[ xliii. the sorry sight before her ]
august 3rd, 2012
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IN THE DEPTHS OF exhaustion, with her adrenaline now settled, Astrid Lancaster found herself staring dazedly into the yawning chasm of sleeplessness. She was unsure if it was even midnight, or well past it. It was one conversation—or interrogation—after another, leaving her seated at a worn kitchen table. Across from her sat Rick and Michonne, while Bailey, who should have been tucked in bed, rested in Astrid's lap. Stubbornly refusing to leave Astrid's side, Bailey had succumbed to sleep, cradled in her arms.
Daryl settled down beside her and slid a bowl of soup her way. "Eat up," He said.
Readjusting Bailey to one arm, Astrid obliged with a spoonful. She stole a glance to her right where Morgan, fatigued from his own exchanges, stood leaning against the wall, his arms crossed. Her gaze then drifted back to the center of the table, where the bloodied and worn map lay—the map that had guided her to her long-lost family. Its torn edges and stains revealed its frequent use, yet despite its wear, it had accomplished its purpose. That was all Astrid ever wanted.
Morgan eventually broke the silence and stepped forward with a faint smile. "You were right," He asserted, directing his words at Rick. "It wasn't over."
But Astrid could not tell if her leader even registered the sentiment. The recent events—Astrid's arrival and the night's grisly double homicide—had left Rick disheveled. He had not even bothered to change out of his blood-soaked clothes.
Still, it was not her place to judge. Astrid, absentmindedly brushing hair away from Bailey's eyes, drew her closer, gently resting her head against the child's. A look toward Carol, who was still awake in the living room, revealed internally to the Lancaster woman that Bailey had not likely been this relaxed in weeks. Perhaps even months.
A soothing hand began to trace Astrid's back, and she leaned into Daryl's comforting touch. His arm crept around her shoulders, drawing her nearer. She shivered against his body, prompting her hunter to intensify his gentle rubbing, as if attempting to coax some warmth back into her.
Finally, Rick spoke. "We'll talk more tomorrow," He decided. "You've been through hell and back to get here. You must be exhausted."
"I am," Astrid confessed, steel in her voice. "But I'd rather face the questions now. I need to understand this place and its people. Lay it all out. I can handle it."
Rick's lips tightened, and Astrid found it hard to ignore the trickle of blood seeping down his face. His own wounds had appeared to reopen. "Listen," He addressed slowly, deliberately. "I don't take chances anymore."
"You shouldn't," Astrid approved. "Not after everything we've been through. Rick, a bullet might have grazed my head, but it didn't erase my memories. Nothing can make me forget what this group has been through."
Morgan nodded in agreement. "But we need to stay cautious," He advised. "The roads are dangerous. I appreciate your efforts in sending out search parties, but not everyone out there shares our goodwill."
"No kidding," Daryl muttered. "Aaron and I dropped by this warehouse, and it turned into a trap. If it wasn't for these two," He gestured to Morgan and Astrid, "We'd be dead."
"A trap?" Rick questioned, alarmed. "By who? Did you see anyone?"
Astrid's hunter shook his head. "Place was empty. That's why we stopped," He explained. "We must've tripped a wire or somethin' because all of a sudden, all the exits closed, and walkers came at us. We found a car, but there was a note inside—it was a setup. Someone planned it and was comin' back. The damn trap's probably been reset by now."
"We should check it out again," Astrid suggested. "Keep watch. Find out what they want. Take what we can after."
Rick, however, rejected the idea. "We can't send people out beyond the walls if there are threats this close to home," He said. "We wait it out and see what happens. There could be another way to figure out who these people are."
"I think I might already know," Morgan interjected quietly, drawing all attention to him. "The Wolves."
"The who?" Michonne demanded.
Astrid's breath hitched as she recalled the encounter with the dangerous strangers from the day before. Steadying herself, she turned to Rick and the others, recounting her own knowledge. "They're a group, self-named the Wolves," She explained. "They're scavengers, taking what they want and killing when they don't get it."
"What did they look like?" Daryl wondered.
"There's only one real way to tell. They carve W marks into their foreheads," Astrid informed. "They don't carry guns, only knives and similar weapons. But I don't know their exact numbers or location. We dealt with only two of them yesterday."
"What happened to them?" Rick pressed.
"They're dead," She stated matter-of-factly.
