'cast me out beyond the shore,
so that i may sink beneath the waves.'
-taylor danielle

⤐

"Ace?"

Suddenly, the world snapped back into focus. The rushing onslaught of noise tore through Zeppelin's ears the way a river tore through a canyon. Birds were singing above her, and she looked up, glaring at the gathering storm clouds. That's when she noticed the trees.

When had they gotten here? The last thing she recalled was crying outside of Hilltop, and the feeling of Daryl's chest pressed against her shivering back, and—Daryl.

She found his face, noting the concern there before he quickly hid it away, and her mouth opened and closed as if she were supposed to be answering some question, but she couldn't remember what it was.

"Are you okay?" There, a question. She wiped the back of her hand over her forehead and absentmindedly fiddled with the holster around her hips.

"I'm good, sorry." He didn't believe her, but Daryl was a generous man and always gave her the space to lie when she needed it. "You need any help with that?"

That's right, they had moved. After Zepp's breath steadied and her despair hardened into numbness, Daryl had gone back to retrieve his bike. And she had gotten on, her arms wrapped around his waist as they had always done, but she didn't feel warm as she once did. They had only gone a few miles before he decided to stop here to tune some hose near the engine that she had no clue what it was for. Everything became sort of blurred after that.

Daryl shook his head, returning to his task but angling himself a little closer to her. "Nah, I got it. Almost done."  Even though he couldn't see her, she nodded anyway and adjusted the pack on her shoulders as her stomach snarled. When was the last time they had eaten?

  She leaned against a youngling sap, her arms crossed as she watched a point in the distance. The trees seemed to wave at her, almost beckoning. She shouldn't have paused, should've found something to occupy her hands and mind with before she settled against this tree.

The way Rick had looked at her... her stomach flipped over and over as she remembered his face, as she tried and failed to push it out. As if he was afraid of her. As if he hadn't relied on her all these months, as if everything he admired in her before was now something to be wary of. He crafted her into his soldier, and she had failed him.

  The noise was softening again, a steady thrumming in her ears blocking everything out as it did that day the walker pulled her underwater. That's what it felt like—drowning.

  Daryl shifted his foot in the bramble beneath them, as good as a pointed cough to bring her attention back to the present. He tucked a tiny tool into his pocket and wiped his hands on the bandana shoved alongside it, Zeppelin's eyes tracking every movement. She watched every breath that passed in and out of his lungs, grounding herself in that steady rhythm.

He turned to her, his shoulders heavy under the weight she so desperately wished she could bear for him. "All set," he said, a question lingering at the tip of his tongue. Though they knew each other well enough by now that some words were merely just fillers between the spaces of peaceful silence.

You sure you're gonna be okay? He seemed to ask.

She blinked and nodded. I'll be fine.

"Just thinking about what Rick said," she admitted with a shrug as she pushed away from her perch against the tree. "That I'm an animal."

Daryl hissed between clenched teeth, closing the distance between them until she could feel the warmth of his skin washing over hers. "I'm sorry you heard that. He should've kept his fucking mouth shut."

She shook her head, trying to brush off the hurt lingering in her chest. "He looked at me like, like I was a monster. Do you... do you think—"

"Never." He didn't let her even think the words. "Never, Zeppelin."

She closed her eyes, willing the silver lining them to dry back up. Then Daryl's hand cupped her chin and forced it up with a gentleness that made her want to weep. "There is no part of you that would scare me or push me away. There's nothing you could ever do that would make me not love you, Ace. All of you."

She couldn't remember how to breathe, how to blink, how to move her mouth, or remember words. She smiled, a true smile, not the wicked grins she forced herself to give others to show them she was not weak. But with Daryl, her only weakness, she could smile. She could breathe. She could relinquish that little bit of control she had on her reins, even if it left claw marks on her skin.

Thank you. She didn't know if it was a prayer or a plea or just a thought, but Daryl wrapped his arms around her and pulled her into himself, then kissed the top of her head.

  "Come on," he murmured, the corded muscles of his arms stretching as he released his hold on her. "Let's get back to the house before this storm hits."

  Thunder roared in response, and the sound reverberated in her bones as she settled behind Daryl on the bike, clinging to the hard expanse of his waist as she stole the heat radiating off of him. When the engine kicked to life, she pressed her cheek against his back and watched the treelined path glide past them.

