A/N: Well guys, this is it. The fic is finished. I hope you enjoyed it. I certainly had fun writing it.
...
Daryl
traced his index finger over the small scar on Sasha's tummy. She breathed in deep, her body satisfied and her heart
feeling lighter than it had since the Turn. The feel of his touch was soothing,
and she could almost fall asleep, right there beside the water, beside Daryl,
ensconced in his solid strength, and his warmth.
“I shoulda
stopped that asshole from cutting you,” he said quietly.
“You've
gotta stop blaming yourself for the bad shit other people do, Daryl,” Sasha
told him. “Let people take responsibility for their actions instead of you
heaping it all on your shoulders. You don't make people do bad things, Baby.”
He wasn't
able to meet her eyes but he at least nodded. She pulled on her shirt and Daryl
made a little noise of regret that she was covering up.
“You'd
fuck all night long if you could, wouldn't you?” she teased, kissing him.
“What
makes you think I can't?” he whispered, putting his lips gently to the
shell of her ear. Damn if he wasn't awakening something inside her with that
kind of talk.
“Daryl…”
Sasha said, in a playfully warning tone, when his hand went to cup her breast.
“You know,
I'll bet he can fuck all night.”
Sasha and
Daryl both froze for a moment, before looking up at the man who'd spoken. It
was Teeth’s worse half, Harry, and he had a gun aimed right at Sasha. He used
it to motion for them to stand.
“Up you
go, you cute kids. It's dark out here. Why don't we join our friends at the
camp, hmmm?”
Daryl got
up and put Sasha behind him, which made Harry laugh.
“Awwww.
Look at you, being all protective and shit. And they say chivalry is dead. Move
your asses. Now.”
They had
no choice but to head back to the camp. When they arrived they found Michonne,
alone, with two other men. She sat with her hands testing on her knees. Her
katana was out of reach. Bob was nowhere to be seen, but Daryl didn’t ask after
him. If they’d killed him then it was likely his body would be nearby, in view,
but since he was gone, Daryl hoped he could provide them with the element of
surprise.
Harry
shoved Daryl to the ground beside the fire Michonne and Bob had built. Then he
gripped Sasha and made a show of sniffing her.
“Mmmm...you
smell of him,” Harry breathed, making Sasha’s stomach roll. “You smell of sex.
Pussy and a man's cum and sweat all mixed together. Tell me, girl...did it feel
good having this big motherfucker between your legs?”
Sasha
turned her head from him in disgust but she soon felt the sharp edge of a knife
at her throat.
“When I
ask you a question I expect an answer,” he said. His voice was calm but she
could detect the undercurrent of rage.
“Yes, it
felt good,” she answered.
“I imagine
it did. I’m gonna know exactly what it’s like to have his cock moving inside of
me. You know how I know that?”
“No,” she
said through gritted teeth.
“He’s
going to replace my brother,” Harry told her. “Henry and I were everything to
each other. Everything . Daryl here took him from me. It’s only fair he
should replace him, wouldn’t you agree?”
“No,”
Sasha said, answering his question, just as he’d commanded, only this time she
didn’t give him the answer he’d wanted.
“Is that
right? Want to keep him all to yourself? Selfish bitch. All women are. You
think you’re entitled to anything with a dick.”
Harry
shoved Sasha toward Michonne with such force she raked her face across the dry
pine needles that carpeted the forest floor. She hissed in pain while Michonne
tried to help her sit up. Harry knelt beside Daryl and stroked his hair back
from his face.
“You got
something to hide, Daryl?” Harry asked. “Or are you ashamed of something?
That’s the only reason I can think of for you to hide your face behind all this
fucking hair. I’m going to have to cut it. I don’t like long-haired men. It’s
too feminine, and I like my men masculine and clean cut.”
He leaned
forward and flicked his tongue out, tasting the dried salt on Daryl’s skin,
from where he’d broken a sweat making love to Sasha. He made a sound of
approval before pressing his nose to Daryl and breathing in deep.
“You don’t
bother with a lot of deodorant. I like that. A man should smell natural.”
Daryl
remained physically still while his mind raced on how he could overcome Harry
without putting Sasha and Michonne in danger.
“Before I
feel you in my ass,” Harry told him, running his hands over Daryl’s
body, “you’re going to feel me in yours . I'm gonna punish you for
taking him from me.”
“You think
your brother was the first to try me?” Daryl asked.
“A stud
like you?” Harry questioned. “No, I'm sure plenty of men took a shot at you
when you were younger. Back when you were callow and oh so tender. Malleable.
Easily influenced. Henry may not have been the first, but I'll be the last. A
year or so from now, after I've used you, punished you for killing him, I'll
end you slow, hard. For now, some entertainment!”
