Storms Have to Break

Athena

A knock at the door startled me awake. My body jolted upright, my chest tightening. I didn't know how long I'd been asleep, but the room was dimmer now, the early evening light slipping through the window.

"Hello?" My voice was hoarse, thick from sleep.

Beth edged in, her presence immediately unsettling. There was no trace of her usual warmth. No soft smile. Just hesitation.

"What is it?" My pulse quickened, already knowing something wasn't right.

She shifted on her feet. "I don't want to worry you."

"What's wrong?," I pressed, my patience already unraveling, my mind going to the person I loved the most. "Is Daryl okay?"

"He's gone," she admitted, her voice shaky. "He took one of those garbage trucks the Scavengers left behind."

The air drained from my lungs. "What!? Where!?"

"I don't know. Tara went with him. They left a few hours ago." She wrung her hands, guilt lining her face. "I wasn't sure if I should tell you... I... they're still not back."

I didn't hear anything else. My mind spun as I threw the blankets aside, my body aching in protest.

"Athena, you can't-"

"He's not thinking straight," I cut her off, my hands trembling as I reached for my clothes. "Do you know if they took down all the outposts like they'd planned?"

I cursed myself for not asking more about how everything had gone - but I'd just been too consumed by what had happened. It was stupid of me. Fucking stupid.

Beth hesitated. "They got all the outposts. Surrounded the Sanctuary with walkers. Rick said we just have to wait for-"

"Daryl's done waiting." I snapped unfairly.

My husband had held it together for me - been my rock while I felt like I was sinking. But I knew he was hurting, I knew he was angry. I should've known it would boil over. I should've seen this coming.

"He won't want you going after him." Beth tried.

"I'm not letting him get himself killed!" My voice broke, but I swallowed it down. "I'm going."

"You're hurt!" she exclaimed, her voice desperate.

But I was already moving. My body ached with every hurried step, but I ignored it. The fear coursing through me drowning it out.

As I made it outside, the gates swung open and a vehicle emerged through them. My breath caught for a moment - but it wasn't him. It was Rosita and Michonne, coming back from somewhere despite both being injured themselves. Even through the windshield, I could see how rough they looked. Wherever they'd been, they clearly hadn't been able to resist needing to act, either.

"He's okay!" Rosita called, climbing out before the car even fully stopped, somehow already knowing where I must be going.

My feet pounded against the pavement. "You've seen him!? Where is he!?"

She let out a deep sigh. "The Sanctuary."

My stomach dropped. He'd gone exactly where I feared he had. Fuck.

"Give me the keys," I demanded, my hand outstretched.

Rosita's grip tightened around them. "They had a plan. Him and Tara. They saved our asses, actually. Found us by accident."

"What plan!?"

Michonne, her face bruised and tense, spoke up. "They were going to crash a truck into the Sanctuary's wall. Bust it wide open. Let the walkers pour in."

"For God's sake," I spat, my frustration bubbling over. Usually I'd have faith in any plan Daryl had, but right now, he was reckless.

"I tried to stop him," Michonne continued, her voice laced with guilt. "Told him it wasn't worth it."

"And?"

She hesitated. "He said it was to him."

That hit harder than anything else. My chest constricted. Daryl had been holding it all in, keeping his grief bottled up so tightly I hadn't realized how deep the cracks ran. And now he'd snapped.

"I need the keys." My voice was like steel.

Rosita hesitated for a moment longer before relenting. "They're probably on their way back by now - they were already near the Sanctuary when we left and that was a couple of hours ago."

"I'm not waiting to find out."

"Athena-"

I didn't give her time to argue. I slipped into the car, powering up the engine and manoeuvring it quickly. Every beat of my heart screamed for one thing: find him.

I'd almost made it through the gates when Merle slammed up against the passenger window. "Tha hell ya doin'!?"

"Daryl's gone."

He didn't waste a second, throwing open the door and clambering into the seat before I knew what was happening. "What ya waitin' for, woman!? Drive!"