  "I'm gonna take a different way back, just in case some of those pricks are out there," Daryl tossed over his shoulder, and she nodded against him in response. She let the vibrations of the motorcycle soak into her too-tight muscles and let the rumbling engine fill her ears until they buzzed. Until everything turned into silence.

⤐

  "Shit!"

Daryl's spat curse yanked Zeppelin from the blackness that had swallowed her—and dropped her into the middle of hell. The rain had started, drenching the curls sticking to her forehead and splattering on the cracked asphalt below them.

The patch of highway they'd been barreling down was lined with cars on either side, most of them caked with months of dust and splattered with flaky, blackened blood. The cars sat bumper to bumper, as if everyone had pulled off to the side to let something through, then never moved again. They were packed in so tightly that Daryl didn't see the horde creeping onto the pavement until it was too late.

Some of them, too many to count, ambled between the cars on their left, already reaching out with broken and torn fingers. Daryl steered the bike to the right, the sudden movement twisting the muscles in Zepp's neck as she clung to him. Too wet—the road was already too wet.

She felt the motorcycle slip out from beneath them first, the sudden loss of weight between her thighs enough to send her heart crashing into her throat, and in the seconds before they hit the pavement, her stomach plummeted. Daryl twisted his body with predatory instinct and grace, cupping the back of her head with one heavy palm, his right arm blocking the impact on her spine.

It had to have shredded his skin to pieces. She felt her own flesh and cloth tearing in spots on her shoulder and hips, blood pooling in the same instant. Her head ached, but it was nothing compared to what would've happened had Daryl's hand not grabbed her in time. She added it to the list of things she'd spend her short life repaying him for, then forced her focus into the here and now.

Here and now—the rain slamming down on them, the bike thrown over their tangled limbs, the quickly gathering walkers shuffling closer. Her skin burned where the road tore at it, and she tried not to look at Daryl's hand or at their blood smeared across the road, washing away with the rain. She only focused on the urgency sending her veins throbbing as they crawled free of the bike.

Zeppelin was on her feet first, and the corpses were already grabbing her, one of their rotten hands twisting in her hair. She lashed out with her knife over and over until the others started to trip over the discarded bodies. She was faintly aware of Daryl next to her, his own curved hunting knives slashing through them with ease. She went through a mental assessment of their weapons—her two daggers, his two knives, her hatchet, and their two pistols—no extra ammo. As the crowd of dead gathered, a tidal wave washing closer and deeper, the familiar, uncomfortable grip of fear seized her heart.

"Daryl." She didn't know if it was a whisper or a scream, but then his hands were on her wrist, yanking her towards him as he took off down the highway. They flew past the bike, a hopeless idea now that they'd be swallowed by the herd before they could even get it off the ground. No time to stop, no time to think. Just run, run, run.

The pounding of the water wasn't enough to drown out the slapping of their boots, and even more walkers poured in on either side. She swung at one, black blood coating her hand in sticky warmth. The dagger almost caught in its skull, and she swore between her teeth as she yanked it back out.

Daryl spared a bullet for the one closest to them, just a few steps ahead of Zeppelin, as he pulled her alongside him, which seemed strange, given that she'd always been faster than him. But she was so, so tired. She gasped in a deep breath and forced her legs to pump harder.

When the wall of cars finally spread apart, they broke off from their path, twisting to the right and bolting through the trees like deer. Though Daryl reminded her more of a wolf—the feral snarls escaping his lungs, his fingers pressed so tightly into her wrist that she was certain there'd be bruises. If they survived long enough for them to form.

She stumbled over a root, her ankle yelping in agony, but she righted herself quickly. Daryl's gaze flicked between her and the road, but even through the traitorous rain, she could still make out the despair there. How could she have been so foolish? For days now, she'd been so focused on the danger from humans, that she'd let her guard slip—and the new world had been waiting to sink its venomous fangs into her.

There was no time to think, no time to do anything other than gasp for air and run, run, run. The walkers were further behind enough that she couldn't hear their moaning anymore, but they wouldn't stop until something new caught their attention. Mindless beasts follow blind instinct.

Zeppelin turned right again, intending to double back to get behind the horde and grab the bike, but Daryl's senses were sharper, his keen eyes more accustomed to the dark forest, and he pulled her back towards him. She saw them moments after he did. More bodies headed their way, alerted by the crashing through the woods, and their groans echoed above the roaring thunder. They turned back, weaving through the labyrinth of thin trees.

  They would keep running. She would run until her lungs gave out, until her chest caved into itself. If only for one more sunset.

