When Rosie wasn't tied to a chair in that dark room, she was kept in a cell. The people keeping her in this cell, however, weren't as nice as Negan and his people had once been about it. She got no food, no water, no blankets- no nothing. All she had was the clothes on her body and a feeling of dread crawling its way around her frame.
In this cell, she kept incredibly quiet and tucked herself away into the darkest corner. Not because she was afraid of the people keeping her in there- she was afraid, but she would never let them know it- but because she knew that in that same room, in a separate cell, Daryl was tied up, too. She had heard his voice at one point, speaking to Leah as she walked through the room.
Daryl couldn't know she was there. He just couldn't.
Rosie had overheard his plan- or, rather, she overheard him talking to Leah and figured out his plan for herself. By eavesdropping incessantly, Rosie had discovered that Leah was under the impression that Daryl didn't know any of the people he was traveling with. He was helping them in trade for food, water, and safety in numbers.
Ian was yet another concern. Rosie had hardly seen him since they were split up into different rooms, and when she was able to get a glimpse of him, all she could see was his bloody, swollen face. All that meant was that he hadn't talked just yet. And, decidedly, Rosie wouldn't either.
The door to the room with the cells creaked open later the next morning. Liam held it open for two older, stronger men, who each held one arm of Ian's. Ian kept fighting against them, but they still dragged him into a cell somewhat easily. Out of the corner of her eye, Rosie could see blood pouring from his mouth and nose, staining his shirt red. He was silent. Numb when they tossed him into a cell and slammed the gate shut.
"Get the girl out," a taller man said.
Liam nodded silently, taking out a set of keys and making his way over to the cell Rosie was being kept in. Rosie made eye contact with him as he unlocked the cell, and he gave an almost unnoticeable shake of his head.
They hadn't broken Ian just yet.
As Liam twisted the key, he pulled the cell door open. In walked the taller man. He grabbed Rosie by the arm and pulled her up to her feet. She struggled in his grasp, trying to rip her arm out of his grip, but it wasn't any use. The second she did it, Liam grabbed onto her other arm and the two practically dragged her out of the room.
She was led down the hall and back into that dark room with the chair in the center of it. They shoved her down into the chair and got to work, tying her to it. When they were done, they both stood back up. Liam stood off to the side, leaning against the wall and watching with crossed arms. The taller man stood in front of Rosie.
Her eyes angry, Rosie glared up at the man. "I ain't tellin' you shit," she spat.
"You think so?" the man asked, a small smirk on his face. His hair was only a bit shorter than Daryl's and only a few shades darker. Rather than falling slightly over his forehead, like Daryl's did, this man's hair was a bit more slicked back. His features were pointed and sharp. Rosie could feel that, deep inside, without any known exact cause, he was angry.
Still, Rosie nodded. "I do think so," she confirmed. She was playing a dangerous game and she knew it. But if it meant her family had a chance at surviving, she didn't care what they did to her.
The man threw a punch to the left side of her face. Rosie took the punch as best as she could, biting down on her lip, trying to pretend that it didn't hurt like hell. Leah had already delivered her share of hits. This wasn't anything new.
"You saw what I did to your little boyfriend in there, didn't you?" the man asked, his eyebrows raised.
Rosie opened her mouth to answer, but he punched her before she could even get a word out. She groaned in pain, spitting out a wad of saliva and blood. She sniffed, taking a deep breath before answering him with, "I'm a lesbian."
Liam pressed his lips together, repressing a laugh at her comment. Of course, the girl Ian had been crushing on for years on end turned out to be a lesbian, and of course, she would think it was appropriate to correct the man- Carver- on that in the midst of her questioning.
Another hit. "I don't care," Carver said.
Blood poured from Rosie's nose at this point. It tasted like pennies and school water fountains as it dribbled down her face, seeping into her mouth through her lips.
Carver gripped the back of Rosie's hair, pulling it back hard in order to force her to look at him. Rosie glared up at him, her jaw tight with both anger and pain as she clenched her teeth together.
"We'll start simple. What's your name?" the man asked, his voice strong and demanding.
"Fuck you." She didn't know if she was supposed to tell him her name. She didn't know if she was supposed to tell him anything at all. So fuck you was the best answer she knew she could give.
