “Though, I reckon she’s not the type we’d be wantin’ ‘ere after You Know Who.”

The man nodded. “Yew wood and a snake core. Bad omens, they are.”

Charlotte grit her teeth. “Can I please have my wand back, Matilda?”

Matilda looked uncomfortable and handed back her wand. “Here y’go, mum.” She nodded, awkward anxiety written in her posture. “You’re done ‘ere, mum. Passport control and visas are two floors up.”

Charlotte thanked her quietly as she accepted her wand. She made to leave and paused. “For the record, Voldemort didn’t have nothin’ on some of our racist madmen.” Charlotte delighted in their shivers, fighting down her conscience. “And I’m an absolute pussycat compared to them. Adieu.”

She didn’t get far before regretting her ill temper. She’d be lucky to make it to Hogwarts at this rate. Matilda was probably calling the passport office right now.

Tossed out because I couldn’t watch my mouth. Who’da thunk?

Charlotte glanced up at the clock and cussed under her breath. She made her way towards where she assumed the elevators were. She had at least another hour of bureaucracy and red tape before she could do something fun.

Three hours later, she was sitting on a bench in the middle of the now-bustling Portkey Authority, trying valiantly to fight of the wave of sleepiness that had latched onto her mind with a vengeance as soon as she stopped moving.

As it were, she was quickly falling into a light doze when an indignant squawk broke its way through the fog of sleepiness.

“Hermés, shh.”

The squawking did not stop and the bird-cage sitting next to her on the bench shook violently. Charlotte sighed a little and, with a small indulgent smile, twisted around to find her steadily over-filled satchel on the other side of the bench next to her. She pulled out a bird treat and moved the leather cover out of the way looking at the falcon within.

She offered the treat as one would offer a peace treaty and got a hearty nip to her forefinger for her trouble.

“Yeah, yeah, screw you too, bitch. You never stay angry for long, and you know it.” She reached into the cage and smoothed the ruffled feathers on the falcon’s head, before retrieving another bird treat.

“I don't mean to intrude, mum, but are you Charlotte de Vilierè?”

Vil-i-ear. She shrugged. It was better.

Charlotte started and turned toward the representative of the Authority she somehow missed approaching. “Um yeah, that’s me.”

The short man cleared his throat. “Well, we are ready when you are, ma’am.”

“Yeah. Okay.” She took a deep breath and grabbed Hermés’ cage. “Let's go.”

Charlotte took another deep breath of clean, cool air, trying really hard to not jostle Hermés in his cage. She looked around Hogsmeade slowly, taking in what amounted to a tiny sleepy village in its full summer splendor. The sun was bright, the foliage green and the air cool and clean, a startling difference to the muggy, sweltering heat of New Orleanian summers.

She took another deep breath to savor the beauty around her and stepped further onto the street.

“Oh and yeh must be the new professor!”

Charlotte started and turned towards the large man standing next to a carriage. She nodded slowly watching as the man began to walk towards her. He shot her a broad grin, then stuck a hand out.

“Th' name is Hagrid, I teach Care of Magical Creatures. Nice ta meet yeh, Professor.”

Charlotte felt her body relax, smiling easily and slipping her hand into his. “Charlotte de Vilieré. Nice to make your acquaintance.”

Smiling, he reached for the bird cage in her hand and relieved her of her satchel as well. He bowed slightly and opened the door for her. “Go ahead, then. Get in the carriage. I'll be taking yeh up to the grounds.”

She nodded again and made for the carriage quickly. “Um thank you.”

He smiled and nodded then followed her into the carriage, setting Hermés on the ground between them. “You're welcome.” He settled back and shifted around her until he was comfortable. “So where are you from, Professor? The headmistress said you were from across the pond, but was mum as to where exactly.” A small self-deprecating smile flitted across his face. “Probably guessed we wouldn't have no clue what she was talking about anyways.”

Charlotte smiled softly. “I'm from New Orleans, Louisiana.” At his look of confusion, she clarified. “It's in the South, along the coast of the Gulf of Mexico.”

Hagrid nodded enthusiastically. “Mardi Gras, right? I don’t rightly know where that is but I've heard about Mardi Gras. I probably coulda guessed that you were from the South from your accent.”

She chuckled lightly. “It is rather distinct. Maybe when I am settled in I can show you New Orleans on a map.”

“I would like that, professor.” Hagrid smiled broadly again. “So you're gonna be takin' over teachin' Transfiguration?”

“Um, yes. I'll be teaching Transfiguration and taking over a couple of the Arithmancy classes so that Professor Vector, I believe, can do more research.”

The sound of gates swinging open cut off the rest of the conversation.

“We're here.”

“This here is Professor Snape, our Deputy Headmaster. He'll be showin' yeh around Hogwarts.” Hagrid smiled brightly and motioned to the dour-looking man in all black standing on the steps of the school. As if sensing her anxiety, he whispered from somewhere over her head, and took Hermés’ birdcage from her hand. “I know he looks a fright, but he's a war-hero. Never met someone as brave ‘n trustworthy as the professor. Man deserves to be a little grumpy after what all happened. I’ll take your owl and your bags to your quarters.”

She nodded absently, choosing not to mention that he didn’t look a ‘fright’. He wasn’t smiling, sure, looked to be pretty ticked to be standing there, but that wasn’t the problem.

She had done her research and knew who Severus Snape was. She knew to expect some curmudgeon-esque behavior. His personality had been extensively reported on, but so had his deeds, his skill, his intelligence.

Severus Snape was capable and, while she knew she was intelligent and the Headmistress had been impressed with her, seventeen years trapped in a marriage had done little for her professional confidence. The imposter syndrome was kicking her ass.

That and he was attractive. Sure, he wasn’t Brad Pitt or Leonardo DiCaprio, but she’d never been really interested in conventional. He was tall and intense and wore intelligence and ambition like armor.

It had been a long while since she’d felt any type of attraction for anyone. It was enough to set her nerves on edge.

And honestly, she probably looked like she had been dragged backwards through a swamp. Bedraggled and disheveled.

Her mother’s voice came to her unbidden. Really Lottie. Put more effort into how you look. That’s your job as a wife, to be ornamental. He didn’t marry you for your brain.

Maybe if you took being Beau’s wife more seriously he wouldn’t-

She shook herself free of that memory and started up the stairs toward the tall man. She wiped her hands on her jeans, hoping he didn’t see, knowing by his sneer that he did. “Hello, Professor Snape. I am Charlotte de Vilieré.”

One black eyebrow rose as a pair of black eyes looked down in disgust at her hand. His eyes flickered back up to hers and he intoned a brief: “I'm aware.”

She breathed deep. So it begins. “‘Course.”

He hummed.

Her jaw clenched slightly, before she forced herself to relax. “Nice to meet you.”

“I'm sure.” He sighed negligently and waved her into the castle. “Shall we? The Headmistress thinks it a good idea that I show you around the school.” His tone left no room for imagination as to his feelings on the matter.

She sighed and followed after him, noting with more than a little resignation, that he seemed determined to lose her. At maybe six-three or six-four and towering a foot-plus over her not particularly impressive five-two, he had a much longer stride and used it to his advantage. He was in the building before she even had time to clear the first level of stairs.

Breathing deeply, she scampered behind him. Once in the building - the castle, good god, where am I?- she became easily distracted by the architecture, the smell, the feel of the place. Nothing in NOLA, as opulent and storied as it was, could compare to this.

He stopped abruptly, she almost ran full-tilt into his back, and turned towards her, watching in sarcastic amusement as she put a hand to her chest and huffed a shaky, “Shit.”

“Having problems keeping up, Ms. de Vilieré?”

What a dick. She glared at him and stood up straight. “Please continue, Professor.”

The smirk fell from his face, indicating that she had likely said that out loud. She flushed and felt a brief stab of something more than anxiety as he appraised her with dark eyes.

He seemed to come to some decision and turned away, drawling a quiet: “Indeed.”

Turning toward the giant doors in front of them, one large hand came out from the depths of his pockets with a wand. A negligent flick of his wrist later and the doors opened.

She followed him into the room and looked up at the enchanted ceiling silently, awestruck by the sheer complexity of the charms needed to pull something like that off.

“Do close your mouth, Ms. de Vilieré. It is rude to gape.” He shot her a smug look and continued to walk further into the room. “This is the Great Hall...”

After that she found it rather hard to concentrate on what he was saying. Somewhere in between imagining a dozen or so wordless, wandless jinxes she could throw at him, she completely zoned out.

She was just considering the mathematics behind a wandless color change spell, when the subject of these musings cleared his throat.

“Ms. de Vilieré, if you would kindly listen when I speak to you.”

With a swift shake of the head, the woman rejoined the world of the living and stared up at the very tall man in black with tired eyes, realizing yet again just how tired she was. She sighed and rubbed a hand over her face, chastising herself. She seriously considered attempting to throw a jinx at the man just because he was being a little ornery.

“Professor Snape?” A sour look passed over his face briefly as he waited for her to continue. Her accent was thick with exhaustion and she was sure she looked a mess, but she struggled to focus on his disapproving black eyes for more than a few seconds. “I know that it's pretty late in the afternoon here, and that by all rights I should be as cheerful as you, but,” she paused to yawn, peeking with one eye over the hand shielding her mouth at the glowering man, “But I have not stopped goin' since midnight and I need to sleep desperately.”

He looked down his long nose at her, black eyebrow raised in disdain. “I see. In that case, I will show you to your quarters. Will that suffice?”

She nodded mid-yawn before adjusting her tote on her shoulder. “By all means, lead the way.”

He nodded curtly and turned sharply on his heel. “This way, Professor.”

When next he saw her, this time hours later at staff dinner, she looked if possible, even more ridiculous. She seemed to be wearing the same trousers as she had been wearing this afternoon, wrinkled as if she had fallen asleep in them, accompanied by an over-large gray sweatshirt, with the word ‘Saints’ emblazoned across the front in garish gold lettering. Her curly blonde hair was free of the ponytail it had been in earlier and had formed a cloud around her head that made her look like an overgrown mushroom.

A beautiful mushroom, to be honest, with an alluring, impressively glowing recommendation from Minerva and a surname that tickled at his memory for some god forsaken reason.

But a mushroom, nonetheless.

She approached the table timidly, with the near imperceptible scuff of trainers on stone, and made for the only open seat, the one directly across from him.

The table fell silent, even Rolanda and Lupin choosing to forgo their rather obnoxiously loud discussion of quidditch in lieu of watching the tiny, blushing woman take her seat.

Minerva cringed slightly at the woman's less-than-professional appearance, before forcing a thin, polite smile on her face. She cast a look at Severus and he knew immediately that she was warning him to play nice. “And how did your travels go, Professor de Vilieré?”

“Charlotte’s fine.” The woman smiled, her hair arranging itself into a neat bun of its own accord.

Wandless and wordless. Severus shrugged it off, it was likely a spell she had been using most of her life. Proficiency was a given.

“It went alright, I guess, Headmistress. Thanks for askin’. I'm exhausted but I reckon I'll be right as rain in the morning.” She shrugged with a self-deprecating smile. “And more put together too.”

Minerva responded with a pleasantry he didn't care to catch and the woman responded in kind with a soft smile and soft admonition he couldn’t make out.

As she spoke recounting some particular or another about her journey, he allowed himself to listen to the odd cadence of her voice. Her voice was soft and her accent thick and drawling, lacking the staccato rhythm of the Minerva’s brogue and brusque quality of his own voice, but there was something annoyingly pleasant about it.

Like almost everything else about her, he decided it was irritating. She was a lesson in extremes. She was too short, her hair too wild, her jumper too garish and her accent too American. She couldn't just be average.

That thought led into another rather interesting thought. Why was it that this blasted school couldn't hire anyone normal?

“Severus!” A long fingered hand landed on his sleeve heavily. “Are you quite alright, dear?”

Severus snapped to attention and focused on Minerva. “Yes.”

“What has you so distracted?” She retracted her hand.

He sighed, frustrated that he had been caught lost in his thoughts. “It is of no importance.” He caught de Vilieré’s eyes and grunted, looking down at his food.

“That jumper, Ms. de Vilieré, may I assume that it is in...support, shall we say, of a sports team?” Despite his polite, maybe even pleasant, phrasing, the deep baritone of his voice dripped with sarcasm. He didn’t like her or her sweater and desired that she knew it.

The asshole.

She looked up from the mush she had made on her plate and caught his arched eyebrow with one of her own, and spoke in a deliberately cheerful voice, nodding. “The New Orleans Saints. They are my hometown’s professional football- American Football- team.” She deliberately ignored his contemptuous look.

“Ahh,” he drawled, smirking slightly. “Muggle football, I’d suspect.”

She breathed deep, trying to steady herself. “Yeah, it’s a no-maj sport.”

“Not Quidditch?” Professor Hooch frowned. “Do Americans play quidditch?”

“Some people are into it. There’s a club league in NOLA that my brother-in-law tried out once. Quidditch is more popular up north, I think. The South has been obsessed with Football as long as people have been playing it.” Charlotte smiled. “To be honest, I don't think I've ever watched Quidditch. I’m not really a sports girl."

Snape arched an eyebrow. "Then why the jumper, I wonder?"

Charlotte shrugged, watching as the Headmistress shot Snape a look. "I think my brother gave me this sweater, to be honest, or my dad.”

Professor Hooch looked scandalized. “Did you play quidditch at Ilvermorny?”

Charlotte smiled. “I didn’t go to Ilvermorny. The US is a very large country. Most states have their own school or schools. I went to the Convent - the Lafreniere School of Magic in New Orleans. The no-majs believe the school buildings are an old Ursuline Convent. Most still call it the Convent rather than by the school’s official name. Everyone in my family went there and it’s, like, right around the corner from our house. My dad wouldn’t have felt too secure sending his children that far from home.”

“It’s not a boarding school?” Professor Lupin leaned forward.

Charlotte rubbed at her face. Their questions were to be expected but this level of social engagement was exhausting her already rock bottom stores of energy. “No. Most schools in the States don’t board their students. Ilvermorny does and I think there’s a boarding school out in California.”

“I’ve heard that Americans often pursue higher education. Did you attend university?”

Charlotte winced imperceptibly, having dreaded this question. “I had planned to. Life got complicated around the end of my time at the Convent.”

“Complicated?” Snape drummed the pad of his middle finger against the table, dark eyes on her.

Charlotte nodded. “Complicated. I decided it would be more feasible to pursue apprenticeship in my chosen fields.”

“Complicated how?”

She turned back to Snape and considered him quietly. “Complicated enough that it derailed many of my personal plans.”

He caught her eyes and held them for a long moment.

“How interesting.” The Headmistress smiled, sensing the rising tension. “The differences in culture are astounding.”

She blinked and he looked down.

Sprout leaned forward, ignoring her. “I’ve heard about something called Mardi Gras?”

Mar-tee Grass. Jesus Christ.

Charlotte chuckled but didn’t correct her. “It’s one of the things New Orleans is famous for. It means Fat Tuesday. It’s the Tuesday before Ash Wednesday.”

“Ash Wednesday?”

Professor Snape sighed. “The Wednesday before the start of Lent.”

He was met with blank stares. He caught Charlotte’s eyes. “The forty days before Easter. Meant as a time of repentance. Catholics observe it.”

Professor Sprout turned back to her. “Are you Catholic?”

The look on her face must have been unedited because Professor Lupin chuckled.

She marshaled herself and made a so-so motion with her hands. “Culturally, I guess. I did all the sh- rites that were expected of me. But I haven’t willingly stepped inside a church in years.” She shrugged.

“Why did you do all the rites if you don’t think you believe it?”

“Pomona!”

Charlotte nodded at the Headmistress. “It’s okay. It was expected of me, given my cultural heritage and family. I don’t know of any member of a Creole family that would risk social censure by rejecting Catholicism. You just do it, take Communion, light the candle, get it over with. Grease the wheels and all that.”

“How do you know about Lent, Severus?” Pomona turned to Snape with curious eyes.

“I was raised Catholic.” Snape nodded to Charlotte. “Similarly to Ms. de Vilierè, I did all the shite that was expected of me and no longer practice.”

“I didn’t know that about you, Severus.” Flitwick hummed, kind smile on his face. “What did you mean by Creole, Charlotte?”

“Being of French heritage from the city of New Orleans.”

“And being Catholic is part of being Creole?”

“I think it’s widely assumed to be essential to being Creole.”

“You would disagree?” Severus watched her quietly.

“I don’t think it matters if I agree.” She sighed. “New Orleanian magical communities are very… culture-bound and committed to maintaining tradition. As a result, these communities retain a lot of the historical prejudices that the no-maj communities have lost to some extent. My family is Creole and, outside of school, I didn’t really socialize with people who weren’t. Creoles live in the Quarter and go to Mass at St. Louis, Americans live across Canal Street and attend church at First Magical Baptist, the Irish live in the Channel and go to their local Catholic church, and so on. If I had wanted to change that, make a different decision, -hell, if I had wanted to move out of the Quarter- the social pressure would’ve been intense.”

“Americans? Aren’t you all American?” Lupin smiled.

“Now, yes, but again, the Creole magical community holds to a lot of older, traditional prejudices. There’s a pecking order- a superiority complex. We were the original colonists. I’ve always been taught to identify as Creole first, American second.”

“What’s Cajun?”

Charlotte blinked. “I’m sorry?”

“What does the word Cajun refer to?”

Charlotte’s smile felt tight. “Of French heritage from outside of the city.”

Professor Binns nodded. “I thought it was food.”

Charlotte breathed deep. “It means that too.”

The Headmistress sighed loudly and set her hands on the table with some amount of finality. “I think we’ve all asked too much of our new colleague already. She’ll be here past today so you can ask more questions at a later date.”

Professor Sinistra smiled. “New Orleans sounds fascinating.”

Charlotte ducked her head. “NOLA is unlike anywhere else in the US. It’s truly unique.”

“Why are you in Scotland then, I wonder?”

The air left the room with a whimper. The Headmistress rubbed at her face.

Charlotte nodded, biting at her lip, glancing over at Snape. There was a part of her that wanted to be honest and another, larger part that wanted to meet his sarcasm head-on.

The latter part won.

“The weather.”

Professor Sprout snorted.

He hummed, eyes on hers. “You’ll be disappointed then.”

She chuckled. “I already am. It was summer when I left NOLA this morning. I should’ve kept a jacket out when I packed. ‘Bout near froze.”

“Disappointed and of delicate constitution.” Snape sighed dramatically. “You’re not likely to last long here.”

The Headmistress's jaw clenched. “Severus.”

“I’m cold-natured, sure.” She shrugged, smiling the edgy little smile that used to irritate Beau. Despite the obvious being exactly what she meant, she clarified for the sake of professionalism. “I do get cold easily, but I wouldn’t go so far as to say I’m delicate.” She fluttered her eyelashes at him. “I wouldn’t worry about my longevity, I have survived much more frigid climes. I’m tougher than I look.”

Severus made a face that communicated clearly that he didn’t believe her. “I’m sure.”

She hummed. She wasn’t going to let him goad her into revealing more about herself than she was ready to share.

Professor Lupin glanced between the two of them. “At the risk of being nosy, why did you decide to move to Scotland?”

She considered Professor Lupin and saw Snape watch her out of the corner of her eye. After a moment, she shrugged. “The magical community of NOLA isn’t small, per say, but it is insulated and very interconnected.“ She paused and looked at Snape again. “I felt a little stifled at home, I guess. Needed a new environment.”

“A new environment for what?” Snape traced the wood grain of the table with a single long finger.

She bit back the urge to shock him with an absurd lie. “To grow, develop. A bit like a houseplant, I needed a new pot.”

Professor Sprout made a pleased sound.

“You felt stifled in a city with the culture and history you’ve spent the last hour describing?” He demurred sarcastically. “Your new pot may be a mite small.”

“I’m sure it’ll be alright. After all, it seems big enough for the current residents.” She lowered her chin, eyeing him from under her lashes. “If such illustrious company can grow to fit such a space, I’m sure I will do alright.”

Professor Lupin choked on his wine. Professor Flitwick dropped his silverware with a clatter. Hagrid froze as if he was in the presence of a predator.

“Touché, Ms. de Vilierè.” Snape nodded.

Part 2

#severus snape #snape/oc #Severus Snape/oc #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter #severus snape fanfiction #pro severus snape #fanon severus

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rfsak2 · 4 months

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Just wanted to drop in and say how much I love Spitfire, your writing is beautiful.

Thanks so much!!! I appreciate it! 🥰🥰

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rfsak2 · 8 months

Text

Spitfire, Pt. 9

Sorry this took longer than usual! I had a tattoo appointment on Saturday that took most of the day and I just struggled with what scenes to focus on.

Despite its lateness, I hope you like it! Drop me a line and let me know. Also no spoilers for Daryl’s show. I haven’t watched it yet!

Spitfire, Pt. 9

Everyone always thought Daryl was the rough one. DarylxOC

Warnings: violence, emotions, injuries, lots of bad language words, smut under the cut

Part 8

“So how do we do this?”

Everyone turned to Mitzi, who sat at the head of the table, boots propped up on the corner.

“Depends.”

Gabriel nodded, waiting for her to elaborate. He glanced at Rosita, who rolled her eyes. “On?”

“On what we want to accomplish.” Mitzi smiled, aware that she was being irritating.

Maggie leaned over the map on the table. “We want him dead.”

“Well, hell.” Mitzi shrugged, taking her boots from the table and sitting up straight. “I coulda already accomplished that. Shot him through the forehead the minute he stepped up on that truck the other day.”

“Why didn’t you?” Rosita sucked her tongue.

Mitzi smiled sadly. “Because he had Sasha and Eugene and that’s not all we want.”

“Fuck Eugene.”

“Sure we know that now, but we didn’t know that then.” Mitzi sighed. “It’d still not have gotten us what we want.”

“Ok, Mitzi, just say what you’re thinking.” Rick sighed.

“Do we just want him dead or do we want to take down the Sanctuary?” Mitzi crossed her arms over her chest. “And further, are we aiming to be top of the food chain or are we aiming to clean the streets?”

Maggie frowned. “Meaning?”

“If we don’t care, we just want him dead, I can give you that in a week tops, no muss, no fuss. Stake out the Sanctuary, snipe him at first chance.” Mitzi sighed. “The other two options are going to require more, more people, more resources, more of us. And they are gonna mean very different things about us and we need to have that conversation. I need to know what we want and if we are willing to do what needs to be done to get it.”

Gabriel hummed. “You’re asking why we’re doing this.”

“We’re three communities with very different reasons to join this fight and different values.” Mitzi nodded. “If we aren’t on the same page, this is all fucked from the start and we will lose and we will die. We need to go in together or not at all.”

Rick nodded. That’s what makes the Saviors so effective. They go in together.”

Maggie sighed. “They’re cohesive, they all want what Negan wants.”

“Or too afraid to tell him no.” Daryl leaned forward, elbows on knees.

Tara grimaced. “They are Negan.”

“So we need to have some of that same cohesion.” Mitzi ran her hand over Daryl’s back. “So what do we want?”

The King nodded. “I think I have an answer for you, Noble Mildred.”

Mitzi made a face, glancing at Daryl and then Rick. Daryl tucked his chin, trying hard not to smile.

Ezekiel glanced around the table, settling on Rick, whose shoulders were shaking. Carol patted Ezekiel’s shoulder, looking down and away to giggle quietly to herself.

“What?”

Rick bit back a smile. “She doesn’t go by Mildred.”

“Certainly not Noble Mildred.” Tara snorted.

“Rick is the only one who calls her by her full name and only when he’s teasing her. Daryl doesn’t even do it.” Maggie hid a smile behind her hand, watching Mitzi battle with herself internally.

“I’m sorry, Lady Dixon-“

Mitzi threw her head back and laughed, tears in her eyes. “Lady!”

Daryl snorted.

“Holy shit! Being called Mrs. Dixon is always a trip but that- that right there is comedy.” Mitzi wiped at her face. “You know what, your majesty? Call me whatever you like. I honestly can’t see you callin’ me Mitzi anyways.”

Carol smiled. “If you want a title, she was a captain in the Army before the Turn.”

Ezekiel demurred with a bright smile. He turned on what she was beginning to recognize was his King voice and addressed the room. “Lady Mildred-“

Mitzi snorted and waved him off, mouthing ‘sorry’.

He smiled. “Captain Dixon has asked a very important question with dire ramifications. What do we want? What is the point of this endeavor?”

Maggie crossed her arms over her chest and leaned back. “I’ve said it before, I’ll say it again. I want him dead.”

“For revenge or because you feel like it’s the right thing to do?” Mitzi leaned forward, eyes suddenly serious.

Maggie frowned. “Does it matter?”

“If everything goes well? No, it won’t matter.” Mitzi sighed. “If it doesn’t, when it doesn’t, when people die, it will matter then.”

The table was quiet and still.

“This is a righteous cause.” Ezekiel breathed deep. “Our motivations need to remain righteous.”

Mitzi smiled gently. “War is not that simple, your majesty. I have been to war for what I was assured were righteous reasons. Whether they were or not, the boots on the ground had different motivations. I had different motivations.”

Rick nodded, leaning back. “Do we all agree that killing Negan is the right thing to do?”

Everyone at the table nodded.

“Alright! Round up!” Mitzi motioned the residents of Hilltop closer to her. “We’re gonna start this now. I’ll do another class tomorrow for those who are working right now. I’ve been told that Sasha taught y’all how to be more effective with knives, so we’re gonna build on that.” She swallowed dryly. “How many of y’all have experience with guns?”

A small smattering of hands went up.

She breathed deep and glanced at Daryl, who shrugged. “Alright, How many have experience with rifles of any kind?”

Two hands went up and Mitzi sighed. “Hunting rifles?”

They both nodded, one, a tall black man, spoke up. “Mostly bolt-action.”

“Alright,” Mitzi drawled. Turning to Daryl, she muttered. “This is gonna be interesting.”

He shrugged, handing over her rifle. “You’ll be aight.”

She snorted and turned back to the crowd. “Let’s start with how to hold a rifle. I want everyone to either go get an empty, unloaded gun, or a stick, if we don’t have enough.”

Everyone did so, albeit reluctantly. For those who had a weapon, Mitzi walked around, teaching the residents how to clear each different type of gun.

She smiled and handed a handgun back to a very frail-looking older woman. “I think the draft just closed, ma’am.”

“I’m old, not stupid.” The woman put a hand on her hip. “I know I ain’t going out there. I should know how to shoot a gun though.”

Mitzi huffed out a laugh. “Aight then.” She turned back to the crowd. “Most of y’all who have used guns before will probably find this redundant, but I am very specific about gun safety. If you can’t use a gun safely, you shouldn’t use it at all.”

The residents nodded and listened patiently as Mitzi guided the more novice gun handlers through basic gun safety.

“Now, we're gonna move on.” Mitzi squared her body and lifted her rifle. “Most of y’all were taught a firing stance similar to this, if you were taught a specific stance at all.” She demonstrated, legs straight, back rigid, elbows stiff.

“This is okay.” Mitzi shrugged. “Nothing wrong with it, if you’re just practicing for an hour or two. But this will wear you out over a longer period of time.” She adjusted, hunkering down, knees bending, upper body canting slightly forward, elbows pulling the gun in tighter. “This needs to be the new normal. You need to bend the knees and lean into the gun. This helps your body absorb recoil. We’ll start with those legs. Show me what you saw.”

“Excuse me?”

Mitzi looked up from where she had been lightly kicking at a younger guy’s feet to spread them. She tapped at the back of his thigh to get him to bend his knees and nodded. Moving to the older man who had spoken, she smiled. “Yep?” “Why are we doing this?”

Mitzi’s head tilted, brow furrowed in confusion. “Gun trainin’?”

“No, why are we fighting the Saviors?” He frowned hard. “Gregory is gone and now you people are in charge and all of a sudden we’re fighting the Saviors. This is crazy!”

She glanced back at Daryl who had straightened, standing off the tree he had been leaned against. “You see that guy?”

The man nodded.

“He’s my husband.” Mitzi smiled. “The night Negan killed two of our people, men I considered my brothers, who I loved as family because they are my family, he kidnapped my husband too. Negan and his goons tortured my husband for damn near a week. Daryl still hasn’t told me what happened while he was there and, as someone with similar personal experience, I honestly don’t expect him to.”

“So we’re doing this for your revenge?” The man was red in the face. “I didn’t-”

“I can’t answer why you’re doin’ it. That’s why I’m doin’ it.” Mitzi shrugged. “I know he’s killed your people too. A kid named Rory-”

The man blanched and Mitzi reached over to squeeze his shoulder. “I think that's why you’re doin’ this.”

“Breathe in. Aim. Shoot.”

The line of Kingdom soldiers fired and, when the sequence of silenced pops quieted, she held her hand up. Every gun lowered and she stalked the row of paper targets.

She stopped in front of one and held it up so everyone could see it, a perfect shot directly in the center of the paper person’s head. “Good shot, Jerry.”

The big man beamed back at her, holding up a thumbs up. “Thanks, Cap!”

She chuckled and moved down the line, shouting out a few more excellent shots. When she reached the end of the line, she looked over at Daryl, leaning forward on a fence. He licked at his bottom lip and lifted a hand to twirl a finger in the universal gesture for ‘wrap it up.’

Mitzi turned to address the group. “For those of y’all who aren’t super happy with your shots, I suggest learning to make that sequence faster. The longer you hold your breath, the more your arms are gonna shake. The more you shake, the worse your aim.”

Jerry frowned. “We’re done?”

Mitzi nodded. “Yeah, we been out here awhile anyways, but Daryl seems to need me for something, so class is dismissed!”

She stopped to chit-chat, offering tips to help people improve their aim. When she made it to Daryl, his eyes were hot and intense on her, hands white-knuckled around the fence he had been leaning on.

“Are you okay?” She hopped over the fence and reached up to brush hair from his face. “Is somethin’ wrong?”

He shook his head and wordlessly reached for her hand. He pulled her behind him, into a building and then into a room. She looked around, lifting a can of wood stain from a white-washed shelf. “Why are we in a closet, babe?”

She turned to him and he reached over to pull her rifle from her shoulder. He maintained eye contact and placed her rifle up on a shelf. She caught on as he lifted that same hand to cup the back of her neck.

Grinning, she allowed him to pull her into a kiss, lips parting to allow his tongue inside her mouth. She gasped into his mouth and fisted her hands in his shirt, pulling him against her.

“You need somethin’, baby?”

He nodded, one side of his mouth upturned in a hot smirk as he pulled her into another open-mouthed kiss.

“What gotcha so hot?”

He shrugged, sucking her bottom lip into his mouth. “Dunno.”

Hand dropping to squeeze at him through his jeans, she huffed out a short laugh. “You’re real worked up for ‘dunno’.”

He grinned and dropped to his knees, pushing her back into the shelf behind her. He unbuckled and unbuttoned her jeans with rough hands and jerked them and her underwear down her legs as far as he could. Eyes hot on hers, he set his hands on her hips and turned her, sucking a bruise into the back of her thigh before she had time to settle.

She sucked in a breath, laughing as her hands scrambled for purchase on the shelf. “Holy shit, baby.”

He switched, biting at her opposite. “Lookit this.” He drawled, gently spreading her lower lips and petting at her entrance with the very tip of his finger. “M’wife’s pretty pussy.”

She moaned, pushing back into him as he licked up from her clit with a long drag of his tongue.

There was a loud clatter as her hand upended a tray of painting supplies. He grinned against her.

“Oughta be quiet. Dunno who else is in the buildin’.” He nipped at one of her labia, moving to suck gently at the other.

She smiled, forehead, against the edge of a shelf. “Ya like it when people can hear, don’t play games. Makes ya feel good.”

“Ya want ‘em to hear how I fuck The Captain Dixon?” He pushed his pointed finger in, groaning as he watched her clench around him.

She looked over her shoulder at him, neck so loose, head so heavy that she had to prop it up on her shoulder. Her eyes fluttered as his hand retreated and thrust back in. “That’s what this is about?”

He hummed, head dropping to mouth at her clit. She hissed and he grinned up at her.

“You’re all hot because you’re fuckin’ The Captain Dixon?”

He chuckled, feeding her another finger. She moaned into her shoulder, eyes locked on his.

“Ya like it when I boss people around. When I’m in charge.”

He sealed his mouth around her clit and sucked hard, arm pistoning his fingers into her at a brutal pace. Eyes squeezing shut, she turned back to the shelf, muffling her increasingly frantic moans in her elbow.

“Taste good, baby.” He slipped in a third finger, shifting to lap against his fingers where they split her open.

“Gonna-”

He nodded and reached up with his other hand to pinch at her clit, fingers still entering her at a bruising pace. “Do it then.”

She clamped her teeth around her wrist and came with a muffled scream. He stood, hand still working her gently down from her high. Reaching back blindly for his belt, she laughed breathlessly. “Fuck, Daryl.”