Harry went
to sit beside Sasha, just as Seb had that night over a month ago. Every
muscle in Daryl's body tensed. He'd just gotten Sasha back and the unfairness
of it, of having her in danger from the same group of scum, just when he was
able to open up to her about what he wanted with her, wanted to give her off
himself, made him tremble with rage.
“Take your
pick, Quinn,” Harry said. “Which girl?”
“Don't
this group have any white meat?” the other man asked.
“Don't be
racist, Bart,” Quinn said in a slow, casual tone. His eyes were roaming
over Michonne.
“I saw a
young blond girl,” said Harry. “Sweet little thing, if you're into women,
and I am, on occasion. She couldn't have been older than 18, 19.”
Bart
looked happy with this news. The idea of getting his hands on a young girl
energized him. “Gimme the light skinned bitch. That dark one looks too
much like a gorilla.”
Unable to
take it another second, Daryl jumped to his feet, ready to charge, but Quinn
was quick on the draw and he had a revolver in Daryl's face before he could get
two steps in.
“Don't
mind Bart,” said Quinn. “He's Old Glory through and through. Racist as
fuck but he ain't worth you dying for tonight, is he?”
“Have a
seat, Bart, let Quinn take over,” said Harry. “This one here is Daryl's
girlfriend. I think I'll keep her close in case he gets any ideas about
starting some shit. Y'all have at the other one. What's your name,
darlin’?”
Michonne
answered by spitting in Harry's face. Bart moved in and punched her,
knocking her over. When blood poured from her nose, he started jumping in
place, excited, bloodlust starting to boil. He went to hit her again but
Michonne blocked and brought her other hand up, two fingers pointed, and drove
them hard into the soft flesh of Bart’s throat. He gagged and coughed,
fell backward. Harry laughed uproariously.
“Gorilla
warfare!” Harry howled, and Quinn joined in, but he approached Michonne with a
lot more caution.
“Leave her
alone,” Daryl said, knowing it was useless. He hated this helpless feeling. He
hadn’t allowed himself to feel this way since the turn. For many, the outbreak
had ruined their lives. For Daryl it had actually been an improvement. He was
made for this world, but these assholes were undoing everything, making him
feel like a vulnerable child again.
Quinn
managed to grab Michonne’s right foot. She lashed out with the other and he
caught her, and dragged her closer to the fire where he flipped her over and
then yanked her toward him, forcing her legs around him where she couldn’t kick
him, or maneuver in his powerful grip. It was obvious this wasn’t his first
rape. She tried to twist, to turn over, and finally to crawl away from him, but
her hands only grasped loose soil that gave her no purchase. Quinn easily
avoided Michonne’s attempts to slap at him.
For a
moment her eyes met Daryl’s and he saw the fear in them. She was going to be
raped and nobody could stop it. Bart had quieted from the throat punch. He
looked angry, resentful, but the erection in his jeans was unmistakable.
“Get her,
Quinn. Get that nigger bitch!” he said in a raspy voice. “Then I get to kill
her.”
Quinn took
a knife and used it to slit open Michonne’s trousers, right between her legs,
exposing her.
“No!”
Michonne shouted, panicking, still clawing and struggling to get away. “Stop
it! Get off me!”
She
managed to hurl a handful of dirt behind her, but Quinn dodged it and started
unbuckling his jeans with one hand.
“Me,”
Daryl begged. “Do this to me, not her. Do it it me !”
“Sorry,
big boy, I don’t like dick,” Quinn said, and winked. He yanked his erection out
and leaned toward Michonne, positioning himself.
There was
only one way to save her. Daryl had to give Michonne a fighting chance, Sasha,
too. To do that, he was gonna have to die. He was willing to bet that push come
to shove, Harry would take the shot at him to save Quinn, rather than harm
Sasha, giving her a chance at escape. His gun arm was lax. He was paying more
attention to Quinn and Michonne than he was Sasha. Daryl had one shot, and he
took it. He dove right at Quinn, and as soon as he did he heard a blast, felt
something cut across his back, just as he tackled Quinn to the ground.
Another
blast, and another one. Daryl didn’t know what was going on, who was shooting,
who was getting hit. All he could see was Quinn struggling beneath him,
Michonne crawling forward and grabbing her sword. Sasha was in a struggle with
Harry, who was trying to shoot her but she had the gun aimed upward. It fired
again, while Daryl laid into Quinn, punching him over and over in the face
until he began to weaken, and then went still.
Bart
screamed. Daryl looked up, saw he’d leveled his gun at Michonne but then his
hand went flying as she cut it off before he could squeeze off a shot. She
slashed her katana again and again, slicing him, carving him up like a
Thanksgiving turkey.
