The Fight in Me

In the weeks since the storm, things had mostly returned to as normal as the apocalypse allowed.

But he hadn't.

Daryl's anxiety had lingered like smoke after a fire ever since he rescued me from the Covenant - he'd tried to hide it, but it seemed to be clinging to his movements even more now - the way he'd glance toward the gates all the time, or how he check the locks on the doors every night even though we'd already done it. He kept Briar and Sawyer within eyesight any time he could - like his heart couldn't settle unless he saw them breathing.

And with me... he was gentler, quieter. Still himself, but... a little wound up. Like he was bracing for a loss.

He'd always been fiercely protective of the people he loved - especially me and the kids - but ever since the Whisperers, and then the Covenant, that protectiveness had hardened into something unmovable. Like stone, or iron. And me running into the fire after him that day seemed to have only intensified his unease further.

I couldn't fault him for it. Hell, it was one of the things I'd fallen in love with - the way he'd tear through anyone who threatened those he cared about, how he'd throw himself into danger without a second thought if it meant keeping the people he loved safe. That fire, that grit and loyalty... it was him.

But the problem was - my fight was coming back.

For a long time, I'd quieted it. Pushed it down under layers of blankets and motherly instinct. After the kids were born, I'd changed. Or maybe everything had changed. I wasn't just Athena anymore, or even Mrs. Dixon.

I was Mom.

And that scared the absolute hell out of me.

The thought of leaving them, of not making it back... it had paralyzed me. I barely left Alexandria for years, but Daryl didn't have that luxury. He was too good at what he did - tracking, hunting, fighting. He'd kept doing what he'd always done while I worked the gardens and sat on the council and did whatever needed to be done here. That was how it worked. That was how we kept our family safe.

But after Briar had started school, and Sawyer grew to be all muddy boots and bruised knees, sprinting around the place like a tiny wildling with endless energy and zero fear - I'd started craving the old version of myself again - the Athena who could take down a grown man in seconds; he one who fought beside her husband on missions; who was shoulder to shoulder with him, back to back in blood and fire.

I'd gotten a glimpse of her again just before things went to shit - when we escorted Magna's group to Hilltop before the Whisperers and then the Covenant blew everything to hell.

Now, with the Whisperers seemingly gone (though we knew we could never be sure), and my leg as healed as it ever would be, that itch had returned.

I wanted back in.

It felt selfish - especially with how on edge Daryl seemed - and maybe it was. But the desire for more than just motherhood - just safety - burned in my chest. I loved being a mom - loved it more than I thought was possible. But that wasn't all I was.

And I couldn't keep it to myself anymore.

I found Daryl in the garage, where he was half-under his bike, grease on his hands and sweat clinging to his neck. The door was rolled halfway up, letting in the late afternoon light. His tools were scattered across a cloth on the floor, and I could still hear the kids giggling from the yard.

"Hey, you," I said quietly, stepping inside.

He didn't look up. "Hey, baby."

Hearing him call me that still made my heart do strange things even after all this time. "Wanted to talk to you about something..."

He rolled out from under the bike and sat up, wiping his hands on a rag. He squinted at me. "Yeah. Ya okay?"

I closed the door behind me, leant back against it, and took a breath.

"I wanna start going out with you again," I said. "When you leave Alexandria. Runs, scouting, whatever."

He blinked, caught off guard.

"I want back in on the action, Daryl."

His lips pressed into a tight line. He didn't say anything at first, just set the rag down and leaned forward, forearms on his knees. "Why now?"

"Because I miss it. I miss me - that part of me."

He looked away, jaw working. "Yeah... I know."

"You know I love our babies more than anything in the world. But before they were born, I fought beside you. I protected you. I helped keep people alive. And then they came along, and I got scared. I thought if I left, even for a second, something would happen, and they'd have to grow up without me."

His throat bobbed. "Weren't unreasonable."

"No. But I let it swallow me. I let it take over. And now that they're getting older, I've realized something."

He finally met my gaze.

"I used to think I didn't want kids because I'd have to give up what made me, me. But that was wrong. Being their mom is one of the best things in my life. But it shouldn't have meant burying that other part. The tough one. The fighter."

