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Survival Isn't An Option	By : Pilgrim Category: S through Z > The Walking Dead Views: 6846 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own The Walking Dead or any of the characters from the series. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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          Isabelle stirred first, reluctantly extricating herself from Daryl’s arms and toppling to lie alongside him. Limbs heavy and still tingling. The morning sun warm against her skin as she rolled her neck and stretched comfortably. He sat up slowly, and set to work on his boots, finally removing the restraints about his ankles and kicking his trousers aside. She watched silently, still basking in the post-orgasm bliss as he strode into the water, staying in the shallows as he washed. Reluctantly Isabelle followed, dirt pressed into her lower legs and down her side. Cautiously she splashed into the water, eyes raking over the riverbed warily. As fun as the aftermath had been she didn’t particularly want a repeat of the drowning section of the foreplay. The now half empty bottle made its way into her hands again, Daryl keeping an eye on their surroundings as much as she was. Neither were sure how much noise they had made or if anything had crept closer while they were distracted with each other. Isabelle retreated back to shore first, pulling her clothing on and holding out Daryl’s jerkin as he stepped free of the water. Willing herself not to ogle at him anymore she cleared her throat and motioned towards his t-shirt instead.
“I’ll wear the t-shirt,” Isabelle stated as he walked past her towards his own pile, water running down his back in a distracting manner.
“You’ll get cold,” Daryl muttered, pulling his jeans up and buckling the belt.
“I’m from England, we think anything over 10 Celsius is cause for hot pants and t-shirts,” Isabelle joked. “Besides, this is like… I don’t know, your mascot or something. You don’t look you without it.”
“It’s just a vest, doesn’t make me who I am,” Daryl pointed out, pulling the t-shirt over his head. “Besides, more protection in that leather than there is in cotton. Out the two of us, you’re more likely to need it. Keep it until we find something else, besides it suits you. Makes you look like a bad biker chick or something.”
“Bad biker chick… be still my beating heart,” Isabelle grinned in amusement before acknowledging defeat with one of his sterner looks and slipping the vest on again, the belt once again cinching it against her smaller frame.
          Silence hung heavily between them as they both laced their boots up, Daryl having found a spare set of laces. Had she made a mistake kissing him? Or had the mistake been the sudden enthusiasm she had shown at his slightest move to join in? Perhaps he hadn’t really wanted to but hadn’t wanted to say no either? She glanced sideways at him, wrists resting on his knees as he looked out over the river.
“We shouldn’t have done that,” He muttered as he stumbled heavily onto his feet and dusted off his jeans quickly.
“Sorry,” Isabelle whispered, her heart sinking rapidly and heavily into her stomach. He’d just confirmed her worst fears, how bad she was, how easy it was to get in her pants. She desperately fought against the rising crimson stain of embarrassment creeping inevitably into her cheeks. She should have known better, should have known that he would have thought her a whore for her behaviour. “I didn’t mean to…. It’s just, I like you and you were…”
“No, I meant like that, in the dirt,” Daryl interrupted, his turn to look embarrassed as he pulled the crossbow strap over his head and secured it across his chest.
          Isabelle stared at him dumbfounded for a moment, he was regretting the setting not the activity? “Well it’s not like there’s many penthouse suites around here with silken sheets and candles. I’d say this was as good a place as any.”
“Penthouse… That’s my point, you’re used to better. Not slumming it with some redneck on the dirt bank of some riverside,” Daryl snapped, struggling to control frustration or some other emotion or memory that was riding his soul.
“Daryl, it’s not about where or even how. It’s about who,” Isabelle muttered before realising that phrasing didn’t sound quite right.
“Yeah, redneck ain’t good enough,” He shouted, gesturing to the ring that lay on the ground forgotten but conveniently between them. “He’d have been better, with his money, good looks and fancy houses. Bet he had cars and shit…”
“No he wouldn’t have been better, in any context. I want you,” Isabelle shouted back as she picked up the ring angrily. “I have never wanted anything like I’ve wanted you.”
          Her fingers curled around the ring, the last thing she had of her old life. A mere glimpse of all the riches and luxuries she had once had access to. Looking back, they actually didn’t matter anymore, every word had been the truth. All the trappings of wealth had come at a steep cost. Pride, dignity, self-worth, even a physical cost where the ballet was concerned. Slipping the chain free she tossed the ring lightly in her hand and turned to the river. She wasn’t losing anything but bad memories and constant reminders by ridding herself of it, and she could only gain from their loss. Rolling it once between her thumb and fingers, she flung it as far as she could into the current of the river. It barely made it six feet out, she never had been good at throwing and she snorted at the pathetic effort.
“Could have traded that,” Daryl muttered, stepping alongside her.