"What's your name?!" Carver shouted, pulling Rosie's hair even harder. Rosie conjured up the largest amount of blood and spit that she could manage, and she launched it up at Carver's face, right into his eyes. His jaw tightened as he wiped his eyes clean.
Frozen in her place, Rosie stared at him. She tried to continue looking brave, but her eyes were wide with fear. She had pissed him off just enough for him to want to kill her, and she could see that anger growing inside of him. But she had to remain strong. She had to keep her secrets. She had to protect her family. So she swallowed, took a deep breath, and continued glaring.
After a moment of silence, Carver swiped his knife out of its sheath. Rosie flinched as he grabbed onto her hand, laying it flat out on the armrest of the chair. He held his knife against one of her fingers and looked her straight in the eyes.
"What do you know about Dixon?" he asked. Daryl wasn't who he was supposed to be questioning Rosie about, but he was letting his curiosity and concern for Leah get the best of him. He barely knew Daryl and he already hated his guts. He wanted to know whether or not Daryl was lying.
Luckily for Daryl, Rosie had caught onto his lying a little while ago, so she knew exactly what to tell Carver. "Who the hell is Dixon?" she asked with fake confusion.
Growing more and more frustrated, Carver pressed the knife closer to Rosie's pointer finger- close enough to draw blood, but not enough to cut deep into the skin. "The one you were traveling with! What do you know about him?!" he yelled.
"I don't know who the hell you're talkin' about!" Rosie yelled back at him, trying to wriggle her wrist out of his grasp. Even if the knife wasn't pressing down enough to really slice deep into her finger, it still stung, just barely breaking skin.
"This isn't what you're supposed to be asking about, Carver," Liam interjected nervously.
"Stay out of this, Liam," Carver growled, looking back at the boy. Liam stood stiffly and anxiously, but he stayed silent. He wasn't brave enough to stand up to Carver, out of all people. Carver turned back to Rosie. "You wanna lose your finger?" he asked rhetorically. Rosie shook her head, even though it was obvious that anyone in their right mind would want to lose their finger. "The one with the dog. Who is he?"
"I don't know!" Rosie shouted. "Even if I did, I told you, I ain't tellin' you jack shit!"
"What's your name?!" Carver shouted in return, now digging the knife deeper into Rosie's finger. Rosie let out a cry of pain and squirmed in the chair, squeezing her eyes shut tight, but she wouldn't say a word.
"Just tell him! It's just your name!" Liam shouted from behind Carver. Honestly, he didn't want to see Carver cut off Rosie's finger, either.
"What's your name?!" Carver asked one more time.
Before Rosie could tell him to go to hell, the door to the room was pulled open, grabbing everyone's attention. Rosie's eyes shot open to look over at the door. She hadn't even noticed the two people watching through the window before, but now she could see them.
Standing outside the door was an older man with glasses, a beanie, and a mustache. Next to that older man was Daryl. Daryl, standing tall with knives in the slots on his belt. Daryl had gotten them to trust him. He had gotten them to trust him enough with knives, so why the hell was Carver still asking Rosie about him?
"Speed things up for me," the older man- Pope- ordered.
Daryl's body was tense, his heart racing in his chest. What was he supposed to do? It already made his heart ache and his stomach churn to see another person do that to Rosie, but to do it himself? To hurt the girl he promised he would never ever hurt, no matter the circumstances?
But, God, these circumstances were mighty. It wasn't just his own life that was dependent on this. It was everyone's life. It was Maggie's, Ian's, Gabriel's, Aaron's- everyone's. Hell, even the children and everyone else back in Alexandria were dependent on this mission. If they didn't get food back to them soon, they wouldn't all make it.
Damnit. Damnit. When had Rosie gotten there? Was it before or after he did? How long had she been there? Did she know? Did Liam know? Why wasn't Liam telling anyone? There were far too many questions to ask and far too many lies going on to know how the situation would play out.
Daryl was stuck.
Maybe he could be gentle. Maybe he could be nicer than Carver would. Maybe this was better for Rosie. Maybe he could tell her what to do with his eyes and maybe she wouldn't have to get hurt so badly.
God damnit! Why the hell did she have to be there? He knew he never should have let her go on this run. She should have stayed home with the other kids. He should have just told her, plain and simple, that she wasn't an adult. She was a kid and she would listen to him. But he let her go, and now she was here, and he was going to have to hurt her.