He brushed her hands away and jerked his belt and fly open. Shoving his jeans and underwear to his thighs and pulled his penis free. He palmed himself, looking up to catch her eyes on his hand. He grinned and nodded. “I am, baby.”

She hummed.

“I am gonna fuck ya.” She smiled and reached one hand back to fist his shirt, pulling him in for a kiss. He moaned into her mouth and stepped into her. Lining himself up against her, he caught her eyes and held them as he entered her in a relentless push.

She moaned and pushed back against him, forehead falling to the shelf once more.

He held himself against her, eyes closing to savor her grip on him. “Pretty baby. Look so good on me.”

She nodded, moaning into her elbow as his hips pulled back and snapped against her ass hard.

“Fuck, baby.” She hissed and then whimpered when he withdrew again.

He chuckled against the back of her head. One hand dropped to her hip and squeezed, pulling her back into him when he thrust back into her. His free hand lifted, digging into the curls at the nape of her neck and upsetting her bun.

She moaned as he tugged gently at her roots and directed her head to the side. His hips snapped roughly again as she felt hot breath against the shell of her ear.

“I like knowin’ that m’wife, The Captain Dixon, is a tough badass who people listen to out there.” He licked her earlobe into his mouth. “All the while knowing that all I have t’do is get ya alone and I can make you moan and whimper and cream on my cock like a bitch in heat.”

She smiled and turned to catch his lips, slipping her tongue into his mouth as the hand on her neck moved to rub at her clit with quick, efficient movements.

She gasped against his mouth and he grinned, thrusting faster and rougher into her. “Ain’t that right, Spitfire?’

She moved her hips back against him with a sensual smile. “It ain’t wrong.”

He clamped his hand down on her hip and grinded roughly into her. “Don’t play games with me, baby.” He tightened his arm around her, hand still working at her clit. The hand that had been on her hip lifted and hooked around her chin, holding her steady as he mouthed at her jaw. “A’int that right, Spitfire?”

She moaned in lieu of answering and nodded.

“Say my name.”

She complied, groaning into his mouth as he pressed another hard kiss to her open mouth.

“Cum. Now, baby.”

He followed her.

“Y’okay?”

She blinked up at him, pressing a kiss to his chin when he turned concerned eyes down at her. “I’m just thinkin’.”

“Christ.” He huffed. “God save us all.”

She gasped and pinched his side. “Dickhead!”

He grinned and surged up, rolling over her and setting his head against her chest. They quieted almost in sync, her fingers twisting the ends of his hair around her fingers.

“What’re y’thinkin’ ‘bout?”

She sighed. “Tomorrow.”

He glanced at the alarm clock on her night stand. “Today.”

She shifted to look at the clock and swore under her breath. “Yeah, today. Fuck.”

“Sleep at all?”

She shook her head. “Not a wink.”

He moved so they were sharing a pillow and guided her to turn on her side, facing him. “You thinkin’ better of this?”

She shook her head with a soft smile. “No, it’s the right thing to do.”

“Then why can’t y’sleep?” He mumbled, settling deeper into the mattress.

She shrugged. “It was always like this before the Turn. I never slept before a big operation. Brain’s too busy.”

He pressed a kiss to her forehead. “It’ll be alright.”

She swallowed. “I hope so.”

He set his forehead against hers. “It will be.”

She pushed his hair gently out of his face, nodding. “Are you okay with this?”

He pushed his nose against hers, sighing. “Rather just wipe them all out…Non’a them deserve to live.”

She nodded. “I think it’d be smarter. Just take care of it, get it over with. We leave any of them, leadership especially, alive and we can have a problem on our hands later.”

“But the King and Jesus-”

“And Rick.” She added. “He ain’t any more comfortable with the idea of takin’ them all out.”

Sighing, he pressed another kiss to her forehead. “Dunno why, he was there that night.”

“He doesn’t wanna be him.” She snuggled in closer to him, yawning.

“He wouldn’t though, wouldn’t be him.” He nuzzled his face into her shoulder. “Ain’t nothin’ like him.”

“You’re practical, baby.” She pressed a kiss to his head. “You see the world in black and white. It’s right or it’s wrong. Rick is more gray, always has been and always has struggled with what is right or wrong in this world.”

“It’s pretty fuckin’ clear.” Daryl groused, sucking on his teeth. “Negan’s gotta die.”

“I agree with you, D.” She soothed her hand over his head. “Not because I think he’s evil. Just basic strategy, if we don’t take ‘em out, they’ll come back at us eventually.”

His eyes grew heavy and she smiled, her eyes following suit.

“I love ya, Spitfire.” He yawned, pressing a kiss to her mouth.

“I love you too, Daryl.” She ran her thumb over his eyebrow. “You ain’t allowed to die without my express permission by the way.”

He snorted. “Ain’t gonna die. Gotta be around to put a baby in ya one of these days.”

She smiled, blinking away tears. “Aight, that’s a deal. We survive this and you getta put a baby in me.”

“You ain’t allowed to die either.” He pressed a sleepy kiss to her mouth.

“You die and I will break into wherever you are and get you out.”

He knocked his forehead to hers. “Promise.”

“Promise.”

“I care about my people. I don’t wanna march them into the line of fire because I wanna play ‘my dick is bigger than yours.’” He grinned and Rick glanced back at Mitzi who moved into position. “It is. We both know it. But I’m also comfortable enough to accept the fact if it wasn’t. I’m certainly not gonna let my people die over that shit.”

Mitzi shot over Negan’s head, laughing loudly as everyone on the landing flinched.

“Fuck, where is she?” Simon ducked down, searching the windows of the surrounding buildings.

“Right the fuck here. Don’t worry, honey, I ain’t hidin’.” Mitzi stepped up next to Rick and waved at Negan, holding her M110 in plain view. “Guess I won the dick measuring contest.” She gestured to the gun, smiling cruelly when Negan swallowed. “I see you noticed. Sassy gun for a sassy lady, after all.”

Negan smirked. “The Missus.”

“That’s what you decided to codename me?” Mitzi threw her head back and laughed. “You know you ain’t any less ‘fraid of me because I’m a wife, right? You still shittin’ yourself.”

His jaw flexed. “Where’s your husband?”

“Off doing something more important.” She grinned. “Don’t change the subject though, I’m amused by this conversation. You can be honest in front of your people, right, Negan? You can tell ‘em how your hand shook when you were tryin’- failin’ -to intimidate me? How you tried to be tough, to harass me into bein’ compliant. You can tell ‘em you’re afraid right, Negan?”

“We ain’t afraid of nothin’, bitch.”

Negan shot Simon a look and the seething man shrank back.

“Surely not nothin’.” She turned to Simon with an aggressive smile. “I can imagine a number of things you’re afraid of, Simon. You ‘n I both know you’d be nothin’ but a sorry sack’a shit if Negan hadn’t found your ass. And you can pretend all ya want, but we both know you were about to shit yourself when you visited us last in Alexandria. I saw it, you saw it, your men saw it.”

“You didn’t see nothin’.” He seethed.

Mitzi chuckled. “Sure, tell yourself that, sugar.” She grinned. “It ain’t gonna help none, but you do you. Also, I should tell you, in furtherance of honesty and straightforwardness, as much as I love and respect Rick, I’m killin’ you and that prick Dwight ASAP, whether you surrender or not.”

Negan forced a grin on his face. “Why didn’t Dear Daryl come with, I wonder? Maybe he’s afraid? Afraid I’ll get my hands on him again?”

“My husband is gonna gut you, Negan.” She fired another shot over his head, glass shattered. “I promised you that, remember? I’m personally gonna make sure you die. I don’t make promises, I can’t keep.” “Can’t gut somebody if the coward ain’t here.” Simon wrung his hands around the metal bannister. “And I don’t see him.”

She shot at Simon’s feet, grinning when he jumped. “Unless you suddenly grow a pair and are ready to pop on down here and back up your words, you gray-haired cunt, I suggest you shut your yella-bellied mouth. Your big ass forehead is too big a target to be mouthin’ off like that.”

“You gotta mouth on you, lady.” The female outpost head stepped forward.

“Yeah, I fuckin’ do.” Mitzi laughed. “Promise you this, though, I can cash the checks my mouth writes. So I’d be worried if I was you.”

Negan sighed. “What the hell can I do for you, Rick?”

Rick grinned and discretely squeezed Mitzi’s shoulder and she moved back into formation. “Dwight.”

“How do you always end up covered in so much blood?” Mitzi let her rifle hang free from the strap across her chest and piled her hair on top of her head, wrapping a hair tie around it.

Rick shrugged, leaning over to take another polaroid of the carnage.

She chuckled and started gathering the Saviors' weapons. “I mean seriously, we all walk away relatively clean- '' She paused to fire a shot into a reanimated Savior. “You come out lookin’ like you’re tryin’ a new skin care regimen to stay young.”

Rick turned to glare at her.

Daryl snorted and fired his crossbow into another walker. “Always get the shit beat outta ya, too.”

She nodded. “You do know that you don’t have to challenge every person to a round of fisticuffs, right? You can just shot ‘em. That’s why you carry a gun.”

“Is now really the time?” Rick huffed. “Don’t you have somethin’ to be doin’?”

“Always, boss.” She saluted and went back to gathering weapons.

“Eric!”

Her head snapped up and she glanced at Daryl, before making her way through the car barricade to where Aaron was standing with Scott. She jogged up and rubbed her hand over Aaron’s back.

Beyond them, moving towards the highway and the herd, was a lone walker. She handed Aaron her rifle and pulled her knife. “I’ll go get him.”

Aaron shook his head. “No, it should be me.”

“We’re family.” She squeezed Aaron’s side and caught Scott’s eyes. “It doesn’t hafta be you. I’ll get him. I’ll take care of him.”

Aaron held her eyes and nodded.

She jogged out, catching up with Eric’s body easily. She slowed, sneaking up on him and sliding her knife up into the back of his brain as quietly and gently as possible. She caught his body and pulled him over her shoulder in a fireman’s carry.

She made it back and, with Aaron’s help, lowered Eric’s body gently to the ground. She sat with Aaron as he covered Eric’s body and, after a while, stood, squeezing Aaron’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, kid. He was a good man.”

Aaron looked up at her, grabbing her hand. “Thank you, Mitzi.”

She smiled softly, nodding, and moved the few steps over to Daryl, who leaned against a low concrete wall behind Aaron.

She stepped in close and pressed her forehead to his. “He woulda done it for us,” she whispered.

He nodded. “I know. I ain’t say nothin’.”

They both started at the sound of a baby crying.

“She was inside?”

Rick nodded at Tobin, carrying an infant wrapped in a white blanket over. “She was. I have a stop to make, Daryl’s got his bike… Mitzi is Mitzi.” She snorted and Rick smiled. “Maybe she can go back with you or Scott?”

Aaron stood. “She can go with me.”

“Why the fuck are y’all here?” Mitzi exploded out of the building she had been perched in. “What the fuck is goin’ on?”

Daryl breathed deep. “Spitfire-”

“Don’t Spitfire me.” She set her hands on her hips. “Y’all are supposed to be at home.”

Michonne glanced at Rosita and shrugged. “I just wanted to see it for myself. Rosita came with me.”

“Okay, I can respect that. Why are you two here?” She turned to regard Daryl and Tara.

Setting his shoulders, Daryl moved to stand in front of Mitzi. “There’s been a change of plans, Mitz.”

“Decided by who?” She caught his eyes and held them. “Baby, who decided to change the plan?”

He clenched his jaw and looked away. “I did.”

She nodded. “Why?”

He turned back to her and set his hands on her shoulders. “Remember what we talked ‘bout last night. We both want ‘em gone. All gone. No ways out, nothin’ like that.”

Mitzi sighed, shaking her head. “Yeah, but that ain’t what we agreed on, D.”

“I know, but-” He squeezed her shoulders gently. “Just listen to the plan, okay?”

She grunted in frustration and threw her hands in the air. “Fine. Why the hell not?”

Michonne nodded and repeated the plan “So we cover you with crossfire from the upper windows. You crash the truck into the walkers and through to the building.”

Tara nodded. “Yep. Crack it open, Savior buffet.”

Mitzi shot a hard look at Daryl. “The plan is to drive through a herd of walkers. What happens if you get pinned down, or if the walkers can’t get past the front of the truck?”

“That’s why we’re hopin’ you’ll lay down cover, watch our backs.”

Mitzi huffed and moved away from Daryl, stalking a step or two outside of the circle.

Rosita asked: “You know the workers will make it away, up the stairs?”

Daryl nodded. “They’re on the other side of the building. They should make it.”

Rosita shook her head, sighing. “You sure?”

“After we do this, their only choice is to give up.” He looked at Mitzi and edged closer to her as she stewed.

Michonne sighed. “It’s risky, They could see the truck comin’.”

Tara stepped forward. “There weren’t any more weapons at the Savior’s warehouse, right? No more rockets for the RPGs. We work with what we got.”

“You got me.” They all turned to Morgan as he approached. He nodded to Mitzi. “Other snipers, too. Saviors see you comin’, we got you covered. Whatever it takes. I want it done. I want them done.”

“Good.” Daryl rasped. “Are we doin’ this or what?” He glanced down at Mitzi, who raked her fingers through her hair roughly.

Rosita huffed. “What don’t we just wait it out like we’ve planned? Michonne’s right. What you’re talking about is risky. Things could go bad.”

Tara was getting agitated, her speech clipped and flat. “The truck with the speakers almost took all those walkers away. It almost did go bad. Something else could.”

Mitzi scoffed. “Something could always go bad. We don’t need to risk our lives, more than we’ve already have today, for an if.”

“Even if it don’t, we don’t got the Kingdom fighters no more. If the Saviors wanna put up a fight, we don’t got the numbers to make ‘em surrender.”

Rosita nodded. “That’s why Rick is talking to the Scavengers.”

Tara groaned in frustration. “You got shot. They lied to us. You believe them now?”

Rosita shook her head. “I believe in Rick Grimes.”

Mitzi rubbed a hand over the back of her neck. “The Scavengers are a long shot. Even if they don’t just shoot Rick on sight, I can’t see myself trustin’ them.”

Tara crossed the circle at Rosita. “I could’ve done something sooner, to end this. I knew about those weapons at Oceanside, and I waited. I didn’t do shit about it.”

Mitzi shook her head. “Those are two very different situations-”

“Are they?” Tara whirled on Mitzi, pressing into her space. “They don’t feel different.”

“No, I don’t imagine they do. Oceanside didn’t attack us though and you made a promise. And because you are a good woman, Tara, you struggled with breaking that promise. What you are talkin’ about doin’ is completely different and it could get someone- namely my husband- killed. And while that wouldn’t be at all your fault, seein’ as he is fool enough himself-” She pegged Daryl with a hard stare. “I really don’t want him-or you-dyin’.”

Tara scoffed. “With or without you guys, I’m not letting that happen again.”

Rosita shrugged. “Then it's without me.” She stood. “I’m out.”

“We’ve got some cars parked near the East side lookout. You can take one and go home.”

Rosita nodded and turned to Michonne. “You staying? You good with all of this?”

“I helped get this started. Got to see it through.”

“You think it’s easier to come out here and risk, than to stay back there and wait. And I get it, I used to believe that, too. Thing is sometimes, you just have to wait. Sometimes you don’t get to know. I just wish it didn’t take seeing Sasha walk out of that coffin to realize it.” She walked off.

They all turned to Mitzi, who scuffed the toe of her boot into the gravel.

Daryl wrapped his hand around her arm and leaned into her space. “What d’ya think, Spitfire?”

“You’re gonna do this one way or another, huh?” She looked up at him.

He nodded.

“Even if means dyin’ and leavin’ me here?” She swallowed.

He pressed his forehead to hers. “I ain’t dyin’ here.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Mitzi, Wife.” He stared hard into her eyes. “I ain’t leavin’ you.”

She breathed deep and nodded. “Yeah, fine. Can’t rightly let you do it without at least providing cover.” She poked Daryl’s chest. “You better fuckin’ live, you punk, or I’m kickin’ your ass. When all this is done,” She motioned around them, “You betta neva try shit like this again.”

“Are you gonna promise not to start fights you end up pullin’ me into?”

She socked him in the arm. “I ain’t never started a fight I can’t end. You poke your nose into my fights, that’s your business.”

He pressed a hard kiss to her mouth.

Mitzi sucked in a breath, tears streaming down her face, biting her lip to keep quiet. Daryl pulled her in tighter, pressing a kiss to her head.

Judith, clapped her hands against Mitzi’s cheeks, wriggling against Mitzi’s chest. “MiMi, no cry.”

She wiped her eyes one-handed and smiled down at Judith. “I’m okay, baby girl. Just sad.”

Judith patted at her face again. “MiMi, sad.”

Mitzi nodded. “Yeah. Very sad.”

“Cal.”

Mitzi buried another sob. “Yeah, ‘cause of Carl.”

She laid her head on Mitzi’s shoulder and nodded. “Sad too.”

She pressed a kiss to Judith’s head and caught Daryl’s eyes. He leaned over and pressed a chaste kiss to her mouth. “Y’Okay?”

“No.” She shook her head. “Not yet.”

He nodded, face full of the empathy reserved only for her. “Let’s give her over to Tobin. Need you on your gun.”

She nodded and moved to pass Judith to Tobin.

Judith shook her head, fisting her hands in Mitzi’s shirt. “No, wan’ MiMi.”

Mitzi cooed. “I know, Judy-Booty, but I got work t’do and Uncle Toby’s been wanting a cuddle since we left.”

Judith pouted out her bottom lip and shook her head.

Smiling fondly, Mitzi pressed a kiss to her head. “Can you make him feel better with your cuddles like you made me feel better?”

Judith sighed, still pouting, but giggled when Tobin mimed tickling her.

When she was safely in Tobin’s arms, Mitzi wiped at her eyes, wandering slightly ahead of Daryl and the group. He caught up quickly, walking alongside her and handing her her rifle.

She breathed deep and looped her torso through the strap. Shouldering it, she sighed.

“Sorry, baby.” He pulled her into his side. “Wanted to wait longer.”

She shook her head. “Nah, it’s fine, better probably. Shit’s been running through my brain since we left. Better to have a job.”

Daryl nodded. “We gotta figure out what route to take into Hilltop.” He pulled a map out of his pocket. “Should take a break and discuss it.”

Mitzi smiled. “If you’re tired, big man, just say so… Don’t stop on my account.”

He chuckled and cast a glance over his shoulder. “Nah, I’m good, but they all look like they're about to fall over.”

She kissed his cheek, before stopping and turning towards the marching group. “Let’s take a break!”

She followed Daryl to a low flat rock, where he spread out the map. “If they’re smart, they’ll cover all these passes between here and Hilltop.”

Rosita perched herself on the other side of the map, Tara settling next to her. She studied the map and sighed. “We have to keep moving. We’ll just have to risk it.”

Dwight approached them cautiously. “Maybe you don’t have to.” He leaned over the map. “Negan won’t send his people down into this stretch of swamp, not if he doesn’t have to.”

“Yeah? How do you know that?”

Dwight didn’t shy away from meeting Tara’s angry eyes. “Negan wanted to map the best routes with cover from the Sanctuary to the Hilltop. He decided the swamp was too dangerous. Didn’t think it was worth the risk.”

Mitzi nodded, glancing between Daryl and Rosita.

Tara shot up, moving away from them, aghast. “You’re not seriously going to listen to him? It’s too dangerous for the Saviors, so you’re gonna send us? Are you kidding me?”

Rosita scoffed. “They have us boxed in.”

Tobin spoke up. “Tara has a point. Why should we trust him?”

Scott nodded. “He can turn on us like he turned on his own people.”

Mitzi caught Dwight’s eyes. “Because he knows that leading us the wrong way ain’t gonna get him anywhere, but dead.”

“What if they ambush us?”

Mitzi’s answering smile was smug. “I think we all know, Dwight included, that I’m deadly accurate, quick shot or no. I can take him out well before anyone disarms me.”

Dwight nodded. “I am aware of that fact. And I didn’t just turn on ‘em. I killed them. Daryl saw it, Rosita saw it.” He turned to Tara. “You saw it. But one of ‘em got away. So if they find me, Negan puts my head on a pike. I’m not working for them, and I’m not going back to them. I chose my side, this is it. I’m here to help you beat Negan. After that, well, I know how it ends.”

Daryl glanced out over the group and nodded at Mitzi. “All right. We’ll try the swamps.”

Mitzi chuckled. “Nice speech, Dwight. I’m still gonna kill you if you try anything.”

“Yeah, I know.”

Mitzi settled back against the big house, breathing shakily as she pulled the folded up letter from her back pocket.

She unfolded it, running her thumb over her name on the front. She blinked, not bothering to brush away the tears that fell.

Mitz,

You are the oddest, but the best, aunt a person could ask for and one of the best people we could have met at the beginning of all of this. I love you so much. I’m so grateful for everything you taught me, for all the times you provided me with your weird, cuss-filled wisdom, when you kept my feet on the ground and when you helped me just be a kid.

I’ll never forget playing foosball at the CDC with Sophia and you. I’ll never forget what you told me when my mom died. I’ll never forget every time you smiled and told me it would be alright and it was.

You taught me so much. Helped my dad make me an adult and worthy man. You taught me what it meant to care for people, to put yourself on the line for those you love. I have a feeling that I will show some of your teaching today. I hope I make you proud.

I know that you’re hurting, as much as my Dad and Michonne. I know you’ve been hurting since probably before that night. Rosita didn’t let me see you, but I could hear you in you and Daryl’s room. I know that you think that taking down the Saviors will make some of that better. Maybe it will. I also know the Savior’s have to come down, but that doesn’t mean they all have to die.

I’m saying this to you knowing that it is a painful thing to ask. But I am also asking this because I know you can do it. I believe with my whole heart that my Aunt Mitz can do anything.

Please help my dad and Michonne. I know you don’t always agree with Dad, that you aren’t going to agree with what I’ve asked you here. I know that you’d rather get shit over with, do things smart not hard, but sometimes we have to do things the hard way to do things the right way. Dad’s going to need you. Even if he makes a decision you don’t agree with. Please help him.

I want my family to survive.

Carl

P.S. Tell Daryl he was the coolest uncle I could’ve had. I just ran out of paper and I wasn’t sure he could read.

Mitzi sobbed. She stilled her hands and folded the letter as gently as possible. Holding it with two hands, as if it was as precious as it surely was, she pulled her knees to her chest and folded in on herself.

A short moment later, she felt a soft hand on the back of her neck. “Spitfire?”

She sucked in a breath and looked up at him. “Carl wrote me a letter.” She handed it to him and moved to wipe at her face. “I hadn’t been able to read it yet.”

He settled on the ground next to her and opened the letter. She settled against his side, head on his shoulder. After a while, he snorted. “Lil Shit.”

She set her rifle with a deliberate thunk, the little folding table she had brought into the cell groaning under the full weight of a M110 sniper system.

Negan wouldn’t look at her, staring down at the floor of his cell.

She grinned as she sat in the chair.

“Knew you were lying.”

“I’m sure you did.” She shrugged. “Too afraid of lil ol’me to try and call me on it, huh?”

“Yeah, I was.” He made a face. “I’m not too proud to admit that.”

“That why you can’t look me in the eye now?”

He looked up and caught her eyes, flinching away from her.

She chuckled. “You knew I was lying and that’s why you were shitting your pants that day, huh?” She smiled, pulling out her cleaning kit and sitting on the fold-up chair left in here for the guards.

He shook his head, eyes still trained on his boots.

“What was it you called it? Pee-pee city?” She disassembled the suppressor, purposely loud.

He winced.

She cleared the chamber, the gun was empty but the click of the bolt caused him to jump. “But you didn’t know who you had kneeling there. Didn’t know who Rick is, who Michonne is. Didn’t know whose husband you killed. Didn’t know who you had taken. Didn’t know whose husband you took.”

He sucked in a shaky breath.

“Bet you near shat y’self silly when you found out, huh?” She opened the solvent bottle and poured some onto the barrel brush. “Betcha you felt that creepin’ dread when you looked into Daryl’s eyes and saw that you wouldn’t break him.”

“I didn’t try to break your hus-“

“I thought you were honest.” She smiled again. “But I betcha looked over your shoulder every day, every minute after our conversation.”

“No.” He shook his head. “I wasn’t particularly bothered.”

She barked out a laugh. “You cover it well, I’ll grant ya.” She fed the barrel brush in, purposely making more noise than necessary. “But I could tell when you looked in my eyes that night that you weren’t nuthin’ but a sack of gutless white meat.”

“I didn’t take you for someone to torture a person.”

“Torture?” She laughed. “I’ve been tortured, this ain’t torture.” She caught his eyes. “This is just the natural consequences of your actions.”

“Just this?” Negan tried for a grin. “I’m thinkin’ I’m gettin’ off easy. Maybe you can help me get-”

“You know what they say, dickhead. Play shit games, win shit prizes. Don’t play shit games when you’re locked in a cell and I’m on the other side with a gun.”

He looked away.

“Besides.” She snorted. “That’s mighty bold coming from someone who tortured my husband.”

“I didn’t-”

She shot him a baleful look. “It’s time to stop the bullshit and sack up, Negan. I’ve been denied the ability to keep my promise, so this is what I can do. It’s the least of what you deserve. We both know that.”

He made a face, shrugging

She rolled her eyes. “Fuckin’ coward. I knew it then and I know it now.”

“Spitfire.”

She didn’t turn, didn’t look at Daryl. “I could tell when you put your hand on my shoulder. You were real careful not to get too close and, as hard as you tried, your hand shook. You made that quip about getting hard being threatened, but we both know you didn’t sleep well that night. That you knew you were only safe as long as you had my husband locked up, as long as he was alive and well.”

He met her eyes for the first time since she had walked in. She grinned maliciously and felt Daryl’s hand on her shoulder.

“Which means you were really shitting y’self when he got out.”

Part 10

#daryl dixon #twd daryl #daryl dixon x oc #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon smut #the walking dead #the walking dead daryl #daryl fanfiction

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rfsak2 · 8 months

Text

Spitfire, Pt. 8

So… this is short on words but hella long on feels, so I hope that doesn’t bother you. I didn’t want to write that last battle scene because next chapter is likely to be hella battle orientated. I also didn’t add smut this chapter because, honestly the Dixons are separated for much of this chapter and post-t*rture smut feels gross.

Let me know if you like it!

Spitfire, Pt. 8

Everyone always thought Daryl was the rough one. DarylxOC

Warnings: violence, emotions, injuries, lots of bad language words

Part 7

“Olivia, I’m not trying to be mean or anythin’ but I could use a drink. I don’t give a fuck what it tastes like but I’d rather not have to break in here for more, y’feel me? Just give me whatever will get me drunker faster.”

Olivia stared at her and Mitzi was acutely aware that there was more compassion than the usual trepidation in her gaze. “M-Mitzi-“

Mitzi shook her head. “I don’t wanna talk. I just wanna drink. I’m not interested in cleaning out the alcohol store, though, so I would like you to give me whatever you can, preferably something to get me shitfaced ASAP.”

She sighed and leant over to dig through a low cabinet. She emerged with a bottle of whiskey, about three-quarters full, and passed it to Mitzi. “Take it.”

Mitzi nodded and sucked in a shaky breath. “Thanks.”

“If you want to talk about-“

Mitzi shook her head and took a swig from the bottle as she shut the pantry door behind her.

By the time she made it to the basement she shared with Daryl, she had drained about a quarter of the remaining liquor. She hadn’t eaten in over a day at that point, so it hit her like a wrecking ball, robbing her of her balance and making her head spin.

She closed the door behind her and the first thing she saw was a small pile of Daryl’s clothes she had cleaned a couple days ago sitting innocuously on the corner of the bed waiting for him to put them away.

She crumpled.

“Nah, you don’t kill them. Not until you try a little.”

Daryl caught her eyes, shaking his head despite the hands in his hair.

The dimpled asshole must have noticed and followed Daryl’s gaze. “So, Spitfire and Sleeveless, huh?” He grinned. “You still ain’t worried, pretty girl?”

She sucked in a breath, forehead pressed to the floor.

She felt her body tense.

“Spitfire, no! Don’t y’fuckin’ move!” Daryl fought against the hands pulling him back in line. “Stay there!”

She felt Carl grab at her arm.

Negan laughed and sauntered over to her. “You must really have a temper, darlin’. All these people trying to keep you from doing the colossally stupid thing I can see boiling up in your very pretty, Disney Princess green eyes.”

She spat at his feet.

She wailed.

“I don’t like killing ladies. But you ain’t acting very lady-like.” He made a small moue of dissatisfaction. “That’s unfortunate.”

She bared her teeth. “Fuck you.”

He grinned. “Between you and your man here, I’m obliged to restore order.” He shrugged and started pacing the line again. “Don’t say I didn’t warn ya.”

She pushed herself up, only to fall back against the bedroom door.

She sobbed, images of Glenn and Abraham playing merry havoc with her ability to breathe. She reached for the whiskey and chugged. When the burn was too much, she dropped the bottle, clumsily righting it and pouring whiskey all over her jeans.

She wiped at it, her hand coming back bloody.

“Look at what you made me do.”

In a rush of frantic energy, she shot her feet and tore her jeans off, catching sight of dark stains on the right side of her Metallica t-shirt. She tore that off as well, throwing it on top of her jeans and kicking the articles of clothing blindly away.

Her knees collapsed under her and she hit the floor hard.

“There are rules and the rules matter.” He grinned. “I am truly sorry.”

She didn't know how long she sat there, just underwear, pieces of that night replaying in her head, broken only by her sobs and great swigs of whiskey.

Her throat burned, her eyes burned. Her hip hurt from where she hit the floor.

Her bedroom door opened and Rosita poked her head in. She breathed harshly and turned over her shoulder.

“She’s here. I have her. Go back upstairs, Carl.”

“No, I want to help. I want to be here for her-” She could barely hear him, muffled through the door.

Shame lit her up like a Christmas tree but she couldn’t make her body move.

Rosita shook her head. “She wouldn’t want you to see her like this, flaco. Go upstairs. You can come down later when she’s ready.”

He must have listened because Rosita closed the door behind her a second later.

Mitzi sucked down more whiskey.

“This is what we are going to do?” Rosita crossed her arms over her chest. “Sit here and drink?”

Mitzi sucked in a breath, tipped the bottle.

Rosita snatched it away from her, waiting for the liquid to settle to see how much was left. There was maybe a fourth of the bottle left. She had drank more than she thought.

“How much was in here?”

Mitzi shrugged.

Rosita sucked on her tongue. “Oh, hell no. We ain’t doing this shit. Get up.”

Mitzi shook her head, reaching for the bottle.

“Get up, Mitzi.”

Mitzi motioned for the bottle. “No. Give me the bottle.”

“No.” She marched into the bathroom and Mitzi could hear the glug glug of the whiskey being poured down the drain.

“Olivia was savin’ that for somethin’. Pulled it outta some special cabinet for me.” Mitzi groused.

“Oh, I know.” Rosita propped her hip against the doorframe. “Olivia told me that you had gone to the pantry and demanded liquor.” The bottle clanged loudly against the metal of the trash can. “That’s how I knew I needed to find you.”

“I didn’t demand anythin’. I asked. Nicely.” Mitzi made a face. “I even said please.”

She snorted. “She was shaking when I talked to her. Though I guess she seemed more worried for you than scared of you.”

“She’s scared of everythin’. She shakes like a leaf when I so much as sneeze near her.” Mitzi rolled her eyes. “It’s pathetic.”

Rosita chuckled dryly. “I guess. But then you’re not doing much better, sat here like some sad sack of shit.”

“Fuck you.” Mitzi huffed, the words lacking heat.

“No, fuck you.” She spat. “You drinking yourself to death isn’t going to make anything better and it isn’t going to get Daryl back.”

“Me doin’ anything but this could get him killed though.”

Rosita huffed, frustrated. “He isn’t going to kill him. You called it at the church. That cabron is just a small-time big man trying to hold onto control. He needs Daryl to do that.”

“Until he doesn’t.”

“Stop it.” Rosita tossed her head. “Stop this defeatist bullshit.”

“We are defeated. We are done. What do you fuckin’ expect from me, Rosa?” Mitzi made a gesture that would’ve come across as aggressive if she wasn’t drunk and half-naked. “What is it I can do for you so you’ll leave me the fuck alone?”

“What can you do for me?” She sneered. “Why would I need anything from you?”

“Peachy. Fuck off.”

“You think I wanna be here babysitting you?”

Mitzi sighed. “If not then why are you?”

Rosita put her hand on Mitzi’s head and leaned in. “Because you need me. And I need you. And we need each other. All of us.”

Mitzi scoffed, tears gathering in her eyes again.

Rosita stood and started rifling through her drawers. She made a small noise of triumph when she found Mitzi’s clothes in one of the drawers. She pulled out a fresh t-shirt and a pair of leggings and tossed them at Mitzi.

Mitzi pushed them off her lap.

Rosita groaned. “So you’re just gonna sit there in your fuckin’ underwear?”