“Who to? No, throwing it was priceless,” Isabelle grinned, a weight off her shoulders. “That felt good.”
A noise from behind drew their attention. They shared a knowing glance, Daryl pulling the crossbow strap over his head as Isabelle reached for her dagger before remembering he’d disarmed her last night. The dagger was still at their sleeping place. Pulling his dagger free he pressed it into her hands before heading into the forest. Nothing presented itself as they made their way through the wooded surroundings and back towards the camp. By the time they reached the group they were all awake, several stumbling about half awake. The run and trauma from Terminus and the prison had taken its toll and the group were clearly enjoying a more leisurely start to their morning in the relative safety that came with numbers. Several pairs of eyes watched them curiously as they retrieved their backpacks from their sleeping place, exchanging the daggers back and returning to the fire. Daryl sitting closer to the licking flames in an attempt to finish drying his clothes after his dive into the river.
“There’s a walker underwater in the river, about two miles upstream by some boulders. Dragged Belle under,” Daryl responded to the curious glances at his sodden attire.
“Were you hurt?” Carol asked, looking genuinely concerned as she sat with them and handed out two bottles of fresh water.
“No, it got hold of my ankle but Daryl got to it before it could do any harm,” Isabelle smiled forgetting the tension that had sat between them briefly. She drew a steaming tin of beans closer from the edges of the fire, pierced the lid and let it cool, resting it between her booted feet.
“Did it scratch you?” Carol peered towards her ankles.
“Not enough to draw blood,” Isabelle peeled the lid further back as the steam eased and accepted the spoon offered before placing the tin between her and Carol. She was getting used to sharing meals with the other woman. They ate similar smaller amounts that conveniently reduced any waste from a half-eaten can.
          Daryl eased his own tin free from the stones around the fire and settled to eating with his fingers alongside them. A companionable chatter started up within the group, discussion of where to head and what to do. They needed to find somewhere safe to stay, winter was coming, there were already leaves threatening to turn and the days were no longer as warm. While this was to their benefit for travelling there was the severe disadvantage of exposure during the night. They were hardly kitted out for an extended camping trip. Carol’s gaze between her and Daryl was starting to get uncomfortable, the quirk to her lips that showed she knew grated uncomfortably against Isabelle. Why she couldn’t quite say. After all, what did it matter if they had sex, what did it matter if anyone in the group had sex? She shifted uncomfortably to lean further away from the older woman as if the physical distance would reduce the pressure she felt from that gaze.
“Everything ok between you two?” Carol’s voice dipped low enough so that only they three could hear.
“Yeah, got a bit intense with the walker with it being underwater and all,” Daryl answered before Isabelle got chance to even open her mouth. He licked at his fingers, and tossed the tin away. “We need to do some hunting, going to need more than beans to keep us going.”
          Isabelle watched as he clambered to his feet and began to go through his rucksack, removing anything he wouldn’t need in the wilderness. Carol’s eyes resting on her heavily as she leaned forwards. “Don’t hurt him,” She whispered as she rose to her feet, pretending to lean on her for support.
“I have no intention of doing,” Isabelle hissed, loud enough for Daryl to hear and for Carol to give her a short glare before nodding and moving away.
“Come on, you need to get a refresher in hunting,” Daryl motioned for her to follow as he handed her a rucksack with a few light items in.
          Tucking her dagger into her belt she shouldered the pack and hurried after him, glancing back at Carol as her eyes burned into her. Aware that every other eye was on her she turned back quickly and jogged up the hill. Realising as she saw him waiting that he wasn’t taking her to get a refresher in hunting but to get away from every prying eye and no doubt eventual prying questions. Was it that obvious what they had gotten up to by the river? Isabelle shrugged off the feeling and stepped alongside him, not quite brave enough to meet his gaze. They made their way through the forest quickly, soon as they were out of earshot Daryl stopped again, his eyes straight ahead.
“We shouldn’t have done that,” He stated, looking concerned.
“Done what?” Isabelle panted, she wasn’t quite as fit as she had been but she was still relatively in shape and Daryl’s anxious pace had left her floored.
“Left like that, we just confirmed it,” Daryl muttered in exasperation, kicking at the leaves before heading off again.
“Confirmed we had sex? Daryl, no offence but Maggie and Glenn were at it right next to Rick and Carl. If they’d just blinked half asleep they’d have got an eyeful,” Isabelle pointed out, jogging to catch up again and ignoring the stitch in her side. “I think we’re all a little bit past being insulted about the idea of sex. Will you slow down; I’m dying here…”
“They’re all but married! They suit each other and we’re just,” Daryl snapped in exasperation. Isabelle stopped abruptly and wrinkled her nose in disapproval and confusion. “No, I didn’t mean it like that Belle.”
