Walking Dead 1. Chapter 1

**CHAPTER ONE**

**_Six months before the fall of the prison_**

He had wings. It was the first thing she noticed.

Everything else around her was so vague, yet incredibly busy. Herds of people, breathing people mind you, were roaming around her in the prison. They were settling in after having left Woodbury for good. People were bumping into her regularly as she stood still in the middle of the hallway. Yet the only thing she noticed was the worn pattern on the back of his leather jacket.

She wrinkled her freckled nose in curiosity. Intrigued by what – and who she saw, the girl shyly tucked a long stray piece of her flaming auburn hair behind her ear so she could observe _him_ better. Nervously twisting and playing with the loose threads of her sleeve, she watched the winged man as he guided people to their new cells. She could tell that he was uncomfortable. The shifting of his feet, the tensing of his muscles and his defensive body language told her he was still very much an amateur at human interaction… Although, she doubted anyone else would notice. He simply was too good at pretending to be okay.

She had heard his name was Daryl, but somehow found it unsuitable for him. It was too simple, too plain for a man with rough edges and untamed hair. As he started smoking a cigarette like his life depended on it, he turned towards her, abruptly ending her stare with the wicked wings. "Do ya want one or not?" He spoke up gruffly, holding out the package of cigarettes. She had to control a smirk, finding it amusing how his grumpy words contradicted his kind gesture. "You've been eyein' me like you want sumthin' from me." The tone of his voice sounded slightly annoyed, mostly confused but also - and most remarkably -oddly inquisitive for a man who had so far shown little interest in her presence. Taking another quick glance in her direction, his eyes scanned her figure from tip to toe like he was trying to measure her for something bigger. And even though she did not smoke, the girl accepted his kindness, knowing it took him a lot of effort to offer it to a stranger. "Ain't gonna bite… All ya gotta do is ask." He stated, his curious gaze finally meeting hers.

He had fierce blue eyes. It was the second thing she noticed.

**_Three months after the fall of the prison_**

With great difficulty, Daryl's fierce blue eyes focused on his target. Down by the riverside sat a rabbit still unaware of the Hunter's presence. Never in his life had Daryl thought he would ever find himself envious of a creature as petite and insignificant as a rabbit. But seeing the small animal quietly stuff its round cheeks with grass, Daryl Dixon admitted that he was very much jealous for it could find food to its taste so easily. Granted, Daryl knew that humans could, in principal, eat grass, but eventually their digestive system would stop functioning and they would die a slow and painful death. A dreadful lesson he had once learned as a young boy during a history class in high school.

Being in his mid-forties, Daryl only had vague memories of his time in school. As a boy Daryl had been rather bright for someone of his low economic and social background. Though he recalled how difficult it had been, paying attention to the teachers' lectures while he was wiggling in his chair in pain due to the beating he had received from his father the night before. More often than not did Daryl consider not going to school, seeing the pain and humiliation of having another black eye as too much, but regardless of the disrespectful teasing of his peers and the patronising looks of his seniors, the young man decided against skipping school once more when realising he needed the discipline to keep himself on the right path. After all, Daryl didn't want to end up in juvie like his big brother.

It was Mr Peterson's history classes that Daryl enjoyed attending most. Next to the lessons of the Native Americans, World War II stories had been his favourites. There was something about the cruelty of it that disgusted yet at the same time intrigued him. He remembered seeing the black and white pictures of prisoners of war who were slowly killing themselves by eating grass as every other alternative for suicide had been taking away from them by the Nazis. When the first moments of revulsion had vaporised and Daryl really took his time to analyse the images, he somehow found beauty in the slow decay of mankind. Their visible ribs, blackened teeth and void eyes suggested a certain level of defeat yet they were posing for the picture in a brave and proud way, not wanting to show the enemy or future spectators the horrors in their minds. In a strange way, Daryl thought, they had been the walkers of the 20th century. Sentenced to a certain death, but determined to keep on walking.

After weeks of malnutrition, Daryl imagined that was what he would start to look like. It had been at least three weeks since Daryl had last had a taste of meat. After an incident with the leader of The Claimers, Joe, during which Daryl tried to cut his ugly grin of his face, the Hunter was no longer allowed to have a gun or a knife, at least not without supervision. The lack of ammo, decent arrows and other hunting gear made his hunts difficult – if not, nearly impossible. Dandelions, nettles and nuts were easy but distasteful and monotone alternatives to meat. Occasionally the Hunter could spoil himself with some berries, but all in all, those edible plants were not enough to satisfy the hunger of a grown man. Contemplating the slow and painful POW's choice of suicide, Daryl also never thought the day the idea of no longer being around would actually make him consider sitting down next to the rabbit and start chewing grass if it promised him a certain death. But it made him realise that he was losing his mind, slowly but surely.

Daryl made the mistake of shaking his skull too harshly at his own negative thinking, the dehydration and starvation making his head rush in temporary vertigo. Glad no one was around to watch him, the Hunter slightly slapped himself on the cheek in a weak attempt to get himself to focus on the wiggly white-tailed rabbit in front of him. In barely there concentration, Daryl shot out his loaded arrow but missed by a couple of inches as he was clearly off his game due to the current situation. Another aim failed. Daryl Dixon considered himself to be a disappointment, not only because he could not shoot an animal six feet away from him**,** but also because he had failed to keep _Her_ safe. Couldn't save his mother, couldn't find Sophia, and couldn't keep _Her_ alive and well next to him.

With an empty and loudly protesting stomach, Daryl reluctantly watched the white fluffy tail of the rabbit disappear into the bushes. Hunger was what kept him up at night, causing him to practically sleepwalk during the day but Daryl refused to make the lethal mistake of putting his guard down. Instead, he remained wary of these strangers accompanying him as he distrusted the intense eyes of The Claimer's leader and despised the nasty remarks of that weirdo Len.

_"Tell me something, was it one of the little'uns? 'Cause they…don't last too long out here."_

Daryl couldn't wait to strangle the bastard but tried to control the urge, figuring that time would come when the others of this group were going to want to do the same. He just knew that man was going to cause him trouble. He couldn't stay here with them. He needed to go find Rick, his family, and that fucking girl who had an annoying habit of creeping into his mind.

"Your girl, she had a nice pair of tits?" The disgraced cop, Len, continued his interrogation.

"Don't fucking talk about her in the past tense like she's dead. Shit, don't talk about her at all!" He snarled in the man's face.