Mitzi scoffed. “Is there somethin’ else you wanted me t’do?”

“Miss me with the fuckin’ pity party.” Rosita sighed. “I lost someone too. And Daryl’s still alive.”

“I know.” Mitzi sucked in a breath, squeezing her eyes shut. “I’m so sorry-“

Rosita squatted in front of her, softening, tears in her eyes. “He wasn’t ever gonna pick you. You know that right?”

“He’s a coward.” Mitzi blinked, looking down at her hands. “He was always gonna pick the biggest threat. Or who he thought was the biggest threat.”

She nodded. “That’s right. And you being a woman of rather small stature, he was never going to think it was you. Even if everyone who knows you knows that you were one of the biggest threats there. He was never going to pick you.”

“I know that but-“

Rosita shook her head decisively, wiping delicately at her eyes. “But nothing. He did that, no one made him, no one forced his hand. He did that.”

“I’m pretty sure the bloody mess I made of his outpost didn’t help.”

“He didn’t kill them because of the outpost. He killed Glenn and-“ she sucked in a breath, “and Abraham because, without fear, he has no power.”

“And the fact that I led an operation that killed three or four dozen men.” Mitzi gestured agitatedly. “We can’t ignore that. I did this.”

“I ain’t ignoring anything, puta. It’s just that not everything is about you.”

Mitzi sucked in a breath like she had been slapped. “I know that.”

“Do you? Seems to me like you’re sitting here throwing yourself a pity party.”

Mitzi swallowed, tears gathering in her eyes. “I…I don’t know what else to do, Rosa. I don’t know what I can do that won’t get someone else killed.”

“Well, I do.” Mitzi was silent and Rosita continued. “We need to make him afraid.”

Mitzi looked up. Rosita was grinning ferally and Mitzi frowned. “What?”

“He’s already terrified of you, chiquita. I saw it, Rick saw it. I doubt he’s ever met a woman like you. So we’re gonna leverage that and take that asshole down.” Rosita stood. “So get up. We have to get ready.”

She walked up to the gates and nodded at the person standing guard. “Hey, don’t know if you remember me.”

“Here to see Maggie and Sasha?”

She nodded. “Yes, please.” She sucked a deep breath in and tried to force down the nausea that was already making itself known.

The gates opened and she smiled politely up at the guard. “Thanks, man.”

He nodded. “Heard what happened. I’m sorry.”

She swallowed and bobbed her head, throat tight. “Yeah.. ‘ppreciate that.”

A woman approached Mitzi and smiled softly. “Just know, people here at Hilltop are thinking about y’all.” Mitzi recognized her as the pretty black lady they had saved after the car accident. Mitzi struggled to remember her name- Birdie -and she reached out to squeeze Mitzi’s forearm. “Thank you for saving us and getting Craig and Andy back alive that night.”

Mitzi blinked and breathed. The woman wrapped her in a quick hug.

“Mitzi?”

She forced herself to breathe, giving the Hilltop woman a quick closed-mouth smile as she walked away. “Hey, Maggie. How are you holdin’ up?”

Maggie wrapped her in a tight hug and Mitzi squeezed her eyes shut, trying to breathe through her nose.

“I’m- well I’m not okay but I’m alright. How are you?”

Mitzi shrugged. Sasha approached with a tearful smile and pulled Mitzi into another hug. She felt her breath stutter in her lungs.

Mitzi squeezed her eyes shut. “I’m sorry.” She forced air out her lungs in a quick rush. “I’m sorry. I knew this could happen and I did it anyway and I’m so fuckin’ sorry.”

Maggie started shaking her head, but Mitzi couldn’t stop.

“I’m sorry that I convinced us to take out the outpost. If we hadn’t, maybe they-“

Sasha pulled her into another hug. “Negan killed them, Mitzi. He did it and he probably would’ve done it regardless.”

“But I knew-“

“Nothing.” Maggie dipped to catch her eyes. “You knew nothing for sure. And even if you did know, Negan still chose to do this. He doesn’t get to skate by accountability.”

Sasha rubbed at Mitzi’s face with gentle fingers and Mitzi realized she had started crying. “He’s a murderer, Mitz. He was gonna do it anyway. And if you had had any choice, you wouldn’t have chosen this. He took your husband.” Sasha smiled gently. “I’m not saying either one is worse, but we don’t have to worry about what’s happening to Abraham and Glenn.”

Mitzi’s lower lip trembled and Sasha pulled her into another hug.

“I will kill him. I’m gonna get D back and I’m gonna kill him.” Mitzi nodded against Sasha’s shoulder, blinking away tears. “I promise. There is nothing I can do to make this right, to bring them back, but I will kill him.”

“You don’t have to make it right.” Maggie pulled her into a hug. “It’s not your fault.”

Mitzi swallowed. “It feels-“

“He as much as said it, Mitz. He needed to make a big show, tamp down the revolution. He was gonna kill two of us no matter what.”

“I know, I do. Rosita tried very hard to knock that into my head yesterday.” Mitzi rubbed at her forehead. “But I’m still the reason why he needed to make a big show.”

Sasha smiled. “What did I tell you those pricks on the motorcycles said to me, Daryl and Abraham?”

Mitzi frowned. “What?”

“With the fuel tanker. What did they say to us? Do you remember?”

“To give them all your stuff?” Mitzi shrugged.

“That they normally kill one of us.” Sasha nodded. “They were gonna do it anyway. At least we took some of them out. Didn’t roll over and show them our bellies.”

“These assholes have been turning up the pressure around here for months.” Maggie squeezed Mitzi’s shoulder. “Like you said, they would’ve come for us at some point. You and Rick would’ve fought them off and then they would’ve come back. We were gonna end up here, one way or another.”

Mitzi sighed and nodded.

Sasha smiled. “Besides, you’ll have a hard time killing him if I kill him first.”

Mitzi smiled sadly. “And the student has become the master.”

Sasha wrapped her in a tight hug and pressed her forehead to Mitzi. “Maybe you can come with, be my spotter.”

“I’d be honored to be your spotter.”

Maggie wrapped her arms around the two of them. “We need to do more than just kill him. We need to take them all down. To do that we’re gonna need to wake Rick up.”

Mitzi nodded. “I can do that.”

“It’s just like a ghillie suit, y’ big baby.”

Mitzi breathed deep and dug her hands into the walker’s gut, retching a little as she spread it over the poncho she had scavenged. When she was sufficiently covered, she tore off the latex gloves she was wearing and pulled her scope out her pocket.

She settled back against the tree and considered the Sanctuary below her. She made notes and took a picture with an old polaroid camera. She observed for another ten minutes, watching as people came and went.

Checking an old analog watch she had borrowed from Olivia, she leant forward, observing through her scope as it approached what she assumed could be a likely time for a shift change.

She scratched some shorthand she had learned to use in the army on a piece of scrap paper, noting how many people changed spaces, what spaces were changed.

She was especially interested in the odd walker barricade the Saviors had built in front of the main building. Mitzi sketched it quickly, taking note of how the residents of the Sanctuary navigated the minefield they had created.

When everyone seemed to settle, the activity coming to a smooth lull, she turned her scope to the area on the opposite side of the old factory, looking for another vantage point. She identified a new perch and moved out, dodging walkers quietly as they wandered past her.

Settling into her new perch, a broken out window in a building half a mile away from the Sanctuary. From this angle, she could see a loading dock into the back of the factory complex.

She sat and watched the loading dock for fifteen minutes. People brought things out, people carried things in. The varied baskets, boxes and totes suggested different origins if not scavenged goods.

Mitzi jotted that down and took a picture of the loading dock. She turned and sketched out the rough layout of the system of roads and gates into the backside of the complex and took a picture.

When she felt like she had that half of the building pretty well covered, she moved to a new vantage point, one that covered the front half of the building from a different viewpoint.

She lifted her scope and felt the immediate well of tears. She bit her lip to keep herself from crying out.

There in the courtyard, Daryl had joined the people wrangling the walker minefield. He looked beat up with the beginning of a black eye and a split lip. At first, she thought he was moving sluggishly, which hinted at injuries she couldn’t see.

But then she saw him look up, squinting up and around him.

She smiled. Despite the chaos, other people in dirty sweats fighting to manage walkers and Daryl was getting the lay of the land.

He was casing the joint.

God, she loved her husband so fuckin’ much.

“There she is!”

It took everything in her considerable willpower not to flip him the bird. Or break his scrawny neck. Or throw a knife at his smiling face.

There was a reason Rick took her knife before sending her out here.

She caught sight of Daryl in dirty sweats, face bruised. Dwight stood near him in Daryl’s vest, and she had to take a deep, grounding breath.

“Spitfire Dixon!” Negan smiled up at her. “Never did catch your name, honey. Daryl, there, called you Spitfire that night. Figured it’d be okay for me to as well.”

“My name is Mitzi Dixon.” She spared him a disinterested glance. “My husband is the only one who calls me Spitfire. So it is absolutely not okay for you to call me that.”

He seemed to pause, foot on the first step.

She glanced at Rick, who shook his head subtly. Mitzi no.

Mitzi yes.

She glanced down at Negan and saw the moment he had to force the smile back on his face.

“I guess that’s fair. I did kill two of your people- your family.” He grinned.

She arched an eyebrow. “What d’ya want?”

“My god, you’re fuckin’ ice cold, huh?” He grinned over his discomfort. “Where did that fiery, sexy, little thing from that night go?”

She hummed. She looked back at Daryl.

“Gotta tell you, you’re not really supposed to be looking at him… like, at all.”

She turned to him, one eyebrow arched over hard eyes. “You gonna stop me?”

He swallowed. “Nah… I admire your commitment to your husband. I’m just a big ole softie, what can I say? Let love win n’all.” He smiled, dimples and white teeth.

She hummed, turned back to Daryl.

“You are so goddamn pretty. Hard to believe you were in spec ops.”

She rolled her eyes.

He grinned. “Say…How in the hell did he pull you?” He stepped up onto the porch, making a production out of leering at her. She dug her nails into the bannister. “You are smoking hot. I mean really…the tattoo game is strong. If I didn’t think you would try to slit my throat in my sleep, break Dear Daryl out, I might offer you a special deal. I don’t think I’d mind marrying an Army Ranger. A sniper, at that. Something kinda erotic about it.”

She didn’t spare him a glance.

“Fuck, you’re so cool.” He chuckled.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him lift a hand. Felt it land heavy on her shoulder. She kept her eyes on Daryl.

“That’s right. Heard you were a sniper.” He entered her line of sight, getting as close as he dared, leaning on the bannister. “Here’s me wondering where your rifle went.” He looked down at Olivia’s notes. “One M110 SASS. Sassy gun for a sassy lady.”

“Lost it after the outpost.” She shifted so she could keep an eye on Daryl. “You know, where I used it to kill three, four dozen of your people.”

He clenched his jaw. “Really?”

She shrugged. “Got separated, caught up in a herd on the way back.”

“That true?”

“You callin’ me a liar?” He flinched away from her direct stare, the hand on her shoulder shook almost imperceptibly.

Rick nodded, eyes hard on hers.

“That’s a shame.” He shrugged, sighed and leaned into her space. “Woulda liked to see it in action. Send you out on a couple of errands for me.”

“Yeah, it’s a real shame.” She drawled, monotone and bored, catching his eyes and holding them again. His grin faltered. “Woulda been mighty useful right ‘bout now.”

He lifted his hand like he had touched a hot stove. “I guess that’s it then.”

“Guess so.”

He bit his lip. “You really aren’t afraid of much, are you?”

“No.”

“There’s gotta be something…” He leaned back. “I imagine if something happens to Daryl-”

She laughed.

“Don’t be fuckin’ dumb.” She smiled and met his eyes again. “Anything you do to my husband, I will return a hundred times over. If he even hints that someone shot him a dirty look, I will level whatever hole you call home. You can betcha ass on that.” She glanced at Daryl then back at Negan. “And lookit that, he’s lookin’ a little malnourished, a bit bruised up. You’ve already started the tab.”

“I like you even more when you speak.” Negan swallowed but forced a smile back on his face. “You sound real tough, babe, but with what weapons are you planning to carry out said return? I’m taking all of them.”

“Take ‘em. I don’t need ‘em.” She chuckled. “I ain’t worried.”

Negan breathed deep and tongued at his lip. “I almost believe you.”

“You should. It would be wise to do so.”

“Probably should take you with us then, if you’re a weapon.”

“Please do. I’ll get Daryl back quicker. Do most of the work for me.” She laughed meanly. “You won’t though. You take me with you and you dim assholes don’t make it back. I think you’re just smart enough to know that.”

“That so?” He swallowed and she laughed.

“Yeah, it is so. The only thing I haven’t decided is what t’do with your bodies when I’m done.” She shrugged, bright, cheery smile on her face. “I could leave your rotting corpses there to show the rest of your crew what happens when you fuck with me and mine. That way if anyone sacks up, tries to take over after you’re dead, they will know who’s comin’ for them. Or maybe let someone bury you so I have a grave to dance on. One way or another, I will obliterate any mention of you from this planet.” She turned away from him and thought better, turning back. “Oh, and you should know this,”

She pressed into his space, still speaking loud enough so his men, at least the ones who were close by could hear her. “You are fully outta your depth with me. You picked the wrong ginger, and I’m going make sure you know what a fantastic, fucked-up mistake you made. Whether, it’s me or someone else who takes the retribution outta your sorry hide, just know that I gleefully made it possible.”

He reached down and made a show of adjusting his belt. “Never popped a chubby being threatened. Toodaloo.”

“You think you bad, honey, but we both know the truth. You’re just a small time warlord, the dictator of the week, and my list of confirmed kills was filled with motherfuckers like you well before the turn. Your bravado, as practiced as it is, ain’t foolin’ anyone. Not us, not your boys.” He turned over his shoulder and met her eyes. She smiled viciously and watched Negan take the porch stairs in one long step. She wiggled her fingers in a parody of a wave. “Bye now.”

Rick shot her a look. Negan was shaken.

“So remember, take care of my man.” She glanced at Dwight. “And keep your bitch at home. I ever catch him out, I won’t hesitate.”

Dwight chewed at his lip.

She turned back to Daryl and stared down into his eyes as long as she could as Daryl walked back toward the trucks.

He seemed to shuffle, fumble a bit in the first couple steps, before regaining his footing and shooting her one last look.

Then she saw it. A small patch of white in the dark of the asphalt.

She waited until she was sure they were gone and vaulted over the bannister. In the road, folded into the tiniest little triangle, was a piece of paper.

She opened it with shaking hands.

Love ya, D.

She took up watch at the front tower for the rest of the night.

Eventually, Rick was able to convince her to go inside and Rosita picked the splinters from under her nails.

Mitzi sat her hands on the back of the dining room chair. Rick looked up at her and sighed, rubbing a hand over his face.

“I want to say, first and foremost, that I know that you are doing what you think is right.” Mitzi nodded. “I know that and I know this shit hit you as hard as it hit the rest of us.”

Rick nodded. “Okay, thank you.”

“And I’ve always trusted you and never felt that I had any reason not to.”

“Are you tellin’ me you are now?”

“No, I’m not saying that.” Mitzi moved to sit in the kitchen chair closest to him. “But we can’t, Rick. We can’t just let this happen.”

“Mitzi, he’s going to kill more of us.”

“Yes, he is. Regardless of what we do, whether we toe the line for the rest of our lives, whether we fight back or not, he will kill more of us. We need to prepare ourselves for that.”

Rick shook his head. “But I can make that happen faster by doing what I think you want me to.”

“I want you to lead us against him.”

“Thought so.” He sighed. “Death, Mitzi. That’s where I’d be leading us.”

Mitzi shook her head. “Rick, you and I, we knew people like this, you arrested them, I killed them. Abusive, narcissistic assholes who say whatever they need to maintain control. He is prepared to walk the walk, I’ll give him that but he is not all powerful and I won’t let him scare me into thinking he is.”

“He has Daryl, Mitzi. What you are thinking about doing could get him killed.”

She sucked in a breath. “I know it could.” She swallowed, eyes blinking away tears. “Could. I hope to god it doesn’t, but as long as it’s not a ‘will, I have hope.” She leaned in, holding his eyes. “The only thing I know for certain is that if we let this stand, more of us will die. He’ll feel slighted or disrespected or angry that one of his wives didn’t want fuck him, that Daryl won’t break, that I said something mean and hurt his feelings, that it rained on Sunday, and he will take it out on us. He’ll tell us that we can stop it, that we have choices, but we don’t.”

“We don’t know that.”

“No, what we know is that I gave him ample opportunity, ample reason to punish us- to punish me -and he didn’t. He didn’t do anything.”

Rick considered this for a short minute. “He’s afraid of you.” He nodded. “You shook him up and flouted his authority, he should’ve done something. Should’ve killed Daryl right there.”

“And he didn’t. He didn’t do anything when Carl shot at one of his men either.”

“Okay, that’s true. What do you think that means?”

Mitzi sighed. “It means that he isn’t who he said he is. And if we see that-“

“His men see it.” Rick sighed and nodded. “Okay, I see your point, but that’s a big if. That’s a gamble and I can’t, Mitzi. I can’t be responsible for more of my family dying.”

“That wasn’t your fault and it won’t be your fault if- when he kills more of us.” She smiled sadly. “I can’t make you feel less guilt but I will tell you what Maggie told me-“

“You went and saw Maggie?” Rick looked more anxious in a sudden rush. “What if someone followed you-“

“Who do you take me for, Richard Andrew?” She smiled crookedly. “You didn’t even know I was gone.”

“Fine.” Rick breathed out harshly, nodding. “What did Maggie say?”

“That Negan chose this. He did it. No matter what he says or who he blames, he chose this and he doesn’t get to escape accountability.”

Rick nodded vaguely. “Ok, but how? How do we do anything without putting us- our family -in danger?”

“We are already in danger, Rick. Right now, this very minute. There's not much we can do to not be in danger.”

“Fine. Say I take that as truth, what are we gonna do?”

She made a face and Rick groaned. “What did you do?”

“You’re gonna be pissed at me, but I took a detour down to the Sanctuary-“

“You what?”

She bit her lip. “I walked my happy ass down to the Sanctuary. I just wanted to get a lay of the land. No one saw me, I promise.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose. “How do you know that?”

“Because I stayed as far away as I could manage and still get a clear view. I used my scope-“

“The scope on the rifle you lost.”

“Rick, you knew that I didn’t lose it when you vouched for me in front of Negan. You also knew that I wasn’t going to let him take it.” Mitzi picked at her fingers. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, but I wasn’t going to let them have it. We’re gonna need it.”

Rick sighed and reached out to squeeze her knee. “I know, Mitz. Where is it?”

“I’m not going to tell you that way you don’t have to worry about lying for me anymore than you already have.” She smiled and they were silent for a few moments. “I saw Daryl.”

Rick looked up at her. “Yeah?”

She nodded, sucking in a shaky breath. “He didn’t see me, but he was out in this courtyard area where Negan keeps walkers.”

“Was he okay?”

“He was…” she smiled. “He was casing the joint and not being very subtle about it. They haven’t broken him.”

“Good.” He laughed. “We’re gonna get him back.” He squeezed her knee again. “Don’t know how yet, but we will.”

She nodded. “That’s partially why I was there. I’m going to start making plans. I won’t tell you about them so they don’t make interacting with that asshole anymore difficult, but I can’t sit around here doin’ nothin’.”

“Stop.”

Mitzi snorted, eyebrow arched into her hairline, and moved to pass the woman standing guard in front of the house.

“I said stop!” The woman snarled and reached for Mitzi’s arm.

“I don’t care.” Mitzi stepped out of her reach. “This is my house.”

“Stop before I stop you.”

Mitzi laughed in a crack. “You and what army, kid?”

The woman took a step up the stairs, going nose-to-nose with Mitzi. Mitzi laughed and stepped closer in.

“G’on, do it.” Mitzi grinned. “You’re tough, but you ain’t never tangled with someone like me. I guaran-fuckin’-tee it.”

“How much you wanna bet?”

Mitzi leaned in closer, laughing when the other woman pulled back, clearly used to being intimidating via reputation alone. Not used to people who advanced instead of holding ground.

Mitzi stepped in closer. “You see that? I don’t bet on sure things.”

“Arat, let her pass.” Negan sounded disappointed and she smiled cruelly when a shadow of doubt crossed Arat’s face.

“Yeah, Arat, let me do the thing I was gonna do anyway.”

Arat snarled and made to get in Mitzi’s face again.

“Arat.”

Mitzi blew her a kiss and took the stairs two at a time. She disregarded Negan and plucked Judith out of his arms.

Negan frowned. “You think I would harm one pretty-” He reached up to tweak one of Judith’s blonde waves.

Mitzi moved out of his way and adjusted her hold on the toddler who was now blithely muttering ‘MiMi’ against her shoulder. “I think you killed someone in front of his obviously ill wife. I also think you made a big show of a man cutting off his son’s hand only to tell him to stop when you got your reaction.” She looked down her nose at him. “So yeah, I do.”

He shrugged. “Fair enough.” He grinned. “Say, you look real good with that baby on your hip.”

Mitzi groaned and moved to take the empty rocking chair, not comfortable leaving Carl out here with Negan alone. She caught Olivia’s anxious eyes from the otherside of the door and tried to reassure her with a small smile.

“It’s okay.” Negan licked at the corner of his lip. “I’ll wait. I wager another couple of months without your dear husband may change your tune.”

Carl snorted. “I wouldn’t count on it.”

Negan turned his asshole smile on Carl. “You’ll get it when you’re older.”

“He gets it fine. He just knows me and my husband better than you do.”

“Lifers, huh?” He looked mildly contemplative but she saw a flash of tension in his face. “Noone can stay loyal forever.”

“Is that why you have so many wives?”

“Yeah!” He chuckled at Carl, covering yet more tension. “One of the reasons.”

Mitzi hummed, letting Judith play with her fingers idly. “You drove out here just to shoot the breeze? Just out here talking about your wives with a teenager?”

Negan grinned. “No, I’m returning him to you. Y’see he took it upon his own self to visit me at home.”

“Jesus Christ, Carl.” Mitzi tried to keep her voice low and even for Judith’s sake. “You did what?”

“Oh, you’re gonna love it when I tell you what he did during the visit.”

Carl shrugged, clearly unapologetic.

“He gunned down two of my men.” Negan looked gleeful, as if he was looking forward to her reaction.

Instead, Mitzi turned her eyes on him, assessing. She kept quiet and watched with interest as Negan grew visibly uncomfortable.

“Huh.”

“Huh, what?”

She shrugged.

“I said no.”

Negan cast her one last look before he turned away, grabbing his bat from the chair he had left it propped up against, and watched Arat interacting with Spencer. “Don’t be an asshole, Arat. Let the man pass.” Spencer climbed the stairs looking like he stepped out of a Lacoste ad, holding a bottle of liquor. “Oh, crap. Is that for me?”

Spencer put on his best prep school smile. “We haven’t officially met. I’m Spencer Monroe. Hi.”

“You gotta be fuckin’ kiddin’ me.” Mitzi threw her head back and laughed.

Negan tutted, amused. “Don’t be rude, Mitzi.”

She snorted and turned to Judith, making a face. The toddler squealed with laughter and patted at Mitzi’s cheeks.

Carl stood, walking over to her and Judith as Spencer settled in his vacated seat and suggested pulling out the pool table across the street.

They started discussing the various amenities Alexandria had and Mitzi made a retching sound when Spencer cheered Negan’s proposed “vacation home”.

Spencer glared at her and she flipped him the bird behind Judith’s head. “Just make sure you use protection, Spence. Wrap it before he taps it. Look at that man. A true hero. Taking one for the team in fuckin’ khakis of all things.”

“Mitzi.” Carl shot a pointed look at Judith.

“Sorry kiddo.”

“You were right.”

She hummed and knocked elbows with Rick. “Rosa was right. Sasha and Maggie were right.” She shrugged. “I had to be woken up just like you.”

Rick sighed. “Still didn’t take you as long.”

Mitzi chuckled. “Let’s chock that up to the differences in our general temperaments.”

Rick snorted and looked up to address the person at the gate and stop, eyes watering.

She followed his line of sight and smiled up at Maggie.

Rick was the first to pull Maggie into a hug, the tension leaking out of the group like water. Mitzi smiled, feeling some of the same relief but knowing that she wouldn’t feel better until Daryl was in front of her.

She waited her turn and squeezed Maggie in a tight hug. Maggie smiled and opened her mouth to say something as Mitzi’s gaze drifted over her shoulder.

She froze and sucked in a breath. Daryl caught her eyes from across the grass. Mitzi felt immediate tears in her eyes, her knees quaking, her breath stuttering in her lungs. “F-fuck!”

Maggie grinned. “Yeah.”

She stumbled past Maggie, who was also crying. Rick laughed, his eyes red and glassy, as she passed him up at a full speed sprint.

She hit Daryl like a freight train, wrapping herself completely around him and fisting her hands in his shirt. “Fuck!”

“Hey, baby.”

She chuckled wetly.

Daryl reached up, cradling her head, whispering. No one mentioned quite how long it took for her to pull away from his chest.

She discreetly wiped at her eyes and stood on her tiptoes to press her forehead against his. “Say it to m’fuckin face.”

He smiled softly against her lips. “Fuckin’ love ya, Spitfire.”

“I fuckin’ love you, too, D.”

He kissed her full on the mouth. She gasped and arched into him, so overwhelmed that it didn’t even register that they were surrounded by a small group of people until Jesus politely cleared his throat.

She pressed a second more chaste kiss to his mouth and smiled. Her hands shook as she anxiously checked him for injuries. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

Daryl swallowed, nodding as he wiped at her eyes. “M’fine, Spitfire.”

Mitzi rolled her eyes as Gregory continued with the theatrics. Daryl looked about ready to march across the room and shut him up himself.

She considered it but considered staying pressed shoulder to hip to Daryl’s side much more important than a braggart with little to be desired.

Even his taste in interior decorating was shoddy.

“And by the way, who would train all this cannon fodder?”

The answer was resounding, down to Jesus. “Mitzi!”

“Mitzi? Who’s Mitzi?”

Mitzi shook her head. “I am, prick.”

Gregory looked less than impressed. “It doesn’t matter, it was rhetorical~” he singsonged.”I don’t want to know. I don’t want to hear another word about any of it, ever.”

Rick huffed, agitated. “Would we be better off without the Saviors, yes or no?”

Gregory rolled his eyes. “Yeah. Sure. Okay.”

Michonne tagged out Rick, fighting to maintain her characteristic composure. “What are you going to do to fix the problem?”

“I didn’t say we had a problem.” He dismissed her. “You did. And what happens outside of my purview, is outside of my purview.”

Daryl pushed off the wall. “What the hell, man? You’re either with us or you ain’t. You sittin’ here talkin’ outta both sides of your mouth.”

Gregory stood, straightening his shirt sleeves. “I-I think I’ve made my position very clear.”

“What you’ve made clear is how utterly useless you are.” Mitzi wiped her hands over her face, short temper even more frayed.

“I’m sorry, what was your name again?”

Mitzi laughed. “It doesn’t matter what my name is, you won’t be around much longer to remember it at this rate.”

He made a face, comically aghast. “Are you threatening me?”

“Nah, you ain’t worth the energy it would take to do that, fool.”

He rolled his shoulder more agitated than he was willing to admit. “This is who you want to train my sorghum farmers? This foul-mouthed plouc?”

Mitzi laughed. “You don’t even got the balls to insult me in English.” She nodded at Rick. “Why did we think he’d sack up and do something for his people again?”

Rick sighed, but seemed to think Gregory might deserve what was coming to him, or that it wouldn’t make it worse at any rate. Still he tried. “You should watch how you talk to her. Mitzi has been exceptionally on edge this past week.”

“Well, if she would just behave herself, we could maybe discuss this.” Gregory made a face. “Oh, wait. No. No we can’t, whore’s mouth or no. I’ve made my decision.”

Rick shot a look at Mitzi and shrugged.

Mitzi was on him in a second. She hooked her foot around his ankle and caught him by his shirt collar before he fell backwards.

“I could kill you in a dozen different ways and you, being weak and useless, would be unable to do anything to stop me. So, yeah,” She let him go and he fell backwards into his chair. “I can train your sorghum farmers. I just need you outta my fuckin’ way.”

Gregory blushed and stood. “I would like to thank you all for not being here today and not having this meeting with me… or being seen on your way out.”

“Holy shit.” Mitzi breathed. “What the fuck?’

Daryl chuckled, sitting on the edge of the bed they had been given for the night. “He thinks he’s a king.”

“D, he has a fuckin’ tiger.” She laughed. “What the fuck is going on? Do y’think someone dosed us or something?”

She wandered closer to him and he reached out to pull her between his legs. He pressed his forehead to her sternum and sighed. “Missed ya, Spitfire.”

She ran her fingers through his hair and pressed a kiss to his head. “Missed you back, baby. So damn much.”

He pulled her into him, wrapping his arms around her. She moved to straddle his lap, kneeling on the bed. “As cheesy as it is.” She swallowed. “I thought I lost you.”

He hummed, lifting his head to press a kiss to her lips.

“I thought I’d never see you again and I knew it would be my fault.” She cradled his jaw and blinked away tears. “I couldn’t sleep while you were there, D. I kept thinking about what they could be doing to you and-” She spluttered to a stop, eyes squeezing shut to staunch tears.

“Hey…” He pushed her hair outta her face and tutted.

“And I just keep remembering that I could’ve kept this shit from happening-”

He sighed and pressed another kiss to her mouth. “Baby, none a’this is your fault.”

Shaking her head, she stepped away from him. “Everyone keeps saying that, as if they weren’t there when I pushed for taking the outpost, when I planned it and led it.” She shrugged. “I did that. Glenn and Abraham are on me. I’m the reason he took you, D.”

He huffed. “Nah, baby, I got Glenn killed and I got me taken. After Abraham, he kept fuckin’ with you and I knew you were gonna react and I couldn’t let that happen.”

She sighed heavily in frustration. “Daryl.”

“Baby, I wasn’t gonna let you die there.”

“Even if it meant that you would die?” She swallowed. “‘Cause as odd as it is, we got lucky that he took you.”

He chuckled. “Are y’surprised? Y’know I would take a bullet for y’baby. That I wouldn’t let my wife die out there.”

She rubbed a hand over her face. "It woulda served me right. Only I get to escape the consequences of my colossal fuckups.”

“Mitzi.” He caught her hand, drawing her back to him. “Y’were right, baby. Y’were.” She dodged his eyes and he lifted his hand to wipe at her eyes. “You knew that this would start somethin’ and it did, but y’were also right that it was the only play.”

“But y’could have died.” She wiped at her face. “You got tortured and you coulda died-”

He caught her eyes. “Baby, I coulda died any of the million times you gotta buzz in your fool head and popped off at some crazy asshole. None of that changes that you are right. You were right to pop off at the crazy asshole and you were right about that outpost and y’re right now. I will always follow your lead, baby. As hotheaded as you are, I trust you with my life. I always have.”

She breathed out harshly. “I’m gonna bring him down. I told Maggie I would kill him, but I’m gonna make it possible for one of y’all to kill him.”

He nodded, hands on her hips. “Glenn ain’t your fault either, Spitfire.”

“Ain’t yours either.”

He shrugged. She smiled and set her hands on his shoulders, climbing into his lap. “Look at us, Guilty and Guilty-ier. Guess I shouldn’t look the gift-horse in the mouth.”

“Don’t give a fuck about no horse.” He pressed a kiss to her mouth and coaxed her mouth open with his. “I just wanna sleep next to m’wife tonight.”

She breathed deep and smiled at him. She leaned into him, pressing her forehead to his. “I love you.”

“Love you too.”

Part 9

#daryl dixon #twd daryl #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon x oc #daryl dixon smut #the walking dead #the walking dead daryl #daryl fanfiction

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rfsak2 · 8 months

Text

when people are like “oh so you’re just gonna judge someone for their political beliefs?” yes actually. I think someone’s values and opinions is a pretty reasonable thing to judge them for.

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rfsak2 · 8 months

Text

This is the promised sneak peak for next chapter.

I’m super excited! Mitzi is not one to be fucked with and Negan just fucked with her favorite people in a colossal way.

Slight spoilers under the cut.

Spitfire Masterlist

“Probably should take you with us then, if you’re a weapon.”

“That so?” He swallowed and she laughed.

“Yeah it is so. The only thing I haven’t decided is what t’do with your bodies when I’m done.” She shrugged, bright, cheery smile on her face. “I could leave your rotting corpses there to show the rest of your crew what happens when you fuck with me and mine. That way if anyone sacks up, tries to take over after your dead, they will know who’s comin’ for them. Or maybe let someone bury you so I have a grave to dance on. One way or another, I will obliterate any mention of you from this planet.” She turned away from him and thought better, turning back. “Oh, and you should know this,”

He reached down and made a show of adjusting his belt. “Never popped a chubby being threatened. Toodaloo.”