He slouched in the passenger seat as we sped away from Alexandria, one arm braced against the door to steady himself as the engine strained. "The Sanctuary?"

"Yeah. With Tara."

"Hell they gonna do?"

"Rosita said they were going to crash a freaking truck into the wall - speed up the walkers getting in."

Merle digested that, then turned to me, his voice careful. "Maybe that ain't the worst plan... We need these assholes dead 'n' buried... sooner rather than later ain't a bad thing."

"It's not the plan I'm worried about." I couldn't help but snap. "It's him... He's not thinking straight."

Merle's silence said everything. We both knew Daryl too well. We knew how he bottled things up until the dam finally burst. And now, after trying to push down his hurt and anger - the flood had come.

"Fuck!" I slammed my fist into the dashboard, ignoring the shockwave it sent through my side as my frustration spiked. "Why didn't I see this coming!?"

"You couldn't'a stopped him even if ya'd known," Merle said gruffly. "Man's got his own mind. Ain't waitin' for permission."

"Doesn't mean I couldn't have tried."

He didn't argue. Maybe because we both knew I would've tried - and Daryl still would've left. But things were different right now... maybe if I'd said I needed him to stay, he would've. Not that it even mattered now.

We hadn't been driving long, when suddenly, up ahead, twin headlights sliced through the dark, and my heart leapt.

"Saviors?" Merle barked, straightening in his seat.

"No." I wasn't sure how I knew, but I did. "It's them."

Merle cursed under his breath. "Ain't takin' chances. Turn the lights off, pull under cover."

I didn't. I lulled the car to a slow stop and climbed out, ignoring Merle's barrage of protests. My trembling hands were barely able to keep still as the other vehicle eased toward us, finally stopping in front of our car.

I was right. It was them.

Daryl climbed out, his chest heaving. The guilt was etched into every line of his face. His eyes locked on mine, and for a moment, the world stilled.

"Ath," he said, his voice betraying something - nerves maybe. "I had to."

My breath caught. He looked so damn tired. So pained. And I knew the words he wasn't saying. The weight he'd been carrying. He'd thought this would ease it. I understood. I did.

I didn't yell. Didn't scream. Instead, I walked to him, closing the space between us. His eyes were searching mine, waiting for the anger. The judgment.

But I didn't give him either.

"I know," I whispered, my arms slipping around him.

He stiffened at first, then his arms came around me, clutching me tight. His face pressed against my hair, his breath shaky.

Neither of us said anything. We didn't need to. We just held each other there, until eventually, I released him. I'd been so caught up in our embrace that I hadn't noticed a sheepish Tara exiting their car and climbing into the one Merle and I had travelled in, leaving her seat free for Daryl and I to drive back together.

I couldn't be angry at her either.  They'd taken Denise from her. She'd done what she needed to do.

The drive back was quiet - we were both tired, not just from this, but from everything hanging over us.

His quiet voice came after a while. "Shoulda told ya."

I looked at him, keeping my voice soft. "Yeah. You should."

"Lost my head."

"I know... but I would have come with you."

"I know." He sighed. "S'why I wanted to get it done while ya were restin'. Didn't want ya out there."

I paused. "You didn't think I deserved to get revenge too?"

That hit him hard. I saw the realization in his expression, followed by guilt.

"Thought I was keepin' ya safe."

"Not the point." I told him softly. I wasn't mad. I was just explaining.

"M'sorry." He breathed, so much remorse evident in that one word.

"I know." I offered a weak smile. "Daryl... you don't have to hold it all in y'know. Not for me.

"I ain't." He lied. "M'fine."

I didn't bother calling him out - I knew better. He'd spent a lifetime swallowing his feelings, shutting himself down. Habits like that didn't die easily - not even with me, not even now. Instead, I let my hand rest lightly on his thigh, just reminding him I was there.

~

We'd collapsed into bed when we returned to Alexandria last night. Thanks to my pain meds, I'd fallen almost straight to sleep. I knew Daryl wouldn't. Knew he was still wound tight, pushing everything down.