Daryl really had to work on his poker face if it was that obvious he was thinking of her. Amid a hunt he found it impossible to think about anything else other than how the blood of his skinned game resembled the redness in her hair. And at night, watching the stars he thought its beauty was nothing compared to the constellation of freckles on her cheeks. Daryl had hated all those things at first. Fuck, he had hated _her_ at first. Even though he found himself unable to recall the exact reasons for his hatred, the Hunter simply knew every bone in his body had despised her. Fair enough, Daryl admitted, she hadn't been particularly unkind to him. But he told himself that this was because they had never had a conversation longer than five minutes alone. During their time at the prison, the Hunter had merely watched her interact with the rest of the group as he stood by. Daryl Dixon simply never took initiative when it came down to something as 'socialising' or 'conversing'. A low grunt escaped his throat at the use of this – to him – unfamiliar vocabulary. Even the mere thought of doing these things made his stomach twirl and his throat tighten. But even though he lacked a serious amount of self-confidence, Daryl found himself wanting to be better at human interaction. In his quiet cell at night the Hunter would sometimes dream of the red-haired girl in the most innocent form. He'd talk to her without suffering from his embarrassing stutters, repetitive grunts and social awkwardness. Waking up in the morning he could never recall the subjects of their conversations, but he always remembered how nice it had felt. He had cursed every time, however, at this strange feeling of calmness that she – or the imaginary conversations with her – could render him. Too often than he had liked, the Hunter found himself looking for her red hair in cellblock B or scan the sound of the noisy prison refectory for her laugh. The girl was a fucking distraction, making him lose his focus during the day as well as his sleep at night. And Daryl blamed it all on her. She had ruined him, and during the time at the prison Daryl had hated her for it, or at least he tried to convince himself he really did.

Three months after the fall of the prison, however, every time his new group was sitting around the fire, each person heating their 'claims' of the day, Daryl felt strangely homesick not being able to see her familiar face. A feeling he had only felt once before, after seeing his trailer and his mother in it burn to the ground. It seemed their separation began to eat at him. But even though he desperately hoped she had found a more respectable company than he had, Daryl also had to suppress the darkest feelings of fear and the mocking tone of his father's voice, telling him that she just might have found someone better than him. Deeply inhaling the cold night air in his longs, Daryl hoped for a quiet night and a dream of her to take his attention from his empty stomach away.

**-The Claim- **

She was still breathing even though there wasn't much of a life left for her. Roaming around, looking for food constantly, she did not feel so very different from the walkers anymore. Her wobbly legs moving themselves through the forest without knowing the direction they were headed. She was lost - so desperately lost in a labyrinth of trees and thoughts. Crisscrossing her way through bushes and streams, her mind tried to decipher the madness inside her brain.

She spent most of her days singing and talking to herself out of both boredom and loneliness. She had never hated the sound of her voice before. Not until she realised how monotonic her monologues sounded without there being someone else to converse with. She didn't know exactly how long it had been since she had last seen another breathing human being. She had tried counting the days at first but stopped at fifty, thinking it was too depressing and pointless to continue.

It was a sudden rustle of bushes that pulled her out of her train of negative thoughts. In the distance she could hear loud creatures talking and logs of wood cracking in a fire. Her nose wrinkled at the smell of heating flesh. Even though the brown leaves on the trees indicated autumn had arrived, the smell in the air reminded her of a BBQ on a summer's day in Georgia. Not being able to resist the tasteful scent, her light legs automatically brought her closer to the heat of the flames. Crouching behind some bushes, she silently observed the group around the campfire.

A silver haired man was making his way towards her. The girl imagined him being handsome a long time ago, but now the man's once good looks seemed cursed by a recent ugly knife wound and an ever presented sneer on his face. His almost animalistic facial features reminded her of those of a fox. She immediately knew this man was not to be trusted.

Crouching back a couple inches to hide her face in the shadows, she could hear the stranger unzip his pants before the unmistakable sound of pee pouring down the tree bark reached her ears. She scrunched her nose in disgust at the smell of fresh urine before letting her eyes scan the rest of the group sitting around the fire. She counted five other men who were binging on pig's feet while loudly commenting about a guy named Norman and his apparent lack of balls. By the side of the group appeared to be the subject of their tasteless joking, lying sleeping as far away from them as possible but still close enough to warm himself by the fire. She thought nothing of the sleeping man at first until her sight landed on his back. The girl's eyes widened in shock, seeing a familiar worn-down leather vest with a winged pattern. Her mind pondered on the possibility that someone had killed Daryl and stolen his stuff from his dead body. But then there was another, more hopeful part of her that considered the option that it could very well be the Hunter and that he really was lying eight feet away from her, alive and well. Too intrigued by the latter possibility, she leaned in closer to observe the winged man better all while making the dreadful mistake of placing her hands on a couple of rotten tree twigs on the ground. The girl inwardly cursed herself as the branches cracked under her weight.

She sighed in relief, however, when seeing that most men were left undisturbed by her clumsiness. The silver haired man seemed to be the only one bothered by the sudden cracking noise. His face wrinkling in distrust as he gazed around the dark forest. He failed to notice her sitting between the autumn leaves at first. The dirt on her face and her grimy clothes almost a perfect camouflage, but it was the blue in her eyes that gave her cover away. He stuttered mid-swear, his feet nailed to the ground as if they were unsure of what to do next. But after a moment of doubt the man moved in on her, grabbed her by the hair and pulled her out of the bushes.

**-The Claim- **

"Who da fuck is this bitch?" All hopes for a quiet night vanished as Daryl heard Joe squeal the insulting question with a high pitched voice, dragging with him the body of a woman. "Found her in the bushes listening in on us."

Waves of shock coursed through Daryl's body as he saw Joe tightly holding onto a ghost of his past. Even though he had wished others had survived the raid of the Governor, he had never actually expected there still to be other survivors of the prison group, and least of all had he expected it to be her. He had just hoped the Governor's bullets and snarling walkers hadn't touched her. In utter shock, Daryl kept looking at her, hoping to catch sight of her familiar pair of blue eyes; she was too busy fighting Joe's wandering hands off to see one of the long lost prison companions gazing in wonder at her. "You better let me go or…," she warned with a persistent tone Daryl knew all too well.