⤐

  Daryl didn't know how long they'd been running from the herd. Long enough that the sky had dimmed, the darkness of the storm deepening as the sun fell. He tried to make sense of the direction they were headed, but it seemed at every turn, more bodies swarmed them. All he could focus on was making sure Zeppelin stayed at his side.

He knew he was holding her too tight; his fingers were too rough, but the thought of her hand slipping away from his own scared him more than the corpses following them.

The walkers were still on their trail, but far enough back that when Daryl spotted a small campsite, he gently pushed Zepp onto the picnic bench, breaking that contact even as it punched a hole in his chest. He stood beside her, his hands on his knees as they caught their breath. Hers came out in broken gasps, and the sound almost stopped his heart.

The rain was still falling in thick, cold droplets, and she wiped it out of her eyes as she looked up at him. "Can we ever catch a fucking break?" She grumbled.

He let out a whoosh of shaky breath and knocked a crooked finger under her chin, unable to keep the smile from his face as he said, "Sorry, sweetheart. That's just not our style."

She grinned back, grateful for the pause they both knew would be too short. Already, the herd was shuffling closer, and before he could take another breath, Zeppelin was on her feet and racing next to him again. The sun had entirely disappeared now, leaving them to scramble in the dark. Thankfully, he'd had plenty of practice.

  He darted through low-hanging branches, keeping Zepp as close as he could without tripping her up, and zigzagged through the darkness, hopefully throwing the walkers off their scent. The rain stopped abruptly, and their scent lingered on every leaf they brushed past.

  A familiar pain in the muscles of his chest tugged at him, and another pain blistered in his side. They'd have to stop soon. Unless they couldn't lose the herd. Then they'd run until their legs gave out, and he'd shield her body from their jaws as long as he could, and he would pray he'd have at least one bullet left.

⤐

  "Come on, baby, keep pushin'," Daryl groaned, wrapping the arm that wasn't slathered in blood and screaming in agony underneath Zepp's shoulders. They had run for what seemed like endless miles, and it wasn't until he couldn't hear the horde anymore that he finally let himself slow down.

  Zeppelin gasped for air, her shoulders shaking as she leaned against an ancient tree in a forgotten clearing. Daryl held himself up on the tree closest to her, his eyes and ears focused on the woods behind them.

  "How many bullets you got?" Her voice was hoarse and strained like flames had been shoved down her throat. He checked—grimaced. "Yeah, me too," she muttered and wiped her hair out of her face. Daryl dug in his pockets for a moment before he found what he was looking for. He wordlessly handed her the rubber band, and she shot him a grateful glance before pulling her mess of curls up while he surveyed the area.

The further they drew into the forest, the thicker the trees became, as if the earth was older here. They'd passed a few more campsites, so they must be in some national park or campground. He hoped there might be an information center somewhere, but if there were any signs pointing to one, he'd missed them all. He didn't know how much longer he could push her.

He looked to Zeppelin, who was sharpening her blades on her hatchet, trying to hide the way her fingers shook. He assessed her body with his hunter's eyes, noting the trembling of her knees, the way she held her weight on her left side. She was hurting, and damn it, he was, too. They needed time.

"We should rest here for a little while. I don't hear 'em coming, but we can't go off blindly." She arched a brow as if to argue, but whatever she saw in his gaze kept her mouth shut. Instead, she nodded, held a dagger in each hand, and slowly lowered herself to the ground. Daryl settled down beside her, both of them trying to soak in each other's heat.

For the first time, Daryl looked at his hand, and couldn't hide the sharp inhale as he gauged the damage. It had been pure instinct to shield Zepp's head from the unforgiving asphalt, and he had zero regrets about it. Hell, he'd willingly peel his skin off with his own two hands if it kept her from feeling even a fraction of that pain. But the healing process for this would be slow. His arm was worse; he could feel the sting of his skin against his torn leather jacket and the thick, gooey blood dribbling down his bicep.

Zeppelin watched him, as she usually did, but there was a sudden sorrow and regret there that she didn't normally carry. She blamed herself for this, he realized. For all of it.

"Don't," he whispered. "Don't do that. Don't look at me like that."

"How am I supposed to look at you, Daryl?" Her breathy plea was barely a whisper on the wind.

"Not like you're apologizing. You are not responsible for what happens to us. Sometimes bad shit just happens, nothin' we can do 'bout that."

