The Morning After

I woke up feeling like someone had driven a nail straight through my skull. My mouth was dry, my stomach uneasy, and the distant sound of voices echoing through the old church rattled inside my head like a pneumatic drill.

I groaned, peeling my eyes open - only to instantly regret it as daylight stabbed through the stained glass windows, casting sharp shards of color over the wreckage of our drunken antics.

Last night had been... different.

It wasn't planned. It was supposed to be a few glasses of wine to take the edge off. But we'd all gotten carried away. Stupid, really. Not to mention dangerous. If we'd been attacked - or if a herd had come through - we'd probably all be dead.

But God, we needed it.

After losing the prison. After Terminus. After everything. We'd all craved escape. We just didn't exactly go about it in the smartest way.

Despite the pounding in my skull, a slow, lazy grin tugged at my lips.

Drunk Daryl was something else.

Reckless. Less inhibited. Open in a way he never usually let himself be.

I could still feel him-his fingertips gripping my thighs, the scrape of his stubble against my throat, the way he groaned my name into my skin like a prayer.

It had been raw. Unrestrained.

Like he was trying to lose himself in me. Like if he held on tight enough, he could drown out all the noise in his head.

And I'd loved every second of it.

But he wasn't next to me anymore. Even though I remembered falling asleep beside him, tucked close against his warmth.

I dragged myself up from the floor, exchanging silent glances of regret with others who were stirring. Michonne chuckled, shaking her head. Abraham, somehow, looked as fresh as a daisy.

Father Gabriel sat slumped in a chair by the organ, sunglasses on, head tilted back, lips slightly parted - like he was still processing his life choices. Probably regretting ever letting us into his church.

I made my way outside, shielding my eyes from the brutal morning light.

Daryl sat on the church steps, cigarette smoldering between his fingers, gaze distant as he exhaled a slow stream of smoke into the air. His shoulders were tense, his whole body wound tight like something was gnawing at him.

"Ughhh." I groaned, flopping down beside him.

He flicked his eyes to me. "How ya feelin'?" he rasped.

"Fucking awful. You okay?"

"M'fine."

Liar.

I could tell by the tightness in his jaw, the way his shoulders were hunched. Something was off.

"You can't fool me, Daryl Dixon," I said, eyeing him suspiciously. "Not after all this time. Talk to me."

"Ain't nothin'."

I softened my gaze. "Has someone got the beer fear?"

His brow furrowed. "What?"

"Beer fear. Hangxiety. Y'know, when you wake up after drinking and panic about everything you did."

Understanding flickered across his face before he dropped his gaze to his boots. Bingo.

"Daryl, just tell me what's bothering you."

Silence.

"Please?"

He exhaled heavily, staring toward the tree line. "Said some dumb shit."

I frowned. "Like what?"

His fingers twitched around his cigarette. Whatever it was, he couldn't bring himself to say it.

I nudged his leg with mine. "Spill. You'll feel better."

He stayed silent for a moment.

"'Bout Merle's necklace."

It took me a second. Then it clicked.

The marriage comments.

I sat up straighter, my headache momentarily forgotten.

"Don't sweat it," I reassured him. "We were just drunk and being soppy."

"Ain't expectin' nothin'. Didn't mean it like that."

"It was sweet." I reached for his hand. "And it's not a big deal. So stop worrying about it, please."

His fingers curled around mine, but loosely. That wasn't all of it. I could tell.

"What else?"

He shrugged, looking smaller somehow.

I narrowed my eyes. "Do you regret last night?"

I knew he'd understand exactly what I meant - the defiling of the desk.

His blue eyes flicked to mine, wary. "Ain't sayin' that."

I held his gaze, waiting.

After a long moment, he exhaled sharply and looked away, shaking his head. "Did I hurt ya?"

"What?" I half-laughed. "Are you serious? No. I wanted it. It was hot as fuck... Do you wish we hadn't done it?"

Relief crossed his face, and he smiled shyly, squeezing my hand tighter. "Nah." He shifted, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. "Didn't mean to get like that - drunk, stupid."

"We all needed a break." I tried to reassure him. "You deserve one more than anybody."

I knew what this was. I knew Daryl.

He thought he'd shown too much. He felt exposed. The drinking. The way he'd let the word 'marriage' slip, like it was something he'd thought about before. How he'd taken me to pound town on a preacher's desk despite the others being right outside. It was out of character. And he hated that.

I shuffled closer, whispering, "Listen. I love you, dumbass," before gently pressing my lips to his.

He let out a tiny laugh. "Love ya," he breathed against my mouth, kissing me back just as tenderly.

But I could tell - it still wasn't everything.

He was stiff. His eyes still wouldn't quite meet mine.

"What's the other thing?" I asked, running my fingers through his hair.

"Huh?"

"Don't huh me. There's something else bothering you. So spill."

"Fuck's sake, woman," he sighed, rubbing his eyes.

I smirked, kissing his hand. "I know I'm right."

His jaw clenched. Silence stretched between us.