"Or what?" Joe held her jaw painfully in his hand as he snarled in her face. Gradually being surrounded by a group of men, she faced each one of them with a fierce look. Her mask of bravery only faltered when her eyes fell on Daryl as she was unable to hide her unshed tears from his observant eyes. "Have you seen this bitch before?" Joe asked, noticing the Hunter's staring.

Daryl considered pretending not to know her. Not so much out of fear, but more so out of shame. Everything had changed when the prison had fallen. Even Daryl had changed. He had become the thing he very much despised, another 'Randall' who thought it was more convenient to look away from his group's actions when they were behaving out of control, again.

Plundering and murdering were only few of the daily activities undertaken by Joe's group. They called themselves 'The Claimers', a name that sounded like a group of friends, maybe sharing the same passion of betting on horses' races or some sort of other recreational activity, but Daryl knew it held a much deeper and more violent meaning than that. They were ferocious predators, hunting not just squirrels and rabbits but also on occasion bigger mammals, namely humans. When they had found him, bloodied and alone, Daryl had managed to negotiate himself out of death, selling himself as an asset for the group.

And as if cannibalism wasn't sick enough already, the Claimers always liked to play with their food before actually eating it. Women of all shapes and sizes had become victim of their violent behaviour. As women became rarer the farther north they went, the Claimers really were not that picky. Daryl had never participated in their little games before supper, of course, thinking it was wrong. But he had also never said anything about it or had done something to stop them, scared of what punishment would come to him.

Instead, Daryl ended the women's suffering while the other men were still in bliss over the piece of tail they had just caught. Most of them begged him to do it, as they lacked the strength to end their lives themselves. Some women were already dead before he got the chance to help them cross that final road.

He realised his old family would have disapproved of his behaviour in the new group, but Daryl felt he had no choice in the matter. He simply could not survive on his own anymore. And after all, surviving had always been Daryl's main goal in life. He might have lost both his brothers, Rick and Merle, but this apocalypse was not going to kill Daryl Dixon. Even if that meant he had to live with a different name and a different set of morals. Daryl was a born chameleon, willing to change his colours and blend in if it held the promise of survival. Looking over at her frightened and small figure, he wondered if she'd still remember who he used to be, as even Daryl had difficulties recalling the person he once was before joining The Claimers.

Blinking her eyes in confusion, her lips formed his name. "Da - Daryl," she mumbled as shock stopped her from pronouncing it fully the first time.

"No one here's called Daryl, sweetheart," the man teasingly whispered in her ear, "who's Daryl? That yer dead boyfriend? Does Normie here look like him, is that it?" Joe's hands patted Daryl's shoulders. Daryl had to control the urge to flinch at the intruding touch. He had lied when he had met The Claimers, out of reflex, not wanting to tell them something as personal as his real name. His grandfather's name, Norman, had been the first thing that came to mind. "Norman ain't particularly a looker, is he?" Joe loudly laughed before hitting Daryl on the back of the head. "Doesn't have the biggest brain either." The patronizing comment made Daryl's back hunch over in embarrassment and his hands tighten in annoyance. "What's your name, girlie?" Joe asked.

"Ariel." She whimpered in pain, lifting her small and wore down figure from the muddy forest ground. Her blue but disoriented eyes tried to settle on Daryl's. He was, however, too embarrassed to meet her questioning stare and kept his gaze averted.

"Like the Disney princess? How fitting." The silver haired man wickedly laughed, touching Ariel's dirty red locks before his eyes traced every inch of her figure.

"Please… I…" As fear had robbed her mind from any lucid thought, she could not form a full sentence. Her small plea was directed towards Daryl. Joe, however, felt personally addressed and responded in a rather inappropriately put soothing manner. "Don't be scared, doll. Joe's gonna treat you right." He whispered menacingly as the girl recoiled from his lingering finger tracing a tear on her cheekbone. "You look delicious." He said with a look of lust and something else she could not quite put her finger on. Was it hunger?

The lack of response on Daryl's part baffled her completely. She did not understand why he was with these men and why he was not helping her. Sure, Ariel and Daryl had not exactly been hanging out with each other at the prison. Karen had once joked to her that Daryl must have a crush on her for him to be acting so strangely towards her. Ariel, on the other hand, believed the man avoided her because he couldn't stand being near her. Whatever she had done to deserve this treatment was unclear to Ariel so she had hoped he would eventually grow out of his apparent dislike for her. But his reaction at the moment – or rather his lack of – proved how little he cared about her well-being. Another salty tear escaped her eyes and rolled down her cheek at the thought of Daryl hating her so much he couldn't care whether she lived or died. Little did she know that could not have been further from the truth.

"She's my girl." Daryl bravely spoke up as his old self made a reappearance. He knew he had to act quickly. It was now or never. "I claim her. Nobody touches her. This one's _mine_," he spat out the last word as it held a threatening promise, "She's all _mine_."

The Hunter, however, swiftly realised his mistake as he felt the burn of six pairs of distrusting eyes gazing at his back. After almost three months with this group but no successful hunts for human stock and zero attempted rapes on his name, Daryl was still considered a newbie and not quite yet fit to be part of 'The Claimers'. Furthermore, unlike how Rick had been, Joe did not allow Daryl to have a voice in his group.

"What did you say, pal?" Joe's eyebrows arched high as he challenged Daryl to undermine his leadership once more. "She's ours. Not yours. We've discussed the new rules with you last week. From now on we share all the cunts we find." That statement earned their fearless leader a lot of cheers in the background.

"You're right, Joe. She sure does look delicious." One of the men remarked as his hungry eyes feasted on the exposed flesh of Ariel's body, only briefly pausing at her in mud-covered breasts. Swallowing hard in fear, the girl looked in the direction of Daryl for his help and protection.

But he couldn't possibly help or protect Ariel in this situation. He was outnumbered. There was only one of him and six of them. Daryl Dixon wasn't a superhero, nor was he immortal or did he have more than two arms.

They both knew she wouldn't survive what would come next. Not mentally and not physically. Thousands of possible scenarios came to mind, none of which promising a happy ending for her. Regardless of his abrasiveness towards her at first, during their time spend together Daryl had grown to care for her deeply. More than he would ever be able to admit to himself out loud or even inside his own head. And he knew that unlike the other women, he wasn't going to be able to pretend that it wasn't happening to her. He was not going to be able to stand by and do nothing. He didn't want to hear her scream in pain and distress as the others were violating her, disgracing her in the most disgusting way imaginable.