A long silence followed. His expression was unreadable, his eyes scanning mine like he was trying to see behind the words.

"I know you worry," I said softly. "And I get it. I really do. But it scares me every time you go out there, too."

His shoulders sank. That was the part that hit.

"I never stopped wanting to protect you," I added. "I want back in so I can watch your back again, like I used to. I don't wanna sit behind the walls hoping you come home. I want to help make sure you do."

He rubbed a hand down his face. "Ath."

I knelt in front of him, putting my hands on his thighs. "You fell in love with the woman who could take care of herself... She isn't gone."

His eyes softened. "Ya think I don't know that? Ya could kick the ass of anyone here."

"Damn right."

There was a moment of silence before he reached out and tucked a piece of hair behind my ear - his hand lingering on my cheek.

"Scares the shit outta me," he admitted. "Thinkin' 'bout somethin' happenin' to ya again..."

I leaned into his palm. "I know you've been on edge since you brought me back. That's why I haven't said anything sooner, I didn't want to stress you out more - but it's not going away. It's like I'm remembering who I was, who I still am... I need to do this."

He sighed, chest heaving. "Don't never wanna change who ya are, Ath. Ya know I'll never stop ya doin' yur thing..."

I smirked. "That because you know you couldn't if you tried?"

He huffed a small laugh. "Pretty much."

"I haven't come to you for permission - I know that's not how we work - but I wanted to speak to you about it properly. Give you chance to say everything you're thinking before I suit up and start beating asses again." I reached out and took his hand, curling my fingers around his. "So talk to me. Tell me what you're thinking."

He sighed, pulling my hand to his lips and pressing a gentle kiss to it. "Jus'... when I'm out there, I feel better knowin' one of us is near the kids... Shit goes south 'n' I ain't there? Nobody'll protect 'em harder than you."

"Merle's here. Annie's here. Hell, the whole damn community loves those kids like they're their own. Do you think I'd even consider this I didn't think they were safe?"

He grunted. "Nah. Jus'... nothin's ever for sure."

"Michonne heads out for days - RJ and Judith are well taken care of... Same with Gracie when Aaron and Eric are both gone at the same time, or Hershel, when Maggie and Glenn leave Hilltop together."

"Mhmh."

I gave him a teasing look before climbing into his lap and winding my arms around his neck, whispering, "You know we're the dream team. Me and you. We always have been."

I could feel it as I looked down at him - the slow melting of resistance in his shoulders. That reluctant shift. He knew there was no changing my mind, no talking me out of it.

"Yeah." he sighed. "Suppose gettin' more time with ya ain't never gonna be a bad thing."

I grinned. "One more thing. I probably need some new weapons."

He looked at me for a long beat. Then, finally, he nodded once. "I'll sort it."

"Thank you," I whispered, fingers running through his hair. "I love you."

"Love ya more," he murmured.

And just like that, it was decided.

The dream team was getting back on the field.

~

The kids didn't bat an eyelid when Daryl and I sat them down to explain that I'd be leaving Alexandria sometimes to work with Daddy, just like I had before they were born.

I expected questions from Briar, maybe even a little pushback - she'd always been an observant little thing, always wanted to know the ins and outs of everything - but instead of concern or protest, she just looked me over with those sharp blue eyes and smiled, like she was excited to see her mom rediscovering herself.

Sawyer, meanwhile, ran circles around us with a wooden sword tucked into his belt, already playing out some imagined mission of his own. When I told him about the plan, he just fist-bumped me like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Maybe it was because we raised them in a world where bravery wasn't optional, or maybe they just knew me too well. Either way, their trust settled something in my chest that had been tight for a long time.

This was really happening - I was finding myself again. Every part of me felt like it was reawakening after years of sleep.

It had been my choice to opt for the quieter life after the kids were born. Nobody forced it on me, and to be honest, it surprised a lot of people. I think Daryl missed me being by his side at first, but over time he found relief in knowing I wasn't putting myself at risk when I didn't need to, instead, relishing in my role as mom, council member and general Alexandria handy-person.

