The Woman at The End of The World. (Daryl Dixon)

seventyone.

I'm leaning over the terrace, observing the communities work and socialize together. I've been avoiding everyone to the best of my ability. I'm still very irrationally angry with Maggie over her reckless decision that got a lot of our friends killed in pursuit to bring Negan down. I can't fault her for wanting revenge, but sometimes you need to consider the ones around you that are still breathing. She literally brought the fight to us after antagonizing Negan himself. I'm also still upset with Daryl for going against my one simple request. I barely had time to register the news Siddiq so lovingly dropped on us. I understand the redneck is worried, but he knows damn well I can hold my own.

After cleaning my clothes from the fight with Simon, I had pulled them back on this morning. My swords rest along my back as I refuse to go anywhere without my weapons. My cardigan billows around my waist as a gust of wind sweeps through the air and my heels clack along the floorboard as I shift my feet. A few people peer up at me, curiosity dance upon their face while some of the saviors that have joined our cause, still give me a wide berth as fear twists theirs expressions. I grin with malice out of boredom as I observe one scurry away. I'm only standing here, minding my business, wanting to be left alone.

My ass kicking outfit is quickly becoming my everyday attire. Though, it doesn't help that almost all of my possessions are back at Alexandria. That's if they survived the fire. Sighing, we are going to need to eventually go back and attempt to salvage our home.

I take a long drag on my cigarette when Rosita and Daryl stalk out of the Barrington house below me. Rosita glances up in my direction, Daryl follows her lead, blocking the sun out of his eyes with his hand.

"Hey, I was looking all over for you. Wanna go kidnap the bullet marker with us?" She calls up to me, watching me expectantly.

My eyes land on Daryl as he fidgets anxiously with the crossbow in his grasp as he glances back down to his level. I scoff at his reaction. I realize he fears my anger just as much as the others within our family do. I don't blame him. I'm called The Reaper for a reason, I muse, and he's been on the other side of that rage once upon a time.

"No." I shake my head, letting the smoke billow out of my mouth. "I'm tired. It's time for me to rest, sorry Rose."

She rests her hand on her hip, blocking the sun out of her pretty face with her other  hand. "Are you sure? We could use you."

I smirk, "I'm sure. I already had my fun with him. But if you plan on kicking his ass, get another lick in for me and Abraham, will you?" I move a strand of hair that has fallen into my face, "I'm sidelining myself for the day." It's not about me or my fallen family members anymore. I straighten up, resting my hands along the railing. My fingerless gloves crinkle quietly as my fingers wrap around the top of the gate.

She nods, "we will be back as soon as possible, hopefully with the coward in tow." She offers as she turns, walking towards the gate, My blue eyes meet Daryl's intense gaze. I cock my head, daring him to say something. He frowns before he follows Rosita to the outside world.

I shake my head, returning to take another puff of the cigarette. I know I need to eventually speak to him, but I will on my own terms. I still love the redneck; we are only having a small lovers spat. I just need a moment to stew before I acknowledge him.

The ultrasound picture suddenly heavy within my harness. I set it inside one of the pockets that hold my knives. I'm still fucking reeling. How the hell did this happen?