So Daryl did the only thing he could. He bargained for her life in the same manner he had negotiated for his own. With reason and pleading, diplomacy at its finest, the same way Rick would have done it. "Joe, please… Let me have her. I really want her," Daryl insisted, "I ain't ever had one of my own. Always had to use my brother's leftovers. C'mon man, look at her. Ain't have much meat on her, anyway," he pointed to her skinny legs and protruding cheekbones, "I bet she's a real good cook and can do our laundry. She'd be more useful to us alive than dead." He continued his plea, getting zero reaction out of Joe. "Look, I'll hunt for you. ANYTHING you want me to hunt down, I will."

"Okay, Norman," Joe said after a tense moment of silence, "I want you really start hunting for big game. Not just squirrels and rabbits. I mean real food - people. I know what you've been doing, boy. You pretend not to see the human tracks, acting sloppy when I know you ain't the type to do so. And…"  
"And?"

"If you hunt that bastard that killed Lou down, I'll tell my boys to leave your claim alone. We got a deal?" Joe asked, spitting in his hand and sticking it out.

"Deal." Daryl shook his hand, Joe's salvia gliding over his palm.

"Now _fucking _claim your bitch and then take her to your tent." Joe smirked, but before Daryl was able to walk away from him, he tightened his grip on Daryl's hand, "If she runs…. It will be your meat on a stick we'll be warming up, ya hear? Get her a leash or beat some discipline in her. I don't care how you do it but keep her close by you. We both know Len ain't one for listening to commands."

Daryl nodded, his feet already walking in the direction of the group of wolfs surrounding Ariel. He wiped Joe's spit of his palm before connecting it to Len's sweaty neck. Like the filthy animal he was, Daryl pulled Len close by his collar and hissed in his ear. "Don't fucking touch my claim."

"Da fuck, man? She's ours." Len turned around, pushing Daryl back a bit.

"No, I claimed her. She's mine," Daryl pushed Len back with equal force, "And if I ever see yer perverted eyes dwelling on her again, I'm gonna make you a blind man, ya hear?" Daryl yelled as he held Ariel's hand tightly in his. The disgraced cop, who had pressed her up against the tree only minutes before her saviour's arrival, seemed rather unimpressed by Daryl's anger.

"You're interrupting me." Len mumbled with a look that most men would find intimidating. The effect it had on Daryl Dixon, however, was one of an infuriating kind rather than frightening.

"That was the point," he hissed in the man's face, "Ya don't need to get all handsy pansy with the girl. She ain't yours."

"We ain't done. I promise ya that." Len said to her with a smirk before walking off with his tail between his legs. Ariel swallowed down a pit of fear as his statement felt more like a threat than an actual promise.

"Looks like Norma got herself a girlfriend." One of the other men, Dan, joked with a snarl on his face.

With sturdy steps, Daryl walked away from the Claimers, dragging Ariel by the hand across the field to his tent. As her eyes focused on his wings, she tried to ignore the vulgar laughter of the malicious men in the background. "Ya best not forget that promise ya made me, boy!" Joe yelled after Daryl's disappearing figure. "Cuz I sure as hell won't."


	2. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER TWO**

Ariel Hopkins was a girl as ordinary as her name implied. In her thirty years of life, Ariel had never really excelled in anything. Going to the University of Atlanta had not been a great success. After a disastrous first year, her father had forced her to drop out, claiming that she lacked the necessary endurance to give it another try. She had been sad, of course, but in all fairness, she had never really worked too hard on her essays or studied too long on her tests, figuring that no matter what she would do, failure was to be expected. That poor mentality had been the result of growing up with her father's critical remarks. Ariel had always quieted down that little voice in the back of her mind that told her she could do better if she really put her mind to something. Instead of listening to her inner voice, Ariel had a habit of settling for average life goals and even for questionable relationships with faithless men.

She was a bit of a hopeless romantic, she had always known that. Her head more buried in books with fictional tales rather than newspapers with real life stories. Other people took drugs or drank their sorrows away whereas reading had been her preferred method of escapism. All her life, Ariel had ended up settling for mediocrity, figuring books could pull her out of the daily drag of real life.

Growing up in a household of only two with a father slash amateur taxidermist who preferred spending time with dead animals over his little girl, Ariel was no expert on communicating with people. Though she might not have been a particularly smart girl, Ariel knew when to shake her head 'no', when to nod 'yes' and when to shut up. A rare quality that came in handy during her career as a flight attendant.

_"This is fucking ridiculous! I've paid for a fucking sandwich!" The passenger yelled, getting the attention of the entire economic class.  
"I'm terribly sorry about that, sir. Is there a different sandwich I could get you?" Ariel asked the passenger in a calm voice.  
"I don't like any off the other fucking sandwiches. I wanted a tuna sandwich and you don't have it, so you can fuck off!"  
"I'm sorry, sir. Unfortunately we can't guarantee availability. Can I get you anything else?"  
"You can fuck off… Fucking ripping me off! I've just been charged seven fucking dollars for a soft drink!"  
Her manager interfered, "Sir, you do not talk like that to my crew, and you do not swear on board this aircraft. There are kids here!"  
"They're my fucking kids, so fuck off!"_

Oh yes, Ariel had experience with mature men pulling a childlike temper tantrum. And if the constant back and forth pacing of Daryl was any indication, it seemed that he was on the verge of such an outburst. The only problem was that Daryl was not saying anything, which made Ariel nervous. Seeing how he had been in the prison, she had always figured Daryl Dixon to be a man who spoke his mind. Needless to say, Ariel felt a sea of nervousness wash over her as she observed Daryl's shaking figure, pacing the short two eight feet length of the tent back and forth, over and over again as if he was a caged animal looking for an escape.

"Daryl…," she started, hoping to catch his attention. When no response came, she tried again, "Daryl… Hey," she patted his shoulder, causing him to flinch suddenly.

"What!" Daryl yelled angrily in her face. He did not want her in her tent. This is where he slept, ate, changed his clothes, made his arrows and did other manly business which didn't concern women. This tent was the only privacy he had left at the end of the world. Needless to say, he did not want her there. Sure, he had dreamt about her at night but now they were suddenly living together? They didn't know anything about each other. In a state of frenzy almost, the Hunter started going through his few possessions all while letting out diverse alternatives of the curse word 'Fuck'.

"What's happening? What are you doing?"

