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Survival Isn't An Option	By : Pilgrim Category: S through Z > The Walking Dead Views: 6774 -:- 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
- 8
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“Well yeah that’s why I brought you back. Think I want a ballerina walker gnawing on me? I’d never live it down,” Daryl gave that same half smile and she turned her attention away quickly to avoid her heart skipping any more beats. “Here you can learn to survive. We can teach you things and you can be useful in whatever way you want or leave whenever you want. It’s up to you what you make of it,” he leaned forwards when she failed to smile and looked at her in a deadly serious manner.
When she still refused to look at him he stepped down to kneel in front of her so she was forced to meet his eyes. A single finger curled under her chin, easing her face up to make her eyes meet his. “Hey, you ain’t useless, you make someone smile nowadays and that’s priceless. Beth’s been talking about dancing, and smiling about it. There’s not enough of that in this world, smiling I mean. It should be us thanking you for giving someone a moment of relief.”
          Isabelle let out a shaky sigh and leaned backwards away from the touch that was causing a myriad of feelings to flood her. She pushed her hair back from her face, parts had slipped free from the bun in a mad bid for tousled freedom and she pulled them back into place for something to do. He couldn’t see what she could. He didn’t know her past. He couldn’t see that she was good for nothing but bending people to her will using her body. “Daryl, I’m not…”
“Not what? Capable of surviving? You’ve done it for a year and on your own. Not many here could say the same,” Daryl pointed out. “If I thought you weren’t capable of making it I’d have ended you before you even knew I was there in the forest. It’s called mercy.”
He was right, her body and mind were still sharp, and she was used to learning and learning quickly. How often had she memorised and perfected an entire act of a ballet in less than a week? She was used to fighting to prove her worth, used to pushing boundaries beyond any known limit. Slowly she nodded her head at her own internal decision and felt her teeth grit in determination. This was just another stage, just another dance, she would learn the steps and bring forth a performance to critical acclaim even if her only audience was death himself at the final curtain call. Daryl’s hand patted her shoulder apparently seeing the new determination in her face as he smiled.
“Come on ladyship, you want to learn things you need to get your beauty sleep. Gods know you could use it,” he stood smoothly and stalked back towards the cells.
“Don’t call me that,” Isabelle grumbled to him as she rose stiffly and followed him into the cell block, he merely smirked in response as he held the door open.
          Slowly Isabelle stirred, her face bathed in the cool light of the morning. Her brow was coated in a fine sheen of sweat and her legs were aching as if she had been running all night. A deep sense of dread was in her soul but the dream that had brought it was long forgotten, sent to the hidden depths of her unconsciousness in the calm light of the day. She knew what it was about though, all her nightmares were the same nowadays. Her fingers rubbed the back of her neck tenderly, ignoring the twinges as best she could. She must have been tossing all night.
There was silence in the cell block, no cries, no sounds of movement and she wondered if she’d been left until the familiar clunk of a spoon in a bowl echoed up. Carefully she pushed the blanket aside and stood up, automatically glancing at the top bunk. Daryl’s bed was empty, the cot hardly looked slept in and she wondered if he had gone back out as soon as she had fallen asleep. Dull aches echoed around her body and her mind wandered to her compulsory memory foam bed back home with the silken sheets. The steaming overhead shower that would have cleaned every inch of her being in seconds and soothed the pains and bruises. Her arnica gel, the cold kiss of bliss after every practice session over bruises and swellings. Instead she was greeted by the chill of concrete on her feet, slowly seeping through her multitude of socks. Cold morning air ripping into her lungs and racing under her jumpers giving rise to goose bumps and shivers. She shoved her feet into her boots, pulling the laces tight and once more she made her way out of the cell.