Astrid paid no mind to the intensity in Morgan's stare upon her face. Silence lingered, broken only by Rick's weary sigh. Observing the hushed atmosphere that now enveloped the house, he reiterated his stance. "Let's call it a night. Michonne, could you escort Morgan to the holding houses?" He then turned to the man of conversation himself. "I'll speak with you in the morning."
Morgan acquiesced with a small nod and prepared to gather his belongings. Astrid's brow furrowed in suspicion. "Why does he have to leave?" She challenged.
"Like I said, I don't take chances," Rick answered.
"But Morgan is trustworthy," Astrid countered. "You know him. I know him . . . He's my friend."
"It's fine, Astrid," Morgan reassured calmly. "I understand the caution."
"I don't!" She snapped back. "If Morgan is being kept away, then I should be too."
Daryl intervened before the Lancaster woman could argue further. "You're stayin' put," He told her.
Meeting her hunter's sharpened gaze, Astrid sighed in frustration. She realized the futility of continuing and fell silent. Her eyes eventually followed Morgan as he shouldered his bag and turned towards Michonne. "I'm ready," He announced.
Michonne adjusted her katana and gestured for Morgan to follow. Rick, Daryl, and Astrid watched in silence as they departed, the closing front door marking their exit. Afterward, Astrid glanced at the still-sleeping Bailey, and straightened herself. "I should get her to bed," She murmured.
Daryl promptly rose from the seat beside her. "I'll handle it. You finish eatin'."
Astrid unwound her arms from around Bailey and allowed her hunter to effortlessly scoop the child they shared into his. Bailey stirred, letting out a soft sigh as she tightened her grip on Daryl's shoulders, but ultimately her eyes remained shut. She subconsciously nestled deeper into Daryl's neck. A smile graced Astrid's lips at the sight as she watched Daryl disappear into the hallway, his echoing footsteps fading as he began to climb the stairs.
Now, she was left alone with Rick in the kitchen. Still seated on opposite ends of the table, Astrid awkwardly took another spoonful of soup. Rick noticeably avoided making eye contact with her.
And she hated it.
Astrid set her silverware down. "Don't do this," She murmured softly.
"Do what?" Rick questioned, his stare still fixed on the table.
"Give me the cold shoulder."
"Astrid, I don't want to discuss this right now. You've only just come back."
"Which is precisely why we should talk about it," The Lancaster woman pressed insistently. "I need to understand what you think. I know my . . . death . . . tore everything apart." Astrid paused briefly, gathering her resolve. "That night in the church—I shouldn't have lashed out at you. I was overwhelmed and angry. It wasn't fair to take it out on you."
"But I was the cause of your anger and confusion," Rick pointed out. "You had every right."
Astrid clasped her hands together and pushed the soup bowl aside. "Love isn't something you choose," She whispered. "I care deeply for you, Rick. I love you. But not in the way that you want me to. And I'm sorry."
"You don't need to apologize," He reassured her. "I'll always care about you, too, Astrid. A part of me may always hold those feelings, but . . . things have also shifted since you were gone. I think I've found someone. Someone I could really have a future with."
Astrid's eyes widened. Suddenly, she did not know what to think. Of course, she never intended to inflict pain on Rick by turning him away, yet the prospect of him with someone other than Lori seemed . . . wrong. Lori and Rick had shared a life, intertwined through marriage, children, and a history that spanned from high school. The notion of another woman intruding upon their deep-rooted love, what they had always cherished, felt unfair. Inconceivable.
Even Astrid could not fathom finding love again if Daryl were lost. To her, life was a commitment to one person and one person alone. The thought of ever moving on with someone else while Daryl lay buried felt like a betrayal. Daryl Dixon was her everything—her soulmate, her irreplaceable love.
On the outskirts of her own thoughts, Astrid could sense Rick's gaze fixed on her, awaiting a response. Unable to conjure a genuine smile, knowing he would see right through it, she deflected with another question, "Who?"
"Her name is Jessie," Rick replied. "I could introduce you—"
"No, it's fine," Astrid interrupted. "I'm sure I'll meet her tomorrow when the whole town buzzes about a newcomer." She rose from her seat. "I think I'll take a shower," She decided. "I'm sure I need one."
Rick frowned, quite visibly dissatisfied with how their conversation had unfolded. No matter, without pressing further, he simply nodded. "I'll see you in the morning."