I knew Daryl was quietly anxious about my return to the fray, especially after the Covenant, but he didn't dwell on it. He knew I needed this, and one thing my husband had never done was try and tell me what to do. A part of me was even beginning to suspect he was growing a little excited as it drew closer.

He'd cleaned up some of my old gear, oiled the joints in my leather holsters, and gifted me a new set of blades - slender, wicked sharp, perfect for quick work. He'd found them in an old survivalist's cabin a while back, wrapped in oilskin with a note that read, Always be ready.

"Figured ya deserved some fresh ones," he'd said, handing them over like they were sacred. "Still balanced like your old ones."

I spent a week getting reacquainted in the lead up - Sparring with Michonne, practising with Rosita. Merle was watching one day and dared to call me rusty... I called him a jackass.

Then, the morning came of my first proper run in almost six years (discounting the shit with the Whisperers as that was a vacation to Hilltop gone to hell, not something I'd chosen).

The sun had stretched across the rooftops, the light a soft amber hue that made the frost sparkle like sugar on the sidewalks. It was one of those crisp mornings where everything felt quiet - like the world was holding its breath before the day began.

Briar watched me gear up with a mixture of awe and approval, a smirk on her face that was far too grown for her years.

"You look cool, Mom," she said, swinging her legs from the kitchen counter as I strapped on my thigh holster.

"Yeah," Sawyer echoed through a mouthful of toast, crumbs falling from his grinning cheeks. "Like you're gonna beat up bad guys."

Daryl ruffled Sawyer's hair as he sauntered into the kitchen. "She is," he muttered. "Yur mom's a badass."

He looked very pleased with himself as he let his eyes slide over every part of me, biting his lip without even realizing it.

"See something you like, Mr Dixon?" I teased, folding my arms in mock distain.

"Mhmh," he smirked. "Bringin' back some memories."

"Can I touch that one?" Sawyer asked, interrupting our little flirting session by pointing at the long blade now strapped to my thigh.

"When you're older," I smirked, ruffling his hair.

Daryl stood by the kitchen window, tying a red bandana around his wrist, his crossbody satchel already packed with supplies.

"Ya got your hat?" he asked Briar.

She held up the purple knit beanie Carol had made her last winter and smirked. "Obviously."

Daryl grunted, but I saw the flicker of a smile tug at his mouth. He looked at me again as I pulled on my leather jacket - my old one, the one that still had a small rip on the sleeve from a walker that had gotten too close years ago. I'd almost forgotten what it felt like to wear it. Almost.

"You ready, wild boy?" I crouched down and helped Sawyer put on his jacket. "You're going to see Barbara today, remember?"

"Will she have snacks?" he asked, voice hopeful.

Daryl lifted him effortlessly onto one hip. "Bet she will if ya ask nice."

The four of us stepped outside, the air biting in that late-winter way, and made our way down the street. Alexandria was already in full swing. People waved from porches, smoke curled from chimneys, and the clang of repairs echoed somewhere near the fence.

Daryl and I both pulled Briar in for a hug as we reached Alexandria's small schoolhouse.

"Love ya, my lil badass," Daryl told her as he pressed a rough kiss to her forehead.

"Kick butt today, Mommy!" she laughed as she ran toward the door.

"I will," I chuckled back. "Love you!"

We watched until she vanished behind the door, flanked by Judith and Gracie - her 'big girl friends', and then turned toward Barbara's. The small house smelled of cinnamon and old books when she opened the door, a welcoming contrast to the cold.

"Well, look who's here," she smiled, eyes creasing as she opened her arms for Sawyer. "Hello, sweetpea."

Sawyer launched himself into her with his usual enthusiasm. "Hi! Do you have snacks?"

She laughed. "You know I've always got snacks."

Barbara looked over at me and Daryl. "The A-team ride again, huh?

"Yeah," I said. "It's definitely time."

Barbara and Sawyer waved us off as we stepped back out into the street, our gear strapped and weapons checked.

"Ya ready?" Daryl asked, glancing back at me as we climbed onto his bike.