Taking action against the Saviors had made him feel like he was doing something, but it didn't take the pain away, didn't change what we'd lost.

Now, as he noticed me waking, he pulled me closer into him, his arms tightening like he couldn't stand the space between us. His chest was warm against my back, his breath slow. I let myself sink into him. The feel of his skin, the rise and fall of his breathing - all reminders that he was home, safe, with me.

But there was no real peace in it. Especially not for him.

"Did you sleep?" I murmured, though I already knew the answer.

He didn't respond right away. His fingers brushed absently along my arm, tracing the faint bruises that I always seemed to be covered in.

His voice was croaky, betraying his tiredness. "Enough."

I shifted to face him, catching the shadows beneath his eyes. He hadn't slept much at all since I'd told him about the miscarriage, or before that actually, gearing up for the Savior takedown.

"You're wearing yourself out," I said gently.

His gaze flicked away, like he was searching for an excuse. "M'fine."

"You're not." I reached up, running my thumb along the ridge of his cheekbone. He leaned into the touch, but I could feel how tense he was.

"I'm supposed to be takin' care of ya," he muttered. "Ain't about me."

I swallowed the knot rising in my throat. "It happened to both of us."

His jaw clenched. He pulled back slightly, like the words had stung. "Ain't the same."

"It is... You don't have to pretend like you're not hurting just to take care of me."

"Yur my wife." He dismissed softly. "Yur still bleedin', still got a damn hole in ya side... I just wanna take care of ya."

I thought about pushing, but I didn't. I knew he'd let it out when he was ready, or, unfortunately, when something pushed him over the edge.

"You've taken great care of me." I told him, nuzzling back into him. "Hundred percent husband score."

He forced a scoff and pressed a kiss to my head. "Ya wanna get some air today - come outside? If ya feel up to it?"

"I was outside yesterday." I teased.

He shook his head with a small smirk. "Ya know what I mean."

"I know... yeah, I think it would probably do me good."

He pulled me into him tighter. "Not yet though. Wanna lay with ya longer."

~

The air in Alexandria was cool and crisp, carrying the scent of dew-soaked grass. The streets were quiet - a blessing, really. I wasn't ready for too many eyes on me. As far as I was aware, not many people knew about our loss yet - just Beth, Merle and Rosita. It wasn't necessarily a secret I was trying to keep - I just didn't feel ready to talk about it, and I knew that Daryl felt the same.

He kept a slow pace, matching every cautious step I took. I'd overexerted myself yesterday, and I was feeling the effects. I knew he noticed, and that he felt awful about me going after him... He never let go of my hand, his thumb brushing against my skin like a silent reminder he was there.

When I tired of walking, we sat and watched the world go by for a while, eating apples and feeling the sun on our skin. As usual though, Daryl didn't get to be still for long. Annie appeared, telling him about a panel of the fence that had come loose.

"Why don't you ask Merle to help you?" I taunted with a smile.

I hadn't seen her since we'd found out the two of them were playing tonsil tennis, which meant I hadn't had my opportunity to tease.

She blushed, smiling. "He's out in search of fuel with Tobin. We're running low." She directed her gaze back to Daryl. "There's quite a few walkers gathering. It'll come down if we don't sort it..."

"On it." Daryl sighed. "Ya good for a while?"

"Yeah." I told him honestly, the change of scenery doing wonders for my head. "Beth needs to check my stitches anyway."

"Want me to walk ya there first?"

I feigned offence. "I'm injured, Daryl, not invalid."

"M'kay. He pressed a kiss to my lips, before he rose to his feet. "Don't overdo it."

"Yes sir."

I took a slow walk to the infirmary, where Beth had been spending most of her time since so many had returned injured from the takedown of the outposts. She checked my stitches and said they were healing fine, then she tried to ask about my bleeding, about how I was feeling - not just physically, but everything else. The loss. The ache. But I didn't want to talk about it, and she seemed to sense that.