As Rick left, Astrid found herself alone in the vacant kitchen. She stared at her still nearly full bowl of soup, but her appetite was gone. Placing it on the counter, she wandered into the now-empty living room, struck by its homeliness. Then, turning towards the hallway, she slipped into the bathroom and closed the door behind her quietly. The vastness of the room engulfed Astrid, but her attention went immediately to the clear, inviting shower tucked in the corner. It seemed to beckon with promises of comfort and relaxation. Two luxuries she desperately needed.
Astrid shed her jacket, letting it fall to the floor with a soft thud. Approaching the mirror, she was met with a jarring reflection. The woman staring back at her was so different from the vibrant, confident Astrid she once knew. Shock gripped her as she took in her emaciated figure, clad in clothes several sizes too large now. Her face bore the marks of weeks on the road—streaks of dirt and dried blood stuck to her skin. A healing gash stretched along her temple, a fragile wound that still seemed poised to reopen at any touch.
Pursing her lips, Astrid swallowed hard, acknowledging the sorry sight before her. There were no tears, no screams of horror—just an acceptance of who she had become. The Lancaster woman was not a vision of beauty or even the faintest hint of attractiveness. The world had torn into her. Pulled her in, chewed her up, and then spit her back out. All while she was still breathing.
When Astrid decided she could not look in the mirror any longer, she turned away from the confronting image and began to peel off each remaining layer of clothing. The cold tiles under her bare feet felt alien, sending shivers through her, and amplifying her sense of nakedness. She could count her ribs, see the sharpness of her ankle bones nearly protruding through her skin. Everywhere she looked, she saw a corpse.
Finally, opening the shower's glass door, she turned a nob and stepped into the subsequent, cascading warmth. Another hesitant breath escaped her. The flow of water and soap washed away the remnants of all she had been through—dirt, sweat, and blood vanishing into the drain. Yet, amidst this newfound cleansing, a shadow of apprehension loomed. Astrid could not help but wonder when she would once again be drenched in such disgusting grime.
It was only a matter of time.
Astrid had not stood there for long before a sudden, searing touch enveloped her waist, eliciting a gasp of surprise. Before she could truly react—and attack—a large hand covered her mouth, her widened eyes searching for the intruder. To her astonishment, it was Daryl. His piercing dark blue eyes held tenderness as his hand eventually withdrew from her mouth, settling gently on her waist again. She blinked away water droplets as her hunter stepped further into the shower, the water now soaking them both.
Astrid parted her lips to speak, but before she could utter a word, Daryl's lips met hers. His grip tightened around her hips, drawing her in so intimately that their bare chests melded together. She could feel their hearts pounding in sync. Instinctively, she wound her arms around his neck, drawing him even closer still.
Daryl skillfully guided her backward until her bare back met the coolness of the tiled wall, yet the fire of their kiss showed no signs of relenting. One of his hands caged the side of her head, while the other remained splayed across her abdomen, and then curved to her lower back. The steam of the shower seemed to intensify with the heat of them.
Amidst their kisses, their touches, tears strangely began to well in Astrid's eyes. Initially silent, her quiet weeping gradually escalated, turning into wrenching cries that broke against their lips. Everything seemed so surreal, overwhelming her with an intensity she could not comprehend. This morning, she had woken up in the wilderness, expecting another grueling hike, and now, she found herself in the arms of her hunter. The change of heart, of sense, of life was too much to contain. She was crying like a mad woman.
Knowing her like the back of his own hand, Daryl sensed her distress immediately and stopped. He tilted her head back, seeking her gaze. Water droplets hung from their eyelashes as he brushed her wet hair from her eyes, his hand resting against her cheek. "What's wrong?" His voice barely carried over the shower.
Tears streaked down Astrid's face as she stuttered through her sobs, "I-I thought I'd never see y-you again."
Daryl lifted his other hand to cradle her other cheek. "I'm right here," He whispered. Then he leaned in, his forehead pressing hers. The tips of their noses touched. "And I ain't goin' nowhere. Neither are you, Dixon."
Astrid's heart fluttered at the mention of his name—her name. She could not speak again. Instead, she drew his lips hungrily back to hers, deciding to drown in him instead. As Daryl boldly lifted her up, her legs now twisting around him, their embrace now spoke of a need, a yearning for each other, unlike anything they had ever felt before. Their kisses deepened, flushed skin explored, a fusion of burning, eternal desires colliding as two separate bodies became one, beneath the warm cascades of the shower.
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