The cold handrail bit at her fingers making her wish she’d brought her gloves out as she made her way down to the hallway entrance. Steadily she made her way to entrance now being used as the general meeting and eating area. She blinked at the sight before her, the small cooker set up in the corner where Beth was peacefully humming as she stirred a pot. Hershel and Carl happily chatting over the gurgling baby at the table. It looked peaceful, calm and quiet as if they weren’t surrounded by the end of the world. She marvelled at how these people seemed to keep normality so close to everything they did. Hershel motioned for her to take a seat and pushed a bowl of steaming porridge towards her.
“How are you this morning?” Hershel queried in his gentle tones.
“I have to admit I’m not used to the beds but they beat a forest floor and pile of leaves,” Isabelle smiled gratefully as she eased another crack from her right shoulder. The noise echoed disturbingly in the hollow space, as Beth placed a glass of water in front of her.
“You know Daryl’s really good with massages,” Beth smiled as she dropped into the seat next to her.
          Isabelle choked on her porridge. She could barely stand the thoughts that arose with him touching her for a moment never mind an extended period of contact. The thought of him touching her skin made her blush. “Oh, I’m used to it. Just something that all ballerinas must deal with. More walker than human most mornings until we ease up. I wouldn’t bother him with something so trivial. Sure, he’s got better things to be doing than easing old injuries,” urgently she spooned another mouthful of porridge. Ignoring Hershel’s faintly amused smile.
“I bet he wouldn’t mind, he’s nice like that,” Beth continued, resting her chin on her hand.
“Beth sweetheart, I think the porridge is burning,” Hershel chided gently, the younger girl leapt up to check on the stove. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell if you won’t, it can be our little secret,” Hershel teased softly. Isabelle released her held breath with a soft chuckle.
          He was looking more like her grandfather with each crinkle eyed smile. She smiled back, in genuine appreciation before resuming her porridge quietly. The prison door opened slowly as Rick stepped into the entranceway, he paused looking at her as if not remembering she existed. For a moment, she wondered what he was going to do, he didn’t seem to know himself as he locked eyes with her. Confliction rested in his gaze, slowly he motioned for Hershel and Beth to follow him. Quietly they left her alone to her own thoughts, Isabelle couldn’t decide if she was grateful or not for the silence that fell. Her thoughts inevitably turned to Daryl and the contemplation of what it would be like to be touched like that. Like Glenn had touched Maggie, it didn’t even have to be sexual.
“You look like you’re struggling there ladyship,” the spoon clattered onto the bowl as she jumped, almost out of her skin, at his voice. She looked up in surprise at Daryl, a silver haired woman held protectively in his arms. “Mind getting the door?”
Isabelle stumbled to her feet, praying she wasn’t blushing again and hurried to push the cell block door open and then the door Daryl nodded to as he carried the woman past. Without a second thought she ran for a bottle of water, filling it with shaking hands before rushing back, grabbing a towel on the way. Silently she knelt in front of the traumatised looking woman. Her eyes looked so haunted Isabelle wondered what she had seen during the night or the previous day. Carol took the bottle from her shakily, worried she would spill it, Isabelle helped her hold it to her lips.
“You alright looking after Carol for a minute?” Daryl asked quietly.
          Isabelle nodded and dampened the towel, handing it to the woman before realising she perhaps wasn’t quite up to the task of a wash. Silently she took the older woman’s hands in her own and wiped over them, cleaning the blood and the stench of the dead free from her. What had happened to her? The woman whispered her gratitude as the grime was slowly removed from her body. Once she was clean Isabelle left her and slid past Daryl to go outside, she felt as if she was intruding on a private moment between the pair. Were they together? It would explain why he had carried her so carefully, almost lovingly, tight to his chest.
She finished the porridge and silently folded the towel before placing it with the other soiled ones. Desperately trying to keep her thoughts occupied and away from Daryl and the other woman. A flurry of activity beyond the door heralded the return of several people. Concerned about getting in the way she retreated back to the cells and took up a seat on the stairs. The whirlwind of activity continued past the cell block door, chaos as someone new arrived and the group, reunited once more, celebrated the return of Carol. The noise, the bustle, everything echoed around her head and Isabelle retreated to her bunk, pressing the meagre pillow over her ears as best as she could to block out the cacophony of noise. It was too much, it was all too much!