“You think you bad, honey, but we both know the truth. You’re just a small time warlord, the dictator of the week, and my list confirmed kills was filled with motherfuckers like you well before the turn. Your bravado, as practiced as it is, ain’t foolin’ anyone. Not us, not your boys.” He turned over his shoulder and met her eyes. She smiled viciously and watched Negan take the porch stairs in one long step. She wiggled her fingers in a parody of a wave. “Bye now.”

Rick shot her a look. Negan was shaken.

“So remember, take care of my man.” She glanced at Dwight. “And keep your bitch at home. I ever catch him out, I won’t hesitate.”

#daryl dixon #daryl dixon fanfiction #twd daryl #daryl dixon x oc #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon smut #the walking dead #the walking dead daryl #daryl fanfiction #sneak peek

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rfsak2 · 8 months

Text

Spitfire, Pt. 7

This chapter was difficult to write, but I already have parts of the next chapter written so I’m excited. I’m also planning to post a little sneak peak of the next chapter.

Drop me a line and like if you’re interested!

Spitfire, Pt. 7

Everyone always thought Daryl was the rough one. DarylxOC

Warnings: violence, emotions, injuries, smut under the cut, lots of bad language words, Negan

Part 6

“What do you think, Mitz?”

“Nothin’ good.” She held her rifle scope up to her eye and sighed. “Gotta be 300-plus.”

Rick nodded. “At least.”

She examined the east-bound exit of the quarry through her scope. “That isn’t gonna last much longer.” She passed over the scope to Rick, who in turn passed it to Daryl.

Glenn sighed, squatting next to her. “I found the plans in the office. It’s a limestone quarry.”

“Limestone?”

“So it’s washin’ away more n’more with every storm.” Daryl passed the scope back to Mitzi.

“Jesus Christ.” Mitzi glanced up at Daryl. “Y’think we can get closer? Just to check.”

Daryl nodded. “If we’re quiet.”

They walked through the woods bordering the quarry and worked quietly, slowly through the maze of cars left by quarry workers before the Turn.

Mitzi walked around the improvised semi-truck barricade. Daryl stepped up onto the cab to look through the window. “No keys.”

Mitzi picked something up from a tire and jingled it in his direction. “They’re here.” She set them back down. “Musta done this early on.”

Rick squatted to look under the truck. “Yeah. I don’t think it was the quarry workers either. They would’ve chosen a more stable area.”

A walker slipped around the side of one of the rigs and Daryl stuck his knife in its temple.

She stood on the edge of the bluff and looked down at the barricade in the bottom of the quarry. She squatted, holding her scope up. “The barricade down there is more stable, looks like. We’ll have to get closer to check. But I can see a couple sizable gaps. I’ll bet it’s leaking walkers like a mother fucker.”

Rick nodded, arms crossed over his chest. “So walkers are slipping out at that exit and the other exit is going to slip off the rapidly eroding cliff face.” He wiped his hand over his face and hissed when he accidentally tugged at one of his Steri-strips.

Mitzi chuckled. “You good, boss?”

“I forgot I had them.”

She stood and backed up from the edge. “Don’t know how. You’re more bandage than face right now.”

Glenn snickered. “What’s worse is that he was a doctor. Not exactly a prize fighter.”

“That’s true.” Daryl bit his lip. “Ain’t no reason to be that beat up.”

“Don’t do that…” Rick frowned. “He was a big guy.”

“Ooh…” Mitzi wiggled her fingers. “A big doctor.”

Daryl shrugged. “He was big but he was soft. Coulda taken him.”

Glenn nodded. “Oh, easily.”

“Wouldn’t even take me that long.” Mitzi grinned.

“Screw all three of y’all.” Rick pointed at the quarry and scoffed. “Why don’t you figure this shit out instead of takin’ the piss outta me?”

“Yes, sir!” She saluted. “Glenn, can you pass me those plans?”

Glenn spread the rolled stack of papers out on the ground and put a rock in the corners to secure them. Mitzi pulled out a folded up map of the area and spread it out above, securing it the same way.

“So this exit,” Glenn pointed out east then back at the map. “This exit goes east on Redding to Alexandria. This south exit would be safer. We wouldn't have to redirect them. Just march ‘em down Marshall Road.”

“Until we start rilin’ them up.” Daryl squatted next to her. “Then they just start pushin’ against the trucks, push ‘em outta the way.”

Rick nodded. “We want a trickle, not a flood.”

Mitzi examined the bottom exit through her scope and sighed. “I doubt there's a way to move those trucks quietly.”

Glenn nodded. “How do we redirect them safely, though? Keep them from marching right down to Alexandria?”

Rick frowned. “Do you think that we can just lead them?”

“Lead them how?” Glenn glanced up at Rick.

“With sound, maybe?”

Mitzi shook her head. “I was hoping for that but honestly, there’s too many of them and the sound wouldn’t be concentrated enough.”

Daryl nodded. “We wouldn’t be able t’just set speakers up n’run. We’d have to stay ahead of them and still risk the ones in the back gettin’ distracted and wanderin’ off.”

“Let’s just do that then?” Glenn pointed at the map. “Let’s just get people to lead them. Drive a car ahead of them.”

Mitzi shook her head. “It’s the same problem though. The one’s in the back will wander off.”

Rick nodded. “We can keep ‘em in line using sound. Any of them start wandering, we fire a shot or two, pull ‘em back.”

Daryl squinted at the map. “I can use the bike, it’s louder.”

Rick started nodding even as she was getting ready to protest. “That’s a good-”

“No, it isn’t.” Mitzi stared at Rick as if he had two heads. “If somethin’ happens, there’s nothin’ to protect you, baby. At least with a car, we can close the doors if somethin’ happens and we get surrounded.”

“Can’t surround me if they can’t catch me.” Daryl looked offended at the very suggestion.

“Oh, so we just plan for the scenario we want now? No contingency-”

“This is something y’all can discuss at home, not here with over 300 of your nearest and deadest.” Glenn whisper-shouted. “Focus, please.”

Mitzi frowned. “Don’t know when you got so fuckin’ bossy, little brother.”

“Mildred Elizabeth.”

“Fuckin’ fine.” She huffed and Daryl reached over to squeeze her shoulder.

“It’ll be alright, Spitfire.”

“Y’better fuckin’ hope so. I won’t forgive you if you die. Dickhead.”

He chuckled and pressed a kiss to the side of her head.

“Now what I’m proposing, I know it sounds risky, but walkers are already slipping through the exits. One of the trucks keeping walkers in could go off the edge any day now. Maybe after one more hard rain.” Rick paused. “That exit sends them east. All of them. Right at us. This isn’t about if it gives, it’s when. It’s gonna happen. That’s why we have t’do it soon.”

One of the Alexandrians shifted nervously. “Isn’t that why we have walls? Can’t we just wait it out?”

“A herd like that will flatten those walls.” Mitzi spoke up, sitting in the windowsill by Daryl. “Walkers don’t feel pain. They will just push up against the walls until their combined weight pushes the wall over. Regardless, we will need to be out there redirectin’ them with sound. It’s best t��do as far out as we can so they don’t get anywhere near us.”

Carol nodded, still play-acting, eyes big and vulnerable. “This is- I don’t even have another word for it. This is terrifying. All of it. But it doesn’t sound like there’s any other way.”

Carter frowned. “Maybe there is. I mean couldn’t we just build up the weak spots? I could draw up plans. I worked on the wall with Reg.” He cast an anxious look around. “Construction crew, we can try to make it safe.”

“There are no strong spots.” Mitzi sucked on her tongue. “The exits were not strategically placed to begin with. The limestone was bound to wash away at some point and that point is now. One of those rigs is maybe half a foot from going over. Buildin’ it up might make it stable for a bit but it’s bound to fail at some point.”

“But if it buys us more time?”

“More time to do what? Sit around with our thumbs up our asses, hopin’ and prayin’ that the truck is still up and there aren’t 300 rottin’, walkin’ corpses headin’ our way?” Mitzi chuckled. “This world is not a wait n’see kinda world anymore. It’s move n’decide. We can’t leave this to be future-us’ problem.”

Rick nodded. “Even if it worked, the sound of those walkers is drawing more and more everyday. Building up the exits won’t change that.”

“Make it worse in the long run.”

“We’re gonna do what Rick and Mitzi say.” Everyone turned to where Deanna was looking out the window. “The plan they’ve laid out.”

Rick nodded. “I told you all, we’re gonna have Daryl leading them away.”

Sasha nodded and caught her eye, then nodded at Daryl. “Me too. I’ll take a car ride next to him. Can’t just be him. I’ll keep ‘em coming, Daryl keeps ‘em from getting sloppy.”

Mitzi smiled at Sasha. “Thanks, Sash.”

Abraham nodded in front of her. “I’ll go with her. That’s a long way to white-knuckle it solo.”

“We’ll have two teams. One on each side of the forest, helping to manage this thing. We’re gonna find a way to get Mitzi up above the treeline, so she can catch any walkers that get too far outta line. She’ll also man the radio keeping everyone on the same page.”

Tobin nodded. “There’s an old 50-foot bucket truck we can use. I think it’s still at the construction site.”

Carter frowned. “Why does she get to be up there?’

Mitzi snorted. “Get? Ima ‘bouta be 50 feet in the air in a bucket. One that likely makes a shit-ton of noise on the way up and down. You’re welcome to it if y’got the stones.”

Carter clenched his jaw and dismissed her with a flippant hand gesture.

Daryl sucked on his tongue loudly. “She’s made killshots at 3400 yards. Y’ever do that?” Carter colored and Daryl made a face, one hand landing on her thigh. “There y’go.”

“Daryl’s right.” Rick shot them a look. “Mitzi is a sniper. She’s the only one I’d trust to not accidentally hit one of us by accident.”

She grinned at Daryl and mouthed, ‘down boy.�� He rolled his eyes and squeezed her thigh.

“We’re gonna have a few people on watch from now on. Rosita, Spencer and Holly. So they’re out.” He paused. “So who’s in?”

They were a handful of hesitant affirmative replies, Michonne, Glenn, even Gabriel attempted to volunteer only to be shot down by Rick.

“No. Who else? We need more.”

“There’s gotta be another play.” Carter stuttered out. “We can’t just control that many.”

Rick sighed. “I said it before, walkers herd up. They’ll follow a path if something’s drawing them. That’s how we can get ‘em all at once.”

“So what? We’re just supposed to take your word for it? We’re all supposed to just fall in line behind you after-”

There was a lengthy pause and Rick stepped forward. “After what?”

Carter swallowed. “After you wave a gun around, screaming, pointing it at people. After you shoot a man in the face. After you-”

Deanna whirled around. “Enough!”

“Mitzi! What’s happening?”

“Dunno.” She turned and looked and set her rifle on the railing of the bucket. Looking through her scope, she lifted the radio and cussed vilely. “Alexandria’s under attack.”

“By who?”

“How the fuck should I know? I’m in a bucket 50 feet off the ground, two miles away.” She looked over the railing at the ground. “And I can’t get down.”

“Why? Are ya pinned down?” Daryl sounded anxious.

“I’m not exactly pinned down but if I start the lift, there’s a good chance it draws anyone undead in my immediate vicinity. It’s a loud sumabitch. Fuckin’ goddamn it! We shoulda built a blind instead.”

“It’s okay.” Rick’s voice soothed over the radio. “You were right that it probably wasn’t going to be tall enough. You do what you can.”

“Like fuckin’ watch? ‘Cause that’s all I can do right now.”

“You are Captain Mildred E. Dixon.” Abraham’s voice crackled over the radio. “You can do a damn sight more up there than most people can do on their own two feet. Light ‘em up!”

“I agree.” Rick sounded more amused than he had a right to. “Assist how you can and get down when you can.”

She breathed deep. “Right. Guess I’m breaking that record after all.”

“I can turn around? If ya need help down.”

She smiled despite herself. “Nah, I’m good, baby. Y'all come back and get me when you’re done.”

“Y’sure?”

“Daryl, stay focused.”

“I’m fine, D. Promise. Upside, nothin’ can get me up here.” She chuckled. “Y’all just don’t forget me. We didn’t have time to set a car out here for me. If things get dicier, I’m hoofin’ it back”

“I don’t like this, Spitfire.”

“It’ll be okay. Love ya.”

“You too. Stay safe, baby.”

She adjusted in the bin, putting her back against one side of the bucket and leveling her rifle with the other. “I’m gonna go quiet for a bit, y’all. Don’t be surprised if ya don’t hear from me.”

She set the radio down and braced her rifle against her shoulder. She looked through her scope and focused on the main gate. It was open which meant that she had more of a line of sight than she had honestly been expecting.

She breathed deep, aimed at the forehead of someone she did not know. She paused, seeing the W carved there and cursed. She grabbed her radio.

“It’s those assholes with the W’s!” She threw the walkie back down, ignoring the responses.

She breathed deep, focusing on the W. She fired. The man crumbled to the pavement.

She breathed out and ejected the shell, slid the bolt home.

Breathe in.

A walker this time.

Breathe out.

Fire.

Bolt.

She continued in that pattern for longer than she could keep track of. Someone turned, she saw the W.

Breathe in.

Aim.

Breathe out.

Fire.

Bolt.

She saw a fuel tanker come barrelling down the road and cursed. Her body felt heavy and hot but she dragged her rifle back up and aimed at the driver’s side of the windshield.

She sighed and reached for her radio.

“Hey, baby.” She chuckled as Daryl slammed on the brakes.

“Spitfire?”

“Can ya get me down?” She looked down at the area around the truck. “I keep easin’ down, but every time I run it for longer than five minutes my friends come back. Ain’t gonna lie, feel a bit like a rockstar up here. I got groupies for days.”

“How many groupies do you have?” Abraham drawled.

“‘Bout twenty-thirty?”

“Not much of a fan club.”

“Fuck you, Abraham Ford.” She chuckled. “They wander off and then come back, sometimes with more. It’s hard to track.”

“A’ight.” Through her scope she saw Daryl toss the radio over to Sasha and throw the truck in reverse. “Start the lift again. We’ll be there in a couple minutes.”

“Will do.” She breathed deep and reached for the control panel. Hoisting herself up, she started up the back-up power and started the lift. She counted the walkers as they meandered over to the truck. “Heads up, my fan club is in session and currently numbers around twenty-five-ish.”

Sasha’s voice came over the radio next, the tanker turning down the gravel road Mitzi was suspended over.. “You been up there this whole time?”

She laughed, her voice hoarse. “Yeah.”

“Jesus Christ. Mitz, you shoulda tried to get down earlier.”

“Have been tryin’.” She paused, briefly nauseous, her head spinning. “That’s the other thing, though. I managed to ration my water ‘til ‘bout four-five hours ago but I’m fuckin’ starvin’, still probably dehydrated, and I’m pretty sure I have sun poisoning or whatever. Wasn’t too keen on gettin’ down when I hadn’t quite figured out how I was gonna get home.”

“How about the truck you’re in?” Daryl suggested. “What kinda shape is it in?”

“I’ve been drainin’ the battery for sure, so that’s a problem, but not the only problem. The walkers crowd on all sides so I can’t clear it fast enough to jump down and get in the truck. Not as sluggish as I feel.”

There was some rustling over the radio and Sasha came back on the radio. “What about Rick?”

“Oh, that plan got fucked to hell. He, somehow, I dunno, was walking ahead of a couple hundred walkers. I imagine he had a similar kinda day to me. He’s checked in with me since getting home, but they’re pinned down. Can’t get out to come get me.” She waved weakly at them when they stepped out of their truck. “Hey, guys.”

They held the walkers at bay as she lowered the bucket down all the way. When it was flush to the truck, Daryl helped her climb out, steadying her as her knees wobbled under her.

He clenched his jaw and handed her down to Abraham as Sasha kept their way back to the truck clear.

Settled, rather tightly between Sasha and Daryl, Mitzi leaned over and jacked up the AC, accepting the bottle of water Abraham passed her.

“You have the worst sunburn I’ve ever seen.” Sasha pressed gently at Mitzi’s forehead. “You’re definitely dehydrated. I think I have an old candy bar or something.” She rifled through her pack, passing her an old snickers bar. “You’re gonna freckle like a bitch.”

Mitzi chuckled, her voice still raspy despite the water she had drank. She leaned heavily on Daryl, who was struggling to split his attention between driving and tsking at her as he anxiously assessed her condition, and opened her snickers.

Abraham, hilariously shoved up against the passenger window, hummed. “Why didn’t you shoot your way out?”

Mitzi reached down and opened her pack, tossing him three empty magazines. “We’re lucky the soldier in me thought to grab those. I was only bringing my rifle to line the bucket up correctly with the parade route. Wasn’t expecting to stay up there.”

Abraham glanced back at her. “You used all of these on the pricks that attacked home?”

She shook her head. “There weren’t quite that many of them. I took down maybe ten?” She shrugged. “I used the rest to take down the walkers that followed Rick home. They gotta be stacked ten deep around the walls by now.”

Daryl huffed. “Fuck.”

“Yep.” She looked over at Abraham. “Where the fuck did you find dress blues that fit your brick shit house ass? And why are you wearing them?”

“I want to be in here with him.”

Daryl started shaking his head before Denise could speak. “Spitfire, you need to lay down. There’s not another bed in here.”

Mitzi frowned. “Don’t wanna lay down. I’ll sit down, but I wanna be in here with Carl.”

Denise nodded. “I have an armchair that should be low enough to keep fluids flowing.” She glanced at Daryl. “Will that be okay?”

Daryl sighed. “Will it work just as good as if she was lying down?”

“Laying down would be better, for sure,” She paused and glanced down at Mitzi, a little pointed. “But I’d rather have her sitting and resting than having to force her to stay in bed.”

Mitzi looked up at Daryl.

Daryl nodded. “A’ight. Where’s the chair?”

He brought the chair in and set his hands on her shoulders, gently guiding her down. “You ain’t gonna leave this chair, Mitz, y’hear?”

“I won’t, promise.”

He pressed a kiss to her head, trying to avoid her sunburns. “Rosita’s gonna stitch me up, I’ll be back.” “Okay, baby.” She turned to watch him leave, chuckling when she realized he had set the chair at an angle that he could watch her as Rosita worked on him. Catching his eyes, she smiled and felt her body melt into the chair.

Denise buzzed around her, bringing over a broom turned into a makeshift IV pole and an IV bag of saline. Wrapping a tourniquet around her bicep, Denise started to palpitate at Mitzi’s elbow.

She tsked, tapping at a vein.

Mitzi looked down at her. “What?”

“I don’t know if it’s the dehydration or the tattoos, probably both, but your veins are impossible.” She released the tourniquet and moved to tie it around Mitzi’s wrist. She tapped at the prominent vein at the back of Mitzi’s hand and nodded, rubbing an alcohol wipe over the area quickly. “Quick pinch.”

Mitzi didn’t react, eyes on Carl. “Is he gonna be okay?”

Denise smiled and hooked up the IV. “I think so. His vital signs are more stable.”

Mitzi breathed deep and smiled up at her. “Thank you.”

Denise nodded. “Let’s look at your face.”

A few minutes later, creams applied and stitches tied, Daryl came and sat on the floor next to her. “He’ll be alright.”

She nodded and scratched over his scalp with her free hand.

Daryl looked back at her. “He’s tough.”

She smiled. “He is. Just like his daddy.”

Rick breathed heavily, looking up at them for the first time. “I think he’s tough like his auntie. You taught him most everything he knows on that front.” He smiled, exhausted and drawn.

“I did, didn’t I?” She chuckled before shrugging. “I mean… I taught him a lot but not nearly everything.”

“You did.” He sighed. “Thanks for that, by the way. For treating him like your own blood. Helping me help him make it. Giving him a chance to grow up.”

She waved him off. “We ain’t gonna talk like that today, Richard. Carl is gonna live and keep growing up. No more morose shit.”

He smiled and nodded. “Sorry for leavin’ ya up there, Mitz.”

She shrugged. “Honestly, better than the alternative.”

Leaning over, she reached for Carl’s hand and squeezed it gently.

“Mitz!”

“In here, babe.”

Daryl leaned against the doorsill. “Almost done?”

Mitzi smiled and batted her eyes at him. “Why? You walkin’ me home, stud?”

He rolled his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest. “No. Gonna walk y’somewhere else.”

She arched an eyebrow and looked down at the pistol she was reassembling. “Ooh… color me intrigued. Where are we going?”

He shrugged. “Guess you’ll hafta finish up to find out.”

She shot him a comically suspicious look and set to cleaning up her work space, putting tools, solvents and now-clean rifles and pistols away. Wiping her hands on a clean rag, she moved to lean up against him and pressed a chaste kiss to his mouth.

“That all y’got?”

She smiled. “Olivia’s somewhere ‘round here. I already make her anxious, don’t need to add to it.”

“She likes ya better than ya think.” He pressed a kiss to her head. “Two of ya are just different. I don’t think she knows what t’say to ya.”

She shrugged. “Regardless, I don’t try to stress her out. Let her have her peace. She’s a nice woman.” She motioned to the door and turned to lock the armory behind her. “Lead on, Dixon.”

“A’ight.” He held the door for her and smiled softly down at her. “Missus.”

She smiled up at him and nodded at Jeannie, an Alexandrian she had recently been training on the rifle.

The woman smiled brightly at Mitzi and nodded back. “Hot date?”

Mitzi chuckled and looked up at Daryl. “Always.”

Daryl grumbled under his breath and made for the main gate. “C’mon.”

She chuckled and lengthened her stride to make up the distance between them. She hooked her hand in his elbow and stretched up to land a kiss to his cheek. “Love you.”

He hummed and smirked when, affronted, she pinched his side. He let them out of the main gate and into the forest. They walked in relative silence for ten minutes, Daryl picking his way through the tangled underbrush as Mitzi followed behind.

He slowed their pace as they entered a small clearing, full of wildflowers. She smiled and looked up at him. “This really is a hot date, huh?”

Daryl blushed and grabbed her hand, leading her further into the clearing. After making sure the area was clear, Daryl spread out a blanket he had stashed out here and they settled back against a fallen log.

She leaned against his shoulder and soaked up the peace and quiet.

After a while, Daryl dug something out of his pocket and passed it to her. She straightened and smiled. Pinched between his fingers was a wedding band set, a silver ring with a diamond and a matching silver band.

Taking it from him, she pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Daryl, we been married.”

He nodded. “Know that.” He shrugged and held up his left hand. On his fourth finger, sat a silver band. “I’ve been lookin’ ever since the prison, but most of the jewelry shops down in Georgia had been looted. Found one with Rick when we were out yesterday.”

She smiled and slipped the ring on her left ring finger. “There.”

“Looks good on ya.”

She leaned up and caught his mouth in a kiss, fisting her hand in his shirt as he deepened the kiss.

Pulling away, she smiled. “Should take this home, yeah?”

They made it home in record time, what had been a fifteen-minute journey, ending in their bedoom barely eight minutes later.

She pulled her shirt off over her head and framed Daryl’s face in her hands, drawing him down into a kiss. He slid his vest off, throwing it over a nearby chair and reaching back to pull his button up over his head without unbuttoning it.

Attaching her lips to his clavicle, she moaned, stepping in to press as close to him as possible. She moved to mouth at his jaw. “I love you, Daryl Dixon.”

He caught her lips and backed her toward the bed, tongue slipping into her mouth. Opening her jeans, he slid his hands down the back of her pants, palming her ass. “I love you, too, Mitzi Dixon.” He hummed and kissed her again, biting gently at her lips. He pulled away, wrapping his arm around her waist as she stepped free of her jeans.

She pushed at his waistband fruitlessly and huffed when he wouldn’t let her push back far enough to get his pants undone.

She looked up, prepared to fuss at him and tilted her head at his expression, soft and vulnerable. “What?”

He shrugged. “Never liked my last name until you started wearing it.”

She smiled brilliantly, pressing a soft kiss to his mouth. “Never liked my last name until I started wearing yours.”

He chuckled and pressed his forehead to hers. He kissed her again, deeper, more intimate, swallowing her groans and holding her to him. She sighed as he moved them closer to the bed, her knees bending instinctually when they hit the bed.

He urged her toward the head of the bed, moving to follow her down when her head hit the pillow.

She stopped him. “Jeans, Dixon.”

He grinned and undid his belt, maintaining eye contact as he pushed his pants down and stepped free of them.

She sat up on her knees and pulled him into a kiss, hand drifting down to ghost over the head of his penis.

He moaned into her mouth and pushed her back gently. He nodded at the center of the bed. “Wanna eat you out.”

She laid back, holding a hand out to him, and pulled him onto the bed next to her. Settling over her, he mouthed at the swell of her breast and ran a hand down over her belly. She arched into him and gasped when he sucked his thumb into his mouth before thrumming at her clit with quick movements.

He pressed his forehead to hers and rubbed his fingers down over her core, pulling wetness up to her clit. He ghosted his lips over hers and maintained eye contact, tutting mockingly when her eyes grew heavy.

“Keep lookin’ at me, baby.”

She breathed deep and locked her eyes with his, biting her lip when he eased a finger into her, thumb still thrumming at her clit.

He kept the pace deliberately slow, pulling away completely when she tried to rush the pace by rolling her hips into his hand.

She huffed, frustrated despite the building heat in her belly. She looked down, neck arching to get a look at his hand. He tsked, his free hand grabbing her jaw and redirecting her eyes to his. She gasped as he pressed an open-mouthed kiss to her mouth, feeding another finger into her.

“Keep those pretty eyes up here.” He grinned when she whined in response.

“You never useta be a tease, D.”

He huffed out a laugh. “Y’bring out the best in me.” Eyes hot on hers, he sped up the motion of his fingers only to all but stop a minute later.

She let out another noise of wordless frustration. “Please, baby.” He hummed and she squirmed against him, trying to speed him up. “Please, what?”

She reached up and petted his face, pressing a kiss to his lips. “Just a little faster, baby, please.”

He cooed at her. “Not enough for ya?”

Shaking her head, she dug her fingernails into his shoulder.

“That’s too bad, I’m havin’ fun.”

She whimpered and he rewarded her, adding a third finger. Gasping against the burn, she arched hard into him and held his eyes as her walls fluttered around his fingers.

Moaning against her mouth, he laughed. “Guess it was enough. Or are you just that easy for me?”

“It’s you, baby.” She nodded, mouth open and gasping against his, eyes still locked on him. “You’re so fuckin’ hot.”

He grinned and sucked his fingers into his mouth. “Taste good, baby.” He kissed her hard and then dragged his mouth down her body, his eyes closing as he sucked her nipple into his mouth.

“My pretty baby.” He mouthed at her belly and then held her gaze as he moved to lick up her slit with one broad swipe of his tongue.

She moaned and reached for him, digging her hands through his hair. “Daryl, please.”

He pressed an ironically chaste kiss to her clit. “Say my name again.”

“Daryl.” She drew it out, almost rolling the r, back arching and toes curling as he treated her with little kitten licks to her clit.

He pressed his face to her and worked at her earnestly, sucking her clit into his mouth and pressing his fingers back inside her. “Yer so hot n’wet, baby.”

She nodded, twisting her fingers, inadvertently pulling at his hair. Groaning, he rutted his hips into the bed. “For me?”

“Always for you.”

He shifted to lick down at where she was stretched around his fingers. “That’s right. All mine. My pretty little wife.” He muttered, almost to himself, and attached his lips to her clit again, angling his fingers so they battered up against that spot right behind her pubic bone.

She arched so hard that he hooked his free arm around her hips, pinning her to the bed. A couple more hard thrusts of his hand and she seized up against him.

Moaning his name, she collapsed bonelessly. “Fuck, D.”

He kissed her, laying over her like a heated blanket. “Pretty when y’cum.” She reached down to trail her fingers over his dick. He pulled his hips away. “Almost there. Just want y’to catch your breath.”

She smiled and nodded. “I’m good.”

He moved to lay next to her, arranging her back against him. “Not too sensitive?”

She flinched minutely when he petted over her core lightly. “A bit, but sometimes that makes it even better.”

He turned her head to kiss her. “No rush though.”

She reached down, swiped her hand through her own wetness and wrapped her hand around him.

He moaned into her mouth and she pulled gently at him, pressing kisses to his jaw as his neck arched.

“You’re so gorgeous, D.”

He pressed his face to her shoulder and groaned into her skin. Pulling away, he batted her hand out of the way and drew her leg back over his hip. They both groaned as he rutted himself up into her.

The position required more of a grinding motion than either of them preferred, but it didn’t take long for the heat to build again.

He reached up and cupped her breasts, using his hold on her to grind her harder back into him.

“I’m almost there, baby.”

He grunted, nodding against her jaw. “Me too.” He moved one hand down from her breasts and pinched her clit. She came with a shout of his name, Daryl following soon after.

“So, how’d you get out?”

“One guard can’t cover two exits.” Jesus was smug, more smug than Mitzi thought he ought to be. “Or third floor windows. Knots untie and locks get picked. Entropy comes from order, right?”

“Right.” Daryl drawled.

He glanced up at Daryl as he came to stand next to her, all rolling shoulders and angry breathing. He shifted so Mitzi was behind him, cheek pressed to his bicep to peer around him.

“I’m not going to hurt her.” Jesus seemed vaguely offended.

“I know you ain’t.” Daryl scoffed. “You couldn’t handle her on her worst day. I’m protectin’ you if anythin’.”

“From what?’

“Me, asshole.” Mitzi grinned, teeth bared. “I was lookin’ forward to the tapioca I saw in that truck, the one that’s now at the bottom of the lake.”

Jesus appraised her and seemed to come to the conclusion that they were exaggerating. “I checked out your arsenal. I haven’t seen anything like that in a long time. You’re well-equipped, but your provisions are low.” He sighed. “Very low for the amount of people you have. 54?” He asked Rick.

Maggie crossed her arms, Glenn leaning forward, pistol on the table, on her other side. “More than that.”

Jesus remained unconvinced. “Well, I appreciate the cookie. My compliments to the chef.”

“Yeah. She ain’t here.” Daryl rasped, still holding his revolver in his gun hand.

“Look, we got off to a bad start.”

Mitzi snorted. “Y’mean when you tried to rob us?”

He glanced at her then up at Daryl. “But we’re on the same side - the living side. Y’all had every reason to leave me out there, but you didn’t. I’m from a place that’s a lot like this one.” He glanced around the table. “Part of my job is searching out other settlements to trade with. I took your truck because my community needs things, and you looked like trouble,” Jesus looked at Mitzi and smiled. “Especially you.” He shrugged. “But I was wrong.”

“No, you weren’t.” Rick nodded. “She is trouble.”

She reached out and shoved Rick’s shoulder, flipping him the bird.

Daryl crossed his arms across his chest, leaning back against her. “Y’lucky you didn’t come ‘cross just her.”

Jesus looked mildly, playfully shocked.

“Kinda wished she had been out there by herself.” Rick rubbed over his face.

Daryl nodded. “Woulda road-hauled his ass.”

“We woulda had that truck.”

Mitzi grinned. “Guess I’ll start doin’ runs by myself then?”

“No, y’won’t.”

Jesus smiled, more genuinely. “You’re good people and this is a good place. I think our communities may be in a position to help each other.”

Glenn spoke up. “Do you have food?”

“We’ve started to raise livestock. We scavenge, we grow. Everything from tomatoes to sorghum.”

“Tell us why we should believe you.”

“I’ll show you.” He smiled around the table. “If we take a car, I can take you back home in a day, and you can all see for yourselves who we are and what we have to offer.”

Rick pushed off the desk he had been leaning against. “We heard the name Negan. While back, Daryl and Abraham had a run-in with his men. Who is he?”

“Negan’s the head of a group of people he calls the Saviors. As soon as the walls were built, the Saviors showed up.” Jesus sighed. “They met with Gregory on behalf of their boss. They made a lot of demands, even more threats. And they killed one of us, Rory, he was sixteen years old. They beat him to death right in front of us. Said we needed to understand, right off the bat. Gregory’s not exactly good at confrontation.” He shrugged. “He’s not the leader I would’ve chosen, but he helped make this place what it is and the people like him.”

Maggie nodded. “He made the deal.”

“Half of everything. Our supplies, our crops, our livestock, it goes to the Saviors.”

“What do you get in return?”

Jesus smiled at Glenn, holding his hands up as if to say ‘this’. “They don’t attack this place. They don’t kill us.”

Daryl set his hands on the back of the couch Mitzi was sitting on. “Why not just kill them?”

“Most of the people here don’t even know how to fight, even if we had ammo.”

“Have you tried trainin’ people?” Mitzi sat forward. “You have the numbers and damn tall walls. With a little training, it wouldn’t matter if you had ammo.”

Jesus shrugged helplessly. “I was prepared to but Gregory forbade me.”

“Forbade?” Mitzi tsked. “That chickenshit just rolled on over, huh? Decreed that you couldn’t fight back. What a fuckin’ dick.”

Rick stepped forward. “Well, how many people does Negan have?”

“We don’t know.” Jesus sighed. “We’ve seen groups as big as 20.”