"I'm looking for another sleeping bag so your ass can lay dry tonight. I can't find it," Daryl said. "I could've sworn it was here somewhere… Fucking bastard Len probably took it…"

"It's fine. We can share your sleeping bag," Ariel casually proposed, taking a seat on his cot, not realising what kind of effect those words had on poor Daryl.

"No, we _can't_," Daryl firmly responded, thinking she was already too close for comfort.

"Why no-"

"Can you just keep quiet for five seconds?" Daryl interrupted her questioning. "They're fucking listening in on us."

As if on cue, in came walking the leader of The Claimers with a proud strut to his step. Joe's fox eyes unashamedly swept over Ariel before scanning the rest of the contents of Daryl's tent. "Came to tell you something."

"What?" Daryl asked unkindly, not liking how Joe was invading his privacy.

"We ain't got any condoms so you better pull out," he spoke, cutting right through the chase. After all, who needs euphemisms for sexual education at the end of the world. "If she does end up pregnant, we're using her for stocking breed and you can name each and every one of your kids 'breakfast' 'cause that what we'll be using them for."

With an open-mouth, Ariel stared at the cruel man, leaving Daryl's tent. "Who are these people?" She asked with a high-pitched voice. He could tell she was on the verge of tears again. _'God, women,'_Daryl sighed as he tried to remember what he had liked about the girl in the first place. She hadn't even been in his tent for five minutes and he was already annoyed with her.

"They're cannibals?" Her panicked voice asked.

"Yes." Daryl responded as if it was an everyday occurrence to hang out with cannibals. "Now keep yer fucking voice down." He ordered nervously as he picked up his package of cigarettes from the ground. Ariel kept her lips tightly together, knowing that he needed to subside his need for nicotine in order to deal with the current situation. Back at the prison, she had always admired the way he smoked his cigarettes. She remembered seeing him standing by himself outside the guard tower quite a lot. It seemed his oral fixation was Daryl's favourite excuse to avoid conversing and find a quiet place outside where no one would bother him with meddlesome questions or weird looks.

Digging around in the almost empty package before dragging out a smoke, Daryl seemingly ignored her presence in his tent as he did not particularly enjoy having an audience. He patted down the pockets of both his legs in search for a lighter. When finding none the Hunter cussed with a southern drawl. With a small smile on her face she offered him a box of matches she'd found on a dead man's body a couple days before. He finally, albeit non-verbally, acknowledged her by grabbing one match from her small fingers and scrapping it against to box until it ignited a small fire.

As if he was born doing it, Daryl casually brought the lit smoke to his thin lips and released a cloud of tension from his longs. Rewarding her with a small but grateful nod, he muttered out a polite 'thank you'. She smiled at his inexperienced attempt at being well behaved. After all, it is difficult, resisting a bad boy trying to be a good man.

"How did you get with this group anyway?"

"Was with Beth for a while. Lost her…"

"She's dead?"

"No…," Daryl shook his head before rephrasing his answer, "Actually, I'm not sure."

"What about Rick?"

"No, I'm all by myself." She nodded her head in understanding but to Daryl it almost seemed like she was disappointed it was him and not Rick that had come to her rescue. "And what about you? Were you alone?"

"Yeah, I've been on my own since the Governor." He huffed, more than mildly impressed that she could survive on her own for almost three months. At the prison he had noticed she had kept more to the female tasks, leaving the fighting to the men or the stronger female members of the group.

"We can't stay here though," she said to him. "We need to find Rick."

"Don't you think I know that? We need to get rid of them first. I ain't gonna lead them to Rick… to Carl. If they're still alive for that matter."

"Of course, they're still alive. They have Michonne. I saw them run off together."

Lifting the cigarette once again to his lips, Daryl inhaled the calming poison. "Mhm," he said softly, letting the smoke and anxiety slowly disappear from his body. As he came to stand before her, Daryl offered her his cigarette. Shaking her head no, she asked a question she had been meaning to ask since her encounter with the leader of The Claimers, "What promise did you make that silver-haired guy?"

"Doesn't matter," Daryl shrugged his shoulders.

"Well… Thanks for saving me, I guess," she thanked him awkwardly as she did not liked being but into the 'damsel in distress' position.

"Was nothing," he shrugged his shoulders in indifference again.

"Look, Daryl, if you want this thing between us to work, you have to cooperate with me. We have to talk to each other."

"One of The Claimers got strangled by some guy three months ago. Joe wants me to find whoever did it." He considered telling her the whole truth, but decided against it. Figuring she'd probably be disgusted with him if she knew he had promised to hunt for human meat as well.

"That's it?"

"Yeah." The lie left Daryl's mouth casually.

"He wants you to track someone's three months old trails? What's the point of doing that?" As good a hunter as Daryl was, Ariel knew it was highly improbably he would actually find traces of this killer.

"It's an ego thing, I guess. Someone of his group got murdered. He pretends to care to keep up the morale of the group, but he just wants revenge."

"The killer could have been someone of the prison group."

"That's exactly what I was thinking." He threw the cigarette but outside the open tent flap, nodding in agreement. His brain was finally able to have some clear thoughts as the nicotine of the cigarette had rendered him more peaceful – or at least less agitated than before.

"I could help out if you learned me how to track. If you tell me what to look for, we can split up and cover more ground." She suggested.

"S'ppose I could show you how to do it properly."

Her face lit up at the promise of that statement. "Cool," she said, nodding and biting her lip. Even if it was unlikely that they would actually find this person, Ariel craved a sense of feeling useful which she had missed ever since the fall of the prison. "So how are we going to sleep? There's only one cot. We can sleep on it together, though. It's big enough for the both of us."

"Don't think that's a good idea," Daryl stated, giving her no further explanation to his apparent dislike at the thought of sleeping next to her.

"Why not? You're not going to hurt me, are you?"

"No."

"And I'm not going to hurt you, so what's the problem then?"

"It just ain't right," he mumbled, his fingers tracing his thin lips nervously.

Ariel shook her head. She had heard what Daryl had whispered but still she had no idea what the meaning of it was. "What if Joe or Len walks in unexpectedly? I mean, you just claimed me for yourself. We don't want them seeing us sleeping apart, do we?"