Even that short visit left me feeling drained. My body still hadn't caught up. I headed back to the room, slipping under the covers and letting sleep pull me under for a while.

When I woke, the sun had shifted - the warmth through the curtains hinting at afternoon. I ventured back outside again, spotting Daryl near the gate now, bent over the hood of an old car. His hands were smeared with grease, his brow furrowed in concentration. Whatever he was trying to fix, it gave him something to do - something to keep his mind busy.

I didn't interrupt. He'd popped his head in earlier while I slept, the memory lingering in the haze of my dreams. I remembered the soft creak of the door, the warmth of his fingers brushing along my cheek. When I'd stirred, he'd pressed a gentle kiss to my forehead. Barely there. Like he was afraid to wake me.

I spotted Tara perched on the edge of one of the porches, a small pile of knives at her side. The rhythmic scrape of her whetstone echoed across the yard. She wasn't rushing, just working through the motions, focused, but a little more relaxed than I'd seen her in a while.

She looked up as I crossed the street, smiling at me, welcoming me over, but I could tell there was a tinge of apprehension in her expression.

"Hey," she greeted me, pausing her work. "You look like shit."

I huffed a soft laugh and lowered myself onto the porch steps beside her. The ache in my side flared, but I ignored it. Tara didn't miss the wince, though.

"How are you holding up?" she asked, her voice quieter now. "Beth says you're healing okay, but... you know. That's just the outside stuff."

"I'm alright," I answered, though it came out a little too quick. "Or I will be."

Tara nodded, like she'd expected that. "You're tough." Then she added with a grin, "Not as tough as me, obviously, but still pretty badass."

I rolled my eyes, but I was grateful for the lightness she brought. That was Tara. Even in the worst moments, she never let the darkness swallow everything.

After a beat, she glanced sideways at me, her voice dropping again. "So... you mad?

I squinted at her. "That you and my husband snuck off on a mission without me?"

"Yeah... kinda went rogue didn't we?

I nodded. "Yup. I'm not mad, though."

Her brow arched. "Really?"

"I was worried," I admitted. "Worried about both of you. But I get it. Daryl couldn't sit back. And neither could you."

Tara studied me for a moment, then nodded slowly. "Yeah. We had to do something. Rick's plan was good, it was working, but it was taking too freaking long."

"Do you think it worked?" I asked, "The truck, the walkers?"

Her face softened. "I know it did. We saw the herd pouring in. There was no stopping it." She exhaled, like she could still see the chaos behind her eyes. "The Sanctuary's done for."

That should've made me feel better. And maybe part of it did. But I still just couldn't shake the feeling that this wasn't over yet.

Tara seemed to sense it. She shifted, turning her knife in her hands. "But hey, I didn't draw you over here to play twenty questions about my questionable decision-making."

"I don't mind," I chuckled lightly.

"Well, I do." She grinned, but it didn't quite reach her eyes. "So... is Daryl okay?"

I hesitated. I couldn't imagine he'd have told her about the miscarriage. "Why?"

Tara frowned. "He just seemed... off. Yesterday. Like he wasn't all there. I know he was pissed about the Saviors, but honestly... he looked like he was ready to fall apart by the time we got there."

"Not just the Saviors," I cut in, though I wasn't sure how to explain it. "He's just... holding a lot in. He won't let himself stop long enough to feel it."

Tara nodded knowingly. "Yeah. That sounds like Daryl."

I thought about it for a moment, how quietly close the two of them had become, united in a tragic way since Dwight killed Denise.

"I was pregnant." I revealed quietly. "When I was shot."

Tara froze, then turned to me slowly. "Fuck... Man... I didn't... I'm so sorry. Are you okay?"

I didn't bother lying, pretending I was. "I will be."

"Shit." She sighed. "Yesterday makes more sense now."

"Yup." I agreed. "He's hurting. He just won't let himself deal with it."

Tara's jaw clenched. "I get it. He'll just wanna take care of you."