"Yeah," I smiled, wrapping my arms tightly around his waist. "Let's go be us again."

The bike rumbled beneath us like a heartbeat - steady, loud, and stubborn as ever. My arms were wrapped around Daryl's waist, my cheek pressed against his back, breathing in leather, pine, and the ever-present scent of lingering smoke. It was him. All of it. The road, the wind, the weight of being out here again - it felt like we'd never stopped.

He slowed as we neared the outskirts of what might've once been a farming supply depot. The place was half-eaten by ivy and rust, crouched under decades of weather and neglect like it had something to hide.

When the engine cut, I swung off the seat and stretched, groaning. "That thing still makes my ass go numb."

Daryl dismounted behind me, giving me a sideways look. "Ain't built for comfort."

"I noticed. Thought maybe after all these years she'd soften up a little."

He smirked, adjusting his crossbow. "She's loyal, s'what counts."

"Takes after her owner, then," I muttered, rubbing my thighs. "Stiff, stubborn, and liable to break my tailbone."

Daryl snorted, tossing me my gear bag. "Ya sure yur ready for this?"

I arched a brow. "Baby, I bet I can still clear a building before you've even figured out which end of your crossbow to point."

He smiled properly now, looking down like he was trying to hide it as he toyed with one of his knives. "Jus' messin' with ya."

"Watch it," I warned, slinging my bag over my shoulder. "Might show you up."

"We'll see 'bout that," he drawled, nodding toward the building.

We made our way toward the warped front doors of Cooper's Feed & Farm, the sign hanging sideways like a drunk old man. Ivy crawled through the broken windows, rusted barrels lay tipped over in the grass, and the whole place smelled faintly like manure and abandonment.

"Wait," I said suddenly. "Didn't we hit this place before? Way back when we first found Alexandria?"

"Yeah," he replied. "Eric swears there might be seed packets we missed."

"We wouldn't have missed seeds." I stepped over a tire half-swallowed by dirt. "We were pretty thorough."

"Depends what ya mean by thorough," he said, a mischievous glint flashing in his eyes.

I paused. Then it hit me, and I grinned. "Ohhh. That day."

"Damn right."

"We barely checked two rooms," I laughed. "We spent most of the afternoon fucking on a pile of alfalfa."

He gave a lopsided grin. "Best use that hay ever had."

"Debatable. It got everywhere."

He shrugged. "Worth it."

I laughed again but let it fade as we reached the entrance. I caught Daryl glancing at me from the corner of his eye.

"You good?" I asked.

"Mmhm. Just watchin' your six."

"You've been watching my six since we parked."

He didn't even try to deny it this time. "Can't help it. It's a good six."

I mock-scowled at him. "Flattery won't distract me from the fact that you're acting weird."

"Ain't bein' weird," he muttered.

"You're hovering."

"M'not."

"Yes, you are."

He scratched the back of his neck, guilty as hell. "Jus' makin' sure yur alright."

I sighed. "Baby. I'm fine. A little rusty, maybe, but I haven't forgotten how to be your badass wife."

He cracked a small smile. "Never said ya had."

"Then stop looking at me like I'm made of eggshells."

He kicked the door open with a little more force than necessary. "Fine. After you, Rambo."

Inside, the place smelled like rot, rat piss, and dust. Broken shelves leaned against the walls. Crushed old feed bags made soft crunching noises under our boots. It was quiet, and still somehow noisy - the kind of silence that's just loud with tension.

We moved automatically. I took the left, he took the right. I spotted a cabinet and started toward it.

"Hold up," he said, suddenly beside me.

I raised an eyebrow. "Really?"

"Could be rigged."

"It's a chicken feed bin."

"Ya never know."

"You think someone booby-trapped the chicken feed bin?"

"Coulda."

"You're cute when you're paranoid."

He scowled. "Ain't cute."

I rolled my eyes and opened the cabinet. No explosion. Just dust, mouse poop, and - miracle of miracles - a sealed bag of seeds.

I held it up triumphantly. "Boom."

"Smartass."

"Yup."