Shaking his head vigorously, Daryl looked at the bruises that started to form on her arms. "I know Len ain't nothin' more than a playground bully but he shouldn't be touching you." He picked up her arm and investigated it thoroughly, gently brushing past the collection of unkind marks that The Claimers had left on her arm. There were no lingering fingers, only touching her when necessary to see the bruises. Judgemental as she could be, Ariel did not think the redneck had that softness in him. "It's fine, Daryl. I might bruise but I'm not going to break." He huffed in response, seemingly not happy with the bruises. She found it funny how his demeanour towards had changed from annoyed to caring in a matter of minutes.

"You take the cot and the sleeping bag, I'll lay on the ground. I've slept in worst places, anyway." Leaving no room for further discussion, the man turned on his heels and found himself a spot on the ground. Like a protective watch dog, Daryl lied down at the entrance of the tent, ready to attack any intruder making his way inside.

As frustrating and scary as he might have initially appeared to be, Ariel could tell that Daryl Dixon was a complicated man with much deeper layers than noticeable at first glance. Despite his rough exterior, she realised that he had much more to offer to the group than his skills of being a hunter. Whichever was hidden underneath that abrasive façade of his, one thing was certain, Daryl Dixon was a riddle worth deciphering, and Ariel could not wait to start unravelling him.

-**The Claim -**

**_Two weeks later_**

He heard her short and sturdy footstep before he saw her. After living two weeks in the same tent together, his hunter skills had helped him pick up on quite a few of her typical manners. During his daily and highly secretive observations so far he had learned some remarkable things about the girl. Though Daryl was still left with a feeling that there was a lot covered underneath the surface of that gentle smile of hers. Even more so, Daryl had come to the conclusion that there was something not quite right about Ariel, only he had difficulties naming what _it_ exactly was.

She was wise enough to only speak when spoken to and only to look one of Joe's men in the eye when deeming it absolutely necessary. When she did spoke, however, she sounded like a bird chirping. And by bird, Daryl didn't mean a beautiful robin singing a song. He meant a parrot, repeating every word someone else said. It was understandable, though, that she showed so little backbone. Just like him, Ariel was playing a part necessary to survive their stay with The Claimers.

But not only was there something wrong with how she interacted within the group, there was also something off about her performance. It seemed her face was constantly covered with a mask of bravery, only unveiled when she thought no one was looking. Little did the girl know that the Hunter was always looking. She wasn't as good as pretending to be okay as he was, Daryl believed. After years of living in an abusive home he thought he had mastered the act and could easily see through hers. Also, was there something strange about the manner in which she walked. She was a petite girl but seemed to make herself even smaller as she always had her back hunched over in embarrassment. Although, Daryl didn't understand why she would be embarrassed with herself. She was beautiful, even covered with all the dirt. She limped behind everyone yet radiated a false sense of confidence everywhere she went. Ariel was intriguingly strange and a walking contradiction. _The girl acts like summer and walks like rain._ Daryl almost hated himself for thinking something so poetic. "Ugh, fuck off," Daryl repeated to none other than himself. "Get a hold on yourself, Dixon."

After the first night she had been 'welcomed' by the Claimers, Daryl had dismissed her every attempt of starting a conversation with him, out of fear that he might get too attached. Not sleeping together on the same cot had been part of that plan. They didn't eat together, and apart from a silent nod or a quick gaze they didn't really communicate with each other. The only time they really spend together was when he was learning her how to track. In vain, had he hoped that the both of them hanging out would help him discover a flaw which would make him like her less. A rotten personality, weird sense of humour or not having the right amount of toes, Daryl Dixon told himself he would not be picky when thinking of an excuse – any excuse, or reason to hate her. But so far, no such odious facts about her persona or physique had been discovered yet. Sure, her naivety and inexperience at times could annoy him, but he could not really hate her for it. Quite on the contrary, he respected her for having survived so long regardless of those aspects. Though, he had to control the urge to laugh when she walked straight passed him and looked confusedly up a tree as if he would be hiding in it. With a smirk present on his face, Daryl came forward from underneath the shadows of a cave he had been hiding in.

- **The Claim -**

"You lookin' for something?" A voice behind her asked, the sly smile on his face obvious in his tone.

"Yeah, found it," she pointed in his direction with a small smile, finding it impossible not to respond in equal fashion to his amused expression. His smile simply was too contagious. She had seen him do it a couple times before, mostly when he was interacting with what the Woodbury citizens would unkindly refer to as 'The Clique', meaning Rick, Carol, Hershel… - and just anybody else who hadn't been part of Woodbury. Not eager to jump into the victim role, Ariel thought the other people of Woodbury just imaged the condensing looks and tones of the first prison group. But when she never got picked to go on a run or asked to share a table with 'The Clique', she couldn't help but wonder if there was any truth to the rumours.

"You're getting better at tracking me," he remarked.

"Your footprints were too obvious. You're letting me find you on purpose…"

"Maybe," Daryl smirked. The first time they had played this tracking game he had waited in a hidden spot for her for over two hours. When he saw no sign of her, he had returned to camp, only to find her sitting in front of his tent, looking around like she did not really know what to do with herself. Thirty minutes into the game, she had apparently given up, seeing no point in playing chase with an experienced hunter. It showed him how little patience Ariel with herself, Daryl, as persistent as he could be, gave her an earful first, insisting her on not throwing a 'hissy fit' every time something gets difficult before pushing her further. Oh no, Ariel knew exactly what Daryl was doing, letting her find him so easily. He was building up her confidence, but refusing to take credit for it.

"Whip that smirk of your face, Dixon, or I'll do it for you..." She said it with a fierce expression, though she meant little of the threat. If anything, she wanted to see him smile more. When wrinkles around his eyes formed in appreciation of her teasing joke, she was content to see her that her empty threat had the desired effect. Even more so, an actual laugh left his throat this time as the mole above his mouth danced with the movement of his lips. He looked so imperfectly perfect, her breath was heavy and her hands shaky. Ariel found her crush on him insanely annoying and highly inconvenient. She was thirty years old, for God's sake. Nervously licking her lips, her eyes scanned over the features of his face, only halting on his thin lips. Despite having done so many times before she still found herself fascinated by his appearance. And even though they had yet to touch, she already knew that there were no lips she would rather kiss than his.

"We should head back." He directed with a disappointed tone to his voice. He managed to shoot a couple of squirrels on their way back and took the time to point towards certain fallen leaves or tiny traces of paws which could indicate game was near them. The closer they got to the Claimer's camp, however, the fewer remarks and the slower his pace became. She knew he dreaded camping with them, but understood the necessity of living in a group. During her time alone after the fall of the prison, she had been forced to sleep in trees to hide from walkers. Not only was it highly uncomfortable to sleep against the bark, at the best of times she only got two or three hours of rest before chirping night birds or a too curious squirrel crawling in her bag had woken her up. And that's not to mention the countless times she fallen from the branches, thankfully landing in the autumn leaves on the ground. It was painful, nonetheless, and made her crave back to the old and dusty matrasses in the prison cells.

