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

ninetythree.

Sighing, I reach for my shirt lying across the bed. I've showered, packed, and now all I need is to get dressed before meeting Charlee at the gates and offer my goodbyes to my family. The skin walkers left only two hours ago, but I'm itching to get my own adventure done and over with; on the other side of this, be merry and celebrate with the communities. I might as well use the fair as a final debut of returning from the dead; I realize most of Alexandria might not know of my return.

I hear a knock sound from the door, before I could issue a warning of indecency, it swings open.  I peer over my shoulder, observing Daryl take in the damage to my back; this time in broad fucking daylight. I groan inwardly as his eyes begin to darken in rage. "You don't believe in waiting for an answer?" I smirk, attempting to quiet the tension building in the room.

He frowns, "what the hell did he do to ya?" His gaze finds mine; concern dancing with the anger in his Georgian blues.

I guess it's time to rip the six year old band aid off. I return my focus to my shirt in my grasp. I take a moment to pull myself together, knowing if I don't speak now, I'll forever hold my peace, or trauma, rather. I rub my face in exasperation, trying to piece the correct words together. "Anything sadistic you can think of. My skin got well acquainted with blades and fire. They drugged me almost daily until I finally caught on so I started to starve myself. He came up with some sick fucking games. Oh, and my favorite - when he got bored, he raped me." I breathe out, "I never told anyone." I feel his finger tips brush along my shoulder where Owen had sliced my tattoo off. I suck in a shaky breath. "He at least allowed me to say goodbye to my dad - Daryl, he said he was proud of me; said he heard the stories of my accomplishments, including my falling head over heels with a man who carries a crossbow. I wish you could've met him." He wraps his arms around my waist, resting his head on my shoulder. I gasp, covering my mouth with my hand, feeling the sob rack my body. "I had to watch him rot away for months."

"Me too. He raised a strong, beautiful woman." He sighs; the hot air causing little goosebumps to break out along my skin. "I'm sorry I wasn't there when ya came home. I can't take it back, but I can make up for it." He whispers. I turn around in his arms, facing him head on. His eyes search my face. His hand cups my cheek while his thumb wipes my tears away. "I shouldn't have given up on ya. I failed ya. Ya shoulda felt safe returnin' to me, but made ya feel like ya had to play dead. Blue, my world stopped when I heard ya died, but it stopped again when ya showed up on the side of the road." He chuckles, biting his lip, blue eyes sparkling, "there was a day in that first year I thought I saw ya, fixin' a bike."

I smile, giggling through the water works, "yeah, guilty. That was the day I killed Owen. I had just left him." I decide to keep Leah's involvement to myself for the time being.

An awkward silence descends on us while an unreadable expression etches itself into Daryl's face. Tension radiates between us; I cast my gaze downwards, hating that my own secret is gliding on the air between us. I can't imagine what's running through his head; his wife was right in front of him after she had killed her devil, only to run from him in one of the darkest moments of her life when she should've been running to him. Any words I might've been able to offer him die on my tongue.

He uses his hand that's cupping my cheek to gently guide my face to look up at him, the man I have never stopped loving. A moment passes between us before his mouth crashes against mine with a feeling of urgency and need. For a split second, I'm taken aback, flinching at the sudden contact. However, I remember who is standing before me; I melt into his arms, returning the kiss with the same need and urgency. My fingers tangle themselves into his hair before I pull away, panting.

My eyes zero in on the necklace dangling around his neck. I wrap my fingers around the tiny vial. His hand covers mine while I inspect the tiny jar that I handcrafted ages ago; I'm shocked he's still carries it on his person, let alone on display. "Ya were always with me, Vanessa," he whispers. "I carry ya with me."