my tears ricochet

Chapter Seventy Eight

Light flashed and Daryl shot his hand out to knock the gun out of Ivy's reach as she tried snagging it on reflex. "Relax," he warned her, sitting upright and switching the safety off. "I'm going to go check the door."

Ivy's braid had come half undone in her sleep and sections unraveled in thick curls, matching her disoriented and wild expression as she peered around the room. "Where are we?"

"Home. Stay here."

She kicked her legs out stubbornly and went to follow him and Daryl had to waste thirty seconds as the lights flashed again, engaging in a battle of wills before Ivy finally folded, shooting him a frustrated glare as she settled back down in a state of tense discomfort.

Daryl left the bedroom door open a crack behind him as he silently passed through their apartment, side eyeing the mess of clothing piled on the bathroom floor, the first aid kit abandoned on the counter. He would need to make a point of restocking their supplies in the next day or so before a new crisis sprang up.

Maggie and Michonne were standing on the other side of the door, barely visible to the little hole. Daryl switched the safety back on and yanked it open. "What?" He frowned, squinting at the pair of them. His body was sore from the previous night and it felt like he had been drinking bad moonshine again.

"Was she bit?" Maggie demanded, voice bright with irritation.

He softened a fraction. "No. Her back was a mess from catching pavement or something. Wasn't what I thought it was."

Ivy wasn't burning up from infection. She wasn't going to die slow and bad, that awful catch of peace before her body would betray itself, limbs twisting in the direction to sate an ungodly hunger.

Merle's remains caught at the fringes of Daryl's worst nightmares. He couldn't ever forget his brother's broken fragment of a hand reaching for him, his mouth gnashing as Daryl drove his knife through the man's chest in helpless grief.

"Is she okay?" Michonne asked. Her face had a peculiar blankness to it, identical to her expression when they had first met and the woman had been numb from her own outrage.

Daryl said nothing. His daughter had nearly died.

That was never going to be okay.

She held out a hatchet like an offering. The blade had been cleaned from any blood and he recognized it as the one Rick carried from Atlanta. "I think Ivy and Rick came to the same decision," she said, cool tone veiling her emotions.

Daryl took it, felt the slight weight of it. "She take it or did he give it to her?"

"Does it matter?" Michonne paused, head tilting as she read something in his expression. "Both."

Rick had gambled one child to save his. And Daryl knew Ivy, knew the way she wouldn't have even thought twice about it.

Terminus hadn't been a one off for her. Saving Beth had been her priority then and Ivy hadn't even flinched at the idea of throwing herself into the trap to cover her friend. He tried not to picture her taking the hatchet in hand just to start off on her own, agreeing to a decision to save the many over the one.

How frightened had Ivy been when the fight started slipping away from her advantage? When the night kept going on and her chances at surviving got smaller and smaller?

The hatchet would have been heavy in her hands.

"I turned around for a second," Michonne broke quietly. "I had that boy's blood all over my sword and it caught the wrong attention. I saw her take it and I looked away before I knew what she was going to do. And then... she was gone. Rick had Carl and we had to keep going or we were going to die standing there."