She opened her mouth to respond, her tongue dancing behind her teeth, and he felt the urge to lean over and taste it. Then she clenched her jaw shut again and pushed up on her knees. In two smooth motions, she grabbed the hem of her shirt and sliced a thin strip of cotton off the bottom. Holding the blade between her teeth, she reached over him to wrap his hand, and her scent engulfed his senses.

The lavender shampoo she used in Maggie's trailer still lingered in her hair, mixed with the smell of rain and earth and everything he loved most. This wouldn't be the last time he smelled her. It couldn't. He wouldn't let himself think of it anymore. Once his hand was wrapped to her satisfaction, she settled back down next to him and leaned her head on his shoulder.

"I'm so tired," she whispered. He didn't know if she was really speaking to him, but he scooted closer anyway and rested his head on hers.

"I know, Ace," he murmured into her hair.

He didn't know when it happened, but they fell asleep that way.

⤐

A twig snapped.

Daryl's eyes flew open, his blood thrumming in his veins. He had no sense of how much time had passed, but it was long enough that the herd was on them again, and he was pulling Zeppelin to her feet before she had even truly awoken.

Was this the new life they'd been shackled to? Running and stopping, then running again. Eventually, their legs wouldn't be able to keep up with their will.

He slowed enough to slice through the ones within arm's reach of them, and Zeppelin mirrored his motions, protecting each other's backs as they each focused on one side. One of them snagged onto her belt, knocking her pistol out of its holster. She bared her teeth and plunged her dagger deep into its skull, but when she reached for the gun, two more descended on her, and Daryl was pulling her away again.

Down to one gun. His. He didn't want to tell her, didn't want to think it himself, but that little voice he hated was whispering in the back of his mind.

Only one bullet left.

Just focus on running, he told himself. They had to lose them eventually, right? They darted left, veering onto the smaller, wilder path through the trees. After what felt like two miles, the path opened up, and the air felt thinner. They burst through the tree line, clinging to each other as they crossed another highway and were once again devoured by the forest.

  He glanced at Zepp, just because he wanted to see her face, and his heart shattered at the tears streaking her cheeks. He could hardly think above the shrieking of his lungs, the splitting of his muscles all over his body, but for those tears, he would keep going.

  "Daryl." His name was a sob on her lips. "I can't—"

  "You can," he assured her, slowing his animalistic pace. "You can, Ace. Come on."

  She choked back a cry and pushed herself harder until her feet flew out from under her, and Daryl now had to work to keep up. Finally, the shadow of a building loomed in a distant clearing. It was small, but intact, and right now, it felt like a life preserver in a hurricane.

  Zeppelin ripped open the door of the single cabin and waited for Daryl to follow before she slammed it shut again. The room was tiny, meant for a hiker who didn't plan on spending much time indoors. It housed one twin-sized bed, a couch centered near a coffee table, a bathroom, and a sink with a mini fridge below. He checked that first, nearly screaming with rage when he found it empty. His throat and lungs felt like he'd been standing above an open, raging pit in hell, breathing in the blackened smoke.

  Zeppelin spared a few seconds to peer into the bathroom and under the bed, and deeming it safe for now, she grabbed one end of the couch and started to pull, not bothering to wait for Daryl to help her tug it in front of the door. Once the only entrance was blocked, she sagged into a heap on the floor below the ledge in the kitchen and dropped her head into her hands. Daryl joined her, careful to keep his injured arm from brushing against the wall as he slid beside her.

  "What are we going to do?" She asked into the safety of her hands. "I can't run anymore. And I don't remember the way back. I don't—" she coughed, and Daryl rubbed the space between her shoulder blades. "I wasn't paying enough attention."

  "I got it. I'll get us home," Daryl said, cringing at the words. Home. Where was that for them? It didn't feel like Alexandria, not anymore. It definitely couldn't be Hilltop, not while Gregory was in charge. Maybe not even if Maggie took over. The Kingdom was out of the question—Zepp or Daryl was more likely to strangle someone purely out of annoyance there.

  That left them the house. The house with the yellow door, and the forgotten nursery, and the room filled with books and music and laughter. And if Daryl spent the rest of his life in that house with her, he'd die a happy and content man.

  She didn't say anything else, and he thought she didn't have much hope of making it that far. They sat in silence for a while, shoulder to shoulder, the only sounds their ragged breathing and the relentless rapping of Zeppelin's fingers on her thigh. Then, the sound he dreaded most: walkers.

