GIVEN TO FLY [Daryl Dixon]

XXI.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
[ anger ]

She is angry, she realizes once she sees him. Relieved and happy, yes, but angry. Angry with him for leaving, for walking away. Not that she has any right to be. All they are is friends, and barely. Nevertheless, the thought of talking to him makes her stomach turn. She retreats inside, runs away before he can get inside the fence.

It doesn't take long for him to find her. Five minutes later, she hears the footsteps up the stairs. Knows just by how heavy they fall that it's him. He appears in the doorway of her cell. She doesn't look up. "Hey," she hears him mutter. When she doesn't answer, doesn't even acknowledge his presence, he says, "c'mon, Misty."

She's so angry, so frustrated that she almost laughs. Instead it comes out as a scoff as she finally tells him, "I'm so mad at you." He doesn't respond, but she knows he's listening. She stands up and looks at him. "I'm so goddamn mad at you. We needed you and you just left. I. . . I needed you. I needed my friend. I'd just had the worst day of my entire life, Glenn was flying off the handle, Rick was off in Crazytown, and I needed you to be here and you weren't. You didn't even consider staying. You didn't try to find a way to make it work. You just left, and I didn't think I'd ever see you again."

She waits for the rationalization. For the I had tos and the he's my brothers. But they don't come. Instead, as she watches him, he bows his head, taking the information in, then nods. Nods as if he understands. As if he has understood, even before she said it. "'M sorry."

And somehow it weighs more than his other apologies. "What?"

"I wanted to come back as soon as I left," he tells her, and her anger slowly begins melt away. "But I had to deal with Merle, and ya know how he is."

The candle on which her anger burned is reduced to a puddle of wax. "Oh," is all she can say.

"Shouldn't 'a left in the first place, I know. It was a shitty thing to do. 'M sorry."

For the second time in two days, she hugs him. Steps forward and wraps her arms around his neck, though gently this time. With less hesitation now, he returns her embrace. "I'm glad you're back," she murmurs.

"Yeah," he mutters, "me too."

She's touching him. Hugging him, for the second time in two days. The second time in his life that he has ever been hugged like this, or hugged at all. He can't fathom it, the way she grabs onto him, like she cares, like she had really missed him. He's sure he's going to combust. Or go insane. One of the two.

"I'm glad you're back," she murmurs, and he feels her breath on his neck, his ear. And it's too much. She's too much. Too soft, too kind, too close. He'd been too sore yesterday, too distracted to notice, and she'd backed away when she realized that everyone was watching. But she doesn't back away now.