Reciprocity

"Yeah," Daryl whispered. "I know."

He seemed to ponder for a moment, like he wanted to ask her more questions, but the unexpected softness of the moment had caught him off guard, and he closed himself off again. It was maddening to her, like a puzzle she knew she could solve if she worked at it long enough.

"Get some rest," he said, gesturing vaguely towards the blankets. "We're leavin' at dawn. Wasted a whole damn day on ya already."

"Where?" He didn't reply. He sat again and pulled a folded blanket from his pack. Chance asked again, but he ignored her, settling into the chair and giving her one last warning glance before closing his eyes and tilting his head back to sleep. She chuckled to herself. She wasn't going anywhere with Daryl, she determined. He had bad, or at least uninteresting plans for her. He'd learn just how capable she was.

...

Dawn came without incident. This time, it was Chance who awoke first, to Dog licking her face. She spluttered and giggled, nudging the animal away with her head and thinking how much she missed dogs from Before. She had always liked them, and had spent a long time deliberating on how to get this particular one away from camp without resorting to violence. She took a chance on the simple answer, throwing rocks, and might have been rewarded by it if that Daryl had not been so damn good. She shimmied her tied hands to her front.

Dog wagged his tail and looked at her for a minute before going to Daryl and licking his hand, which had fallen to his side in his sleep. Immediately, he jolted awake, scanning his environment before settling on Chance, who stared back at him with a smirk and her signature cocked head.

"Good morning" she said. He grunted at her tersely before rising and walking outside. She saw him turn a corner and heard the unceremonious zipper pull and subsequent "morning business" before he came back into the building, letting in a draft and readjusting his belt. A ripple of disgust washed through her, reminded of one too many unpleasant experiences with men and their belts, before managing to calm herself. I got away from them, she thought, and I'll get away from him, too, and I won't have to kill him either. She thought for a second, brows furrowing as she frowned. I hope.

Daryl had been rooting around in his pack. He pulled out a dirty blue shirt with a collar. He began to tie it up in a particular way, checking it every once in a while, to see that it was taking the right shape.

"Sorry," he said, "but I ain't got a bag, so I gotta improvise."

As she watched, Daryl held up the shirt and she realized that he meant to use it to cover her head. She began to cry dramatically. He rolled his eyes and tried again.

"No! No no no no no..."

He shushed her. "It's jus' to—"

She cut him off. "No!" she yelled, "I don't want that thing on my head, please, I'll do anything, please don't!" As she begged, she used her feet to slide her body along the wall, away from the makeshift mask and Daryl, if only by maybe a foot. He hesitated, equal parts irritated and unsure of himself. She repeated:

"I'll do anything. Please."

Just as Daryl sighed and motioned to put the mask on her again, Chance seemed to have an idea. This time, she fell forward slightly and awkwardly made her way towards him. She straightened and now stood on her knees, looking up at Daryl from the floor.

"I-I can—I'll make you feel good, I can do that," she pleaded. Suddenly, her hands were at his belt, tugging gently at the buckle. "Please, I'll do anything."

Daryl was shocked. What kinda fuckery—? His icy demeanor shattered and he gaped at her slightly, not knowing what the hell to think—

Before he could react, she bucked her head right into his crotch. He yelped and collapsed to the floor. Chance launched herself to her feet and sprinted to the door.

"See ya later, pretty boy!" she taunted, childishly.

Dog began barking and chasing her. She reached the door first, however, and slammed it shut behind her, yelling,

"Sit! No, go away, pup!" She immediately sprinted to the forest, knowing her time was limited. Daryl would recover soon enough to let the dog after her. I do not want to get mauled by a German shepherd this day at all, no sir. Leaves and vines tore at her face, leaving small cuts and welts, but she kept going. Her leg was searing from pain, and she could feel the blood seeping through her makeshift bandage, but she remained in a dead run until she found what she was looking for.

An ash tree, with sturdy branches that were not too low hanging. Laughing, she sprinted up the tree and caught hold of a branch just as the dog burst into view, barking furiously. She hauled herself up the branch, wishing her hands weren't tied so she could grab the next branch more easily. Just as she managed to stand on the first branch, Daryl burst into view as well. She didn't have to look to know he was pissed. He swore as he saw her search for and find the next branch.

"What the hell, girl?!"