Lost in nostalgic thoughts of how the prison's concrete walls had felt oddly homely in comparison to those camping tents, she fell clumsily over the loose threads of her shoe. "Oh God," she muttered, managing to stay just upright thanks to Daryl's arms around her waist. "No, just Daryl," the Hunter replied cheekily. She didn't fail to notice that her stumbling had put a grin on Daryl's face. Not that she minded - she enjoyed seeing him smile, even if it was at her expense. "Thanks, funny man." He let go off her waist as soon as she had found her balance and walked into the direction of their shared tent. Crouching down, Ariel quickly began to tie her shoe laces. A low wolf-whistle in appreciation at the sight of Ariel bending over made the Hunter stop in his tracks and turn around to the source of the sound. Leaning up against a tree, stood Len with a wolf like grin.

"That's the second time already I seen your sorry ass checking her out. Wasn't my first warning enough?" Daryl yelled angrily at Len, the vein in his neck pulsing. He stalked closer to the man, ignoring Ariel's protests. In the distance he could see the other claimers listening into their loud conversation. "You don't get to talk to her. You do not touch her. As a matter of fact, I don't want you to even _think _about her," Daryl spoke in a threating manner before spitting onto the ground near Len's boots.

"Or else what, Norma?" the other man asked daringly. "You think you got your dick wet that means you grew a pair overnight too, huh…"

"Or else you'll end up with less limbs than when you came out of your mother's belly. Am I making myself clear?" The echo of the threat could be heard all over camp. Daryl's blue eyes coldly stared into Len's brown ones for what felt like minutes. Yet he didn't protest when Ariel pulled him away from the scene.

He shrugged her hands off of him as soon as they had reached their own fire pit in front of their tent. He didn't know why he had started to care so much about whether or not Len was checking her out. He knew him caring would just spur Len on, but it just felt disrespectful to Daryl to have men like Len stare in such a vulgar way at Ariel. The Hunter knew of course what Len was after. That piece of shit wanted to _fuck_ the girl. With or without her permission, that piece of shit couldn't care less. And Daryl knew he was be capable of doing it after seeing countless women fall in The Claimers' traps. The truth was Len could have anyone, but he didn't mean he _deserved _her.

And even though Daryl knew he didn't deserve her as well, at least he felt bad for having impure thoughts about Ariel whereas Len did not seem to care at all. Quite on the contrary, Mr Dipshit boosted his desires like a proud gorilla banging on his chest. _'But that's all Len really is,_' Daryl reminded himself, _'a fucking monkey.'_

- **The Claim-**

Looking at him from across the fire, she found Daryl's thoughtful gaze on her lips. She frowned in confusion. Since she wasn't saying anything she failed to understand why he was looking at her mouth. Did he want her to talk? After spending two weeks together with the timid and quiet hunter, she knew the silence was something he preferred. Small talk did not really seem to be his favourite pastime. Imagine her disbelief that this time he actually started a conversation with her. No big surprise that it was one on the topic of hunting though. "I didn't know a girl like you could hunt…"

"What do you mean?" She ignored his 'a girl like you' remark, feeling that he did not mean anything bad by it. In fact it was probably Daryl's way of giving her a compliment. She knew men like Daryl Dixon did not expect her to survive the battle of the apocalypse. If the look on his face when seeing her again after three months had been any indication, the Hunter had indeed been very surprised to find her still alive.

"You lived on your own for three months… Must've put up some snares or something."

"No, I can't hunt. Wouldn't want to hunt either, I'm a pescatarian."

"Pesca-what now?"

"A pescatarian. That means I only eat fish and no other meat." She hated herself as she explained it. She knew a man like him wouldn't appreciate her diet and, as pathetic as it sounded, somehow she found herself wanting to impress him.

Daryl snorted. "No meat, huh… How's that been working out for ya?"

"Not very well I'm afraid. Lack of vegetables nowadays doesn't make being a pescatarian very easy."

"So you only ate fish then these past months?"

"No, I lost my knife a couple of days after leaving the prison. I was trying to clean a fish with it but then my clumsy hands dropped it in the river…"

"So what you ate then?"

"Berries."

"That it?"

"Yeah."

"You're too skinny, girl. You should eat more. Here try it," he said, holding out a piece of dried squirrel he kept with him 'just in case'. "I cooked it up real good. C'mon, you must be hungry," Daryl suggested teasingly.

"Fine." She gave in, craving something other than berries or edible plants in her stomach. She popped the small piece of meat into her mouth, chewing thoughtfully. "It kind of tastes like chicken."

"How do ya know that? Thought you didn't eat meat."

"Well, I used to, duh. But then I got food poisoning one time after eating raw meat. Almost puked my guts out. Stopped eating it after that."

"I ate a squirrel raw once, when I was looking for Carol's girl," Daryl said. "Fell down a pit, needed the protein. It wasn't that bad. Tasted a little rusty, though."

"Rusty?" Ariel asked.

"Yeah, there was a lot of blood. You'd be surprised how much blood those little fella's have."

"Oh, God," she said, holding her hand in front of her mouth as she thought back to time she had food poisoning. "I think I'm going to be sick."

"Ya sure you don't want another bite?" Daryl teased her, dangling the flesh in front of her eyes.

"No, thanks, Dixon. I appreciate your generosity, though. I need to lay down." Ariel got up, feeling nauseous, and walked into the tent.

"Don't throw up in my tent." She heard his gruff voice yell after her.

- **The Claim –**

Daryl saw Joe sneak his way over to him out of the corner of his eye, but still pretended to be surprised to find him standing in front of him. There was something about pretending to be less smart than he really was that sounded like a good idea to Daryl. He wanted Joe and his group to think he was nothing more than a stupid redneck. He wanted them underestimate him and his capabilities. "Norman…," Joe spoke up.

"Joe…" Daryl greeted back in equal manner.