Then, his shoulders hunched slightly. "In the woods," he muttered. "and at the service station. How ya saw me..."

It took me a second. Then I understood.

I'd seen him break down. Twice.

My chest ached at the memory - Daryl, sobbing silently as I held him the night I told him about Merle. Then again, last night, before the wine, breaking down in my arms, choking out his emotions.

"What does that matter?" I squeezed his hand.

No answer.

"Daryl, I'm the one who's supposed to take care of you in those moments."

His body tensed. He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "Ain't used to people seein' me like that."

"I know," I said softly.

"Feel like a fuckin' idiot." His blue eyes met mine, dark with something raw and unspoken. "Merle woulda slapped me for cryin' like a bitch."

I squeezed his arm. "You don't have anything to be embarrassed about. Seriously. I'm so glad you let it out. I'm glad you let me take care of you."

He huffed a laugh, but there was no humor in it.

He'd spent a lifetime believing he had to be tough. That showing anything real - anything human - would only lead to pain. But last night - the grief, the release, the fear of losing Carol, the confusion, the unexpected hint of hope Merle could be alive - it was a lot. Maybe that was why the night had turned into what it did. Perhaps he'd needed something to hold onto. Something to offer relief from the chaos.

I wrapped my arms around him now, pulling him close and pressing a kiss to his head. He squeezed me back, face buried in my neck.

"Why ya always so good to me?" he asked after a moment.

"Because you're good to me," I murmured. "Plus, I really fancy you."

He lifted his head, pressing his forehead against mine.

"I don't deserve ya."

I kissed him deeply, curling my fingers into his hair.

"Yes. You do," I whispered.

He smiled against my lips. "Shit, Ath." He breathed. "A damn preacher's desk..."

"I can't believe you let me talk you into it."

"Hard to say no to ya." He confessed.

"Yeah?"

"Mhmh," he looked at me, his eyes soft, warm. "Ya make me crazy."

"You do the same to me." I admitted.

Then I groaned. "Now come on. I'm actually going to die if I don't eat something."

~

We'd just made it inside the church when Tara finally woke up, groggy and disoriented.

"Oh God," she groaned, sitting up and trying to disentangle herself from Gabriel's robe. "What happened?"

Carl appeared from the bathroom, looking far too smug for someone who hadn't been drinking. "You all got really drunk," he announced. "There's loads of sick next to the toilet."

Tara gagged.

Carl turned to me expectantly. "Athena, can you teach me how to do a backflip?"

I blinked. "What?" My brain still felt like it was sloshing around in my skull. "Uh... it's been a while, kid. Probably can't do them anymore."

Carl grinned. "You did last night."

My head shot to Daryl. The sudden motion made my brain rattle. "Did I?"

He yawned, rubbing a hand over his face. "Tried to stop ya."

"Wow. I have no memory of that." I was actually a little impressed with myself. "Did we go straight to sleep after the offi-"

I cut myself off, realizing Carl was still listening.

"Nah." Daryl smirked. "Ya tried to carry me."

"Excuse me?"

And just like that, the memories started coming back-at least, the ones Daryl and the others decided to remind me of.

1. My insistence that I could lift Daryl.

"I could carry you," I'd slurred, shoving at his arm. "You're not that heavy."

Daryl, drunk but still stubborn, had scoffed. "The hell ya talkin' about?"

"I bet I can lift you."

He'd blinked at me. "Ath, ya can't lift me."

"I can," I had insisted, shoving his shoulder. "I'm strong."

Daryl had rolled his eyes, set down his drink, and said, "Aite. Try it."

The entire group had paused to watch me attempt to fireman-carry a fully grown man.

I had managed to lift him exactly two inches off the ground before giving up.

"Told ya," Daryl sighed, shaking his head.

2. Rick lost it.

At some point, Rick had gotten very existential. He sat cross-legged on the floor, staring at his hands like they held the secrets of the universe.

"You ever think about fingers?" he'd slurred.

Michonne blinked at him. "What?"

"Fingers," Rick repeated, wiggling them. "Like... we got five. But what if we had, like... seven?"

She just stared at him for a long moment before sipping her wine and saying, "Go to bed, Rick."

3. Hershel's Escape Attempt.

Hershel - drunker than he'd probably been since his youth - had suddenly declared he was going home.

"I have a farm," he'd announced, wobbling to his feet and making for the doors. "I don't have to stay here. I'm goin' home."

Rick had tried to reason with him. "Hershel-your farm's gone."

Hershel had squinted. "...Oh."

Then he'd promptly sat back down and continued drinking.

"Yeah. It's all coming back to me now." I laughed, shaking my head. "I could carry you, though. Like, in an emergency. I'd be able to save ya."

Daryl had just sat down to eat when Abraham's voice boomed through the church.

"Dixon, my man," he drawled, stretching his long legs out in front of him. "Thought a herd was rollin' through camp last night. Turns out it was just you two makin' the walls shake."

I guess the record player hadn't drowned out our exploits as well as we'd hoped.

Daryl stiffened. But instead of completely freaking out like I expected, he just rubbed a hand over his face in embarrassment, pulling me closer into his side.