"Nope," Chance said under her breath. Daryl grimaced from the pain and surveyed the tree. He could hear Chance muttering to herself as she got further and further up the tree. He saw droplets of red smeared on the branches where she had been, almost as if her red hair had trailed behind her instead of warm, wet blood, a crimson Rapunzel. He put his fists on his hips, like an angry parent with a petulant child.

"Yer bleedin' again, get down from there."

"Nope."

"Ye can't stay up there forever."

"Nope."

"So, come on down. Let's talk."

"Nope."

This was becoming infuriating. Daryl considered his options. His friends were expecting him back at Alexandria...he already was late. He couldn't stay here and babysit this maniac... but on the other hand, he wasn't sure if he could leave her here. There were other communities to think about, and she was a threat. And in another, kinder part of his mind, he knew she could die out here—alone, with a possibly infected, open puncture wound, and no supplies? She'd die before morning.

As Daryl paced below the tree, he realized that Chance had stopped her inane muttering. He craned his neck up, squinting against the sunlight. She was looking towards the West, eerily still. He looked in the direction she was, and listened. At first, he heard only the sounds of the forest around him. Then, faintly, on the wind, he heard it; another herd. Definitely bigger than the one he dealt with the other night. He swore and called up at Chance.

"Hey!" He pointed. "You see that herd comin' this way?"

Chance looked down at him. He pointed at the herd.

"If it's as big as I think it is, then you know you ain't fool enough to try an' ride it out from up there. They'll hear ya, or see ya, and they'll knock this tree over before they give it up. Get. Down!"

After a tense moment, it was Chance's turn to swear.

"Shit. Shit shit shit shit..." She muttered in frustration as she clambered down the tree. He was right. She was crazy, not stupid. Daryl danced anxiously around as he waited. Dog began barking again.

"Come on!"

Daryl heard Chance hit the ground to his left. He hadn't expected her to get down so quickly. He went over to her and helped her to her feet, her hands still tied.

"Y'allright?" She nodded. "Let's go, we can make it back to the building in ti—"

"No," she cut him off, "I haven't got the door to stay locked, it's not safe. Follow me, I know a better way!"

She rushed off, heading Northeast. Daryl took off after her, not really trusting her but trusting her enough. Maybe she could get them out of this mess. She seemed sure.

They ran for fifteen minutes or so, nothing said between them and only sharing frantic glances backwards and steady, heavy breathing. Every once in a while, they'd explode through a pile of fallen leaves, raining down a rainbow of fire-colored leaves on their heads, sticking in their hair. Dog bounded along, trusting his master as always. It was the frantic running that bound strangers to each other, almost a ritual in this new, violent world where the living spent their days running. They all knew the rite by heart. Finally, they came to a clearing. Before them was about two hundred feet of clearing and then—

A cliff. She had led him to a cliff. He skidded to a stop, whirling around wildly, looking for a different escape. Chance noticed that Daryl had stopped and turned to face him. He noticed that, at some point while they were running, she had worked off the ropes and was free. He shouted angrily.

"There's nowhere to go!"

"Oh, yes, there is!" She turned away and prepared to charge over the cliff, taking a runners stance and stretching theatrically. He saw her determined, grim face and understood.

"Are ye crazy?!"

She just grinned, eyes never leaving the precipice.

"I sure do try." And with that, she shot over the clearing, missing Daryl's catching hand by an inch, and rocketed off the cliff. Daryl raced to the edge and peered over it. The river snaked back here, and many feet below, he saw a bright red head pop out of the water and gasp for air.

"You've gotta be shittin' me," Daryl muttered. He watched as she floated a little way downstream, then swam to a shallow shoreline on the other side. He could see that the current was powerful here, but not deadly fast, like it would be in spring. He glanced back at Dog, now mad with barking at the herd. They were close. Daryl swore again, and walked toward them. He took a cord from his pack and hastily secured his crossbow to his pack, and his pack to his waist. He picked up Dog, a little clumsily, and prepared himself for the leap. The animal whined.

He turned and saw them, breaking through the treeline. The dead army had spotted him at last, and ravenous, they would destroy him. If he didn't. Jump. NOW.

...