"Well?" Pope pushed.
Clearing his throat, Daryl entered the room. "Alright. I'm up," he said, trying not to allow his voice to shake with his words.
Liam's eyes were wide as he looked between the two of them. Rosie and Daryl had been inseparable before. Daryl treated her as if she were his own flesh and blood, as if he had been there from the start, in the hospital, watching with shining eyes as she took her first breaths.
"Like hell you are!" Carver argued, standing up to face Daryl. Pope and Leah stepped into the room, Pope giving Carver a stern look on his way in. Carver sighed, biting his tongue and shaking his head.
As Daryl stepped closer to the chair, Rosie stared at him with eyes as wide as saucers, gleaming with a thick layer of unshed tears. Daryl stared back at her, trying his best not to wince at the sight of her busted lip, swollen cheek, and bloody nose. Her breathing was heavy and shaky. The sound of it gripped Daryl's heart and squeezed it like a fist.
"Get to it," Pope muttered from the doorway.
Taking a deep breath, Daryl nodded. He glanced over at Carver. "What'd you get out of her?" he asked.
"Like she said; jack shit," Carver answered irritatedly. "Couldn't even get a name outta her."
If Rosie hadn't been having an internal panic attack, she would have smirked, or maybe even laughed at that. But she could hardly get herself to breathe, let alone to laugh.
Would Daryl do it?
He would have to.
Daryl looked at Rosie again, meeting her eyes. "What's your name?" he asked her.
Rosie looked back at him, her lips sealed shut, silently asking for directions. What do I and don't I tell you? her eyes were asking.
Ever so slightly, Daryl shook his head. Don't say anything yet, his eyes told her. So Rosie stayed silent.
Unsure of what to say, Rosie glanced over at Leah. She hated Leah. She needed to pretend to hate Daryl, too. So she looked at him again. "You were s'posed to be helpin' us, you piece a' shit," she growled out at him, her voice raspy.
Next, it just hurt.
It felt like Daryl's muscles were fighting against him, pulling and pulling the opposite way they were supposed to, as he balled his hand into a fist, brought his arm back, and punched Rosie across the face, breaking the skin on her left cheekbone.
She tried. Rosie tried to take it like she would any other punch. She acted as if it was just any other hit from any other person. Her acting was enough to fool Leah, Pope, and Carver, but Daryl could see the hurt in her blue eyes.
He liked that her eyes were blue because they mirrored his own, but now, looking into those blue eyes twisted up insides.
"What's your name?" he asked again.
Sinking her teeth into her bottom lip, Rosie looked for direction. Another no from Daryl. Another don't tell me. Which, more than likely, meant another hit.
So, silence, it was. Rosie didn't say a thing.
It would just be unrealistic for her to give anything up right away, seeing as she wouldn't say a thing to Carver. With Carver, she didn't know what she could and couldn't say, so she decided not saying anything was the best option. With Daryl, though, she finally had someone to tell what and what not to say.
Daryl pulled his knife out of its sheath. He pressed the very tip of it to the top of her hand. "I'll cut right through your hand, girl," he threatened lowly, pressing down the teeniest bit harder. Rosie's heart raced. Tears were slipping from her eyes, but she didn't want them to. She looked at Daryl, and this time, a nod. You can tell me this time, his eyes said. "What's your name?!" Daryl shouted.
"Rosie! I'm- I'm- I'm Rosie! Jesus!" Rosie answered quickly, her voice wobbling up and down.
"Rosie what?" Pope asked.
Again, Daryl pressed down just a little bit harder.
This might have been the part that hurt Rosie the most. Not the hitting or the knives or the yelling. Not Daryl hurting her. Not Daryl being forced to do what David had once done to her. Not any of that. The part that hurt the worst was the name Rosie was about to say.
"Banks! Rosie Banks!" she shouted, her voice breaking with her words. "Please just stop!"
Daryl's hands shook with anxiety, but he kept his knife where it was. He hated that name and hearing it out of Rosie's mouth was even worse than hearing it out of Negan's. His heart throbbed in his chest.
More tears slipped down from the corners of Rosie's eyes.