Daryl
could see Sasha was losing the battle against Harry. He moved to try to help
her but someone else emerged from the darkness. Someone big, angry: Tyreese,
her brother. He gripped Harry’s gun hand and wrenched it away, snapping his
wrist in a clean, vicious break. Harry screamed from the agony while Sasha
scrambled toward Daryl.
Bart’s
head fell, then his body followed. Quinn moaned pitifully beneath Daryl, who
was now pulling Sasha into his arms. He heard crying--it wasn’t Sasha, though.
It was Daryl who wept. The relief at seeing Tyreese, Bob, and Rick rushing into
the camp, guns drawn, was nothing compared to holding Sasha in his arms. She
was well, safe, unharmed.
“I love
you,” she whispered. “I know it’s too soon to be saying it, but damn it, I love
you.”
He kissed
her, uncaring of who saw, who knew. Hell, everybody had figured it out already
anyway. No sense hiding it, even if he was too scared to say the words back to
her.
“Get off
me!” Harry shouted.
Tyreese
threw Harry, bodily, toward the fire. He hit it, hard, throwing up his arm just
in time to save his face. He screamed and rolled from the flames, which
guttered from the impact. Daryl got to his feet while Michonne grabbed a towel
she’d brought and used it to wrap around her waist and cover herself, where her
trousers had been ripped at the edge of Quinn’s blade.
“You guys
okay?” Bob asked, limping into the clearing.
“We told
you to stay home with Dr. S,” said Rick.
“It’s a
sprain, I’ll live,” Bob came back.
“How did
you get away?” Sasha asked, helping Daryl to his feet. He’d been grazed again
but the bleeding had already stopped.
“I went to
take a piss, saw these assholes coming to the camp. I figured instead of
playing hero I’d best get home and get help. Did they hurt anyone?”
“No,”
Michonne said. “You got here just in time. What are we gonna do with them?”
Rick
holstered his gun and knelt beside Harry. “You’re gonna tell me everything
about your group. Where you are, how many men you’ve got left, everything.
You’re gonna tell me, or your friend here will, or you’re gonna die a slow,
hard death. Tyreese, you and Bob get Michonne, Sasha, and Daryl home. I’ve got
work to do.”
“I ain’t
going nowhere,” Daryl said.
“You’re
hurt, Daryl,” Sasha said.
“I’m
okay,” he insisted. “And I ain’t leaving.”
“I’m staying
too, then,” Sasha said. “No arguing.”
Michonne
made it clear she wasn’t leaving. She wanted a crack at Quinn, and when she
told Rick what he’d done, he was all too happy to give her that shot.
“We’re in
this together, then,” said Rick.
“I ain’t
telling you shit,” Quinn said, his chin high, his eyes cold.
Harry was
a different story. He was shaking, fearful, tears in his eyes. He was a real
badass when he was in charge, but take his power away, and he was his real
self--a coward.
“Harry’s
mine,” said Daryl. “You ask your questions, Rick, and when he doesn’t answer…”
Rick
nodded and rested his hand on his Colt Python. “Let’s start with something
simple, then. Where’s your camp?”
...
Epilogue
The
sun had set when Rick and his group returned home. They weren't alone: Nine women and
three children came back with them. They'd all had the vacant stare of
people who'd been completely defeated by their circumstances. It didn't
take a genius to figure out that the “family” Peter had spoken of had actually
been women they'd captured, held hostage, and raped. The children were products
of those rapes. They'd been under watch by the last of Harry's men. Three
goons Rick and company had gunned down before offering the women a new
home.
It
saddened Sasha to see how these women and children jumped at every noise,
flinched at every move, and waited to be raped and tortured. It was gonna
be awhile, a very long while, before they came to see they really were
safe now.
Daryl left
the rest of the group and came to her. He pulled her close and kissed
her. It was long, slow, deep and tender. She sighed in contentment at the
feel of his strong arms around her.
“I saved
you a plate,” she said.
“I'll have
it for breakfast,” Daryl answered. “Right now I'm tired.”
“Harry and
Quinn?”
Once
they'd cracked, Rick issued an order: They were to come home, prepare a team,
while he, Tyreese, and Daryl dealt with Harry and Quinn. Sasha hadn’t been
there to see exactly what had happened.
“Gone, for
good.”
“I'm tired
too,” Sasha said, relieved she’d never have to worry about Harry again.
She stroked his chest, her touch light and loving. “I’m gonna turn in. I
could probably sleep a lot better if I wasn't alone.”
Daryl's
mouth turned up in a crooked ghost of a grin. “Me too. Wanna crash with
me?”
She
wrapped an arm around his waist as they headed inside. “Yeah. Just don't get
fresh, we're going to sleep.”
“I'll be
good, Scouts Honor.”
Sasha
squeezed him, her heart filled with affection and love for Daryl. “You
were in the Scouts?”
“Fuck no.”
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