Chase watched as she saw the bodies launch from the cliff. She tracked both man and dog with her eyes, anxiously watching as she heard the splashes and determined to keep track of them. She felt a wave of unexpected relief as Daryl's head popped out of the water, followed by Dog's. Hadn't she wanted to escape? Thinking about leaving them made her feel wretched. Thinking about leaving him...

She waved exuberantly to them as she waded into the water. Dog reached her first, where she bent down to check on the dog. She earned a spray of water in her face for her concern when he shook it off his coat. She shouted and backed away from the dog, giggling and wiping her eyes—and backed up into Daryl's chest, who had stormed through the water to her.

She spun around in surprise. He was panting from the effort of slogging through the chilly river and eyeing her in rage. He was much taller than her.

"What the hell was that?!" he demanded to know. He grabbed her wrist roughly. Chance, still winded as well, responded breathily.

"That was me saving your life." She smiled in amazed relief and pointed to the cliff they had just jumped. Daryl looked just as the first walker fell off of it and plunged into the stream below. Soon, the whole herd was joining it, freefalling into the cold murk and being swept away by the current. "The current here isn't strong enough to stop a strong swimmer, but these assholes can't handle it." Daryl turned to face her again, eyebrows knotted. Chance looked at him and shrugged. "I've done it before."

Daryl dropped her wrist, not taking his eyes off of her. "Smart." He studied the woman in front of him, looking at her for the first time instead of looking for signs of treachery and flightiness. Her red hair—dyed unnaturally crimson—was short, curling wildly in all directions. The black markings from before had been partially washed away by the sudden swim, reduced to some indistinct smudges on her cheeks and black rims around her eyes. In the light of day and without the paint, he could see a generous smattering of freckles, deepened in color and number by the recently faded summer sun. She was an unusual beauty, with a sharply square jaw, a round nose, and thin lips that nearly always curled into an impish and lopsided smile. Her cheek dimpled on one side, and her neck was long—she wore a black ribbon around it, emphasizing this feature. Daryl took this all in only a second or two, not registering any attraction beyond a sense of begrudging, objective admiration...until his mind flashed, unbidden, to her deft hands at his waist, back at the water station.

He wordlessly started walking past her, checking his things as he prepared to double back to Hilltop. Chance's cocky smile dropped in confusion.

"Hey, where are you going?"

"Away."

"No, seriously, where are you going?

"Away. Leave me be," Daryl grunted. Annoyance was becoming a regular emotion he felt when it came to Chance. She stamped her foot once and balled her fists on her hips in a stubborn stance.

"Not in your condition. And you know I'd just follow you."

Daryl stopped in his tracks, leaning his head back and sighing deeply.

"Look," she said, stepping closer to him, "I know you're probably holed up somewhere. With people. And you need to get back to them. And I know you don't trust me—" Daryl took this opportunity to shoot a sarcastic look at her—"And I don't really trust you. But I know you could've just run when you saw that herd. Left me to die up that tree. You didn't." Daryl didn't move. She continued, "I helped you because you helped me. We ran together. That's something."

She was silent for a second, waiting for a response from Daryl. He was clearly thinking, hard. "I'm hurt. It's like you said, it isn't bad, but it's bad enough, and us in these clothes?" She pulled at her soaked sweater. "We'll freeze, or at least get sick."

"What do you suggest we do about it?" Daryl challenged, facing her once more. She ignored his hostility and gestured downstream.

"I have another place. More supplies, blankets, a fire, shit like that. The water station was a bug out spot I set up, just bare bones. I could put you and your dog up for the night—feed you even—get you dry."

"Alright, say we go to this place you got, then what? You want something back, right? So whaddya want from us?"

"Normally, I would, but I believe in a little something called 'reciprocity,' Daryl." She grinned, genuinely this time. "This would be a thank you."

Daryl considered. "Of course," she interjected, "with my leg I'm not at one hundred percent capacity right now. I'm gonna need you to kill these idiots for me." She gestured to the river, which was still writhing with the undead, ineffectively reaching for the odd couple before being washed away. Dog busied himself by barking at them excitedly from the shore.

Daryl nearly rolled his eyes. He looked at the river, Dog, Chance, and the direction of Hilltop before returning to look at her.

"Fine."

Chance pumped the air with her fist. "Yes!"

"But you ain't pullin' any more of that shit from before, hear?" He jabbed his finger in her face again. Her unwavering smile did nothing to relieve his distrust and impatience. She threw her hands up innocently.