“Now, hol’up.” Daryl rasped. “So, they show up, they kill a kid, and you give them half of everything? These dicks just got a good story.” He paced around the couch. “The boogeyman, he ain’t shit.”

“Well, how do you know?”

“The bells and whistles ain’t necessary if you ain’t afraid and you ain’t afraid if you have real power.” Mitzi nodded. “They’re just bullies on a really fucked schoolyard.”

Abraham nodded. “A month ago, we took his guys out PDQ. Left them in pieces and puddles.”

Daryl glanced down at Mitzi. She nodded. “You know, we’ll do it. If we go get your man back, kill Negan, take out his boys, will you hook us up? We want food, medicine and one of them cows.”

Jesus looked at Rick who shrugged. “Confrontation’s never been something we’ve had trouble with.” Rick turned to Mitzi. “What do you think?”

“I’m for it.” Mitzi crossed her arms over her chest. “There are a lot of unknowns but I think if we can get some answers, we can get it done, easy-peesy.”

Jesus nodded, still unsure. “I’ll take it to Gregory.”

After Jesus left, they walked out onto the balcony to get some air and take stock of the settlement.

“They have food. We don’t.” Rick spoke softly, still trying to convince the more reticent group members, namely Maggie and Michonne. “We don’t have enough of anything. Except us. What we can do.” He turned back to the group, nodding. “This is the trade.”

Maggie sighed. “It’s gonna cost us somethin’.”

Mitzi nodded. “Yeah, it will. But it’s something we’re gonna end up paying one way or another.”

“Are we sure that this is worth that price?” Michonne shrugged. “What if we wade into something we don’t wanna be a part of.”

Setting her hands on her hips, Mitzi sighed. “I wasn’t getting the impression that Jesus was exaggerating. It lines up with what Sasha and Daryl told me about runnin’ into them.”

Michonne leaned back against the railing. “Jesus doesn’t come across as someone who’d lie to get us to do something for them.”

“These assholes had the cajones to stop a fuel tanker with motorcycles.” Mitzi rubbed at her face. “They’re gonna come for us and since everyone else is rollin’ over and showin’ their bellies, they are gonna expect us to as well. Best to get rid of them now.”

Glenn nodded. “We aren’t assassins though.”

“No, we're soldiers.” She smiled sadly. “Soldiers get paid to kill people, too.”

Glenn stared at her and reached over to squeeze her shoulder.

She settled next to Daryl in the pew, patting his thigh as he ran his arm along the back of the pew behind her.

Rick stood and began to explain the current situation to the Alexandrians that hadn’t gone with them. “We can work with the Hilltop. Maggie hammered out a deal. We’re getting food, eggs, butter, fresh vegetables. But they’re not just giving it away. These Saviors, they almost killed Sasha, Daryl, and Abraham on the road. Now, sooner or later, they would’ve found us, just like those Wolves did, just like Jesus did. They would’ve killed someone, or some of us, and then they would try to own us. And we would try to stop them, but by then, in that kind of fight, low on food, we could lose. This is the only way to be sure, as sure as we can get, that we win. And we have to win. We do this for the Hilltop, it’s how we keep this place. It’s how we feed this place. This needs to be a group decision. If anybody objects, here’s your chance to say your piece.”

There was silence before someone stood in the back of the church.

Morgan shuffled, looking down at the ground. “You’re sure we can do it? We can beat them?”

Rick considered him quietly, before glancing down at Mitzi. “What this group has done, what we’ve learned, what we’ve become, all of us- yes, I’m sure.”

Mitzi nodded. “They aren’t like super soldiers or nothin’. I dealt with assholes like this all through my military career. You got a narcissistic leader and all the little worker bees he’s scared into doing his bidding. He strong-arm’s some people, intimidation, big shows of force, but he’s only holding on because of the fear. We can beat ‘em.”

Morgan seemed to be working himself up to something. “Then all we have to do is just tell them that.”

Rick stuttered, floored by Morgan’s naivety. “Well, they don’t compromise.”

“This isn’t a compromise. This is a choice you give them. It’s a way out for them and for us.”

Mitzi leaned forward, Daryl running his hand over her back. “Look, I understand, this is a hard thing to contemplate doin’, but we gotta. In order for what you’re suggestin’ to work, they have to believe that we can do it. As much, if not more, than we believe it ourselves. This Negan guy doesn’t know us from Adam. He is not going to believe us, just because we tell him so.”

Morgan shook his head, still looking down. “We should try, though. Try to tell them.”

“Not if it risks our lives.” Mitzi stood. “I don’t know you that well, Morgan, but I have done what you’re askin’ us t’do. I have walked up to the warlord’s office and said, ‘surrender or we’ll kill you’.” She snorted. “And that was while I was wearing a US Army uniform, holding my rifle, the full authority of the US government behind my every word. It still didn’t go well, not consistently enough to make it worth it. It got people killed, people that didn’t need to die, and it will get people killed now.”

Sighing, Morgan turned to address her. “Why did you choose to do that, if you didn’t think it’d work?”

“I didn’t choose nothin’. My commander said ‘go and do’ and I went and did.” She threw her hands in the air, sitting back down. “My choice would've been to take them out with as minimal cost to my men as I could. Just like we need to take these guys out with minimal loss of our people’s lives.”

Rick nodded. “We try and talk to the Saviors, we give up our advantage, our safety. No. We have to come for them before they can come for us. We can’t leave them alive.”

“Where there is life, there is possibility.”

Mitzi’s jaw dropped but Rick beat her to it. “Of them hitting us.”

“We’re not trapped in this. None of you are trapped in this.”

“Morgan. They always come back.”

Morgan sighed. “Come back when they’re dead too.”

“Yeah, we’ll stop them. We have before.”

Morgan looked down. “I’m not talking about the walkers.”

Mitzi stood again. “The only time I have ever seen someone after they died, in the way I think you’re alluding to, whether it be in nightmares or flashbacks, it was when I didn’t act and the person or persons I failed to kill took out one of my people. I have regretted the deaths of a large number of people, but never the death of some wannabe dictator like this asshole.”

Rick breathed deep. “Morgan wants to talk to them first. I think that would be a mistake, but it’s not up to me. I’ll talk to the people still at home. I’ll discuss it with the people on guard now, too, but who else wants to approach the Saviors, talk to them first?”

“Mitzi will take point. It’s her plan and she is by far the most experienced at this.” Rick nodded to her and she stepped forward, hand holding Daryl’s loosely.

Mitzi sucked in a breath. “We don’t know exactly what we’ll find when we breach those doors. We don’t know what the layout of the building is, not exactly. So we’ll have to do this slower than we would’ve liked. We’ll draw out the guards with Andy. When one of them goes back in to grab the hostage we’ll move in, killing the guard that stays outside.”

“What if they both go back in?”

She smiled at Aaron. “They won’t. If they do, this’ll be much easier.”

He looked confused. “Why?”

“Because that will mean they don’t have a clue what they’re doing. One will stay out to keep an eye on Andy while the other goes in to get the hostage-”

“Craig.” Andy cut in.

“Craig.” Mitzi nodded. “Once the second guard is dead, Andy and Craig, whose condition is unknown but not likely to be good, will take off back to Hilltop. At that point, we’ll breach.” She sighed. “Because we don’t know the layout, we’ll go room by room, splitting into teams to cover hallways as we come to them. Use your knife as long as you can but you will have to neutralize everyone you come across. We can’t risk them comin’ up behind us, dead or alive.”

“Neutralize?”

She shrugged at Gabriel. “Best word for it. I don’t have time to sugarcoat anything today. Kill them and make sure they don’t get back up. Points to remember: This is a buddy system sorta thing. One is trigger-ready, the other opens the door. Be as fast as you can but safety and quiet is more important.” She breathed deep, looking out at the assembled men and women. “This sucks and most of y’all ain’t never had to consider this before. I’m sorry, but we need us t’do this. Let’s get all of us home.”

Everyone nodded and Mitzi checked her magazine almost out of habit and slid it back in, toggling the rifle to automatic.

Heath passed by her and she stopped him. “I’ve seen you shoot. You’re a good shot, but start bending your elbows when you aim. You’ll have more control and stamina. The tension should be in your biceps, not your elbows.”

He nodded, nervousness written all over his posture.

She squeezed his shoulder. “Stay on me. I got ya.”

He wandered over to Glenn and she felt Daryl’s hand on her waist. He stood from the hood of the car and pulled her gently to him.

She turned and buried her face in his chest. Breathing deep, he pressed his nose to her hair. “You okay?”

She shrugged. “I know this is the right move, the only move, but I have a feelin’ we’re about to start somethin’.”

He nodded. “I feel it too.”

She breathed deep and stood straight, nodding as she squared her shoulders. She moved to leave and he stopped her, pressing a kiss to her mouth quickly.

“Love ya, Spitfire.”

She smiled and knocked some of the hair out of his eyes. “I love you too, baby.”

She stepped in front of Carl, clenching her jaw as the gray-haired dickwad that had been on their tail all day, held his hands up in parody of surrender.

He grinned, standing to his full height as if that would intimidate her. “I’m just talkin’ to him, sugar. Don’t worry, I don’t decide who dies.”

She pulled her pistol from the holster and shoved it and the AK she had been using against his chest. She thanked whatever god applied that she had had the inkling to hide her M110 before leaving Alexandria.

He stumbled back, holding her weapons and the handgun he had taken off of Carl, jaw flexing as he decided how he was gonna react to her. In the end, he grinned and reached over her shoulder to flick at Carl’s hat.

“See? No harm, no foul.” He turned to shove the guns at some flunkie and smiled at them. “Okay. Let’s get her down and get you all on your knees. Lots to cover.”

Abraham, Sasha, Aaron and Rick lowered Maggie as gently as they could, helping her to her knees. Rick, shell-shocked and overwhelmed, gaped at the small army surrounding him.

The head-prick approached almost politely. “I’m gonna need you on your knees.”

Mitzi grabbed Carl’s hand and drew him to the ground next to her. He moved to say something and she shook her head.

Once they were all settled, head-prick hollered at another flunkie. “Dwight! Chop-Chop.”

Her jaw clenched when Michonne, Glenn, Rosita and Daryl emerged from the van. Daryl caught her eye from across the group, pale and obviously wounded.

Glenn was the last out, settling to his knees with a plaintive, “Maggie?”

Head-Prick smiled and backed up to the RV. “Alright! We have a full boat. Let’s meet the man.” He rapped on the side wall and moved away from the door.

“Pissin’ our pants yet?” The man held a bat over his shoulder and grinned. “Boy, do I have a feeling we’re getting close.” He paced the length of the group, staring down into their faces. “Yep. It’s gonna be pee-pee pants city here real soon. Which one of you pricks is the leader?”

“It’s this one. He’s the guy.”

He sighed and approached Rick with slow unbothered steps. “Hi. You’re Rick, right? I’m Negan. And I do not appreciate you killing my men. Also, when I sent my people to kill your people for killing my people, you killed more of my people. Not cool. Not cool. You have no idea how not cool that shit is. But I think you’re gonna be up to speed shortly. Yeah. You are so gonna regret crossing me in a few minutes.” He grinned again. “Yes, you are. You see Rick, whatever you go, no matter what, you don’t mess with the new world order. The new world order is this, and it is really very simple. So, even if you’re stupid, which you very well may be, you can understand it. You ready? Here goes, pay attention.”

He swung the bat down, pointing it over Rick’s shoulder. “Give me your shit, or I will kill you.”

He chuckled and Mitzi dug her fingers into her thighs to avoid jumping clean over Sasha and wrapping her hands around his throat.

“Today was career day. We invested a lot so that you would know who I am and what I can do.” He sauntered a few steps down the line and held his bat up pointing at Rick. “You work for me now. You have shit, you give it to me. That’s your job. Now I know that that is a mighty big, nasty pill to swallow, but swallow it you most certainly will. You ruled the roost. You built something. You thought you were safe, I get it. But the word is out, you are not safe, not even close. In fact, you are pegged. More pegged if you don’t do what I want. And what I want is half your shit. And if that’s too much, you can make, find or steal more, and it’ll even out sooner or later. This is your way of life now, the more you fight back, the harder it will be. So, if someone knocks on your door, you let us in, we own that door. You try to stop us and we will knock it down.”

He stopped. “You understand?” He held his hand over his ear. “What? No answer? You don’t really think that you were gonna get through this without being punished now, did you? I don’t want to kill you people. Just want to make that clear from the get-go. I want you to work for me. You can’t do that if you’re dead, now, can you? I’m not growing a garden. But you killed my people, a whole damn lot of them. More than I’m comfortable with. And for that, you’re gonna pay. So now, I’m gonna beat the holy hell outta one of you.” He brought the bat up, showing it to Rick. “This… This is Lucille, and she is awesome. All this, all this is just so we can pick out which one of you gets the honor.”

He stopped in front of Abraham, who stared back at him, jaw set, shoulders pulled back. Negan smiled. “Huh.” Running a hand over his beard, he looked over at Mitzi. “I gotta shave this shit.”

He sauntered over to Mitzi. “You related to Big Red over there?”

Mitzi stared back, unflinchingly, seething when he had the audacity to laugh. He squatted in front of her. “No answer, baby?”

She grit her teeth and vaguely contemplated headbutting the asshole. Daryl knew her too well, however, and shifted forward on his knees. “Spitfire. Don’t.”

“Spitfire?” He grinned. “What an interesting name. I’ll bet, with a name like that, that you have a classic red headed temper. Always did like a red headed woman. They are fiery, sexy, and so much fun.”

She didn’t answer, didn’t flinch when he pushed into her space, almost nose to nose with her. She stayed still, eyes on his, as he raised a hand to tug on a loose spiral. She stared back at him, head high, shoulders squared.

He looked up, ostensibly to address his audience, but Mitzi knew the truth. He had lost the staring match.

“What is the probability that one group will have two unrelated gingers, much less two gingers like these motherfuckers? Tough as nails, I swear. Neither of them have fuckin’ flinched.”

There was a small smattering of hollow laughter and he looked back down at her.

“You are the toughest broad I have ever had the absolute pleasure to have on her knees for me. But I reckon that he might be a tad bit tougher than you.” He winked. “You’re prettier than he is, baby, don’t worry.”

She arched an eyebrow and her lip curled. “I ain’t.”

Part 8

#daryl dixon #daryl dixon fanfiction #twd daryl #daryl dixon x oc #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon smut #the walking dead #the walking dead daryl #daryl fanfiction

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rfsak2 · 9 months

Text

Spitfire, Pt. 6

Hello friends! This was fun to write. A lot of stuff happened this season so I’m worried it’s a bit disjointed. Hope you enjoy it.

Drop me a line and like if you do!

Spitfire, Pt. 6

Everyone always thought Daryl was the rough one. DarylxOC

Warnings: violence, emotions, injuries, smut under the cut, lots of bad language words

Part 5

“Alright.” Daryl drawled. “Got four of them pricks coming our way.”

“Y’all know what to do. Go for their eyes first. Then their throats.” Rick wrapped his belt around his hand and nodded to Mitzi. “Mitzi, if we can’t get free, see if you can shake them up. Take one out.”

Daryl grunted, shaking his head. He pulled her back into him, arm around her waist.

“Hey.” She turned and pressed her lips to his cheek. “It’s okay. I got this.”

“Nah. No way.” He shook his head. “Yer all beat up.”

She nodded. “I’ve had worse and I’ll make it quick. Those dicks won’t see me comin’. They’re too used to things going their way, people rollin’ over and showin’ their bellies.”

He pressed his forehead to hers. “I can do it.”

“Baby, we need to get outta here.” She caught his eyes and held them. “They think they got us cornered. That the threat is eliminated because they took our weapons. I’m gonna show them they have nothin’. Besides, it’ll be more shockin’ for me to do it.”

Daryl sighed and nodded. “A’ight.”

They all arranged themselves in a semi-circle around the door.

“Put your backs to the walls on either side of the car now.”

Mitzi cussed when the sky opened up above her, she could hear someone gasp to her side.

The men above threw in a flash bang, Abraham shouting for everyone to ‘move!’. She ignored him, averting her eyes and squatting to cover her head with her arms.

When the flash was over, she straightened, head ringing, and settled back into some sort of a fighting stance. The door opened slightly, a beam of light breaking through the smoky darkness, and she moved quickly to stand next to the main door.

Two men entered cautiously and she waited until one was inside before throwing herself at him. Using the smoke to get in behind him, she kicked at the back of his knees and reached around to break his neck as he fell to them.

There was stunned silence from behind and she turned over her shoulder to look down at them, smiling. “That all ya got?”

There was a flurry of activity above her, cussing and frantic steps on the metal.

“Fuck, they’re supposed to all be out!”

“How is she still awake?”

She turned to the one who had entered behind the corpse now lying still at her feet.

He held up his hands only to be dragged out by a third man. She could vaguely see them watching her through the smoke and moved to stand over the dead man’s head.

A second later, both men reentered the train car, after some hesitation she noted, and one raised a gun to her head. Through his gas mask, she saw him swallow. “Back up. Against the wall.”

She did, head tilted at a cocky angle, and held her hands up as she pressed back towards where Daryl lay on the floor, standing over him protectively.

Two more men reached in and dragged the dead man out, more than likely to prevent her checking him for weapons.

The man holding her at gunpoint shook. “Let’s take her too.”

Daryl groaned, shaking his head as if to clear it, hand reaching up to her thigh. “Don’t fuckin’ touch her.”

She grabbed his hand, watching the now trio of men inch closer to her.

The leader, a man standing just outside the train car, shook his head, nodding at where Glenn lay prone. “No. Stick to protocol. Men first.”

One of the three in the car moved toward Glenn and she shoved forward.

“Back off.” The man shot at her feet in front of her, expecting her to flinch or back off. When she didn’t, her eyes meeting his wide eyes behind his mask, he swallowed again.

“F-fuck.”

“Stick to protocol, don’t let her rattle you.”

“I’m already fuckin’ rattled, man!” He grunted frustrated. “I know why we take the men first. I get that it’s because they pose the biggest risk. But she just killed someone with her bare hands. She’s killed four of us now.” He pressed closer to her, barrel almost touching her forehead. “We need to take her out too.”

“I said no.”

“Don’t worry, sugar. I’m sure I’ll prove you right soon.” Mitzi grinned. “You hurt any of my family and you can expect t’see me again. And the next person I take out, won’t go out so painlessly.”

“J-just keep your back against the wall.”

She chuckled. “Y’all are battin’ outta your league with us.”

The leader motioned at Bob next, then Rick. When all three men were out, coughing on the concrete, the leader turned back to her. “Now the archer.”

She knocked the pistol out of the hand of the man holding her at gunpoint and shoved the heel of her palm up into his nose. There was a sick crunch and he slumped lifelessly. She lurched forward for the gun, one of the two remaining moved in and hit her over the face with the butt of his rifle. She shot up and nailed him in the face with a quick right hook before his companion shoved her back against the wall, gun to her cheek.

“Fuckin’ stay there, bitch.”

Daryl was calmer than she expected when they pulled him to his feet. He looked back at her and shook his head.

“I’m fine.” Mitzi groaned as she lowered herself onto a log. “Really, I’m good, just stiff.”

Daryl grunted. “Y’can barely walk. Don't tell me you're good.”

“First, that's a gross overstatement of the facts.” She smiled and knocked her forehead against his. “Second: baby, I’m fine.”

He ignored her and pressed at her knee. “It’s swollen.”

“You’re swollen.” She groused and jumped when she felt another set of hands on her shoulder.

Carol tsked at her, feeling around her bruised shoulder. “You popped it back in yourself?”

She sighed and nodded. “Wasn’t the first time. It’s no big deal.”

Rick chuckled. “I’m not gonna lie, the number of women I personally know who can reset their own joints… makes me vaguely uncomfortable.”

There was a faint smattering of noises of agreement. Rick paused and turned to Michonne.

She nodded. “A couple of times, at least.”

Eugene nodded. “Women have been statistically proven to better tolerate pain and to have more flexible joints.” He paused. “But then, they are also shown to have higher density of pain receptors, thereby feeling said pain more intensely.”

Mitzi arched an eyebrow at him. “Thanks, Eugene.”

He nodded sharply.

Daryl nodded at Carol. “She’s got some goose eggs on her head, a black eye startin’ up, and coupla broken ribs, haven’t had a chance to set n’wrap ‘em.”

Carol nodded at Daryl and shifted to feel at her eye socket then moved to the back of her head as Daryl started lifting her shirt, checking her ribs as gently as he could.

“We shouldn’t wrap them. Doctors used to, but it’ll make it hard for her to breathe. It could collapse her lung.” Maggie pulled an old torn piece of tent from her pack. “We can use this to make her a sling, though.”

Carol sucked at her lip. “We should take her shirt off.” Daryl looked up at her, questioning. “We need to check, make sure the bruising isn’t getting worse. It could tell us if she’s bleeding internally.”

“Can we stop talkin’ like I ain’t here?” When she was ignored, she huffed. “Is this really necessary?”

“Yes.” Carol brushed her knee against Mitzi’s side.

Mitzi sucked in a breath, hand instinctively gripping at her side.

“Are you in pain?” Carol knelt to look at her, batted her eyes at her.

“When did you get so mean?” Mitzi chuckled breathlessly.

Carol blew her a kiss. She turned back to Daryl. “Did you see her side before Terminus?”

“Yeah. I saw it.” Daryl gently helped Mitzi pull her shirt over her head, Carol supporting her as she slumped forward. He shifted so he was blocking most of the group’s view of her. “Could be kinda difficult to tell though, with all’a her tattoos.”

“You do have a lot of tattoos.” Carol re-examined her shoulder as Daryl checked her side.

“Had money and time to burn.” Mitzi tried to shrug and thought better of it. “Found a tattoo artist I clicked with and I was off to the races.” She grinned at Daryl and then up at Carol. “Is this a bad time for a threesome joke?”

Daryl pegged her with a hard look. “Stop it.”

Rick chuckled despite himself, shaking his head. “Mildred Elizabeth. There are children present.”

Maggie bit her lip, smiling. “Is it getting harder to breathe at all?”

Mitzi rolled her eyes. “Not when people ain’t pushin’ and proddin’ at me.”

Daryl clenched his jaw, clearly not amused. “Wouldn’t have to poke n’prod if y’didn’t act like a fuckin’ fool.”

“Baby-”

He shook his head and ran his thumb gently over her torso. “Looks th’same.”

It took twice as long to attempt to get her back into her t-shirt. When that failed, Daryl shook his head and pulled one of his button-ups out from his pack. When she was dressed, overlong sleeves rolled up to her elbows as best as possible, Maggie moved in with her hand-fashioned tent sling.

Mitzi shook her head. “Oh, come on.”

Carol helped keep Mitzi still as Maggie arranged the blue and green tarp sling around her shoulders. Daryl gently fed her arm through the hole and settled her elbow in the corner.

They all stepped back to survey their work.

“How am I supposed to hold a gun?” She huffed, pouting up at Daryl.

Daryl made a face right back. “You ain’t.” He handed Sasha the M110. “Sasha’s gonna hold your gun.”

Sasha shouldered it, fighting off a smile. “I’ll take good care of it.”

Mitzi sighed, nodding. “Yeah, I know.” She looked around her. “Where’s my bag?”

Daryl held up his pack. “I’ve already added your pack to mine. You gonna focus on walkin’ and nuthin’ else.”

“D-“

“No.” He shook his head, shouldered his pack and wrapped his arm around her uninjured side, lifting her as gently as he could. “Y’made the decision to act a fool and now you’re payin’ the price.”

Carol nodded, steadying Mitzi on her feet. “Can’t do bed rest, but a strict three to four weeks of no lifting, or carrying-“

Daryl added. “Or firin’, or climbin’-“

Glenn grinned. “Or running, or jumping, or punching, or kicking, or repelling-“

Rick joined in, infinitely amused. “And no cussin’.” Mitzi turned to glare at him. “Believe it or not. Helps in healin’.”

She scoffed. “Judith has heard more cussin’ from your mouth, Richard, than she has from mine.” She sucked her tongue. “Using my full fuckin’ government name.”

“Actually.” Eugene fiddled with his hands. “Cussing has been shown to increase the release of endorphins thereby increasing pain tolerance.”

She stuck her tongue out at Rick. “So there.”

“Wait!” Tara stepped forward and shone a flashlight in her eyes.

Mitzi reared back and groaned, Daryl letting her lean against him to regain her balance.

Mitzi let him steady her. “What was that for?”

Tara grinned. “Nothing, just wanted to be included.”

Mitzi gaped after her.

Abraham giggled. “The balls on this crew, my god!” He slapped his thigh. “That woman just took down two men, twice her size, bare-handed with a recently dislocated shoulder, a sprained-or whatever-knee, two broken ribs and what- a concussion? And y’all are fuckin’ with her like she’s harmless.”

Rick laughed, knuckling at her forehead. “She is harmless… for three to four weeks. Daryl’s gonna make sure of that.”

Daryl bit back a smile as he tightened his arm around her waist to keep her from lurching forward. Carol tsked and grabbed her wrist when she tried to swat at Rick’s hand.

Michonne grinned. “Gotta get our licks in until she can chase us again.”

“Fuck all y’all.” Mitzi flicked Rick off, Daryl chuckling under his breath. “I will kill you in your sleep, Richard. Me n’Daryl will adopt Judith and Carl and we will call you Dick Grimes for the rest of my life.”

Carl nodded. “Grimey Dick.”

“Yes!” She pointed at Carl. “I like where your head’s at.”

“And me?” Michonne smiled.

“Nuthin’, I like you too much.” She groused. “And I’m not sure I can take you one handed… so there’s that.”

Rick laughed and walked over to press a hard kiss to the top of her head. “Alright, let’s get movin’.” He turned to Carl, who grinned back cheekily. “And you, watch your language.”

As Daryl led her past them, Mitzi hooked her hand in Carl’s elbow, pulling him along with her. She turned over her shoulder and made a face. “Don’t be talkin’ to my boy like that.”

“Yeah, dad.” Carl stuck his tongue out at Rick. “Don’t be talkin’ to her boy like that.”

She kicked at a rock, bored, used to being on guard, gun in hand.

Daryl turned to her, walking backwards in front of her with his eyebrow arched. “Stop whinin’.”

“I ain’t said anythin’.” She glanced up at him. “I’m just bored.”

Daryl nodded and stopped her gently, hand on her uninjured shoulder. Abraham and Rosita passed them with small smiles.

Daryl tilted her head back, hand on her jaw and pressed his forehead against hers. “Y’died.”

She opened her mouth and he shook his head, laying his thumb over her lips.

“I didn’t think there was any way y’coulda survived. Y’died. And I get ya back, all bruised and beat up, and then y’go off n’throw y’self inta danger like y’don’t mean anythin’ t’anybody.”

She shook her head.

He shushed her. “So you’re gonna rest.”

She sighed. “I’m not good at resting.”

“Mhmm. I got that.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead and turned to walk behind the group alongside her.

They were silent for a few moments. She raked her hands through her hair and started picking at her fingers. “I wasn’t tryin’ to throw myself into danger.”

He nodded, reaching over for her hand to stop her picking. “I know.”

“Somethin’ needed to be done.” She sighed and leaned against his arm. “I just knew that I could do it.”

“I knew-know- y’ could do it too, prolly have done it, or somethin’ like it, a million times before all’a this.” He turned away from her, scanning his side of the forest. “But y’dont hafta and I’m gonna speak t’Rick ‘bout always askin’ ya to do this shit.”

“Baby, we need me to do the things I do.”

He shook his head, looking behind them before focusing back on her. “I need ya, Spitfire. With me. Alive. It doesn’t always hafta t’be you, my woman, my wife, in the line of fire. Sometimes, we can’t avoid it, know that, but-” He spared her a hard look. “I heard what y’told Carl when Lori died, it doesn’t always hafta be you. We’re part of a team, a family. There are other people who can help defend us. I can defend us.”

Mitzi nodded. “That’s fair.”

“Besides…” He hesitated. “I don’t want ya injured because of me again.”

She shook her head. “Baby, you're my husband. I will always have the instinct to step in when it comes to you.”

“I don’t mean it that way.” He breathed out roughly. “I mean… this is m’fault.”

She frowned, looking down at the ground. “What’s your fault?”

He shook his head. “I shouldn’t ‘ve left. I shoulda stayed and made sure y’were okay.”

She made a comforting noise and pressed against him. “D, you didn’t know I was alive.”

“I shoulda checked.” He clenched his jaw. “You were lying’ in a pile’a ash n’ I just left’ya there.”

She pulled him to a stop. “Baby, you were fighting in a battle, a situation where stopping would’ve meant death-“

“N’I left ya there t’die!” He cast a look around them, up at Rosita and Abraham ahead of them. “I just gave up! Jus’ like I stopped lookin’ for that asshole. If I had found ‘im, none of this woulda happened.”

“You don’t know that.” She reached up with her uninjured hand and pulled his head down to hers. “Lotta things coulda happened. Y’wanna know the one thing that coulda changed what happened that day?”

He sighed, humming, noncommittal.

“If the Governor hadn’t done it. That’s the only thing that could’ve changed that day for sure.” She caught his eyes and held them. “I’m glad you didn’t wait, didn’t look for me. That you got Beth outta there.”

He scoffed at the mention of Beth. “And then lost her.”

She brushed the hair from his eyes. “D, you can’t control any of this. You can’t. Shit happens, shit happened. I know you fought like hell for Beth. I know you did. It’s not your fault that someone took her. Just like it’s not your fault that they tanked the guard tower or attacked the prison.”

He nodded and they started walking after the group. “If- When I figure out who took her…”

She looked up at him when he trailed off.

“I’m gonna go get her.” He caught her eyes and held them.

She nodded. “‘Course.”

“I’d like to propose a toast.” Abraham stood, glass of wine in his bear paw of a hand, the glass looking dainty and breakable by comparison. “I look around this room and I see survivors. Each and everyone of you have earned that title. To the survivors!”

Mitzi lifted her glass and touched it to Daryl’s as the other’s repeated the cheer.

“Is that all you wanna be?” Everyone settled again, eyes of Abraham. “Wake up in the morning, fight the undead pricks, forage for food, go to sleep at night with two eyes open, rinse and repeat?” Abraham glanced at all of them in turn. “‘Cause you can do that. I mean, you got the strength. You got the skill. Thing is, for you people, for what you can do, that’s just surrender. Now, we get Eugene to Washington and he will make the dead die and the living will have this world again. And that is not a bad takeaway for a little road trip.”

He breathed deep before turning to address Eugene. “Eugene, what’s in DC?”

Eugene sat stiffly in his pew. He sighed. “Infrastructure constructed to withstand pandemics even of this FUBAR magnitude. That means food, fuel, refuge. Restart.”

Abraham smiled softly. “What do ya think?” He looked around and received a few nods. “However this plays out, however long it takes for the reset button to kick in. You can be safe there. Safer than you’ve been since this whole thing started.” He looked over at Rick. “Come with us. Save the world for that little one. Save it for yourselves. Save it for everyone out there, who doesn’t have anything left to do but survive.”

Judith cooed, babbling at Rick, who chuckled at her. “What was that?” He grinned, nodding at Daryl. “Daryl? Mitzi?”

She cast a glance at Daryl, who shrugged, then back at Rick. “I dunno, man… We do what you do, just faster, more efficiently and with more style.”

Daryl’s shoulder shook next to her.

Rick covered Judith’s ears. “Screw you, Mildred Elizabeth Dixon.”

“Fuck you back, Richard Andrew Grimes.” Mitzi nodded. “Yeah, that’s right. I know your full name. What now, bitch?”

Rick chuckled, petting at Judith’s head. “How?”

“I happened to find a little somethin’.” She pulled out a wallet. There was a chorus of laughter and she opened it, showing the license picture to Daryl, who smiled. “What a baby-faced degenerate…”

Daryl passed it back to Glenn who reached for it. “Y’look even more like someone who goes by their full fuckin’ name without the beard.”

Mitzi chuckled. “Rick Grimes. I’m Rick Grimes.”

Glenn laughed. “What? Holy shit! You look so young.”

Rick, still smiling, turned to Carl. “You do that?”

Carl shrugged, making a zipping motion over his mouth.

Mitzi made a face. “First of all, I am an Army Ranger, I don’t need no one to get me nuthin’.”

Maggie chuckled. “So, he did.”

“I ain’t no snitch!”

Sasha laughed. “He absolutely did.”

Mitzi shrugged exaggeratedly.

Rick smiled down at Judith who was babbling again and nodded. “I think she knows what I’m gonna say… She’s in. If she’s in, we’re in.”

Abraham looked so relieved, he seemed to shrink. “Alright. Good.”

The conversation continued around them for a while after that, Mitzi finding her body growing increasingly heavy. Fighting back a yawn, she sat, drawing designs on Daryl’s jeans with an idle fingertip, leaning against his shoulder.

“Go t’bed.” Daryl pressed a kiss to her head. “Y’ain’t gonna be able to go much longer without sleep.”