"Where's the Disney princess?" Joe used the nickname The Claimers had given Ariel on the first night since her arrival. Daryl, not being an expert in terms of Disney princesses, failed to see the humour in the nickname. Of course, he believed he was better at picking names - Olive Oil, sunshine and Deputy Dipshit had been his favourites so far. A shame that all the people he had given a nickname to had died horrible deaths. '_Maybe I should give Joe a nickname as well,'_ Daryl evilly brooded. "She's in the tent. She ain't feeling too well. Why you asking? She ain't none of your concern."

"The men are getting frustrated," Joe stated.

"Yeah, I noticed Len looking a bit too wanting at Ariel."

"Who?" Joe asked, genuine confusion on his face as he seemed to not remember who Ariel was. It proved to Daryl that Joe couldn't care less about her well-being since he still could not remember her name.

"Disney princess," Daryl explained, motioning his head in the direction of the tent.

"Oh." Joe disinterestedly nodded before changing the subject. "Remember you promised me something, boy. It's been two weeks, so far you ain't done shit but play house with Disney."

"I need my hunting gear to hunt. It's a pretty basic understanding…," Daryl replied in the same condescending manner.

"Should've thought about that before you start going all trigger happy and stabby stabby on me, Normie. If I could trust you, I wouldn't have any problem with giving you your knife and gun back. But, you know, the thing about trust is that you gotta earn it, son." Joe wasn't entirely stupid. He knew Daryl couldn't turn on the claimers with just his crossbow. He might be able to shoot one of them dead but before Daryl could ever reload his Horton, one of the five other claimers would have jumped on him. "I might reconsider if you bring the game to us alive and well. We'll deal with it then."

Daryl swallowed hard at the implication of Joe's statement. "We'll deal with it then… What is that supposed to mean?"

"It means," Joe started as he took a step closer to Daryl. "You hunt down a human. You capture it. You bring it to us alive. We start cutting off the arms… the legs… feet, you know, the non-vital parts, and keep our catch alive as long as possible so the flesh stays fresh. We'd prefer a female, of course. If it's a man… Well, I guess, that will do too." Joe spoke with a malicious laugh. "Ya better do it quickly or I'm letting Len loose on our little princess. And we both know how that will end…" Joe said as he walked away but before being out of earshot the man felt the uncontrollable need to turn around and add, "in blood and tears."

- **The Claim -**

**_Three days later_**

It was the murmur of her name and a light tap on her left shoulder that woke her up from her deep sleep. "Wake up, sleeping beauty." Her tired eyes met Daryl's. "Ya slept all day."

"Mhm," she hummed in reply. Her nausea had been the result of the flu apparently. She had been sleeping non-stop for three days as her body fought against a high fever.

"I was tired." She yawned. "I _am _still tired actually." She cradled her head in her hands as if preventing a possible escape of her brain, fed up with the heat of her skull. "And my head hurts."  
"Lay back," he ordered before pushing her down on the cot, "close your eyes and sit still."

She frowned at his command but closed her eyes nonetheless. Her heart started pounding as Daryl traced his rough fingers on her heated face. Without so much as a look in her eyes, he massaged the top of her forehead in a soothing manner. Hesitantly – but oh so gently – he wiped the sweat off with a wash cloth before pressing the cold tissue against her red cheeks. "Ya look hot." She chuckled at his observation. "Shit, didn't mean it like that. I meant…," he quickly corrected himself as he tried his best to ignore the bubbles of laughter escaping her dried lips, "Ya look a bit reddish." In vain, he had hoped his long bangs would cover the blush on his cheeks.

"You look a bit reddish yourself, Dr Dixon." Ariel retorted before coughing her way through another laughing fit. "Tss," she tut-tutted him in a good-humoured manner, "Taking advantage of your patients…"

"Stop it." He ordered with an obvious red flush to his neck. He was annoyed at how easily she could rile him up and practically chase him out of his comfort zone. "You know I ain't like that."

"I know, Daryl. I was just kidding." Her lips curled upwards. It took her a while to really notice what Daryl Dixon was like. 'Honourable' and 'respectable' were but a few adjectives that came to mind when she looked at him now.

When he felt that the uncontrollable heat on his cheeks had slowly ebbed down, his blue orbs finally looked up from his feet and met her gaze. Though he expected her to look at him in amusement, there was a different emotion covering her face. She was looking at him in wonder, causing Daryl to be struck with a feeling he did not comprehend. Never before had the Hunter enjoyed the eyes of others on him, yet somehow he found himself desiring her full attention. Flattering or not, somewhere down the line, it was his abrasive personality that decided to respond to her staring. "Wha'cha lookin' at?" He snapped at her.

"I just want to thank you." Her calm voice whispered as she grabbed Daryl's hand in hers. Leaning closer to his static body, she had hoped to peck a grateful kiss on his cheek. Her dehydration, however, caused her to aim lower than originally planned and so she kissed the column of his neck instead. Daryl abruptly stood up and contorted his face into a state of frenzy. "Keep your germs to yerself, girl." He yelled at her before running out of the tent and stomping off to the woods. He needed to start hunting for human meat. He had been postponing that task for as long as Ariel had been sick, but deep down, Daryl knew Joe would not accept Ariel's sickness as a legitimate excuse. He felt bad about the whole thing, of course. Sure, he had been brought up in a house without morals, but Daryl knew that kidnapping a person and bringing them to a group of cannibals was incredibly wrong, even if he did not participate in the drastic events that followed. But as selfish and sick as it might have sounded to anybody else, Daryl would much rather see a stranger suffer than witnessing Ariel being raped and murdered in front of him.

As Daryl stalked away from the camp, he clenched and unclenched his fist in anger, hoping to release the unwanted tension she had put in his body. Daryl told himself that touching her was merely functional and necessary for her healing process but even he, himself, had a hard time believing that white lie. He was annoyed with her for getting sick, and angry that she had unconsciously put him into the position of becoming an accomplice to rape and murder. But most of all, Daryl was furious that he couldn't shake the sensation of her warm lips on his neck, nor the feeling of her heating skin under his fingertips, off his mind. This girl was making him do this for her and to her, Daryl Dixon had never even in his darkest and filthiest imaginations thought of doing. With his crossbow slung over his back, his legs moved without hesitation through the forest following the human tracks that came on his way. Her presence in the group was the only thing that kept him going and he'd be damned if he would ever let her get hurt.

* * *

** Thank you, Guests, teacup, zaii and Roxy Rosee for your reviews on the first chapter. I really hope you enjoyed this one.  
**


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Walking Dead, Angst, Romance