We made our way to the back. Daryl stayed close. Too close. It was protective, sweet even - but it also felt like he was waiting for me to trip on a stick and impale myself. I bit my tongue.

"You hear that?" I whispered as we reached the back hallway.

He tilted his head. A faint shuffling.

"Back corner."

We moved like liquid, like we always did - quiet and fast.

Then, we were met with not one, but a small mob of walkers - six, maybe seven, dragging their rotting bodies toward us from behind a half-collapsed shelf.

"Shit-"

They surged too fast. One lunged at me. I shoved it, stumbled, nearly slipped on a cracked sack of grain. A bolt whistled past me, embedding in its skull.

"Dammit," I muttered, yanking my own knife free.

We fought back-to-back. There were more than we'd thought - at least ten now, groaning and snarling as they poured through a busted doorway like sludge. I sliced one across the face, then ducked as another snapped inches from my throat. Daryl grabbed its shoulder and slammed it into the wall so hard the drywall cracked.

We moved as one, deadly and silent except for grunts and heavy breaths. When one tried to come at me from behind, Daryl turned and hurled his knife straight through its skull with the kind of accuracy that made me want to jump him right there.

But then another - this one faster somehow - nearly tackled him from the side.

I didn't hesitate for a millisecond - I lunged, buried my blade in its temple, and kicked the body away before it collapsed onto him.

He turned, chest heaving.

"I'm watchin' your six, too," I said, breathless.

He looked at me like I'd just stripped naked in a church - wide-eyed, stunned, reverent - and then all that emotion twisted into something else entirely. Something primal.

His steps toward me were slow, measured, but every inch was thick with tension. I felt the air change around us - like the calm before a lightning strike. My heart slammed against my ribs.

His hands were on me a second later - calloused palms surprisingly gentle as they framed my face, tilting it just enough to push his mouth into mine. It wasn't sweet. It wasn't careful. It was raw and desperate, years of muscle memory and need snapping loose in a single breath.

His lips were fire, his tongue demanding, and so were mine. I groaned, grabbing fistfuls of his vest, clinging to him like I was drowning and he was the only thing keeping me afloat. My knees went weak - not from fear or adrenaline - but from the heat that roared to life inside me. Like striking flint after a long winter.

We'd always been dangerous together - on the battlefield, in this cruel world. Fighting side by side again, slipping back into that rhythm of trust and instinct - it had reignited something in both of us. That click. That knowledge that when it came to survival - or pleasure - we were damn near invincible together.

I pulled him closer, lips parting as I gasped for air between kisses. His teeth grazed mine, a growl rumbling deep in his chest. My back hit the metal shelf behind me, knocking over a rusted canister that clanged against the concrete floor, but neither of us flinched.

"Here?" I gasped, half-laughing, breathless. "Again?"

"Can't wait," he rasped into my neck, voice a gravel-soaked promise that sent shivers racing down my spine.

His hands were already on my hips, tugging at my pants with the kind of urgency that made my pulse jump. I fumbled with his belt, both of us working in frantic, practiced tandem. I yanked his pants down just enough, while he took mine clean off, tossed into the dust and debris of the ruined farm supply store like old skin.

I hadn't planned on getting my ass out today. Certainly not here. But hell if I was complaining.

He lifted me with those strong arms - the ones that had shielded me behind broken-down cars, wrapped around me through cold nights, pulled me from wreckage when I couldn't stand. Arms that had always meant safety to me, even in chaos. My legs wrapped tight around his waist, and I guided us together without a second's hesitation.

The sound he made as I lowered myself down onto him - half groan, half growl - reverberated straight through my chest. And then he was moving, buried deep inside me, filling every empty space with heat and need and him. The rhythm started hard and fast, like the fight hadn't ended, just changed shape. Like every thrust was another battle cry.

I threw my head back, moaning freely, eyes fluttering shut as the tension inside me coiled tighter with every movement. If more walkers came, let them. We'd fight again, like we always had. Only this time, we'd do it with me naked from the waist down.

"Admit it," I gasped against his shoulder, nails digging into his back as he pounded into me so hard I saw stars. "You missed me out here with you."