  Whether it was the same herd, or by some fuck you from the universe it was a different one, he knew there had to be at least a hundred. Maybe more. It was a swarm of them, their groans echoing in a deathly symphony and their feet shuffling in the dirt outside.

  Zeppelin had gone wholly still next to him, her wild gaze locked on the front door. The flimsy loveseat would only hold for so long. She laced her fingers into his and squeezed so tight he feared for her own bones, but he returned the pressure, clenching his teeth against the ache in his other hand where he gripped a knife.

  Only one bullet left.

  Wooden planks shoved into the dirt served as the makeshift porch outside, and he heard the first scuffle of footsteps fall across them. Zepp put her free hand over her mouth to stifle her breathing, and fear, something he so rarely saw in her, shone brightly in the eyes he loved so much. Eyes that were too sad and too tired to be twenty-eight. Too much—she'd already seen and survived too much.

  "I'm sorry, Zeppelin," he whispered, so low that the air between them hardly caught the apology.

  "Don't do that," she breathed, inclining her head toward him. Remember? Her gaze seemed to speak for her. No apologies. They would follow each other to whatever end; any mistakes they might have made in the future had already been forgiven in advance.

  The wave of the dead washed closer, their nails scratching and splintering along the cabin walls. Zeppelin squared her shoulders and leaned her head back, her gaze never straying from the door. "How many bullets do you have?"

  If his heart hadn't already been working overtime, it might have stopped completely.

  "Two," he lied. The shaky sigh that escaped her throat told him she believed it, and that was enough to make him feel nauseous—but he had to lie. It was the only way she would let him do it.

  He knew her well enough by now, maybe even better than he knew himself. She would never let him give her the easy way out if she didn't believe he would be right along behind her. She'd rather go out fighting next to him than let him do it alone. He couldn't stand it. If he saw them tear into her, heard her screams—he nearly vomited on the cheap linoleum floor, and he shoved the bile back down his throat.

  The moans and snarls were louder now, swelling and building until the sound crashed in his ears. He heard the groan of wood as bodies pressed against the door, and he wondered how long it would take for it to splinter. This was it, he realized as tears began to line his eyes. It's time.

  Zeppelin knew it, too, and so she kneeled beside Daryl on the floor, folding his hands in her own, achingly gentle with his damaged one. Even now, in the face of death, she could only touch him gently.

  "I am so, so happy I got to know you, Daryl Dixon," she cried, tears rolling down into the smile she managed to give him. "I fucking hated my life, every little part of it, until you. No regrets."

  He was crying, too, and the tears burned until his vision was blurry. He blinked them away, not wanting to miss one second of that perfect, beautiful face. He released her hands to thread his through her hair as he pressed his forehead against hers. "My only regret is that we didn't have more time, Ace," he whispered, their breath mingling until they shared air. "If I had known this was all the time we'd have, I would've kissed you that first day in the Greene farm shed. You probably would've stabbed or punched me, but I could take it."

  She laughed at that, a broken sound shoved out through her sobs. The walkers outside groaned in answer and mindlessly clawed at the door. He heard the first crack of wood. Then he felt movement at his waist. With phantom hands, Zeppelin had grabbed his pistol and wrapped his fingers around it.

  Though he had thought of this already, something deep and instinctive inside of him screamed, a raging, demonic scream. Every nerve of his body fought against the motions, the looping of his finger over the trigger. Wrong, wrong, wrong. This was all wrong.

  Zeppelin stroked shaking fingers down his cheek, letting them trail into the damp ends of his hair as they cried together. "It's okay," she murmured. "It's okay."

  It's not okay, that scream roared inside him like a white-hot fire coursing through his veins. How could it be okay when the woman he loves is on her knees before him, and his gun is pressed into her temple? His hand trembled violently, and he forced it to still. She grabbed his free hand and laced their fingers together, her eyes locked onto his own.

  "It's okay," she repeated, more to herself now than to him. "I hope there is another side, like people say. Wouldn't that be nice? I know I'll find you there. And we could go back to the house with the yellow door, and sit by the river. Just you and me. I'd like that."

  Daryl choked out a sob, the sound tearing through every bone in his body. "I'd like that, too, Ace." He'd find her. In every way a soul could be found.

  "It's okay," she said again, her eyes fluttering shut.

  No, he wanted to beg. Please look at me one more time.

  "I'm ready."

  He closed his eyes.