"My name doesn't even matter! I'm not- I won't tell you nothin', either way," Rosie cried.
She hated this. She hated every little bit of this. But Daryl hated it even more. He hated it because all he wanted to do was clean her face up, bandage her wounds, and hold her to his chest until she stopped crying. But Leah was watching, Carver was watching, and Pope was watching, and he had been lying to all of them. His, Rosie's, and Ian's only chance of getting out of this place alive was this messily, painfully constructed lie that they had going on.
If Daryl admitted to Leah, or to any of them, that Rosie was his daughter and that those were his people, he'd either be right back in that chair himself, or dead. And he couldn't help Rosie or Ian get out of there if he was just as stuck as they were. He was playing his cards how he was forced to rather than how he wanted to. He could only pray that Rosie would understand that. She had to know that he would never hurt her if he had the choice, right? But she was crying. She was really crying and it was his fault.
Little did Daryl know that, despite her crying, Rosie was grateful for his actions. She understood completely why he was doing it. She was afraid that, once he saw her, he would freak out and mess everything up. But he stayed strong and he hit her. And, sure, that broke her heart a little bit, but it needed to happen. It needed to happen for them to make it out of this alive.
Daryl swallowed back the lump in his throat. This was torture- for the both of them.
"Where are your friends hidin'?" he asked, taking away his knife and sliding it back into its sheath. Rosie visibly calmed, but only a little bit. "You tell 'em where they are and all this goes away," Daryl said to her.
Rosie looked up at him, her eyebrows furrowed and indignant, but her eyes morose and frightened. A tiny shake of Daryl's head was all she needed to know that she was about to be hit again. She sighed, looking down at the floor. "Kill me if you gotta. I ain't rattin' out my family for you assholes," she muttered.
And another hit, this one harder than the last. "I don't think you understand," Daryl said, standing tall above his daughter. "I'm the best shot you got. I don't like hurtin' kids, and-"
"I ain't a kid," Rosie reminded him, making eye contact once again.
To everyone else in the room, it seemed like just another annoying comment from the stubborn girl. But to Daryl, it was something else. It was Rosie trying to tell him that she didn't blame him for this; that she made her own choice.
Nothing would change the fact that it hurt like hell to do this, though. No matter if Rosie blamed him for it, he hated it. But he had to. God, he fucking had to.
He hit her again.
"Shut up!" he shouted. He grabbed her chin, turning her face to look at him again. "Shut up and listen to me," he said, more gently this time. Rosie's body felt like jello. She closed her eyes this time. She didn't want to look at him. "I know you're close to her. The leader. Close enough to know where they're hidin'."
"I don't know," Rosie cried. She was tired. And this question, really and truly, she didn't know the answer to.
"Just say a location so we can all walk away happy," Daryl told her.
"I don't know!" Rosie repeated. She scrunched her face up, trying to ignore the throbbing headache she had. "I- I- I know her, but I don't know where she's hidin'. She was with different people for a long time," she said.
"Like who?" Leah asked from next to Pope.
"Why does that matter?" Rosie asked, exhausted.
"Because we have two more of your own here, and we need information," Leah answered. Rosie knew they had Ian, but who else did they have? She hadn't seen anyone else she knew. "The boy you were with. Would he know?" Leah asked.
"No," Rosie answered.
"She's not giving us anything. I told you she wouldn't," Liam muttered.
"She is giving us something," Pope said. He turned to Leah and Carver. "Question the older man. Take his fingers if you have to," he told them. Quietly, Leah and Carver nodded and left the room to go get their third prisoner. "Liam, help Dixon get the girl back in a cell," was the last thing Pope said before leaving the room and shutting the door behind him.
For the first few seconds, it was silent.
"Damnit," Liam eventually whispered to himself, moving away from the wall and over to Rosie. He began untying the ropes that bound her to the chair. "Help me out, man," he said to Daryl, who seemed to be frozen in place.
Daryl quickly got to work on untying the ropes, too. Neither he nor Rosie said a thing. Rosie only cried, and it broke him into pieces. Once she was free, she stood up and Daryl immediately pulled her towards him, placing his hand on the back of her head and holding her to his chest. Rosie kept her hands down by her sides, her muscles sore.
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry," he whispered quickly.
"I know," Rosie whispered in return.