He didn't answer right away - just growled and gripped me tighter, his hips slamming into mine with renewed force. "I missed ya," he finally rasped. 'I really fuckin' missed ya."

We weren't just screwing in a broken-down store. We were reclaiming something once again - each other, our rhythm, the part of us that had always thrived out in the wild.

His mouth found mine again, his hand slipped beneath my shirt, dragging across my skin. My breath hitched when his thumb brushed over the scars on my side - the ones from the explosion and the gunshot all those years ago, and I realized he was feeling the history between us.

We moved in sync, bodies slick with sweat, surrounded by dust and decay, but alive - so painfully, vividly alive. Every kiss, every thrust, every shuddering breath pulled us closer to that edge.

When I came, it was with a cry I couldn't stifle, my whole body tensing, legs tightening around him as waves crashed through me. He followed with a guttural moan, burying his face in my neck as he let go, his arms trembling as he held me up.

For a long moment, we stayed like that - foreheads pressed together, hearts thundering in sync, the smell of sweat and old wood and something sweeter: us.

Finally, I exhaled a laugh. "So... seed run, huh?"

He chuckled, low and husky. "Successful seed run."

"I still say you were watching my ass too much back there."

"Ain't denyin' that."

We kissed again - slower, smiling this time - already knowing we'd have to make ourselves decent again and head back soon. But for now, wrapped in each other, surrounded by proof that the world had fallen, so much had changed, and yet we were still standing, still a powerful duo, we let the silence settle.

Still fighting. Still burning. Always.

~

The next few weeks passed in a blur of dirt, danger, and the steady thrum of purpose. The runs weren't always as explosively sexy as that first time, but they were always eventful - always.

One morning, Daryl, Eugene and I were ankle-deep in mud trying to dislodge a crate of canned food from an overturned truck we'd come across, when a nest of wasps exploded from inside a tire. Daryl cursed louder than I'd heard in years. I got stung twice - he got stung five times - and Eugene insisted on applying crushed yarrow to the welts while quoting ancient Roman remedies.

Another day, we were searching the back of a collapsed gas station when a raccoon lunged out from inside an old freezer and latched onto my pant leg. It wasn't infected - we still haven't come across an animal walker in all these years - just pissed. Daryl finally pried it off me when he'd finished chucking. I was unharmed, but Sawyer couldn't stop drawing pictures of "Mummy vs. Trash Panda" for three days after Daryl told him the story.

Then there was the time Daryl stepped into a snare trap left behind by some long-gone scavenger. He dangled upside down for a few minutes while I laughed so hard I dropped my knife. "Ain't funny," he grumbled, red-faced and hanging like a pissed-off possum. But even he cracked a grin once I cut him down.

Of course, it wasn't all fun - there were near misses, scary moments, small injuries. Of course there were.

But still, no matter what the day threw at us, we got to come home.

In the late afternoons, we returned - sweaty, often bruised, blood-smudged and bone-tired. Daryl would always take a minute after we climbed off the bike. He'd brush the dirt from my arms, kiss the fresh bruises blooming on the visible parts of me, then rest his forehead against mine. That moment, quiet and reverent, always felt like a prayer of thanks. Like he was just grateful I was still standing in front of him.

Then, we'd collect Briar from school and Sawyer from Merle or Carol or Barbara's house, and we'd be pulled back into our world.

The one that mattered most.

I'd listen to Briar recount every tiny moment of her day like it was the most important mission anyone had ever been on, like her father and I hadn't likely just been dodging death an hour earlier.

Sawyer would be bouncing barefoot on the couch, mid-story, mid-song, mid-something. Daryl letting him jump into his arms over and over.

In the soft glow of Alexandria in an evening, we weren't warriors anymore - we were just mom and dad.

Out there, we hunted. In here, we healed.

That night, after dinner, Sawyer was building with his wooden blocks, while Briar was lying on the floor with her legs up on the wall, humming to herself as she fiddled with scraps of twine and dried flowers.

Daryl and I were curled up on the couch - his hand resting on my knee, my head on his shoulder - when Briar sat up suddenly, eyes bright.