She swallowed a yawn, nodding. “A’ight.” She moved to lay her head in his lap, catching Carol sneaking out the door out of the corner of her eye and straightening.

Daryl made a noise in the back of his throat and Mitzi nodded. “She has been eyeing that door ever since she sat down.

“Gonna go figure out what’s goin’ on.”

Mitzi looked up at him and drew him down in a” kiss. “A’ight. Stay safe.”

He nodded and sneaked out. Mitzi settled back against the end of the pew, rearranging her and Daryl’s things, trying to take pressure off of her ribs. When she couldn’t get comfortable, she dug a pack of cigarettes out of Daryl’s bag. She stood, albeit stiffly, and nodded to Sasha. “Gonna go smoke.”

Sasha nodded. “Bob may be out there too. Can you look out for him?”

“Course.”

Mitzi settled onto the step with a low groan, sitting against the bannister to support the injured side of her body. Pulling a cigarette free from the pack with her lips, she lit it and settled as comfortably as she could.

The door opened and closed behind her, Abraham sitting next to her in short order. She considered him quietly, offering him a cigarette. He shook his head and they were silent for a long while.

“What do you think about going North?”

She blew out a stream of smoke. “DC is as good a place as any. The thought of going too close to a city makes me nervous, but if they go, if my family goes, I go.”

He smiled. “As good a place as any? Not sure about the cure?”

She tapped ash off of her cigarette. “Ain’t sure of anythin’ I can’t put my hands on. Call me a skeptic.”

He shook his head. “Pragmatic.”

“Horse of a different color.” She sucked on her cigarette. “Why do you believe?”

“I believe Eugene.”

She nodded. “I see that. Why do you believe him? He’s definitely the lab-type and he’s certainly intelligent, but what makes you believe him?”

He shrugged. “Feel it in my bones. This country isn’t done yet.”

She breathed out a faint chuckle. “So it’s patriotism you believe in, not Eugene. You believe in the institution that created Eugene.”

He considered that. “Maybe. Is that so bad?”

She smiled wryly at him. “No, not bad. My experiences say it’s naive, but not bad.”

He frowned. “Naive?”

“Naive.” She pulled a drag on her cigarette. She shook her head, blowing a smoke ring. “Look, man, I know you still believe and I don’t wanna ruin that for you, but I ain’t been there, not in years, well before all this shit. If I ever was.”

“What d’ya mean?”

“Patriotism. Doing what you can for the country.” She scuffed her toe in the dirt. “All that shit.”

He nodded. “With what you’ve seen-”

She shook her head. “Nothing t’do with that. Not really. Y’know when I got out of Basic, there was this group of enlisted dudes who regularly pooled their food stamps together?”

His head hung loose between his shoulders. “Yeah, I saw that too.”

“Politicians out spending billions on useless gadgets we didn’t even use because they were too expensive to risk losing and there are soldiers that can’t afford food.” She took another deep drag. “Hard to believe in an institution like that.”

“With all due respect.” He ran his hand down over his face. “Why did you join if not for God and Country?”

She hesitated, making a face. “Because I beat the shit out of my father and put him in the hospital for a month after his dealer killed my aunt. She was the only person aside from my brothers and my cousin who gave a shit about me.” She smiled and snubbed out her cigarette. “The military made it like it never happened. Come and kill people and we’ll pretend you never tried to kill your dad. Army or Jail.” She winced, huddling into her jacket. “Sorry to ruin the image.”

He grinned. “It’s still a pretty badass reason.”

She snorted. “If you say so.”

The door behind them slammed open and she jumped, wincing as she turned to watch Sasha run toward the cemetery.

“What’s goin’ on?”

Sasha didn’t answer and Mitzi was struggling to her feet when Tyreese and Rick rushed past her.

Rick turned and pointed at her. “Stay there. Daryl’ll fuckin’ kill me.”

She huffed and settled back down.

She felt Daryl settle next to her, pressing her back into the wall and facing out towards the barn door.

She yawned and pressed up against him, winding her arms around him to dig under his shirt.

He grunted and grabbed one of her hands from under his shirt and threaded his fingers with her. She pressed a kiss to the back of his neck and hummed, nuzzling into him.

“Go back to sleep.”

“I will when you do.”

He hummed, lifted her hand to press a quick kiss to it.

She responded with a kiss of her own to the nape of his neck. “I love you.”

He nodded. “Love ya.”

She kept her voice low. “You are my favorite person in a group of my favorite people.”

He snorted.

“I will always remember Beth as someone who kept my favorite person alive so I could be with him again.”

He pressed his mouth to her skin again, and while she couldn’t see it, she could guess that his eyes were closed tight, trying to avoid falling tears where others could see him. He nodded.

“I think if we ever have kids, one should be a Beth.”

He sucked in a breath discreetly. “A’ight.” He was quiet a long moment. “Yer middle name is Elizabeth. We could name ‘em after you n’her.”

She hummed, smiling against his back. “What’s your middle name? I realize I’ve never asked you.”

“William.”

The tone of his voice told her everything. She pressed a kiss to his back. “Are we gonna have a Daryl Jr.?”

He snorted. “No.”

“Why not?” She squeezed him. “We can call ‘em Little D. That’ll be cute.”

“Or we can name them somethin’ of their own.” He turned slightly over his shoulder to smirk at her. “Not make a kid carry my name.”

She scoffed. “You wanna name a kid after me but when I suggest naming your hypothetical son after you then all’a sudden it’s makin’ a kid carry your name.”

He chuckled. “You don’t go by Elizabeth, Mildred. And ‘sides we’re naming her after Beth.”

“Whatever. I’ll still find a way to name a kid after you. Dylan Dixon, Daniel Dixon, Declan Dixon. I actually like some of those.” She rubbed her face against his shoulder. “You ever wanted kids?”

He shrugged. “Never really thought ‘bout it. No reason to, before you.” He turned so he was facing her. She smiled and wiped at his face softly. “You?”

“Never really thought I’d be a good mom.” She shrugged. “My parents hated me and I think I assumed that I wouldn’t know what t’do with a kid of my own.”

He shook his head. “You’d be a good mom.”

“I think we’d do alright.” She moved his hair outta his face. “We may be a tad unorthodox and our kids would be interesting. But I think we’d do alright.”

He chewed on his lip. “Interestin’ how?”

She arched an eyebrow. “Let’s say we have a little one like you. Intense, focused, capable… Too serious for their own good…”

“Or one like you,” he wrapped an arm around her waist and brought her closer. “Bright, charmin’, passionate… a little tiny tornado in a human body.”

She smiled and pressed her nose to his briefly. “I ain’t charmin’.”

“Y’are.” He smiled softly. “Our kids are gonna be cool as fuck.” He kissed her softly chastely. “Don’t want ‘em yet though. Ain’t safe.”

She nodded. “No it ain’t. ‘Sides either gotta wait for my birth control to wear off or get someone to get it outta my arm.”

He frowned. “What d’ya mean?”

She hummed. “I’m on birth control. I thought I told ya about it.” He shook his head. “Never wondered why we ain’t had any pregnancy scares?”

He shrugged. “Neither of us live lives that are exactly stress-free. Figured that and nutrition mighta had somethin’ t’do with it.”

She chuckled. “Makes sense, but no, I have the birth control implant.”

He made a face. “Implant?”

She nodded and grabbed his hand, bringing it up to her shoulder. She felt around for a second and laid his finger against a raised area in her bicep. “Nexplanon. It was pretty new on the market. Got it right before the Turn. Bleeding for a week every month while camping in the desert is no fun.”

He grinned. “Glenn! C’here!”

Glenn frowned, rushing over, only to rear back when Daryl pressed his hand to Mitzi’s shoulder. “God! What is that?”

“They’re still your guns. You can check them out whenever you go beyond the wall. But inside here, we’ll store them for safety.”

Mitzi took a deep breath, casting a look at Daryl and Rick. Ricked sighed, hands on hips, and shrugged. Daryl kept both hands around the strap of his crossbow.

She purposefully hung back, allowing the rest of their group to go in front. When she was the last one left holding her gun, she sucked in a shaky breath.

Deanna motioned her forward, seeming to understand how scary what she was asking them to do was.

“Mitzi.” Rick’s voice betrayed his discomfort with the situation but also his desire for her to toe the line.

She rotated her head to look at him. He tilted his chin subtly. Daryl’s hand pressed into her back.

She grit her teeth, hands almost ringing around the barrel of her M110.

Deanna stepped forward. “It’s still yours.” She smiled gently. “I haven’t had the chance to speak to you yet but I can tell by your bearing that it’s not likely you have been separated from that gun since well before the Turn. Am I right?”

She nodded, eyeing her as if she thought the much more frail, older woman would try to take it off of her. “This is a highly specialized weapon.”

Deanna nodded.

“If anyone touches it, and I will know immediately, I will-“

Rick cleared his throat.

Mitzi turned to him and resisted the urge to flick him off. “If anyone touches my gun, I will smile real big as I punch them in the throat.”

The woman taking possession of their weapons, Olivia, Mitzi’s mind supplied, gasped.

Mitzi smiled. “Nicely, of course.”

Abraham threw his head back and laughed. Deanna soon followed, covering her mouth and chuckling into her wrist. Mitzi heard Rick groan and felt Daryl lean forward into her, chuckling softly against the back of her head.

Deanna seemed charmed. “You’ll ‘nicely’ punch them in the throat?”

Mitzi made a face, as if realizing how ridiculous it sounded. “Very nicely.”

Glenn started laughing and that seemed to break open the dam, the rest of her family seeming to leech tension in a sudden wave.

Mitzi took a deep breath and shrugged. “In for a penny, I guess.” She handed her M110 over to Olivia, who looked briefly panicked and refused to reach for it.

Mitzi frowned. “It’s empty. You’re not gonna accidentally shoot yourself. I wouldn’t hand you a loaded gun.”

Rick chuckled. “I think she’s worried about being punched in the throat, Mitz.”

Mitzi bit her lip as another round of laughter broke out. “Right.” She turned back to Olivia. “If I put this on your cart, it will fall off. I don’t want it to fall off. You can hold it.”

She hesitantly took the rifle and put her arm through the strap. “Should’ve brought another bin.”

“Mitzi Dixon.” Deanna smiled. “It’s nice to be able to speak to you.”

Mitzi nodded vaguely. “You too, guess.”

“You’re married to Daryl, right?” Deanna leaned back against the couch she was sitting on. Mitzi briefly envied her ease. “How long have you been married?”

“Depends on what you consider married. We decided we were married like six months ago.”

“Decided?” Deanna smiled.

“Decided.” Mitzi nodded affirmatively, as if Deanna was judging her. “Neither Daryl or me are religious, especially not now. Don’t have any need for some big shindig. Just decided we were married. Been together since just about the Turn. Felt right.”

“Sounds right.” Deanna nodded. “Do you think you would’ve gotten married before the Turn?”

“To Daryl, absolutely. To anyone else? Doubtful.”

“You think you would’ve married Daryl if you had met him before the Turn?”

Mitzi frowned. “Know I would’ve. We work now and we woulda worked then, even if.”

Deanna hummed. “I feel very similarly about my husband Reg. I cannot conceive of a timeline or universe in which I wouldn’t have loved him.”

Smiling softly, Mitzi nodded.

“I heard he calls you Spitfire.” She smiled. “How did that come about?”

Mitzi chuckled. “I have a temper. I have been… known to get into verbal altercations with stupid people.”

Deanna snickered. “Consider me warned. Though it’s not much of a surprise.”

Mitzi shrugged. “No… imagine not.”

“What did you do before the Turn?”

Mitzi sighed. “I was in the Army.”

Deanna smiled. “I figured, you hold yourself like a soldier. What did you do?”

Mitzi stared at her for a quiet moment. “I was an Army Ranger. A sniper.”

“Mildred-”

“Please don’t tell me you read ‘bout me or some sh-” Mitzi grimaced. “Crap.”

Deanna nodded. “Sure, of course. It makes sense you survived. I’m glad you made it.”

Mitzi seemed unconvinced, but nodded vaguely.

“Your husband doesn’t seem to want to be here.”

“Neither of us are used to this, now or before.” Mitzi shrugged. “I wouldn’t ‘ve ever thought to live here or anywhere like it. Wouldn’t ‘ve felt comfortable here.”

“So it’s about the wealth that usually comes with a place like this?”

Mitzi shook her head. “I made money. Maybe not enough for a place like this, but I made more than enough for me.” She caught and held Deanna’s eyes. “People who feel comfortable in places like this don’t generally feel comfortable with people like me and Daryl. Besides, with things the way they are now, people who feel comfortable in places like this don’t generally last long enough to matter.”

Deanna seemed stunned.

“Just sayin’. Not tryin’ to be rude.” Mitzi started picking at her thumb. “I don’t want people to die, but there’s not much that can be done anymore either.”

Deanna smiled. “Maybe we can change that.”

“Change what?”

“Survivability.” Deanna nodded. “I understand what you’re saying. The others said similar things. If you don’t know, if you fear that this place isn’t sustainable, why would you agree to come here?”

Mitzi scoffed. “Because my family needs this. Needs to be safe. Carl and Judith deserve to live someplace more permanent. Rick got us this far, went above and beyond, survived more, lost more than anyone had any right to expect of him. He deserves to rest. My husband, who is selfless to his core, risked his life everyday to make sure we continued to live, deserves to rest.”

“You deserve to rest.” Deanna smiled gently.

“Mmm… Maybe.”

“Now’s the time.”

“What?” Daryl drew his whetstone down over his knife. “For what?”

“To take a shower.” Mitzi leaned up against the door to the house. “Everyone is off doin’ whatever and you, love of my life, you are gonna shower.”

Daryl scoffed. “Carol put ya up to this?”

Mitzi laughed. “Carol? No, Carol did not put me up to getting my very sexy husband exactly where I want him, naked and wet in a shower.”

Daryl blushed and looked down the street. “You already showered.”

She nodded and sauntered towards him. Grabbing his hand, she coaxed him to stand and move toward the door. “I’m willing to sacrifice and take another shower so my man can fuck me silly.”

He still seemed hesitant, though his interest was piqued. She tilted her head and paused. “What’s wrong, baby?”

He shuffled. “Don’t trust this.”

“I get that.” She stepped against him, propping her chin on his chest so she could look up at him. “I don’t trust it neither.”

“Don’t wanna like this too much. Get useta it. Lose it.” He sighed. “It’ll make us vulnerable.”

“I agree.” She smiled. “But these people… the danger is in their vulnerability not ours. I doubt they could even stomp out a bug, much less kick down a door.”

He nodded and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

Smiling, she tugged on his hand again.

Daryl followed her through the door and up the stairs, pausing only to lock the door. “Been awhile.”

She nodded, drawing him in for a kiss. “Ain’t been safe enough to sneak away for a quickie.”

“Never did like quickies anyways.” He smirked and leaned in for a ghost of a kiss as she led him into the bathroom. “Don’t like havin’ t’rush.”

“Me neither. And here we are.” She smiled, toeing the bathroom door closed. She leaned in and mouthed at his chest. “All the time in the world.”

She walked further into the frankly enormous bathroom and held her arms up. “I think it’s the size of my apartment in Savannah.”

He cast a dubious look around. “It’s somethin’.” He cast his eyes at the large tub in the center of the room.

She followed his line of sight and grinned. “All the time in the world, baby. Bath or shower?’

He shrugged, biting his lip. “Never fucked ya in a bath before.”

“Decision made.” She leaned over and started the bath. She sat on the side of the tub and untied her boots.

He smiled and knelt at her feet to tug her boots free. Grabbing a handful of his shirt, she pulled him into a kiss.

Grinning against her mouth, he caught the edge of her t-shirt. He pulled it over her head and leaned down to press kisses to her sternum.

She smiled, stood, and reached up to unbutton his shirt. When she reached the bottom button, she parted his shirt and vest and ran the flat of her tongue up over his nipple. He groaned and dug his hand into her hair, pulling her hair tie free and fluffing her hair down over her shoulders.

She pushed his shirt and vest off in one motion and added them to the pile of her clothes. He helped her pull her sports bra over her head, her shoulder still stiff and hard to maneuver around.

Dropping it on the clothes pile, he cupped her breasts, one in each hand and pressed them together. With a wicked smile, he caught her eyes and held them as he licked into the seam her breasts created.

She smiled around a moan and moved to work at his belt. She pushed his pants and briefs down over his hips and knelt to untie his boots. Making a noise deep in his chest, he kept her upright, leaning in to kiss her as he toed his boots off and stepped free of his pants.

Slipping her tongue into his mouth, she unbuttoned her jeans. He wrapped an arm around her waist, jaw working against hers as he supported her. She stepped out of her jeans and underwear, hands framing his face.

He pulled away and grinned, leaning over to seal his mouth around her nipple. Pulling her into him with hands full of her ass, he groaned her name in a low rasp against the skin of her breast.

He bit at her nipple gently, before mouthing at the swell of her other breast. Hissing, she dug her fingers into his ass and arched up into him.

She moaned his name, moving to tug at his hair as he switched between breasts. Glancing down at the water, she removed one hand from him long enough to test the temperature.

“Almost.”

“That’s good, I guess.” He moved to capture her lips again, swallowing her giggle.

Looking back down, she caught sight of buttons on the side and hummed. “Look, D.”

He pressed a kiss to her temple. “What?”

She smiled and pointed down. “I think it's like a jacuzzi.”

He snorted as she turned to inspect the buttons and pressed up against her from behind, setting his chin on her shoulder. She pressed a button and jumped a little when the water started bubbling and churning under the force of the jets.

“The things rich people waste money on.”

He hummed in agreement.

“Wonder what’s in there.” She pointed to a glass and metal shelf to the side of the tub. She moved toward it, laughing when he refused to let her go and instead walked against her over to the shelf.

She picked up a lid off of a dark glass jar. “Bath bombs.”

“What?” He looked over her shoulder and shook his head at the smell emanating from the jar. “Smells like old lady perfume.”

“Right. No bath bombs.” She set the lid down and turned in his arms.

He shrugged. “We can if’n you want.”

She made a face and moved his hair out of his face. “No, I’m good. Don’t really wanna smell that strong either.”

He lifted his hands from the small of her back and cradled her jaw in both hands. He kissed her, softly, sweetly, and moved her back towards the tub. She tested the water and nodded against his mouth. “It’s ready. Just gotta get soap and shit.”

“I’ll do it.” He rasped and tapped her ass. “Get in.”

She sat in the center of the tub, hissing as the warmth loosened the tension in her body almost immediately. She smiled as he sniffed at the collection of shampoos, conditioners and soaps.

“All’a this smells like flowers and shit.”

She grinned and pointed to the glass-walled shower. “I think what Rick used yesterday is still in there.”

He nabbed the bottle of men’s shampoo and sniffed it, nodding.

“Might as well wash up in there. As much as I love your protective layer of dirt, I’d rather not sit in it.”

He made a face. “Fuck you.”

She grinned. “Get clean and you can.”

He scoffed and leaned in to turn the shower on. He kept his eyes on her as he soaped up, grinning as he worked soapy water over the length of his cock.

She moaned softly, eyes alternating between his hand and his eyes. He grinned and stopped, stepping under the shower head and rinsing clear. He washed his hair, rinsed and then moved to step out of the shower.

“You tease.” She tsked. “Use the conditioner too.”

“Don’t need conditioner.”

“Yes, you do.” Mitzi moved to set her chin on her forearms on the lip of the tub. “Love your hair, D, but if you don’t want to keep it short, you’re gonna take care of it, while we can.”

He huffed and raked conditioner through his hair with quick, probably ineffectual movements.

Rinsing it out quickly, he stepped out and stepped into the tub. He leaned back and groaned lowly as the jets massaged at his back.

With a low hum, he pulled her back against his chest.

She leaned up to kiss at his chin. “This is nice. Even nicer now that you’re clean.”

He nodded, chewing at the inside of his lip as he lifted water in his cupped hands. He poured the water over her breasts and then cupped them, massaging them lightly before pinching and pulling at her nipples.

She moaned and reached down to squeeze at his thighs.

“It is nice. Not useta bein’ able to just have ya. No one else around, no looking over my shoulder, makin’ sure you’re safe.” He shifted to suck at her neck. “Y’can be as loud as y’want.”

She kissed at his chin, smiling widely. “Never cared to be quiet, baby.”

He chuckled against her neck, moving to suck at her shoulder. One hand drifted down, petting briefly at her stomach, before sinking in between her legs.

She hissed as the pad of his middle finger touched briefly to her clit.

“Gonna get you off this way first then you’re gonna bounce on my cock until you cum again. Kay?”

She nodded and he sunk his finger into her, thumb coming up to thrum at her clit. She moaned, caught between arching into the finger inside of her and up into the hand cupping her breast.

“Com’n, Pretty Baby.” He added another finger and set a punishing rhythm. “Love seein’ ya this way.”

“Love you too.” She gasped, one hand coming to claw at the wall of the tub. “Fuck, baby.”

He moved to suck another bruise into the column of her throat. He pinched at the nipple still in his hand. The middle finger of his other hand glided gently against her walls, finding the spongy little spot right behind her pubic bone he didn’t often have time to tease.

She gasped, back going ramrod, her thighs attempting to close tight around his hand. He chuckled, speeding up the motion of his hand, the hand on her breast coming down to hook around a thigh, keeping her legs open.

His thumb pressed into her clit at the same time his middle finger found that same spot and pressed hard. Her body tightened in a hard motion, hand white-knuckled on the tub edge.

“Holy shit!”

He smiled and pressed his lips to her temple. “Kiss me.”

She turned and caught his mouth, moaning into him as he continued to rock his hand into her, middle finger dragging against her with each retreat.

She pressed her forehead to his, panting against his mouth.

His eyes were hot on hers. “Always look so pretty like this, Spitfire. Pretty n’ pink… mine. Y’gonna cum?”

She nodded. “‘Bout to.”

“Do it.”

She threw her head back against his shoulder and her back arched. She moaned his name loudly, loud enough that her voice rang in his ear long after she collapsed against him.

“Good girl.” He hummed, rutting his hips into her ass just enough to take the edge off. “Only problem with doing this in the water is that I can’t lick ya off m’fingers.”

She gasped, core clamping down on his fingers again. “F-fuck.”

He chuckled and mouthed wetly at her jaw as he pulled his fingers free of her. She swatted at his thigh. “Holy fuckin’ shit.”

Pulling her earlobe into his mouth, he moved the hand that had been inside her up to her breast. There was a slick wetness that didn’t feel like water. “Jesus Christ. You’re tryin’ to kill me.”

He laughed. “Catch yer breath, you’re about to ride the fuck outta me.” He rolled her nipple between his fingers. Pinched it, hard.

She moaned. “Can’t catch my breath if you keep doin’ shit.”

“A’ight.” He grasped at her hips. “Lean forward.”

She turned to straddle him, but he stopped her, hand high on her back. She glanced at him, head tilted in confusion.

“Just like this. Keep y’legs together.” He grasped her hips again and lifted her, grunting. “Put me in ya.”

She steadied herself with a hand on his thigh, reaching down pressing the head of his cock into her core.

She sighed as he eased her back against his chest. “Fuck.” She breathed deep and petted at her clit.

“What?” He lifted her and groaned into her hair as he pulled her back in.

She smiled and set her other hand on his thigh, helping him fuck into her. “You’ve always been big, but like this?” She chuckled breathlessly. “I can feel you fuckin’ everywhere.” She cast a look over her shoulder and grinned when she saw him blushing.

“Stop.” He smiled.

She winked at him. “Never.”

He planted his feet and fucked up into her. Gasping, she clutched at his thigh. He pressed a toothy grin against her back. “Not so fuckin’ smug now?”

She pushed against his thighs trying to speed up the rhythm. He groaned, shifting his hands to her breasts as she took over the rhythm.

“Jesus.” She moaned, grinding back against him, shifting the angle he was entering her at. “Feel so good, D.”

He mouthed at her neck, grunting. “You too, baby. So tight. So fuckin’ wet.”

She nodded. “All yours.”

“That’s right.” Squeezing at her breast, he pulled her down against him, grinding up into her. “You there?”

She nodded and moaned, one of his hands dropping to wedge in between her thighs. Alternating between petting at her clit and tracing where they were joined, he groaned. “That’s it, Spitfire, fuckin’ squeeze me.”

He felt her clamp down around him and thumbed at her clit with hasher, more firm circles. Her head fell back and she screamed his name. Groaning deep and loud, he followed her.

She had just settled back against his chest when they heard something that sounded suspiciously like a broomstick against the ceiling of the floor below.

They both froze.

“Can you at least keep it down?”

“We need a constant patrol along the walls. Not just looking for damage, but signs that anyone climbed in from outside.” He tapped on the corrugated metal, not loud enough to ring the dinner bell for any undead-someone in the vicinity.

About fifteen seconds later, Mitzi cleared the top of the wall and began climbing down the other side.

Rick looked at Deanna. “You can move right up the supports. That’s what I’d do. People are the real threat now.”

Mitzi nodded. “It wouldn’t take that long, be loud, or even be particularly dangerous. The only thing that would make it risky is walkers and we obviously don’t want any of them hanging around either so we’ll be effectively making it easier for someone bad to climb the walls.”

Deanna shook her head. “Rick, I know you think we should all be armed within the walls. I can’t do that.”

“That’s fine.” Rick nodded. “You make these changes, we won’t need to.”

Mitzi crossed her arms over her chest. “We just need to beef up, formalize security and we can go on living the way y’have been. Won’t always be lucky.”

“Excuse me.” Sasha walked up behind Mitzi. “I want to volunteer to be one of the lookouts in the clock tower.”

“There are no lookouts in the clock tower.”

Mitzi turned back to Deanna, aghast, at the same time Rick almost growled: “What?”

Michonne looked down at the small woman with a furrowed brow. “We saw someone up there earlier.”

Deanna grimaced. “That was an empty rifle my son Spencer put up there. He mans it sometimes, but not often.”

“Why even bother then?” Mitzi shook her head. “People aren’t gonna be scared of a rifle that never fires.”

Deanna looked between them, trying to soothe, smooth over. “Look, there hasn’t been a need.”

Rick set his hands on his hips. “We need a lookout in that tower right now, 24/7.”

Michonne nodded. “It’s the only way we’ll be able to see if someone’s coming at us.”

Deanna sucked in a breath. “Okay, Okay… we’ll make shifts.”

“I’ll take those shifts, as many as possible.”

Mitzi shook her head. “Sash-”

Sasha shook her head and Mitzi moved to speak again. Deanna cut her off. “Why?”

Maggie stepped in. “Sasha is one of our best shots. She can do it.”

Deanna turned to look at Sasha again. “I’m gonna put Spencer up there today. I’ll consider you being our primary lookout.”

“Consider?” Mitzi stepped forward. “I don’t think anyone-“ she shit a look at Sasha, “-should take all the shifts. It’s not healthy. But there ain’t nothin’ to consider. Sasha is almost as good as me with none of the formal trainin’. She’s a fuckin’ natural marksman. What is there to consider?” She reached out and squeezed Sasha’s forearm.

“It’s not that.” Deanna held her hand up. “I want something in return.”

Sasha glanced at Mitzi, who arched an eyebrow. “You want something in return for Sasha protecting the community?”

“Tonight I’m hosting a welcome for all of you at my home.” She looked specifically at Sasha, who looked even more confused. “I want you to be there.”

“Why?”

“Come tonight. Then we’ll talk about it.”

Sasha stared at Deanna for a moment longer and then walked away.

“On the topic of safety and security,” Deanna smiled. “I was hoping you’d help me with that, Mitzi.”

“How so?” Mitzi glanced up at Rick and Maggie.

“I had hoped you’d improve our training regimen. All the necessary skills for runs, basic gun safety for those who routinely go outside the walls. Maybe even some hand to hand. If we want a watch on the walls, maybe you can coordinate that as well.”

Rick brightened, stepping forward. “Mitzi also maintained our armory at the prison, cleaning, cataloging.”

Deanna seemed to pause, considering that. “Olivia, as efficient as she is, doesn’t know much about guns. I’m sure she could use the help.”

Mitzi stared her down, skeptical. “When you say ‘improve your training regimen’-“

Deanna grinned, clearly aware that what she was about to say would irritate them. “I mean create one. We don’t have one.”

Mitzi’s jaw clenched. “How many of these people arrived here knowing how to use guns safely?”

“A handful. Most have figured it out as they went.”

“Figured it out as they-“ Mitzi sucked in a deep breath. “Yeah, okay.”

Michonne reached out to squeeze her shoulder. “Mitzi is very passionate about gun safety.”

“Do you know how many people died before the Turn because they fucked around with a weapon they didn’t know how to use?” Mitzi threw her hands in the air. “And now! One ill-timed shot and everyone on a run dies.”

Rick buried a chuckle. “Mitzi-“

“How have you been this lucky? I genuinely don’t understand.” Mitzi raked her hands through her hair, eyes wide. “Which one of you is blowing God?” She stuttered to a stop. “Holy Fuck!”

Deanna smiled. “That passion is why you’re taking gun safety, safety in general, over.” She reached for and shook Mitzi’s rigid hand. “I’m excited to work with you.”

Mitzi breathed deep, pinching at the space between her thumb and forefinger. “Whatever, I’m cool, I’m good.” She breathed deep again and nodded. “Can I ask you a question?”

Deanna nodded.

“Why does Sasha bother you?”

Deanna started and Michonne nodded. “I was thinking the same thing.”

“I’m not bothered.” Deanna considered her words for a moment. “There is something about Sasha that makes me anxious, that’s true. Her behav-“

“She has lost two people she cared very deeply about in the last month.” Mitzi crossed her arms over her head. “She has PTSD. Hell, we all have PTSD. If y’all can’t understand that, give consideration for that, beyond the run of the mill, ‘oh, we see what y’all have been through,’ bullshit, this ain’t gonna work.”

“Why is that?” Deanna’s eyes were intense but not angry.

Mitzi glanced at Michonne and Rick. “I’m not tryin’ to be a bitch-“

“No, you’re just very direct.” Deanna smiled. “I appreciate it.”

Mitzi didn’t look like she believed her. “I won’t speak for anyone else, but I’ve never been one for hand-holdin’, that’s even more true now. This world is what it is. I recognize that y’all ain’t had to see it, experience it, here, but I’m not gonna wait around for y’all to catch up.” Mitzi shrugged. “I know that Michonne and Maggie and Rick have all tried to help y’all understand. If y’all don’t catch up quick, there will be a time when lagging behind the learning curve is gonna get someone killed.”

Rick nodded. “I agree with Mitzi. Y’all need to understand that what we’ve experienced is the norm, not the exception.”

“And I honestly don’t mean just out there. That’s where the danger is, sure. But we have changed because of this world. You all, while you’ve lost people, you’ve gone without, you’ve undoubtedly suffered, y’all haven’t had to change to survive this world.” Mitzi caught Deanna’s eyes and held them. “I already told you I have a temper. I’m gonna work at being patient with your people, but I’m not gonna hand-hold, treat y’all with kid gloves. Some of y’all think that because you have it good here, because you have held onto this place, that you’re somehow stronger, tougher, that you’ve made it. I don’t see it that way. Someone comes at one of us sideways on the wrong day and it could get ugly. Try as I might, I can't promise patience.”

Deanna nodded. “Thank you, Mitzi. That’s good insight.”

“Are you afraid of guns, ma’am?”

Mitzi snorted, opening her mouth to disabuse the dumbass of his dumbassery. Carol caught her eye.

“Mm… no. Well I had a handgun and I carried a rifle while we were on the outside, but I’m not an expert. Not with those at least.” She flashed him a demure smile and Mitzi arched an eyebrow, settling back against the wall of the armory, such that it was. “Not like Mitzi is.”

The man turned to consider her, and while Mitzi didn’t get the impression that he was a dick, the look he shot at her told her what he thought of her, vaguely apprehensive and more than a little skeptical.

“You’re an expert, ma’am?”

Mitzi fought the urge to roll her eyes. “Yeah, y’could say that.”

Carol all but batted her eyelashes. “Mitzi was an Army Ranger.”

He looked shocked. “Didn’t think they let women in military spec ops.”

Mitzi chewed on the inside of her cheek, eyeing Carol’a performance. “They didn’t, just me.”

The man seemed to catch the drift Mitzi was putting off and turned back to Carol. “Well, my name is Tobin.” He smiled down at Carol and Mitzi wanted to throw up just a little bit. “And whenever you want, I’d be happy to teach you.”

Olivia, who had been quietly notating and observing, spoke up. “Deanna’s actually put Mitzi in charge of gun safety training.”

Tobin looked shocked, but politely so. “Is that right?”

Mitzi hummed. “Yeah, apparently y’all have just been figurin’ shit out as you went. Lucky none of ya have died due to poor gun handling.”

Tobin bobbed his head noncommitally.

Carol cast another look at Mitzi. “Thanks for the offer, Tobin.”