“Well, what do you mean Daryl,” Isabelle shouted, struggling to contain her insult. She hitched the rucksack higher on her back for something to do. “If you didn’t want to all you had to do was say no. I was hardly going to rape you.”
“Belle, I didn’t mean. Don’t walk off,” This time he jogged after her, boot falls heavy in comparison. His hand landed on her arm and turned her to look at him. “I meant I wanted it to be more romantic or something, I don’t know. More formal.”
“More romantic? Formal? We’re in the middle of an apocalypse!” Isabelle snapped in frustration, gesturing at the forest around them echoing with distant moans of walkers. “What did you think it would be like?”
“I don’t know,” Daryl shouted back. “Just different somehow, roses or something. Not just a quick fumble by a river. Doesn’t feel right, sneaking out like a couple of kids.”
“A quick fumble? Did you miss the part where I was riding you?” Isabelle shouted, glaring into the distance as a walker snapped at the noise. She shuffled uncomfortably before huffing at his continued avoidance of her gaze and storming off.
“No, Belle. I meant,” Daryl started, catching her once more.
“I get it, you don’t need to explain. I’m just a whore right? That’s what everyone thinks of me,” Isabelle grunted, catching her foot on a risen root and stumbled over it clumsily. “You’d rather not have it known that you fucked me.”
“You not listening? I don’t want anyone to think that of you,” Daryl shouted back. “That’s why I didn’t want to do it there, like that. You deserve better.”
“Daryl, we both consented and it was good. Really good,” Isabelle paused and looked back at him, willing him to meet and hold her gaze. “I don’t need anything else, none of your prejudices or beliefs, none of theirs, not about what I am or am not good enough for. If they know what we did, that’s fine, and if they don’t… that’s fine too.”
“We didn’t use protection,” Daryl pointed out after a moment of silent contemplation.
“At the minute I don’t need to, I’ve not had a period in three months,” Isabelle called back, stumbling on a branch and pulling herself upright on a tree before he could catch up. “Chance of me getting pregnant is lower than Mother Theresa and before you panic, I’ve never had an STD.”
          She swatted at his hand and continued on, tucking her thumbs under the rucksack straps and staring intently at the floor. A voice called from behind, Rick’s from the sound of it. Telling them to be back before sundown whether they caught anything or not. Daryl shouted back as she kept her pace, calling to her to wait while he caught up. Isabelle ignored him, she needed five minutes away from any human and increased her pace slightly. She glanced over her shoulder after a few moments of silence, Daryl apparently aware of her need for space, eyes flicking between her and their surroundings ever in the role of overwatch, crossbow in his arms. He caught her glance and he upped his pace to start closing the distance. She slowed her walk, letting him catch up a little more. They didn’t know this forest and if she got separated she knew she wouldn’t find the group again whereas Daryl had an uncanny sense of returning to them.
          A walker stumbled through a brush to her right, it was freshly turned. Blood still glistened from a fresh bite to its throat and wild eyes locked onto her. Isabelle pulled her dagger free and lunged to sink it into its forehead. She watched it fall silently, jaws snapping only once as it fell. A sickening crunch echoed as she yanked and tugged at the stuck dagger, the skull refusing to relinquish its captive. Rolling her head back in exasperation, letting her neck crack, she tightened her grip and pulled again to no avail. A snarl from her left drew her attention, a dog was baring a wide maw of teeth at her. She froze, what did you do in response to a dog?
“Duck!” Daryl’s sharp shout forced adrenaline into her veins and she dropped onto her knees without hesitation as the arrow flew over her head. The dog lunged, fur, snarls and flashing teeth colliding with her side.
          Isabelle stared at the open jaws, millimetres from her face, snapping at the arrow now embedded in its mouth and through its neck, just the feathers protruding preventing the jaws from closing about her shoulder. The teeth scratching at the leather of Daryl’s jerkin. She fell backwards over the corpse of the walker as the dog lunged for her again and she kicked at it desperately, striking its shoulder and sending it stumbling a couple of feet. Within seconds Daryl had his dagger through its throat. Sure it was dead he turned his concern to her, pulling her away from the walker and back onto her feet. Hands trailed over every extremity until she brushed him away with mild annoyance.
“I’m fine, it didn’t get me,” she turned her attention to the dagger again. Her fall had smashed the skull and she ignored the unique smell of brains as she slipped the dagger free finally, wiping it clean on the walker’s clothes. A squelch announced the removal of the arrow from the dog’s mouth and Isabelle fought down the nausea that rose with the noise.
“Sure you’re alright?” Daryl asked again, concern clearly in his soft tones.
“No I’m not alright, nothing about this is alright,” Isabelle whispered, scuffing her boot toe in the dirt and battling to restrain the tears of anger, shock and frustration that threatened.
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Survival Isn't An Option