"How long 'til my birthday?"

I blinked. "Your birthday?"

"Yeah," she said matter-of-factly. "I'm gonna be six. So I want a big girl party."

Daryl and I looked at each other, confused.

We'd always kept track of the kids' birthdays, marked them with handmade gifts and quiet celebrations just for the four of us. For Briar's fifth, Daryl whittled her a wooden bunny and carved her name into its belly. Sawyer's last birthday, he carved him a small slingshot from an old tree limb and taught him how to use it. We'd bake cookies when we could, sing songs around candles, made the day feel special even if it wasn't loud or big.

But a party? That was a relic of the old world. Daryl and I hadn't celebrated our own birthdays since the fall. We didn't even know what day it was half the time.

"A big girl party," Briar repeated firmly. "Because six is big."

Daryl chuckled, brushing a thumb over his lips. "What exactly happens at a big girl party? Dress-up? Glitter? Somethin' with unicorns?"

Briar shook her head with a theatrical sigh. "No! I want all the grown-ups to come. And I want everyone to get drunk."

Daryl and I had to fight not to burst out laughing.

"Drunk?" I gasped. "Where did you even hear that word?"

"I heard Carl telling Judith," she said, crossing her arms. "About when you all lived in that church or something with Uncle Gabriel. He said the grown-ups found wine and drank it and acted really silly. It sounded fun. I wanna see that."

I had to bury my face in Daryl's shoulder then to keep from snorting. He was already shaking with silent laughter beside me.

"That night," I murmured, "God... I'd almost forgotten."

We'd not long escaped Terminus. The weight of that horror still clung to us, but that night... that night had felt like breathing again. Rick had got all existential, Hershel had tried to go back to his long-burned down farm. Tara tried to duel everyone with cutlery of some kind. Carl tried to teach Eugene how to do 'dramatic action rolls'. Gabriel definitely threw up.

It was the first time Daryl ever said anything about marrying me - shyly bringing it up like a secret too fragile for daylight.

And later, after he'd begrudgingly joined Glenn's press-up contest, we'd snuck into Gabriel's office and made love on his desk like the world hadn't ended.

It did feel like a million years ago.

"Was a good night," Daryl murmured, lost in the same memories as me.

Briar was watching us like a hawk. "Sooo... can I have my party?"

I blinked, coming back to the present, then looked up at Daryl. He met my gaze with a soft, crooked grin.

"Erm... I guess," I said, "if someone planned it..."

"I'll plan it," Briar declared proudly. "But there has to be that wine stuff."

"No wine," Daryl said quickly, pointing a finger at her.

She pouted. "But that's the fun part!"

He glanced at me, trying to keep a straight face. "Not for six-year-olds."

"But you can have it," she insisted. "And the other grown-ups. You both need to be silly."

I raised an eyebrow. "Do we?"

She nodded solemnly. "I want to see you laugh so hard your eyes leak."

"What?" I chuckled, bemused by this whole conversation.

"Carl said that's what you did when Aunt Rosita fell off a pew, right after you did a backflip or cartwheel or something."

I looked at Daryl again. He wasn't smiling now - he was watching me with something soft in his eyes.

Maybe it was time to laugh like that again.

"Well," I said slowly, eyeing Daryl. "Maybe a little silly wouldn't hurt... I suppose we could invite a few people."

"No wine," Daryl added again.

But the look we exchanged... said otherwise.

Briar clapped her hands in delight, dancing around the room. "Yes! Yes! It's gonna be the best big girl party ever!"

As she ran off to plan her guest list, Daryl leaned in and kissed my temple.

I leaned into him, the memory of old laughter and warm light lingering like a half-remembered song.

A big girl party.

For our little girl in a broken world that had somehow given us something whole.

After everything that had happened recently, the Whisperers, the Covenant, all of it... Maybe it was time to get a little silly with our family again.

A/N: Lots of you enjoyed the chapter where our characters got drunk and stupid in Gabriel's church all that time ago, so I thought it was time to bring them (or those still alive 😬) back together again.

Expect silliness! ❤️