#safe harbor

Still, you wander into a cell on the left, sighing as you fall back onto the thin mattress. A cloud of dust rises around you, making you cough. But hey, at least there’s a mattress. At least you aren’t curling up on the cement floor, or cramming into one of the cars, or laying down in the dirt.

Winter had been brutal. Mercifully, the weather was mild, with the temperature hardly ever dropping low enough for snow. Yet the cold still seeped into your clothes, chilling you to your bones as you ran and ran and ran. Every sound still had you looking over your shoulder. Every second of quiet calm existed just to be yanked from your grasp. Even now, you swore you could hear them on the other side of the fence despite the prison’s thick walls.

You run a shaking hand through your greasy hair and rise, joining Glenn and Maggie as they comb the rest of the cells for useful supplies. Later, you help Rick check the perimeter, and then you make dinner with Carol, lighting a fire in the yard and mixing together what was left of your canned goods with a fresh squirrel.

You keep busy. Keep moving. Never take the pack off your shoulders so you won’t have to leave it behind when the walkers come.

But then night falls, as it always does. Rick and T-Dog take watch for the first night, and now there was nothing for you to do but stare at the ceiling, your breath coming quicker by the minute. You can’t relax – you feel wide awake. Every single sound sends a jolt through your body, from the distant dripping of water leaking through a crack somewhere to the faint sound of Hershel coughing. Even, you swear, the jingling of the high fences outside where walkers still fling their rotting bodies against the metal chains. Was that the sound of shuffling footsteps just down the hall? One of your groupmates getting up for water in the night, or a walker coming to take a bite out of you? Or were you just hearing things?

You sit up in one quick rush of movement, your heart hammering. If you lay here one more second, you are going to go crazy, you’re sure of it. There has to be something, anything, that will calm you down. But, you think with a sinking despair, it’s hard to find any semblance of peace in a world overrun with monsters.

You rise silently from the bed, pulling the thin blanket around your shoulders, hoping it will give you some sense of comfort. You don’t even know what you’re looking for as you step carefully though the cell block. Frazzled nerves have you practically vibrating with energy – fear and dread and hopelessness beating the same tired rhythm through your veins. Without thinking, you climb a set of stairs to an elevated platform looking out over the cell block. You only manage to avoid tripping over the sleeping figure sprawled out on the ground thanks to the slivers of moonlight coming through a barred window high on the wall.

Even with the state you’re in, you can’t help the little amused scoff that leaves your lips.

Daryl Dixon.

Why in God’s name he wants to sleep out here, unprotected and in the open, is a mystery to you. But then again, most things about the man are a mystery. Despite both of you joining the group way back at the quarry, surviving the CDC, living together on the farm, and traveling together all winter, you had spoken to Daryl only a handful of times. Short, to the point conversations about hunting, taking watch, or gathering supplies. Survival. The only thing you really know about him is that his brother was one of the worst assholes you’d ever met.

That, and the fact that he is unreasonably calm about the end of the world.

Maybe that’s what makes your body move in the end. Before you can fully register your actions, you’re stepping over his sleeping form and leaning against the far wall, letting your back slide down until your sitting on the floor with your knees against your chest.

Daryl’s presence is, somehow, calming. At first, you were always on edge when he was near, especially since he never seemed to leave his brother’s side. But once Merle was gone, and on the farm especially, he’d quietly become a pillar of safety for the group. Nothing shook him. He fought his way out of everything. He kept the group fed and protected even as everyone else fell apart around him.

He wasn’t afraid.

So even though you’ve barely spoken to the man and you’re not even sure you like him, you trust him implicitly.

You let out a quiet, shaky breath, head falling into your hands. Tears gather in the corners of your eyes but don’t fall – you learned over the winter not to make a sound no matter how hurt or scared or sad you felt. You aren’t even sure you know how to cry anymore. Instead, you focus on evening your breaths. The quiet of the cell block is so complete that it feels like a blanket of darkness smothering the whole place. For a moment, you can hear your own heartbeat in your ears. Then –

“The hell are you doin’?”

You startle, nearly smacking your head against the concrete wall behind you. By a few shafts of moonlight, you can see Daryl, now clearly awake and propped up on one elbow, looking at you like you’ve grown a second head.

Of course he’d been awake the whole time. You aren’t even sure at what point he rolled over to face you; he could move that silently. Dick. Still, you feel your face heat up.

“Sorry,” you say, already standing and moving toward the stairs. But his hand shoots out at the last second, blocking the path back down to your cell. You slowly turn to meet Daryl’s eyes, mortified. He really can move fast when he wants to.

Daryl takes a moment to observe you, his gaze moving silently over your tear-clouded eyes, seeing the way you curl in on yourself, hugging your arms to your torso. The slight tremor in your body.

“Somethin’ up?” he asks, voice gravelly with sleep. He turns to survey the cell block below, one hand already reaching toward the crossbow on the floor.

You’re quick to shake your head, hands up in a placating gesture. “No, no, everything’s fine. I just … couldn’t sleep. I was wandering around and…” You shrug. “Came up here.”

You try to push past his arm, but he doesn’t budge. Instead, he raises an eyebrow. “Why?”

He sounds confused, not to mention irritated as fuck. You feel about three inches tall.

“Just did,” you answer meekly because you’re not even sure yourself. “Didn’t want to be alone, I guess.”

Daryl just stares at you.