“Thanks for the offer, Tobin.” Mitzi picked up a box of shells and opened it. “Are you afraid of guns, ma’am?”

Carol looked over her shoulder at Olivia, who was still taking notes. “Stop.”

Mitzi shot her a look.

“What?”

“Exactly my question. What was that about?”

She shrugged. “They don’t need to know everything about us.”

“I agree, but is it really necessary to play damsel in distress?” Mitzi made a vague motion with her hands. “Well, mister… I’m no expert.”

Carol shrugged. “They wouldn’t expect me to know how to use a gun.”

Mitzi huffed out a shocked laugh. “Then they’re fuckin’ dumb. How were you supposed to survive out there without at least some expertise?”

Carol looked over her shoulder again. “Mitzi, you know the play. We play things close to the chest and wait and see.” She cast Mitzi a look. “Behave.”

Mitzi rolled her eyes and nodded, waving her off before turning to Olivia. “A’ight. Show me how you got this organized.”

“Richard.” Mitzi sidled up to him, sipping at her beer. “I love you. You are my brother in every way that counts. That is a bad decision.”

Rick set his hands on his hips and looked down at her. “What d’ya mean?”

She shot him a look. “She is married. She is married to a surgeon. And while you and I know that occupation is no measure of worth. In this world, as it is, he is and will be seen as valuable for that reason alone. Allowances for any character fault will be made on that metric alone.”

“Yeah…” he sighed. “I know.”

“On top of that, he is from here. We ain’t- yet at least. He wins in every way.” She leaned against his arm and smiled up at him. “That sucks, I know it does because you are better than that pretentious dickwad in every way. But that is reality.”

He nodded. “When did you get so smart, Mildred Elizabeth?”

“Excuse the fuck outta you, Richard Andrew.” She grinned.

“I hate you callin’ me by my full name.”

“No you don’t.” She grinned at him.

He grinned back. “I also hate how right you are sometimes.”

“I’m right most of the time.” She shoved his arm with her elbow as he snorted. “On a slightly related note, if you were to turn your gaze elsewhere, might I suggest our favorite swordswoman?”

Rick blushed. “Nah… I don’t- she wouldn’t be interested-“

Mitzi laughed. “Alright, boss. Keep tellin’ yourself that.” She finished off her beer and put the empty in a nearby, cleverly hidden trash bin. “On that note, Ima head out, find D. I’ve had ‘bout as much as I can stand.”

Rick ruffled her hair and she swatted at his hand. “Thanks, Mitzi.”

She nodded and snuck off towards the front door. Closing it softly behind her, she turned and caught sight of him leaning against a tree. She smiled and took a step down the porch stairs. “Damn! My baby looks good! All clean and wearing sleeves an’ shit.”

Daryl stepped closer to the porch, into the light, and eyed her quietly, reaching out to tug at the hem of her skirt. “Yer in a dress.”

“Carol made me. She wants to make a good impression.” She nodded and wrapped her arms around him. He stepped in closer, burying his face in her sternum.

He pressed a kiss to her chest. “Y’look pretty.”

“Thank ya, baby.” She smiled, pressing a kiss to his head. “I think I already fucked it up though.”

He snorted. “How?”

“This dude was complaining about missing being able to golf.”

He scoffed. “What did’ya say?”

She pulled back and winced comically down at him. “I asked him what was stopping him? Told him we could go out tomorrow if he wanted. Judging from Rick’s expression, that was wrong?” She shrugged. “I miss a lot of stuff from before, but like the variety of music and McDonald’s? Not fuckin’ golf.”

He smiled into her skin. “Sounds like a bougie asshole anyways.”

She nodded. “Alotta that in there.” She cast a look over her shoulder. “In fact… let’s start meandering back to the house that way I don’t hafta go back in there.”

He nodded, stepping back to allow her off the porch. She hooked her hand in his elbow as he stuffed his hands in his pockets. They started down the street, Mitzi feeling more at ease and less hurried than she had felt in a long while.

“Daryl.” Aaron stepped out on his porch and smiled down at them. “Mitzi. Hey.”

Mitzi smiled back as Daryl slowed, biting at his thumb nail as he looked up at the other man. Pointing back at Deanna’s house, he rasped, “Thought you we’re going to that party over there.”

Aaron shook his head with a small smile. “Oh, I was never going to go because of Eric’s ankle. Thank god.”

Daryl was tense and Mitzi frowned, moving to Tun at his back discreetly. “Why the hell did you tell me to go, then?”

“I said try, you did.” He shrugged. “It’s a ‘thought that counts’ thing.”

Daryl scoffed. “Alright.” He set his hand in the small of her back and moved her forward.

“Hey!” Aaron stepped closer to the edge of the porch. “Come in. Have some dinner.”

Daryl paused, tense again.

“Come on, man. It’s some pretty serious spaghetti.”

Daryl looked down at her and she smiled back. “Ain’t had spaghetti in a while.”

He sighed and pushed her toward the stairs. She caught his hand from the small of her back and pulled him gently towards the door.

Aaron held the door for them. She smiled at Eric as she passed where he sat waiting for them.

He made to stand and she waved him back down. “No, it’s okay.”

She near jumped when he grabbed her hand and squeezed it. “Thanks for joining us.”

She nodded and took the seat she was directed to. “Thanks for havin’ us.” She made a face. “Sorry, I’m a little outta practice with the whole dinner thing.”

Daryl made a face and took the seat next to her.

She reached over and squeezed his knee. She caught his eye and mouthed, “we got this.”

“They’re just odd.”

Mitzi tried to focus on cleaning the rifle Tobin had returned earlier and not on the voices in the more food centered part of the pantry.

“I mean some of them are great! They fit in, they help.”

“I agree completely. Maggie and Glenn are wonderful… Well, Maggie is wonderful. I’m struggling a bit with Glenn after Aiden.”

“I know, I feel the same way. Carol is very friendly. Rick is intense but seems nice enough. But some of them… I’m sure they are good people but...”

“Did you know that one of them took the construction site from Tobin?”

“What? Why would Deanna allow that?”

Mitzi breathed deep, fighting the urge to correct them. “Patience,” she muttered to herself, setting aside the rifle and clearing a pistol.

“Some of them just don’t belong here. Sasha-“

“Were you there when she lost control at the party? I mean, come on!”

Mitzi shoved to her feet and made for the door to the armory. She thought better of it. “Patience, patience…”

“And that red-haired woman and her husband.”

“Something tells me husband is an exaggeration.” The woman laughed cruelly. “He doesn’t seem to be the type-“

Mitzi’s hand white-knuckled around the door knob.

“Probably tells him she’s pregnant. Doesn’t seem like he would know one way or another.”

“You’re so mean.” The woman twittered. “Did you know that Aaron asked him to be a recruiter?”

“I know!” She gasped, scandalized. “I actually asked Aaron about it. He was adamant that it was a good idea but like, how can it be a good idea? I’ve heard nothing but grunts and mutters from the man since the group got here. Don’t you have to speak coherently to be a rec-“

The door to the armory slammed open and Mitzi stalked at the women who blanched.

“Thought I’d join your bitch fest, ladies. What else you got?”

One started stuttering out apologies.

“Oh that’s predictable.” Mitzi sniffed. “Now you ain’t got shit t’say? All that brass and now you’re fuckin’ silent?”

Olivia stepped forward, hands shaking. “Mitzi-“

Mitzi waved her off. “Nah, they grown. They talked shit and where I’m from, you talk shit, you get hit.”

The women backed up towards the open garage door. “We’re so sorry-“

“‘Bout what?” Mitzi advanced. “‘Bout what exactly? That fact that you mocked the difficulty we are all having here? Sasha reacted the way she did because the idea that someone would worry about what food someone else likes is fuckin’ ludicrous in this world. We didn’t have fuckin’ food less than a week ago. We ate dog.”

The women backed out of the garage door, hands held up. “S-sorry-“

“You still ain’t said what ‘bout.” Mitzi smiled meanly, following them out into the street. “You sorry that you didn’t mention that Noah died the same day as Aiden or that Tara’s head was split open? You sorry ‘bout insinuating that my friend Abraham carried out some sorta hostile takeover? Not that your friend Tobin couldn’t fuckin’ cut it? That he almost got someone killed and Abraham saved all their asses?”

“No…” One of the women sobbed.

“All those cajones and nuthin’ t’say for yourself.” Mitzi tsked. “Maybe you’re sorry for saying that I would need to trap a man to keep him? Or that my husband would be dumb enough to believe that I was pregnant just ‘cause I said it? Or that my man can’t talk coherently?”

“Mitzi!” Rick rounded the corner in front of her and ran full speed at her, Daryl on his heels. She looked around at the gathering crowd of aghast faces and marveled at how fast information spread.

One of the women tripped over her own foot and went sprawling. Mitzi rolled her eyes.

“You don’t fuckin’ get it.” Mitzi scoffed. “None’a ya do. Hol’up here in a fuckin’ ivory tower. Judgin’ us from on high like some kinda higher bein’. Like you done somethin’ other than gettin’ fuckin’ lucky. Bein’ in the right place at the right time.”

Daryl stepped into her line of sight. “Spitfire, ya need to breathe.”

She shook her head, stepping around him. “Ima make sure they understand. It’s passed time they do.”

Rick grabbed her shoulder and pulled her back. “Mitzi-“

She shook him off and advanced on them again, the woman who had fallen sobbed and crab-walked back.

A man from Alexandria stepped in. “You need to back off.”

Daryl caught her arm before Mitzi had a chance to clock him. Rick stepped in between him and Mitzi and Daryl, who was still trying to talk her down.

Rick put his hand on the other man’s chest. “Don’t.”

The man scoffed. “Don’t what? You two can’t control her. She’s been strutting around the armory like she owns it. Intimidating poor Olivia and now she verbally assaulting-“

“Don’t start somethin’ you ain’t prepared for.” Rick growled. “She’s more than capable of killin’ you and we’re keepin’ her from doin’ it.”

The man laughed. “That bitch?”

Rick pushed Daryl back towards Mitzi.

“Don’t talk ‘bout my wife-“

“Or what?”

“Shut y’mouth before I shove my fist in it.” Mitzi pointed at the man and turned back to the women, Daryl’s arm back around her waist.

She sucked in a breath and one of them winced. “I won’t hit ya even though y’fuckin’ deserve it. You ain’t worth one more minute of my time and you wouldn’t survive it if I did. You are weak and pathetic. You are cowards that wouldn’t last a single minute out there. I know that and I know that this mean-girl, high-school bullshit is more about self-medicating your mediocrity than it is ‘bout me or my family.”

The woman nodded. “T-thank you… we’re so sorry-“

“That bein’ said, if you ever speak ‘bout my family like that again, I will beat you into the ground. You hear me?” Mitzi stepped in, pointing at them. “If I ever hear my man’s name in your mouth, you will be black n’blue for a month. And no one will stop me, y’hear?”

They nodded and Mitzi scoffed, turning. Deanna stood directly in front of her, disappointed. “I thought you were going to try to be patient?”

Mitzi threw her head back and stepped closer to the older woman. “I didn’t fuck ‘em up. That is patience.”

She stalked off and Rick nodded after her.

Daryl found her pacing through the solar panels. He leaned against one and pulled out two cigarettes lighting them together.

She grunted in frustration, kicking at the dirt.

“What happened?” He blew out a stream of smoke and passed the other cigarette to her.

She shook her head and took a drag on her cigarette. She made another wordless noise of frustration and kicked at the dirt again.

“Spitfire.”

“I know it was dumb. That I shouldn't've let them get to me.” She clenched her jaw. “But they’re so clueless, so naive. They think that they can just continue livin’ in this fairytale. That nothin’ has changed.”

Daryl nodded and ashed his cigarette. “What did they say?”

She sighed. “Stupid shit. Shit that doesn’t really even matter.”

“Shit about us?”

She nodded and glanced at him for the first time. “It was ignorant, fuckin’ bullshit.” She sucked on her cigarette again and blew out a smoke ring. “It pissed me off because they don’t know. They clearly don’t know.”

He watched her idly. “Know what?”

“They think that they are superior. Like they are more evolved because they held onto ‘civilization’.” She scoffed and shook his head. “But they are going to die. Maybe not soon, but if they don’t catch up, they’re going to die. They got lucky with us. If we had been anyone else…” She trailed off and Daryl nodded.

“Y’right.” He caught her hand and pulled her to him. “Y’right, n’they will figure it out or they will die.”

“Or cause one of us to die.” She sighed and pressed her face to his chest. “I don’t want anyone else to die.”

“I know, baby.” He pressed a kiss to her head.

Part 7

#daryl dixon #twd daryl #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon x oc #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon smut #the walking dead #the walking dead daryl #daryl fanfiction

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rfsak2 · 9 months

Text

Spitfire, Part 5

This is another long post. Part of me thinks they will continue to get longer as the seasons get more complicated. I’m excited though because after Season 4, Alexandria/Negan are prime Daryl.

Let me know what you think!

Spitfire, Pt. 5

Everyone always thought Daryl was the rough one. DarylxOC

Warnings: violence, emotions, injuries, character death/characters feared dead, smut under the cut

Part 4

She perched on Daryl’s lap, settling against his chest, then crossed her legs, almost demurely, between his spread legs. She looked up, catching Glenn’s exasperated glance.

Daryl snuck his arm around her waist, big hand falling on the outside of her thigh.

She shrugged. “What?”

Hershel hid a smile. “This is a council meeting.”

She nodded. “There are no more chairs.”

They all turned to see the stack of chairs in one corner of the library.

She waved dismissively. “There are no more chairs over here. I’m lazy.”

She felt more than heard Daryl’s chuckle. She glanced back at him and he didn’t meet her eye. A second later he felt his finger tracing the outside seam of her jeans… then the inside seam.

She pinched the inside of his other thigh, watching out of the corner of her eye as he bit at his lip.

Maggie snickered. “Alright, then.”

Hershel nodded. “Let's start with the back side of the prison. Walkers have been wandering in again. One got into the tombs.”

Sasha sat forward. “We can try to lure them away. Set up a boombox a half mile out. Mitzi and I can take down any too stuck to get out.”

Carol nodded. “We need something more permanent. The old torn-down walls help keep some out but they clearly aren’t secure enough.”

Daryl hummed. “Found an old excavator. If we can find diesel n’someone to drive it, we can probably clear it pretty easy. Find a way to replace the fence.”

Maggie spoke up. “I can drive it.”

Mitzi made a note on a little sheet of paper. “So: diesel and fencing. We can probably get most of that from the same construction site where the excavator is. We’ll just need to clear it. There were about twenty walkers in there last time we rode by.”

“I’ll gather some people up.” Glenn nodded to Sasha and Mitzi. “Between the two of you, we should be able to clear it pretty quickly.”

They all agreed and the conversation moved to another topic. Daryl pointed at her notepad, his free hand drawing a nonsensical design that arched closer and closer to her inner thigh. “What’s this word?”

“‘Escavater’.” She scribbled something, hiding her pad, and showed it to him. Frisky?

He chuckled. “That’s not how it’s spelled.” He nabbed her pen and scratched it out, spelling it correctly and adding: you know what you did.

Laughing, she grabbed it back, pretending to scratch out the misspelled word. “I was in the Army, not the Air Force. What d’ya expect?” Don’t know what you’re talking about at all.

Bending over my bike like a fucking porn star.

Who me?

I’m gonna fu-

“Mitzi?”

She hummed, trying not to startle, like she had been caught doing exactly what they had been doing. She looked up.

Hershel grinned back. “Do I need to separate you?”

“No, sir.” She shook her head, almost childishly. “Can’t spell. Daryl was helpin’ me. What was the question?”

He chuckled. “Ammo?”

“We did pretty good when we scavenged at that pop-up army tent-camp last month.” She shrugged. “As always, we need to keep our eye on it and keep a look out for more munitions but we’re pretty stocked.”

Daryl’s hand on her thigh pulled her ass tight to his crotch. She pinched him again, higher. He captured her hand and held it to his thigh, knowing that her crossed legs hid his lower half almost completely.

Glenn sat forward. “Do you think we have enough to start teaching and target practice up again?”

“Yeah, probably, but.” She considered that, trying to keep her voice level. “We need to see how bad the old training ground has gotten. D spotted a herd heading that way last month.”

Daryl nodded, rubbing his bristly chin over her exposed upper arm. “We can swing by on our next run n’see.”

“What about hand-to-hand? Can we start working on that?”

“Sure.” She shrugged, pulling her hand back from his thigh from where he had been inching it up. “Anytime. I think people are just a little nervous because of the rumors that’ve been runnin’ ‘round.”

Maggie giggled and Mitzi was briefly anxious that Maggie knew what was happening across the table. “Is it a rumor if it’s true? You did beat that guy up a couple of weeks ago.”

Daryl grunted, grumbling under his breath. “Less than he deserved.”

Mitzi made a face and folded her hands primly in front of her, partially to get them away from Daryl. “Y’all didn’t see Daryl go for his knife. I saved him from being knife throwing practice. Besides, he was fine. He just had a black eye-”

Glenn hung his head, smiling despite trying to stay serious. “And a broken wrist?”

She shook her head. “That was an accident. Scared me poppin’ up behind me like that.”

“You'll start tomorrow, then. If that’s okay?”

Mitzi saluted.

She smiled as she laid her cheek against his chest, sweaty and satisfied.

Daryl wrapped a red spiral around his finger, rubbing his thumb over it gently.

Busying herself with idly drawing patterns over his chest, she lightly scratched at his nipple. She giggled when he captured her hand and lifted it to his mouth and Daryl bit lightly into the meat of her palm.

“Gonna start teaching hand-to-hand t’morrow, yeah?”

She nodded against his chest, yawning. “Are you cool with being my Vanna White?”

He snorted. “What d’ya need help with?”

“Demonstration.” She turned more on her stomach so she could prop her chin up on his chest. “Put me in a chokehold-“

He started shaking his head and she trailed off. “What’s wrong?”

“Ain’t puttin’ my hands on ya like that, no way.”

Her head tilted in confusion. “Baby, that wouldn’t be the context.”

He grunted. “I know that, but I ain’t doin’ it.”

She nodded, pressing closer so she could lay her cheek against his. “Ok.” She pressed a kiss to his cheek. “I’ll ask Glenn.”

He breathed deep, trying to relax the sudden rigidity in his muscles. “My father beat the shit outta me n’my mom. And I know your dad n’grandpa beat ya. I ain’t doin’ it or nothing close to it.”

She smiled against his neck. “I have never, ever thought you’d raise a hand t’me. It didn’t even cross my mind that those two things would be- or feel -the same for you. If it had, I wouldn’t ‘ve asked you, D.”

He nodded affirmatively. “I’ll be there to help ya, but I ain’t putting my hands around your neck or pretending to hurt you no how.”

They quieted and she settled back, tracing designs in his chest. “Y’know, you are the only person I ever dated, even before the military, that treats me the way y’do.”

He calmed. “How d’ya mean?”

“Like I’m glass… not fragile necessarily, but valuable.”

He nodded, running his fingers up and down her side. “How’d they treat ya?”

She shrugged. “Not always bad necessarily… just rough, I guess they were always aware that I could handle rougher treatment. Never really had anyone protect me or think twice about how they treated me. I don’t know. Didn’t date that much anyways so I guess I didn’t really think about it. But there’s always been a noticeable difference between you n’ them anyways.”

Daryl breathed deeply, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “I know you can handle it… me being rougher with you, doing the shit you do- are asked t’do.”

She smiled. “You know that is literally what I would have done if this shit never happened right? If we had met before the turn.”

“True, I guess.”

She sighed. “I don’t think you would’ve wanted t’be with me, to be honest. I was gone all the time, in foreign locales I couldn’t tell you about, doing things and killing people I couldn't tell you about. I was… broken by alotta it and pretty cold by the end. As much I’d wanna fuck you, I probably wouldn’t ‘ve been very nice.”

“You were never broken. I don’t believe that.” He shook his head. “Besides… Would’ve still wanted ya.”

She stared up at him with a soft smile. “You would’ve been the only one, I didn’t even want myself most days.” She pressed a kiss to his nose. “On the bright side, with my salary and all the extras, you coulda just stayed home and been my house-husband. Do whatever you wanted to do, customize bikes, hunt, fish, learn how to surf, whatever.”

“House-husband?” He rolled his eyes, pulling her over him so she laid against him. “Wouldn’t ‘ve just let you work and sit around doin’ nothin’.”

“No, you wouldn’t ‘ve.” She conceded. “You don’t have a lazy bone in your body. But you wouldn’t have had to do something you weren’t interested in just to earn a living and I woulda liked to be able to give you that. Woulda made it more worth it.”

He made a face like he was considering it. “Made money, then?”

She chuckled. “Yeah, I made money. Between base pay, base-approved housing, hazard pay, the occasional special demonstration or competition, I socked away money like no one’s business.” She grinned up at him. “You woulda been a well-kept man.”

He snorted. “Some trophy husband.”

She pinched his side. “You vastly underestimate how attractive you are. I woulda had to beat off the other officer’s wives.”

He shrugged, uncomfortable, and she let the conversation go.

He sighed after a minute. “I wouldn’t ‘ve liked it then, anymore than I like it now. Money or no.”

“Gotta do somethin’.” She shrugged. “This just happens to be what I’m good at.”

He nodded. “I know you’re trained to do these things, that you’re good at ‘em, that you are tough as nails, but I don’t want you to hafta, to hafta be. Like that’s all you’re good for.”

“I don’t.” She thumbed at his bottom lip. “If it was all I was good for, who’d keep you in clean clothes?”

He groaned. “I can do it, I just forget.”

“I know, baby.” She leaned up to kiss him. “I don’t mind doin’ the laundry. If I did, there’d be nothin’ you could do t‘make me.”

She settled back against his chest and was dozing off when he spoke. “Love ya.”

She smiled. “Love ya too.”

“Alright. Let’s get started.” Mitzi smiled, hands on her hips. “For most of you, this is gonna just be basic self-defense, how to keep a walker off of you long enough to pull a knife, how to break a headlock or a chokehold, that kinda stuff.”

Glenn grinned from where he stood in the small crowd that had gathered around her and raised his hand. “So you’re not going to be teaching me to kill someone with a spoon?”

She laughed. “Not t’day. That’s a special lesson.”

Zach raised his hand. “So you can, though?”

“Can what?”

“Kill someone with a spoon?” Zach grinned at Glenn

She shrugged. “You can kill someone with anythin’ if y’try hard enough.”

Zach watched her with a comically suspicious face. “Exactly what I’d expect a… internationally renowned martial artist to say.”

Mitzi frowned, head tilting in confusion. “What?”

“That's what you did before the turn. You were a martial artist.”

She snorted and glanced back at Daryl. “Y’know, Glenn knows what I did before the turn.”

“I told him not to tell me. I want to guess.”

“A’ight.” Mitzi shrugged. “You do you.”

“Back on topic.” Glenn nodded. “I want to start by learning to kill someone with a spoon.”

“She said later.” Daryl groused from where he sat on the low wall to the newly erected cooking pavilion. “Can’t be wastin’ spoons neither.”

“Killjoy.” Glenn discretely flicked off Daryl.

Daryl rushed Glenn, grabbing him around the neck and rubbing at his scalp with his knuckles. “What you call me, punk?”

Mitzi giggled and walked over to them. “A’ight. This isn’t likely to be the way a walker would grab you but it’s as good a place as any to start.”

“Mitzi, make him let me go.” Glenn whined. The small group laughed.

“Not yet, Glenn. We’re learning. Also, play shit games, win shit prizes.” She ruffled his hair, before turning back to the group. “How d’ya think you’d get out?”

Her students offered a couple solutions, like clawing at his arm or head-butting.

Mitzi nodded. “Good answers but wrong answers. Daryl has Glenn’s head down already so head-butting is not an option. Also, don’t go head-butting walkers, not advisable. Scratching or clawing takes too long to be effective. They can just knock you out.”

She moved to stand on Glenn's side. “Your best bet is to prevent the headlock in the first place. We'll talk about what t’do if you can’t next.”

She tapped Daryl’s arm and he let Glenn go. Turning to Glenn, she smiled. “Did you do any taekwondo as a kid?”

He nodded, watching her warily as Daryl moved back.

“Okay, try to get me in the same headlock.”

Glenn sucked in a deep breath and sunk into a fight stance that was solid but not practiced. He lurched forward and hooked his arm over Mitzi’s neck.

Before he could hook his other hand around his wrist, she stepped into him, locking her hips and caging him in with her arms. She locked her hands around his free arm and pulled him back over the leg she had braced up against the back of his leg.

Glenn fell back with a soft oof, Mitzi keeping hold of his abdomen to prevent him from hitting the concrete. He got his legs back under him and moved away.

Mitzi patted him on the shoulder. “Our instinct in this situation is to move away, but our attacker is generally in a better position to take advantage of any space we make. Instead, move in, lock your hips and keep their other arm away, hook your hand around the back of their arm, push at their shoulder with your other hand, hell- just wrap your arms around their upper arms and hug ‘em hard. Anything you can do to keep your head up and their other arm outta the way, do it.

“Once you accomplish that, there’s a couple ways to throw them or knock them off balance so you can get away. We won’t practice those on concrete though.” She looked out over the field. “Probably do that another day over there by the farm. Gotta talk t’Rick ‘ bout that.”

She motioned Glenn forward. “Let’s try again.”

Glenn was faster this time but Mitzi snuck her hand under her chin and grabbed the inside of his wrist. She pushed his arm out and pulled her head from the loop of his arms. She set her free hand on his shoulder and pushed him away lightly.

“This time, I got my hand in there quick, preventing him from getting a tight lock on my neck. From there just push away and run. You’re behind them, so it should be easier to get away, if you think and act fast.”

Mitzi smiled and turned to Daryl. “Now, Glenn is technically taller than me.”

“Technically?” Glenn gasped comically. “I’m like half a foot taller than you!”

She laughed. “Glenn is taller than me and fast, but D is even taller and bigger.” She glanced at Glenn, who was indignant. “Objectively, that is true.”

Glenn shrugged dismissively.

“Daryl is taller and his arms are long. So while Glenn’s speed works in his favor, Daryl doesn’t need to be fast. He can get his hands or arms around me without me being able to reach him.” She turned to Daryl. “Baby?”

Daryl made a face, and rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “Ain’t sure ‘bout this.”

She smiled. “You don’t have to hurt me, D. Just put your hands on my shoulders.”

Daryl sighed and set his hands on her shoulders. Mitzi held her arms up and her fingers just brushed against his chest.

“See?” She flapped her hands ineffectually. “In this case, I need to be close.” She stepped in, Daryl adjusting to keep his hands on her shoulders. “If someone taller than you attempts a front chokehold, especially with the intent of choking you, they are gonna lock their elbows so they can press down.”

She brought up her forearms in between his arms in an ‘x’ shape. “You wanna break that elbow lock. So, forearms up in an x and then.” She brought her forearms out more gently than she would in an actual fight. Daryl stepped back, soft smile on his face. “Out and down, to push his arms away.”

“Baby.” She smiled and crooked her finger at him. “You doin’ anythin’ right now?”

He sauntered closer to her, eyes trailing over the curves and swells she was displaying for him. “Like what?”

“Like anythin’ that would prevent me from pulling you in here and havin’ my way with you.” She set her hip against the door frame, holding the door open with her foot and watching him with heated eyes.

He smirked, almost instinctively pulling his shoulders back, letting her look her fill. “Don't know anythin’ that could prevent that.” He leaned over her, pulling the door closed behind him as he used his body to move her further back into the guard tower.

She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him into a kiss, hot and open-mouthed. Pulling away, she smiled against his mouth. “That’s a good answer.”

He hiked up her shirt enough to get his hands on the skin of her side, squeezing gently at the softness he found there. “S’the truth.”

She slipped her tongue into his mouth and pressed tight against him. “Y’look good today, baby.”

He chuckled into her mouth. “I look the same as I always do.”

“True.” She slipped one hand down into the open neck of his button-up. “You look good everyday.” The same hand dropped down and teased at his length through his jeans. She kissed him again, moaning into his mouth. “So good.”

He groaned into her mouth. “Want’ya naked by the time you’re up those stairs.”

“Uh-huh.” She lifted her hands to his face and took control of the kiss as one of his hands dropped to her ass. She pulled away and pressed him back towards the door. “I’m in charge here, bud. You followin’ my rules today.”

He scoffed, using his grip on her ass to pull her tight into his body. “You gonna hafta make me.”

“Oh, I think that can be arranged.” She started to unbutton his shirt, before latching on to his neck.

He groaned and cupped her breast with his free hand, his other still preoccupied with squeezing her ass. Almost bending her backward, he nibbled at her collarbone through her shirt collar.

“Pretty, little thing.”

She giggled. “Your pretty, little thing.”

He caught her eyes and grinned, all teeth. The hand on her tit dropped to her ass and he grunted as he lifted her and turned to press her against the door. Worrying his teeth over her jaw, he nodded. “That’s right.”

She moaned and arched into him. Humming, he leaned in to kiss her again. Feeling her smile against his mouth, he groaned when she pushed back against him and took control of the kiss.

She bit at his lips. “And you’re my pretty boy, yeah?”

His brain froze, a sudden hot pulse shooting up his spine. She grinned, nibbling at his chin, and held his eyes. His jaw dropped and he grunted, rutting his hips against hers. “Shit!”

He leaned in to kiss her and she tutted, pulling back ever so slightly.

She bit his chin. “Are you?”

He found himself nodding before his brain could process the shift in mood. Pressing his dick up against her, he groaned loud and long.

She pulled back, head tilted cheekily. “So what I want is you naked by the time you reach the bed.”

He tongued at his lip, smirk still firm on his face. “Told ya, you’re gonna hafta make me.”

Hands in his hair, she tilted his head back and ran her tongue over his Adam’s Apple. She moaned against him. “Dontcha wanna fuck me, baby?” She pouted down at him.

He nodded and she tilted his head to the side, biting into where his neck met his shoulder. He groaned. “Fuck, do I, woman.”

She grinned. “Then why don’t ya take your clothes off and get your ass upstairs?”

He leaned into her, pecking at her lips softly. “Why don’t you?”

She huffed, frustration building to match his.

“No pouting.” He tugged at her lip with his thumb. “How ‘bout a compromise? Botha us.”

She nodded and he set her on her feet, pecking her nose. “Race ya.”

She won but only because he purposely let her in front of him, pinching at her ass and reaching around to knead at her breasts and rut against her ass as she tossed her t-shirt over the railing to the ground below.

He pulled her into a kiss as they cleared the stairs into the guard shack proper. She turned him, pushing him toward the mattress Glenn had brought up here some months ago. He fell back onto the bed, grunting, and pulled her down into his lap.

She set her hands on his shoulders and pushed him gently. He didn’t budge, leaning in to suck her nipple into his mouth. She gasped, arching into him despite her best attempt to maintain control. “Fuck, D.”

He nipped at her nipple gently and pulled her tighter into him, grinding his crotch up against hers. She sucked in a breath as she carded her fingers through his hair, arching into him. He directed her hips to roll against him, moaning into her breast as she found the rhythm he liked.

“Pretty baby.” He thrusted his hips against her roughly.

She threw her head back and sighed, hips rolling against hers as he moved to suck a hickey into the skin above her nipple.

“So little, so pretty sitting on m’cock like that.”

She set her jaw and forced herself to look down at him. He grinned, biting at the skin of her other breast.

She threaded her fingers through the hair at the back of his head and pulled his head back. Leaning over him, she pressed her forehead against his and stared into his eyes as she ground down on him.

As he groaned, she moved to lick his earlobe into her mouth, tugging gently. He hissed, meeting her grinding thrust for grinding thrust.

She moaned, whispering hotly in his ear. “So handsome, baby. Take such good care of me.”

His hips jumped and he grunted loud in her ear. He crossed his arms over her back and grasped at her shoulders, using the leverage to pull her harder down onto him.

“Put me in ya.”

She smirked against his jaw. “Maybe I ain’t ready yet.”

“Wetter than fuck, baby.” He grunted and moved a hand down to shove two fingers into her roughly. She moaned and he smiled through a tight jaw. “You ready.”

She nodded as if it was a question and he removed his fingers, lining the head of his cock with her core. He caught her eyes and held them as he entered her in a single rough thrust.

Once seated deep in her, he tapped his fingertips against her bottom lip and she smiled, taking fingers still wet with her into her mouth. He grunted, eyes locked onto her mouth as he thrust up into her.

As he watched, distracted, she shoved his shoulders back gently. He fell back against the mattress, hands falling to maintain control of the movement of her hips. He pushed and pulled, guiding her in a rolling motion.

“C’mon, girl.” He smirked up at her. “You supposed t’be in charge and y’have me doin’ all the work.”

She took his hands from her hips and tangled her fingers with his. Moaning, she planted his elbows in the mattress and leveraged herself against him.

After a moment, she leaned forward to pin his hands by his ears, changing the angle and rubbing her clit furtively against his pubic bone.

Moaning, she shot him a lopsided smile and leaned forward to favor him with a wet kiss.