"I know." I rubbed my hands together, trying to shake the lingering ache in my chest. "Just wish he'd let it out."

"Do you think yesterday helped?"

"With the anger? Maybe. Not sure about the rest."

"He'll do it when he's ready, I guess." She shook her head. "Stubborn-assed redneck."

"Yeah." I agreed, before changing the subject. "So tell me about how things went down at the outposts - I'm so behind."

Tara filled me in on everything she knew about the take downs. It was comforting to feel like I was doing something normal, talking business. My eyes kept flicking to Daryl while we spoke, admiring how chiselled his arms looked as he did whatever it was he was doing to the car's engine. As far as he knew, I was still sound asleep in bed, and I was quite enjoying being a bit of a voyeur.

Tara was mid-sentence, some sarcastic remark on the tip of her tongue, when the sound of the gate opening pulled both our eyes toward the entrance.

Rick strode through, his shoulders stiff, his face ashen. Whatever had happened, it wasn't good. Tara shot me a look, her brow creased. I didn't need to say anything - we both knew. Something was wrong.

We stood in unison, the scrape of the porch boards beneath our feet drowned out by the tension that seemed to seep into everything. Rick rubbed his face in exhaustion, then went straight over to Daryl.

I couldn't hear what was said, but I watched every second of it. The way Rick's voice stayed low, deliberate. The way Daryl's face changed - the lines around his mouth tightening, his jaw setting. At first, he didn't move, like he couldn't. Like his body wouldn't let him register whatever Rick had just told him.

Then, without warning, he did.

His hands, which had been idly gripping a wrench, dropped to his sides. His head shook - not in denial, but like he was trying to push Rick's words away. When that didn't work, the tension snapped.

The toolkit by the car bore the brunt of it. He turned and kicked it hard, sending tools clattering across the pavement. The clang echoed through the street, sharp and jarring, and I felt Tara flinch beside me.

But Daryl wasn't done. He stood there, fists clenched, chest heaving like the air around him wasn't enough. Like the rage and grief twisting inside him needed somewhere to go. Only, there was nowhere. Nothing to hit. Nothing to fix.

For a second, he looked like he might scream. But the sound never came. Instead, he spun away.

"Shit," Tara muttered under her breath.

I barely registered it. My eyes were locked on Daryl as he stalked off, shoulders rigid.

I was moving. Making a beeline for Rick before I'd go after Daryl. Michonne was doing the same.

"What happened? "

"They got out." Rick said, each word sounding like it pained him.

I didn't need to ask who he meant. I already knew. The Saviors had somehow made it out of the Sanctuary.

"What?" I asked in disbelief. "How?"

"I don't know." He said, sounding defeated.

"But the walkers..?" Michonne asked, looking aghast.

"Gone." Rick said.

I'd heard enough. This was bad. Really bad. The Saviors would be coming for us, we'd have to fight again. But that wasn't what concerned me most right now - it was Daryl.

Watching him try to outrun his anger, his grief, had been like watching a storm roll in - inevitable and destructive. He'd believed that yesterday had successfully sped up their demise, brought us closer to ending them - making them pay for all the people they'd taken from us, his imprisonment, our latest loss - but yet again, they'd found a way to outsmart us, and I saw it in him right after Rick told him - he was falling over edge.

I found him inside the garage where he'd worked on his bike, where old car parts were stacked in piles. He stood with his back to me, his arms braced against the wall, head bowed and hair hanging over his face. His breathing was heavy, like he was fighting to keep it together.

I didn't say anything, but he knew I was there. He could sense me.

"They got out," he seethed, not moving an inch.

"I know." Was all I could say.

"Fuck!"

His fist slammed into the wall.

The sound echoed through the garage, harsh and violent. His knuckles cracked against the drywall, but he didn't stop. Another hit. Then another. And another. The wall splintered under his strength, the force of it rattling the tools on the bench. His hands were already torn and bloodied, but the pain didn't matter. It wasn't enough.

"Daryl."