His silence makes you feel like you need to keep talking, to fill the empty space and explain yourself somehow. You cross your arms tight across your body, gazing out over the cell block instead of at him. “I guess I just don’t know what the point of this place is.”

Daryl scoffs. “What, not fancy enough for ya? Seems like a pretty good deal to me.”

“That’s not what I mean,” you reply with a scowl. “I mean, what’s the point?” You gesture toward the barred window high above your heads. “They’re right outside the walls, just like always. They’ll get in, just like always.”

Daryl is quiet a moment, looking at you with just a bit less condescension. “Maybe,” he says eventually, shrugging. “But ain’t it worth the little bit of peace in the mean time?”

Now it was your turn to stare. “How can you feel any peace? I haven’t felt safe in months. I don’t think I ever will again.”

Daryl doesn’t say anything to that. Just looks at you, considering. You’re sure he’s about to say something dismissive, call you weak or stupid, and you can’t bear hearing it right now. So you keep talking, even if you’re just digging yourself further into a hole.

“I don’t know how you sleep up here, out in the open like this. I couldn’t do it.”

Daryl scoffs again. “And you think sleepin’ in one o’them cages is better?” He leans back against the railing, crossing his arms. You could rush down the stairs now if you wanted to. Instead, you keep arguing. It’s nice feeling something other than fear.

“At least there’s three walls and a sturdy door,” you say with a touch of defiance. “Nothing’s gonna sneak up on you.”

“If it feels so secure, then why ya up here?”

You don’t have an answer to that. Your gaze falls to the floor. Silence stretches between the two of you.

But to your surprise, Daryl nudges you with his shoulder. When you look up, his face is just the slightest bit softer. Annoyed, but softer.

“Look,” he sighs, and gestures with his chin toward the back wall. “One wall behind us. And a little one to the left. No doors or windows, least not one low enough to cause problems.” He gestures toward the rest of the cell block around you. “Open on the rest a’the sides. Can see everything. Clear view all around and a perfect place to shoot from.” Finally, he points toward the stairs leading up to the catwalk. “But only one way for anything to get up here.”

“And only one way for us to get down,” you counter softly.

He shrugs like it’s nothing. “Reckon we could probably jump if we was careful.”

“Into what? A sea of walkers?”

He rolls his eyes. “Clear a path first. Then –” He points toward the far door leading deeper into the prison, then the doorway directly below. “Exits there and there.” Then he points toward the individual cells. “And if things really go to shit, figure we can barricade as many people we can get into one cell and pick the fuckers off through the bars.”

You can’t help the slight quirk of your lips. “I guess you have a plan then, huh?”

Daryl glares, momentarily offended. “Hell yes I got a plan. Always got a plan. Fuckin’ stupid not to.”

That, you can get behind. You’ve done nothing except plan escape routes and worst case scenarios since you left the CDC. It’s nice to know you aren’t alone. And, you think, nice to have someone else do the work for once. Not that Rick and the others don’t, but they so rarely take the time to explain the reasoning behind their choices. Daryl’s patience and calm are like a salve on your frayed nerves.

You manage a smile at him. “Agreed. Guess I should get back to my cage. Sorry I woke you.”

But just as you start to make your way down the stairs, Daryl speaks. “Can stay up here. If ya want.”

You turn to face him, incredulous.

He’s looking anywhere but at you, rubbing the back of his neck. “S’room for two, long as you stay on the other end. Ya need to sleep ‘fore we start all the cleanin’ and clearin’ tomorrow. ‘Sides, don’t need ya havin’ a damn mental breakdown on us.”

Despite yourself, you let out a snort of laughter. You’re about to decline, but then you really think about it. Maybe you could get some real rest for once, knowing someone like Daryl was nearby and ready to go at a moment’s notice. And the two of you have multiple clear escape plans. Suddenly, the catwalk doesn’t feel so exposed, at least not in a bad way. Now it feels like an asset instead of a liability.

You nod, hoping he can see it from where you stand in the shadows. “Thanks.”

He just grunts in response and flops back down against his pillow, back turned. One hand appears to pull the ratty blanket over his shoulders.

You creep back into your cell to collect your own bedding and then climb back to the catwalk, setting up against the wall opposite Daryl. You can’t see his face, but you doubt he’s actually asleep.

The thought comforts you further, somehow.

You pull the blanket over you and close your eyes, nestling into the pillow and waiting for the familiar dread to creep up on you. It tries, oh how it tries, but this time you’re able to wrestle it back. If not completely, then enough to fall into the first true sleep in what feels like forever, secure with the reminder of escape strategies and strong, smart men with crossbows nearby.

You awake just as morning breaks, light flowing in through the barred windows and bathing the cell block in patterns of shadow and sun. One glance at Daryl tells you he’s still facing away from you, but you can see his side rising and falling with the steady rhythm of his breath.

Silently, you gather your pillow and blanket and walk back to your cell, careful not to wake anyone. The last thing you need is for the group to see you up there with Daryl and start making assumptions. Daryl would probably shoot a bolt through anyone who dared imply anything, you think with a grin. But still, best to avoid everyone the embarrassment.

You don’t speak to Daryl that day, nor make any indication that things are different between you. But the one time you do make eye contact across the cell block during breakfast, he holds your eyes and nods just once, subtlety. You return the gesture before turning back to Glenn and Maggie.

The day’s work is grueling, but you feel just a tad bit lighter while doing it. Like maybe the work your doing does have temporary purpose, even if it’s destined to fall apart.