His hips jerked up against hers, hitting something in her that whited out her vision. She gasped. “Fuck, Fuck.”

He grinned cockily and pulled one of his hands free, digging his hand into her hair. “Yeah, baby? Already?”

He used the hand still tangled with hers to pull her forward against him. He secured her wrist in the small of her back and thrust up into her.

He panted in her ear, massaging at the back of her head. “Fit me like a fuckin’ glove don’t’ya, Spitfire?” He pulled her tighter to him and he ground his hips up into her, putting exquisite pressure on her clit. “C’mon, baby.”

She gasped and felt her body pull in tight, cunt clenching hard around him as she all but screamed into his neck.

Grinning, he turned them, setting her calves up on his shoulder and nearly folding her in half so he could press his face to hers, forehead tight to her temple. He groaned as he pressed himself into her again.

“Fuck ya like you’re mine.” He hissed, his own high fast approaching. “Cause y’are, right? You’re mine.”

She nodded, one hand digging into the meat of his ass the other clawing at his back.

“Say it.”

She sucked in a breath and choked out: “Fuck yes! All yours.”

He made an unholy sound deep in his chest and leaned back, her thighs still tight to his chest, snapping his hips hard against her.

One hand keeping her legs balanced on his shoulder, he reached down and captured a heaving nipple between his thumb and pointer finger. Grinning down at her, he pinched lightly and tugged.

“Gonna cum again, little girl?”

She hissed, head falling back and neck arching against another sudden wave of tightness and wetness. “Fuck, I might.”

He shook his head and switched one leg to his other shoulder. Sucking his thumb into his mouth, he thrummed at her clit with his thumb. “Nah, y’are.”

He leaned over her as she nodded, pressing her legs back against her chest. He kissed her open, gasping mouth. “Gimme another, pretty baby.”

She moaned, lifting her hands to his face to keep his mouth against hers. his free hand lifted to cup and squeeze at her breast.

“Fuck, Daryl. Baby.” She clawed at his thigh and arched hard.

He nodded, sealing his mouth to hers. “Gimme it.”

She seized up quick, mouth dropping open silently and core clenching at him hard enough to take him with her. He groaned her name, hips spluttering against hers.

He kept himself propped up on his hands and focused on breathing through the heat still in his veins.

Grunting quietly, he pulled out with a groan, kissing her calf before softly letting them fall to the bed. He leaned over to kiss her again, caging her between his biceps.

He smiled softly at her as she hooked her hand around his bicep. He kissed her again. “Pretty baby.”

She smiled back. “Pretty boy.”

He rolled his eyes and laid his head against her chest. She pressed a kiss to his forehead, scratching lightly at his scalp.

There was a pounding at the trapdoor and they both jumped, Daryl pushing himself up and in front of her.

“Are you done?” Glenn’s voice was thick with irritation.

The door lifted just the barest amount, Maggie pushing their abandoned clothes across the floor at them, her eyes considerably more amused than her husband’s.

Daryl sighed, relaxing almost immediately. He kicked at the door. “We ain’t.”

The door fell shut and Mitzi started laughing, head thrown back against the mattress. Through the open windows, they heard the door to the tower open and close.

Mitzi smiled and leaned over the grill, chatting with Carol as she picked at a piece of fruit.

“You can always come and help me?” Carol smiled with an edge of gentle teasing. “Learn how to cook.”

Mitzi shivered for dramatic effect. “Tried once. Gave myself food poisoning.”

Carol giggled, smiling at Daryl as he came up behind Mitzi and pressed a kiss to her hair. “Hey, Daryl.” She turned back to Mitzi. “What were you cooking?”

“Grilled cheese.”

Carol laughed outright and Mitzi’s smile brightened. “You gave yourself food poisoning with grilled cheese?”

She looked over and snickered when Daryl started chuckling. “Didn’t store any of it right according to the doctor.” She shrugged. “Even after my aunt took me in, I was never home to be taught any of this stuff. Either off doing shit I shouldn’t or practicing, competing when she got me into shooting.”

Carol nodded, eyes soft on her. Daryl leaned into her and Mitzi waved them off. “It’s good. I ain’t worried about it.”

“Mrs. Dixon?”

She jumped, turning over her shoulder and catching Daryl’s eyes.

He shrugged. “Ain’t talking to me.”

She blinked before turning to the man. “Excuse me?”

The man, a Woodbury resident named Alex, looked nervous, glancing at Daryl. “I’m sorry… I thought you were married…?”

She glanced at Daryl, who was watching her with a small smug smile. He arched an eyebrow, almost challenging her.

She grinned. “We are.”

A hush fell over the eating pavilion.

“O-okay…”

“But if you’re gonna be formal, I insist on using my rank as well. That’s Captain Dixon to you.” She shot Daryl a shit-eating grin. “Just if we’re bein’ formal.”

Carol, who had until that moment been hiding a smile behind her hand, outright guffawed.

“Now what was the question?”

Alex looked panicked. “What? O-oh… uh. You mentioned taking people out to learn to shoot? I wanted to sign up.”

“Consider yourself on the list. I’m sorry, remind me of your name?”

“Alex.” He smiled brightly. “When’s the next lesson?”

“Alex.” She parroted back. “It’s tomorrow.”

“Thank you. ma’am.” He stuck his hand out and almost gleefully, she shook it.

“Welcome.”

He nodded, smiled and scurried off as she chuckled, watching him leave. “So fuckin’ proper. You think he knows he just officiated our wedding?”

Carol snorted.

Daryl bit at his lip, watching her with no small amount of pride and fondness. “You m’pretty, little wife now?”

She sidled up to him, standing nose-to-nose or as close as she could get with the height difference. “Yeah, that’s right.”

“Prolly shoulda gone on our honeymoon, with as long as we been married.”

“Damn, you’re right. I should’ve booked those flights to Fiji.”

His shoulder shook with his laughter. “Prolly oughta learn to cook.”

“We both know you’re better at that. Besides, I do the laundry.” She pressed a quick kiss to his mouth.

“Guess that’s fair.” He leaned in for a deeper kiss.

Carol clapped. “I now pronounce you husband and wife.”

Mitzi grinned and pressed her face into his chest. “Wish we had cake. That’s the only part of weddings that’s any good.”

Daryl chuckled and Carol shook her head, adding, “that is the most Mitzi statement I have ever heard.”

She shrugged. “Anyways, gotta go help clear that fence.”

“A’ight.” He patted her ass and nabbed the rest of the fruit she had been holding onto absently. “Be safe.”

She stepped back with a brilliant smile. “I married a fruit thief. That’s disappointing.”

“What’s yours is mine, wife.”

“Fair.” She grinned and waved over her shoulder as she made for the fence. “Love ya!”

Daryl grunted. “Say it to m’fuckin’ face.” He smiled and watched, biting into her Apple quietly, as she stopped short and turned on her heel.

She stepped even closer this time. Daryl straightened to his full height with a cocky smile. She pressed against him, rising up on her toes.

“Love you.”

He nodded and knocked her forehead with his. “Love ya.” He gestured towards the fence with his head. “Best go. ‘Fore Maggie comes lookin’ for ya.”

“I ain’t afraid of her.”

“Yeah, ya are. Now git.”

She turned and he slapped her ass, causing her to laugh and jump forward a step.

“I would like to remind you that there are children present.”

Daryl shrugged. “They’ll be alright.”

She folded a couple of the cleaner cots up and put them by the humvee closest to the grocery store door. Sasha placed some of the meager supplies, mostly basic first aid supplies or some trampled and flattened MREs, Tyreese following behind, holding his own handful of finds.

Mitzi nodded at Daryl, tapping soundlessly at the humvee. “Next time we’re here, I’ll bring some tools and maybe we can harvest some parts for the bus.”

“Not a lot leftover.” Daryl observed. “Musta been picked through.”

She set her hands on her hips and shook her head. “Remember when I said that the army wouldn’t take in civilians, just set ‘em up with the bare minimum?” She grinned at him and gestured grandly at the haul, meager though it was. “I told you so.”

“Y’always tell me so.” He leaned backwards to rap on the big plate glass window at the front of the store with his elbow. He glanced at Zach and Michonne. “Just give it a second.”

She grinned and sauntered over to him. “It’s my wife rights. I’m always right.”

He snorted, rolling his eyes.

Mitzi brushed her fingers over his thigh. “Gotta cut your hair when I get a chance. At least, the front. You’re not gonna be able to see here pretty soon.”

He nodded, ghosting his fingers over the back of her knee absently, eyes watching the hole in the chainlink.

“Okay, I think I got it.” Zach moved to sit on the ledge next to Daryl.

Michonne wandered closer. “Got what?”

Zach turned to her with a smile. “I’ve been trying to guess what Daryl did before the turn.”

“He’s been tryin’ to guess for like six weeks.” Daryl groused.

“Yeah, I’m pacing myself. One shot a day.” He pointed at Mitzi. “I’m getting close to figuring her out too.”

“You don’t have to figure her out.” Michonne made a face. “Everyone knows what Mitzi did.”

Zach huffed. “I wanna figure it out though.”

Mitzi shrugged when Michonne looked at her, leaning up against Daryl’s side. “I told him the same thing, ‘Chonne.”

Daryl huffed lightly, before gesturing to Zach. “Alright, shoot.”

“Well, the way you are at the prison…you being on the council, you’re able to track, you’re helping people.” Zach smiled, seeming to hesitate. “But you’re still being… kind of surly.”

Daryl scoffed and glanced up at Mitzi, who was biting back a smile. “Don’t you start.”

Mitzi shook her head, holding her hands up. Daryl turned back to Zach.

“Big swing here, homicide cop.”

Michonne started laughing and Mitzi bit at her lip.

Daryl, unable to keep the small smile from his face, turned to Michonne. “What’s so funny?”

Michonne shook her head. “Nothing. It makes perfect sense.”

“Actually,” Daryl glanced up at Mitzi. “The man’s right. Undercover.”

Zach brightened, excited. “Come on. Really?”

Daryl nodded. “Yep. I mean I don't really like to talk about it ‘cause it was a lot of heavy shit, you know?”

“Dude, come on, really?”

Daryl shot him a look, clearing his throat, and Zach deflated.

“Okay, I’ll keep guessing, I guess.”

“Yeah, you keep doin’ that .”

A bare second later, a walker slammed his hands on the glass and Daryl stood, reaching for the bolt-cutters from Tyreese.

Michonne smiled at Mitzi as she followed Daryl and Zach to the door. “We’re gonna do this, detective?”

Daryl nodded. “Let’s do it.”

Mitzi shouldered her rifle, moving around Daryl to cover the door as they opened it. “Ooh… arrest me, Detective Dixon.”

He turned toward before cutting the chain, blushing. “Stop.”

Mitzi winked at him. “I have been known to say ‘fuck the police’ but I think I would’ve meant it different with you, D.”

He shook his head with a small smile. “Tighten up. Let’s go to work.”

“Hey, Mr. G.” Mitzi rapped on the wall before parting the curtain. “I’m doin’ a bullet count.” She stuck her head in and cussed.

The walker in the cell stood and lunged at her. She stepped back and pulled her knife. The walker advanced and she felt the railing behind her.

Shoving the body of Mr. Gordon, an elderly, former resident of Woodbury, she stabbed him in the temple as the walker lunged forward again.

The body slumped against her and she sighed, pushing him off of her. “Fuck, man.” She turned him over as respectfully as she could, inspecting the body.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw someone approach her. “Guess he died in his sleep. Maybe slipped. His face is all bloody.”

There was a snarl and she looked up in time to crab-walk out of the walker’s reach. She stood, pulling the little snub-nose she had taken to carrying in the prison. She fired once and breathed deep when the second walker’s body fell.

“Everyone needs to wake up now!” She hollered, rapping her gun against the railing to wake up the residents of the block. “Wake up and get your doors closed! If you’re already up, get back in your cells! Close the doors!” She looked down over the railing and fired at another resident of the cell block when he looked up at her, eyes clouded over and dead. “Everyone up now!”

A walker wandered out of a cell two down from her. She fired. The walker fell.

Two shots fired off to her left and she ducked instinctively. Looking over she saw Alex firing wildly at a walker. “C’mon, Alex. Take a deep breath and aim.”

Alex nodded, eyes still on the approaching walker, and aimed. The walker slumped. Alex looked up at her.

“Good. Be careful, the others are going to be coming in here soon and hot. Start trying to clear down there.”

True to prediction, Daryl, followed by Rick, Glenn and Sasha, rushed in.

She heard Daryl’s bow. “Mitzi!”

“I’m up here. I’m okay!” She moved to the far end of the block, toeing the cell doors closed as she went. “Help Alex.”

When she got to the last cell, she held up her pistol and used her hunting knife in her left hand to part the curtains. She sighed deep and fired.

“They wanted to go out together, same as they lived. That make them douchebags?”

Daryl’s eyes skipped down to her where she was stockpiling tools. “It does if they coulda gotten out.”

She smiled at Bob and reached out to squeeze his shoulder. “Daryl doesn’t consider suicide to be an option.”

“Nope.” Daryl shook his head, still inspecting the area around them with a flashlight.

Bob nodded his head. “But you do?”

“Not anymore…” Mitzi shrugged. “I have in the past.”

“You don’t gotta talk ‘bout it.” Daryl walked behind her, pressing a quick kiss to her head and grabbed a bottle of distilled water, glaring over at Bob.

“Why-” Bob cleared his throat, shying away from Daryl’s very direct stare. “Why was it an option?”

“It’s alright, D.” She smiled at Daryl before turning to consider Bob. “It wasn’t an option, not really, but I was hurting and couldn’t see past that pain.”

“If you don’t mind me asking, what was that pain?”

“Why you askin’?” Daryl sucked his tongue. “Her pain don’t make your point any more right.”

She stepped to his side and dropped a kiss to his shoulder. “I’m okay, baby.”

He grunted, rifling through a display to her other side. “Shouldn’t be drummin’ up your pain. It ain’t entertainment.”.

“I’m sorry… maybe I shouldn’t ask.”

She shrugged against Daryl’s side. “It’s good… I’m not ashamed of it anymore. I was nearing 400 kills. People treated it like an accomplishment.”

“Kills?” Bob frowned. “The way you hold your gun, I always assumed you were military.”

She caught sight of something on a nearby shelf and leaned down to nab a ratchet set from a shelf. “Yeah, I was a Ranger. A sniper.” She showed it triumphantly to Daryl and set it next to her small cache of tools.

“It makes sense why I had the strangest sense of deja vu when I met you.” Bob smiled. “I remember reading an article about you. Captain Mildred E. Donovan. You’re famous, the first female spec ops soldier in the US military.”

She winced. “Yeah, that’s me.”

His eyes softened. “So people treated you like a celebrity-“

“When I felt like a criminal.” She bobbed her head. “378 kills was the official number but that didn’t count people who had died as a direct result of my military service.” She shrugged. “So I tried to eat my gun… kill number 379.”

Bob nodded, eyes on Daryl who kept shooting him dirty looks. “What stopped you?”

She smiled softly. “My little brother. He asked his first girlfriend to a dance at school, wanted to tell me all about it. He had good timing.”

Bob patted her shoulder. “Glad you’re still here.”

She chuckled. “Me too.”

“C’mon.” Daryl rounded a corner and flashlight on a walker trapped under ceiling debris.

Mitzi shot Bob a wry smile and followed after Daryl with her collection.

Stopping to consider the walker and the photos of the family pins to a cork board on the wall, Bob sighed. He knelt to deal with the walker and looked up in time to watch Daryl and Mitzi.

Daryl had paused in the doorway in front of Mitzi, causing her to stop to avoid running into his back. He turned head-butted her gently, knocking his forehead against hers, eyes locked on hers. She smiled up at Daryl, nodding, and Bob felt a sudden ache in his chest.

She came to with a gasp that filled her mouth with dust. Lurching forward, she coughed and retched, clearing her throat of what felt like sandpaper with giant heaving coughs that felt like she was getting kicked in the side. “Fuck.”

She shuffled out from under the guard tower stairs and looked up, seeing smoldering metal and sky. She saw her rifle off to the side and reached for it.

“Fuckin’ shit!” She grabbed at her right shoulder with her left hand, noticing the odd angle the joint sat at.

Sighing, she leaned back and forced her shoulder to rotate back into the joint. It popped audibly and she groaned.

She grabbed her rifle with her left hand, holding the barrel between her knees to check the chamber. Finding a singular round, she moved to the makeshift armory she maintained in the guard tower.

She grunted, kicking debris out from in front of the cabinet. Opening it, she pulled out a gun bag and loaded it one handed. She stuffed a magazine of .50 caliber bullets into the back pocket of her jeans and inserted another magazine into her rifle, flicking the switch to turn the rifle over to automatic.

Shouldering the bag, she took a deep breath and lifted her rifle with her gun arm. She groaned past the pain, anchored the rifle against her shoulder and moved to the door, listening through the metal. Judging by the groaning on the other side, there were likely more than a few walkers outside the door.

Mind racing, she set her back against the door. She looked up the stairs and huffed, shrugging.

“Might as well.”

She climbed the stairs, stepping around twisted metal and concrete. When she reached the top, she pushed what remained of the trap door and boosted herself up onto the platform.

She looked around, surveying the destruction, the tank up in the main courtyard, the assembled dead, and tried to find a way down from the platform. She was calculating a jump from the platform to a more clear patch of lawn when she saw Daryl’s bike in its usual spot.

She froze, grief and shock suddenly catching up to her.

She looked down at the walkers collected around the tower. One seemed to catch her eyes and snarled up at her, raising hands caked in blood and mud.

What little fight had been keeping her upright seeped right out her feet. She was acutely aware of the pain in her side, her head, her shoulder, aware of how heavy and sluggish her body felt.

There was a strong likelihood that she wouldn’t survive this jump, anyways. Would it be so bad to just end it here?

She moved to set down her rifle when Daryl’s voice came to her unbidden, ringing in her head.

It ain’t an option.

She sucked in a deep breath, stepped back as far as she could and jumped.

“Why’d ya do that? I was havin’ fun.”

“No, you were being a jackass.” Beth pressed into his space. “If anyone found my dad or,” she paused, looking at him, “or Mitzi-”

“Don’t.” Daryl shook his head. “That ain’t remotely the same.”

“Killing them isn’t supposed to be fun.”

“What d’ya want from me, girl, huh?” Daryl snarled.

She didn’t back down, words still slurred but becoming clearer. “I want you to stop acting like you don’t give a crap about anything. Like nothing we went through matters. Like none of the people we lost meant anything to you.” Her body threw her forward like she was vomiting the words. “It’s bullshit!”

Daryl gaped at her, chest hard and tight and made more so by her words. “That what you think?”

“That’s what I know. You haven’t said a single one of their names since we got out.” Beth wiped at her face.

Daryl pressed forward, growling through the tightness in his chest. “You don’t know nuthin’.”

“I know you look at me and you just see another dead girl. I’m not Michonne, I’m not Carol, I’m not Maggie.” She sucked in a breath. “I’m not Mitzi.”

“Don’t.” He shook his head, feeling tears prick at his eyes. “Don’t say her name again.”

“Mitzi. Mitzi Dixon.” Beth set her jaw. “I know it hurts, Daryl. I’ve survived, and she didn’t, and you don’t get it ‘cause I’m not like you or them. But I made it and you don’t get to treat me like crap just because you’re afraid.”

“I ain’t afraid of nuthin’.” He rasped.

Beth drew back, tears welling in her eyes. “I remember, when that little girl came out of the barn, after my mom. You coulda been like me. But you had Mitzi, then.” She gasped. “And now, God forbid you ever let anyone get too close.”

“Too close, huh? You know all about that. Lost two boyfriends and you can’t even shed a tear. Your whole family’s gone, all you can do is just go out lookin’ for hooch like some dumb college bitch.” He gestured vaguely at her, throwing his free hand in the air.

“Screw you. You may not be looking for a drink, but you’re avoiding Mitzi all the same.”

He let out a noise full of pain and anger. “Don’t say her name again. You don’t get it. Everyone we know is dead.”

“You don’t know that!”

“Might as well be, ‘cause you ain’t never gonna see ‘em again.” He sucked in a shaky breath. “Rick. You ain't never gonna see Maggie again.”

She shoved at his hand. “Daryl, stop!”

“No!” He turned away, feeling the bluster that had kept him going drain from him. “Governor rolled right up to our gates. Fuckin’ blew-” He sucked in a breath. “Fuckin’ blew my w-wife to pieces.” He swallowed past the sob building in his chest. “Maybe if I wouldn’t ‘ve stopped lookin’...” His voice cracked and he trailed off. “Maybe ‘cause I gave up. That’s on me.”

Beth stepped closer to him, grabbed at his arm. “Daryl.”

“No.” He shook her off. “And your dad… Maybe I coulda done somethin’.”

Beth near tackled him in a hug, squeezing him tight as he almost bent in half under the weight of his grief.

Mitzi had just raised her rifle when Daryl approached the group holding Rick and Michonne at gunpoint. She fought against the relief that was trying to convince her body to relax, keeping her eye trained down the scope.

“The thing about nowadays is we got nothing but time. Say your piece, Daryl.”

Daryl nodded, speaking directly to the leader. “These people, you’re gonna let ‘em go. They’re good people.”

The Steven Tyler wannabe looked shocked. “Now, I think Lou would disagree with you on that. I’ll, of course, have to speak for him and all because your friend here strangled him in a bathroom.”

Daryl nodded, voice still low and conciliatory. “You want blood, I get it.” He set down his weapons. “Take it from me, man. C’mon.”

“This man killed our friend. You say he’s good people. Now that right there is a lie.”

Daryl deflated as two of the gray haired man’s goons advanced on him. “It’s a lie!”

One man punched Daryl in the gut with the butt of his rifle.

Mitzi lifted her rifle and fired. One of the two going after Daryl dropped. The others froze, clearly trying to place the direction of the suppressed shot. She cleared the treeline in the crouched walk the Army trained her in, her fucked-up knee protesting.

The leader seemed confused. He grinned, a chill chasing her spine. “That’s a mighty big weapon for such a small lady.”

She ignored him, catching Rick’s eyes and keeping her rifle trained on the one aiming at Michonne.

The man grinned. “Claimed.”

“The bitch or the gun?”

“Both.”

She shot him, Rick lunging at the leader, and turned toward the man still standing over Daryl. “You have two seconds to back the fuck off my husband before I get irate.”

The man’s knees gave out and he crab-walked back, begging and stuttering. “Please… I’m sorry, I was just doin’ what I was told. Please, don-“

“Shut up.” The man’s body slumped heavily.

Looking up, she caught sight of a man, still almost absently holding on to Carl. She raised her gun and watched Michonne level her sword.

Michonne clenched her jaw. “Let him go now.”

“He’s mine.” Rick brushed past her and Mitzi dropped her rifle.

Daryl almost tackled her, wrapping her up in a crushing hug. Wincing, she turned with a bright smile on her face, setting her rifle on the hood of the car. She blinked, maybe a bit too rapidly, and framed his face in her hands “Hey, baby.”

Daryl squeezed his eyes shut and then opened them, running a gentle thumb over her bruised jaw. “‘Hey, baby?’” He mimicked her, forcing a chuckle out of a tight throat. “Like y’weren’t just dead.”

“Not dead.” She pressed a kiss to his mouth. “Just briefly missing.”

He pressed a hard kiss to her forehead. “How? I saw the guard tower. It was fuckin’ blown to pieces.”

She nodded, pushing his hair back and smoothing her thumb over his split lip. “When I saw the tank, I dove for the stairs. But the explosion knocked my feet out from under me and I just tumbled down the stairs. I’m probably only alive because it got me to the bottom of the stairs so quickly that I was able to shimmy under the stairs before the debris and ash started falling.” She kissed him gently. “I musta passed out and when I came to, the prison was overrun.”

He kissed her hard, one hand coming up to cup the back of her head. “You’re fuckin’ black n’blue.”

“I’m alright, though.” She winced, pulling away slightly. “I have a helluva goose egg, I fucked up my knee and I’m pretty sure I have a couple of broken ribs, but all in all, I’m good.”

He frowned, tilting her head down slightly to palpitate at the back of her head. “Y’have a coupla goose eggs.”

She laughed. “One for each flight of stairs.”

He grunted, obviously not amused. He lifted her shirt and winced at the dark bruise he found. As gently as he could, he pressed at some of the darker areas of the bruise. “Yeah…” he tsked. “‘Least two’a these are broken. Hafta find something to wrap them.”

She nodded, smiling fondly down at him. “I also dislocated my shoulder… fixed that already though.”

He snorted and pulled at the neck of her Pantera shirt. He shook his head, seeing the dark bruising on her gun shoulder. “Jesus, Spitfire. You shouldn’t a’shot your rifle.”

She scoffed. “I’ll take that under advisement for next time someone’s beating up on my family.”

He grunted, pressing his mouth to her temple and gently wrapping her in a hug. “There betta not be a ‘next time’.”

She felt arms around her and smiled back at Carl. He pushed his face into her neck, clutching at Daryl’s shirt around her.

Daryl tutted and tried to loosen Carl’s grip on her injured side. “She’s all banged up, kid. Gotta loosen up.”

He did but kept his face in her shoulder much to Daryl’s consternation.

She turned, smiling at Daryl when he grumbled, and pulled the boy into as gentle a hug as she could manage.

His breath stuttered, clearly still shaken from his encounter with the Claimer.

“Y’okay, hun.” She rubbed her hand over his head. “You grow like a weed, dude. I swear you’re taller than when I saw you last. You may be taller than me now.”

Carl chuckled wetly. “I’ve been taller than you for a while, Mitz.”

“Lies.”

Daryl stepped into her and pressed his face into her neck from behind. “‘Least a coupla months, baby.”

Michonne came over and gently added herself to the hug. She smiled softly. “You have good timing.”

Mitzi nodded. “And you leave a trail that is shockingly easy to follow.”

Rick staggered over to them, face red with blood and leaned heavily against Daryl.

“I do not leave an obvious trail.”

Mitzi snorted. “You do. Not many people runnin’ ‘round Georgia with a fuckin’ katana, ‘Chonne.”

The place immediately unsettled her and she could tell by the tension in everyone, even Carl, that they all felt it too. Rick shifted next to her and she tried to quietly, covertly lay her finger over the trigger guard of her rifle.

The man kept talking, reaching out to Michonne with a plate of food. Mitzi stepped closer to Daryl’s side, who caught her eye and nodded.

At that moment, Rick slapped the plate out of the man’s hand and pulled a gun.

Mitzi lifted her rifle and trained it on the man. There was a shadow on the ground so she turned, aiming up at a sniper kneeling in the corner of the roof opposite them. She saw Daryl and Carl raise and aim their guns as Michonne stepped back into stance.

“Where the hell did you get this watch?”

Mitzi used her free hand to pull Carl behind her by his shirt as he came up even to her. Carl kept his pistol up over her shoulder. He opened her mouth to speak and Mitzi shook her head, eye on the sniper through the scope.

The man held his hands up. “You want answers? You want anything else? You get it when you put down the gun.”

“I see your man on the roof with a sniper rifle. How good’s his aim?” Rick scoffed. “You see the redhead right there? She’s the best shot I’ve ever seen. She could probably take you all out without much help from us. I’m gonna ask you again. Where’d you get the watch?” There was tense silence and Rick repeated himself louder. “Where’d you get the watch?”

The man Rick had hollered at his compatriots, a tad more panicked than he probably intended. “Don’t do anything! I have this! You just put it down. You put it down!” He quieted, speaking only to Rick. “You want to listen to me. There’s a lot of us.”

The sniper lowered his weapon and Mitzi shifted to watch the other rooftops.

Rick rasped. “Where did you get the watch?”

“I got it off of a dead one. I didn’t think he’d need it.”

“What about the riot gear, the poncho?”

“Got the riot gear off a dead cop.” Another man, the man who had patted them down earlier, approached. Mitzi saw Michonne turn towards him out of the corner of her eye. “Found the poncho on a clothesline.”

“Gareth, we can wait.”

“Shut up, Alex.”

Rick’s voice was gruff and intense. “You talk to me.”

The man’s voice was smug. “What’s there to say? You don’t trust us anymore.”

“Gareth.”

“Shut. Up. Rick, what do you want?”

Rick grunted. “Where are our people?”

“You didn’t answer the question.”

Gunfire broke out and a sniper poked his head out on another roof. She shot him down before she felt Daryl push her after Rick. They made to run back the way they came but another sniper shot at the concrete in front of them. Before she could aim up and take him out, Rick started pushing her back the other way, following Daryl across the courtyard.

She turned, bullets firing into the ground at her feet and took out two more snipers with two quick shots.

Rick's hand fell on her shoulders and they made to run through a garage, people closing off the sliding metal door in front of them. Daryl pushed her through a door labeled ‘A’ after Carl. Finding themselves in another courtyard space, they sprinted across open ground, more gunshots ricocheting off the ground around them.

“Get them off B” someone shouted from a roof and Rick stopped to return fire.

As they rounded the corner, the smell of rot hit her in the face. To their side, was a large fenced area with obviously human bones spread out on a blue tarp. Carl turned to look and Mitzi reached forward to push him in front of her. Daryl slowed his stride as the sound of people pounding on metal and screaming for help became clear.

Rick pushed him forward and they exploded into a room that spat of cult, with lit candles and painted designs on the floor.

“What the hell is this place?” Daryl reached out to Mitzi, who caught his hand and squeezed.

“These people,” Michonne fought to catch her breath. “I don’t think they’re trying to kill us.”

“No.” Rick concurred. “They were aiming at our feet.”

He led them out the only available door, only to encounter more gunfire and a fence lined with people with rifles. Daryl, in front of her, pulled up short, caging her behind him.

“Drop your weapons now!”

They all looked to Rick, whose eyes were trained on the rooftop where Gareth’s voice had come from.

“Now!”

Mitzi sucked on her tongue, bending at the waist to lay her rifle out. She pulled her pistol and knife from their holsters and passed them to Daryl, who added them to his pile of arms.

“Ringleader. Go to your left. Train car, go.”

Rick hesitated, looking back at Carl. “You do what we say, the boy goes with you. Anything else, he dies and you end up in there anyway.

Rick nodded and strode toward the train car.

“Now the archer.”

Daryl caught her eyes and Mitzi nodded, Daryl following after Rick.

“Now the samurai.”

Michonne visually checked with Carl as she passed him.

When Michonne stood behind Daryl, Gareth spoke again. “Now the sniper.”

Mitzi scoffed, but began moving after Michonne. “You might wanna check your boys. I didn’t hit any of those assholes with a headshot.” She turned and caught his eye, smiling. “On purpose.”

Gareth clenched his jaw and ignored her. “Stand at the door: ringleader, archer, samurai, sniper. In that order.”

There was a long pause.

“My son.” Rick shouted from the train car.

“Go, kid.” Carl made his way towards them and Gareth shouted another order. “Ringleader, open the door and go in.”

“I’ll go in with him.”

Gareth sounded frustrated. “Don’t make us kill him now.”

Rick climbed the stairs and opened the door with a heavy clank. One by one they filed in. Rick pulled Carl in and checked on him as the door slid shut behind him.

“What do you think, Mitzi?”

She squatted in front of the doors and sighed. “They’ll use flashbangs or smoke bombs, riot suppression shit-”

“If they have them.” Daryl inspected the hinges.

She nodded. “If they have them. Try to overwhelm us, get us to give in without a fight.”

“What can we do?” Glenn had his arms crossed over his chest and she smiled up at him.

“Who do you take me for, little brother?” She reached over and squeezed his side. “I’ll be damned if I go down without a fight.”

“Did you say your name was Mitzi?” The big ginger strode towards her. “Mitzi Donovan?”

She nodded, standing. “Yeah, that’s right?”

Everyone seemed transfixed by the spectacle. Daryl reached forward to grip her hip.

“Captain Mildred E. Donovan?”

She frowned, almost correcting the use of her government name out of habit.

“Her last name’s Dixon.” Daryl’s voice rumbled out from his chest, vibrating over her scalp from where her head was pressed to his chest.

The man had a slightly disconcerting grin on his face.

She straightened her stance, broadening to take this asshole down if he had lost his mind. “My maiden name was Donovan. Why? Who the fuck are you?”

“You’re a fucking legend.” The man looked almost gleeful and she stepped back instinctively into Daryl. “300+ confirmed kills. US Army kill shot record holder. Fuck, but it is a pleasure to meet you.”

He stuck his hand out and she stared back. “What?”

“You’re Captain Mildred E. Donovan - Dixon, sorry. You’re an Army Ranger, right? One of the most deadly Army snipers in history.”

Bob shook his head. “Not the time, Abe.”

“Yeah. Nice to meet you?” She grasped his hand. When that seemed to placate him, she turned and nodded to Rick. “We need weapons.”

“I can assist with the procurement of hand fashioned weapons.” The big dark-haired man in the back nodded. “Everyone still has their belts?”

Part 6

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