"Abraham!" Rosita smacked his arm.

"What?" he asked, genuinely confused. "He's a dawg. I'm impressed."

The rest of the day was spent nursing hangovers, feeling sorry for ourselves, and forcing ourselves to do the work that still needed to be done. Supplies had to be checked, the church better secured, and - most importantly - we had to figure out our next move.

All day, I kept wanting to talk to Daryl about Merle. About Beth. If he really believed his brother could be out there, what was the plan? But there was never the right moment.

So I chose to wait.

We had time to figure it out.

~

Everyone was exhausted tonight. The kind of tired that settled into your bones and made even existing feel like a chore. So of course, that was when Gabriel and Abraham decided to drop two separate bombshells.

I watched, my head resting on Daryl's shoulder, as some of the group sat in a loose circle near the altar. The room was dim, the only light coming from the candles and the distant moon filtering through the stained glass. Father Gabriel stood near the front, his eyes distant, hands clenched at his sides.

"I have something I need to say," he murmured. His voice wavered, but we all turned to listen.

He swallowed hard before speaking again. "I locked them out."

The chatter in the church stopped.

His hands trembled as he looked down, like he couldn't bear to meet our eyes. "When the world fell, my congregation came to me. They pounded on the doors. Begged to be let in." His breath stuttered. "And I left them out there. To die."

I stole a glance at Daryl. His jaw was set, but his eyes... there was something softer there. Understanding, maybe.

Gabriel let out a ragged breath. "I know there's no redemption for what I did. No forgiveness."

Carol shook her head. "That's not how it works."

Gabriel blinked. "What?"

Daryl shifted. "Ain't nobody left in this world without blood on their hands. We've all done things. Bad things. We keep going anyway."

Carol reached for Gabriel's hand, squeezing it gently. "We've all got regrets. The only thing we can do now is try to be better." She glanced over to Tyreese.

Gabriel looked between them, his face etched with pain. But maybe, just maybe, he saw something other than condemnation in our faces.

Next up was Abraham.

He stood near the pulpit, arms crossed, looking every bit the ex-military hardass as he surveyed us. He'd asked us all to gather. I sulked at the back of the church with Daryl, just wanting everyone to shut up so I could finally go to sleep.

"Is this all you wanna be?" he asked, his voice carrying through the candlelit church. "Wake up, fight the undead pricks, forage for food, go to sleep with two eyes open - rinse and repeat? 'Cause you can do that. You got the strength. You got the skill. Thing is, for you people, for what you can do, that's just surrender."

I groaned, resting my head against Daryl's shoulder. "Where's he going with this?"

He didn't answer. He was watching Abraham closely, listening.

"We get Eugene to Washington," Abraham continued, "and he'll make the dead die. And the living will have this world again." He gestured to Eugene. "What's in D.C.?"

Eugene cleared his throat. "Infrastructure constructed to withstand pandemics even of this FUBAR magnitude."

"That means fuel, food, refuge. Restart."

Abraham turned to Rick. "Come with us. Save the world for that little one." He nodded toward Judith. "Save it for yourselves."

Judith chose that exact moment to let out a loud gurgle.

"What was that?" Rick asked, glancing down at her before looking back up. "I think she knows what I'm about to say. She's in. If she's in, I'm in. We're in."

I eyed Rick suspiciously. He wasn't one to jump into things without time to weigh them up. Did he know about this already?

Some of the group nodded, murmuring their agreement with Rick.

Daryl, though, was a different story.

He shifted beside me, arms crossed, his jaw tight. The candlelight flickered against the sharp angles of his face.

"I ain't goin'," he muttered.

Silence stretched.

Rick frowned. "Daryl-"

"Nah." Daryl shook his head. "We ran into some of those Terminus assholes - Ath, Carol, 'n' me. Gareth was there, hinted before I slit 'is throat that Merle could still be alive. Maybe with Beth."

Gasps rippled through the group. None more than Maggie and Hershel's.

"I ain't leavin' if there's a chance they're out there," Daryl continued. "Don't ask me t'do that again."

I reached for his hand, facing Rick. "I'm with him."

Carol stood up. "Me too."

Rick sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Daryl, I get it. But we're stronger together."

"Then we do it fast," Daryl stated plainly.

Abraham scoffed. "Hell of a time for a family reunion."

Daryl's temper flared. "Say that again."

Rosita grabbed Abraham's arm, but he shrugged her off. "You wanna go chasin' ghosts when we got a real chance to fix this world? That's suicide."

Daryl took a step forward, but I pressed a hand against his chest, feeling the tension coiled beneath his skin.

He let out a sharp breath and stepped back. But the fight wasn't out of him.

Rick looked between us all. "We need time to think this through."

No one argued. Not yet.

"We're not going without trying." I reassured Daryl, who seethed next to me. "Even if it means us staying behind. We aren't just leaving."

His eyes softened slightly as he nodded, turning and marching outside to cool down his temper.

This wasn't over.

Not by a long shot.

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