"No, no, of course not!"

"Good." He gestured for her to lead the way. She did, but not before adding:

"Unless, of course, you liked the whole frightened damsel act." She turned to walk backwards, joking. "I kind of did."

She continued forward as Daryl grumbled something about crazy bitches who've lived alone too long.

...

They had walked just under an hour when she stopped to let Daryl catch up to her. He was traveling a few feet behind, watching her closely. She felt his gaze on her back and had continued, unbothered, until she saw the house peeking beyond the tree line. She pointed to it as Daryl stepped next to her.

"Home sweet home."

Daryl had insisted they clear it together, with Chance in front of him at all times. She protested mildly, but let him poke around the musty rooms of the large, vine-covered house regardless. It was a perfect spot for a lone traveler to hide; the overgrown vines covered the windows, making it nearly impossible to see into, even with a lit fire in the fireplace. He found that she had a small stockpile of food, mostly canned, and even some jeans that almost fit him from the previous, long-dead residents of the house, who were unceremoniously dumped in the backyard. He half expected her to take off when he went to a bedroom to remove his soggy jeans, shirt, and vest, but she was kneeling, stoking the fire, wrapped in a quilt when he emerged. It draped off her shoulder, and he could see that she was only wearing a bra and shorts underneath.

Daryl blushed mightily and averted his gaze as she took notice of his embarrassment and shirtlessness. She said nothing, smiling to herself to avoid embarrassing him further. So, he's a halfway decent guy, she thought. Cute blush.

Daryl hung his damp clothes off the mantle. Chance cocked an eyebrow.

"You're not serious."

"What?"

She rose, adjusting the quilt so she could take Daryl's treasured vest from his hands.

"You don't dry leather next to a fire like that. God, no wonder it's so trashed." She flipped it over to look at the back, and chuckled. "Lost a wing there, angel."

Daryl scoffed. She took the vest and laid it on the kitchen table. She retrieved a towel and blotted the surviving wing, wicking away the moisture and helping it dry faster, without the aid of damaging fire. He watched her.

"Why do you care?"

"It's a shame to see good leather go to waste." She returned to the fire with a pot full of canned food. "Besides, you clearly like it a lot, seeing as how it's been put through the wringer."

Daryl took the pot from her outstretched hand and peered into it. "There ain't any meat."

"I don't have any. And you left your deer in the water station."

He had completely forgotten about the deer. He stared at her a long moment with a blank expression she could not help but laugh at. She clamped her hand over her mouth to stop the outburst, but it was too late. Daryl clamped his hand over his eyes and rubbed his face in utter defeat.

Just then, Dog came over to beg for scraps. Daryl sighed and squatted down to pet him.

"Jesus Christ. Sorry, boy. Only got a bit o' that squirrel left."

The dog was dryer than he had expected him to be.

"He was shaking when I brought him in, so I toweled him off," she explained. Daryl nodded. He stood up and went to his pack to feed Dog the last of the squirrel he had caught the day before yesterday. The canine gobbled it up happily and returned to Chance to sit by the warm flames. Her hands tangled in his fur absentmindedly. She loved how comforting it was.

"What's his name?"

Daryl shook his head. "It's jus' 'Dog.'"

She stared into the fire, smirking.

"That's a terrible name for a dog." When Daryl did not answer, she continued, "Unless it stands for something. D-O-G?"

"Nah. Just 'Dog.'"

"No fun," she scoffed.

They sat in the quiet, both looking into the flames as they waited for dinner to cook. The logs would pop occasionally, sending a small shower of tiny sparks into the air. Daryl couldn't help but notice that, from behind, Chance seemed like she was a part of it, brazen hair catching the light prettily, and her skin illuminated by the fire as if it were glowing. He saw her hands curling in Dog's neck fur absentmindedly, and smiled the tiniest smile, knowing she could not see it.

Once Chance had decided that the veggies and cream of mushroom soup mix had reached a sufficient temperature, she ladled out a bowl of it and passed it to Daryl.

"Careful," she warned. He nodded in thanks and began eating as she served herself next.

"So...Daryl." He bristled. "Where are you from?"

He spoke through a mouthful of stew, "None o' yer business."

Undeterred, Chance pressed on. "Well, obviously you're from the South. I mean, like, where are you from around here? You're local now."