          It was dark by the time she woke again. Stiffly Isabelle rolled over in the bunk to look around the cell, the blanket tangled about her feet once more and she groaned at the aches. Cautiously she peered over the side but the bed above was still abandoned, completely undisturbed. Her stomach was rumbling, as she made her way to the hall in search of food. Carol sat at the table, slowly making her way through a full bowl of porridge. She could feel the other woman’s eyes on her as she filled a bowl from the pot. Isabelle dropped onto the bench opposite, not wanting to appear anti-social. Even if the last thing she wanted was to talk to someone right now, particularly this woman.
“Thank you for before,” Carol smiled between spoonfuls, Isabelle returned the smile broadly. “Sorry I wasn’t all that helpful.”
“There’s no need to thank me, we all have to help each other now,” Isabelle whispered with a soft smile and rested a hand on Carol’s companionably. Even she could hear the fake enthusiasm in her voice.
“I hear you used to be a ballerina,” the tone wasn’t overly confrontational but the implication in Carol’s eyes hit her in the stomach and Isabelle withdrew her hand and lowered her spoon.
“Yes, I was a principal ballerina with the Royal Ballet,” Isabelle whispered with a smile as Carol smiled in the same fake way in response. It made her bristle, was she mocking her?
“Just be yourself, I’m sure you’ll fit in soon. Don’t worry about Rick, he’s been through a lot. He barks but rarely bites,” Carol smiled at her, this more genuinely. A faint smile, one of pain and so much loss.
Isabelle blushed, embarrassed at assuming the woman had been mocking her. She had, but not in the way Isabelle had seen it. Carol hadn’t been assuming she was a stupid bimbo, incapable of original thought, she’d only been criticising the front she’d put up. They sat in silence, nothing but the distant sounds of slumber and the occasional clink of the spoons on bowls. In the further distance the walker’s snarls and groans echoed faintly through the night air. Isabelle cleared the table before sitting opposite the woman again, she looked weary. As if the weight of the world had rested on her shoulders for too long and Isabelle wondered what she had lost since the apocalypse had hit.
“You should sleep,” Isabelle whispered kindly, resting a hand on the other woman’s hand gently once more.
“Don’t hurt Daryl,” Carol whispered back, her eyes locked intensely with Isabelle’s.
“I’m sorry?” Isabelle laughed awkwardly and started to withdraw her hands but Carol locked onto them tightly, holding her gaze keenly.
“I saw how you looked at him. Like you need him. He’s a good man, despite his roughness, he’s sweet and kind. He gives more of himself than anyone else in this group,” Carol mumbled quickly, holding her hand more tightly than Isabelle was comfortable with.
          Isabelle pulled her hands away sharply and stumbled backwards over the bench, almost falling in her haste. She stared at the older woman, the desperation in her eyes. Isabelle frowned in confusion and turned away, she paused at the doorway and glanced back. “I have no intention of hurting anyone. I’m sorry if you’ve seen something in my eyes that isn’t there. I don’t know what’s going on between you and Daryl but I don’t steal men. I have more integrity than that, even if the world is ending around us,” Isabelle informed her coolly.
          The woman crumpled slightly at her words but Isabelle didn’t stay, afraid she would see the truth in her. Afraid that her past would be clear in her eyes, that somehow the woman would know everything. She made her way back to her cell and clambered into the bunk bed. It was no good though, frustrated she turned back to face the ceiling, as if she needed warning off a man anyway. If they wanted her they came whether she wanted them or not. She’d taken what she could and turned down anyone not of use, just like they had done with her. She draped her arm over her forehead and let her eyes close, slowly she sank into a dreamless sleep of the weary.
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Survival Isn't An Option