He didn't stop. Didn't hear me. Or maybe he did, but he couldn't bring himself to care.

I moved forward, grabbing his arm.

"Stop!" I pulled at him, my voice firm but shaky. "Please."

His arm stiffened under my grip, his muscles trembling. He was so damn tense, like he was barely holding himself back.

But slowly, he froze. His breathing ragged. His fists stayed clenched at his sides, blood smeared across his knuckles. He stared at the cracked wall in front of him like it might start bleeding too.

I didn't let go. Instead, I wrapped my arms around him from behind. My hands pressed to his chest, feeling every uneven breath. His heart was pounding, each beat crashing against my palms. He was still burning - with anger, with grief - but he let me hold him.

Then, I heard it.

A broken breath.

Then another.

His chest shook beneath my touch. His hands flexed and then fell limp. And for the first time since I'd told him - since I sobbed and choked on apologies that wouldn't change anything - I felt him break.

He didn't yell. Didn't curse. But the tears came - silent and wrecking.

I held him tighter. "We'll figure it out," I whispered.

Maybe I thought it would help. Maybe I just didn't know what else to say.

He shook his head, his hands covering my own where they clutched at his chest. His fingers curled around mine, squeezing. Holding on. His grief lashed through every shake of his shoulders, the unwarranted guilt he was carrying stripping him bare.

I couldn't stop the tears that welled in my own eyes, burning hot and fast. They slipped down my cheeks, soaking into the fabric at the back of his shirt as I clung to him.

He heard it. He felt it.

He turned slowly, his movements stiff and uncertain. His tear-streaked face came into view, his bloodshot eyes searching mine. The sight of my distress seemed to gut him, his mouth parting like he wanted to say something - anything.

"Ath," he whispered, his voice cracked and trembling as his arms came around me, pulling me tight against him. His hands were rough, his grip desperate to comfort me, to steady himself. My head tucked beneath his chin, my tears soaking into his skin.

Then, a sob he couldn't hold back erupted from him. He shook with the force of it, the sound vibrating through his chest. He wasn't fighting it anymore. He couldn't. The grief, the guilt - all of it poured out of him. He sobbed into my hair, the low, strangled sounds wrecking him.

"M'sorry," he choked, his voice cracking as he buried his face against me. "M'so fuckin' sorry."

I didn't know what he was apologizing for - breaking down? For the Saviors getting out? For me being shot in the first place?

I clung to him, squeezing him impossibly tighter. "None of this is your fault."

He shook his head, his tears hot against my skin. "Shoulda protected ya. Shoulda-" His voice faltered, his words breaking apart. "Ya were carryin' our child..."

The grief consumed him. Every sob that wracked his body was laced with it. He'd held it in for too long, and now there was no stopping it. Each trembling breath, each broken sound, releasing emotions his body couldn't contain any more.

"You always protect me." I whispered. "You do... you can't stop everything."

He shook his head slightly but didn't bother arguing.

We stayed there for what felt like forever - tangled in the wreckage of what we'd lost - holding each other as we both fell apart, letting ourselves feel it all.

Our tears soaked into each other's skin, our sobs eventually breaking into shaky breaths. But still, we held each other. I pressed my lips to his shoulder, whispering softly - words of comfort, words of love - though I knew nothing I said could take the pain away, nothing he'd said had taken away mine.

"I love ya, so much." He finally rasped, pulling back to look at me, his fingers cradling my jaw.

"I love you." I told him. "Always... And we'll get through this together, we can get through anything - we always have, we always will."

He nodded a little, before pressing a lingering, gentle kiss to my lips.

"They'll be comin'." He said after, his voice strained like he didn't want to believe it was true.

"I know." I told him, forcing my voice to be strong. "And they're going to regret it."

A/N: Thank you so much for reading. I really appreciate every single vote and comment. ❤️😁

P.S. My eyes have gone fuzzy from writing for so long, so please excuse any errors - I'll come back and fix when I can see normally again. 🤣