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It happens, she thinks, the way it’s supposed to.
The days have been long, chaotic, and tiring. Really, it’s not much different than what happened at the quarry, or the farm, or the prison. It all falls apart, one way or another, and Alexandria isn’t any different.
But it’s still here and it’s still salvageable. It can still be a home. All things considered, it’s a miracle.
It takes two days.
Two days before Sasha and Abraham roll up to the gates, tired and hungry, but whole.
Without Daryl.
They explain their separation from him. They’re quick to give her kind platitudes, and everyone gives her sympathetic looks, but she handles it. Nods her head, forces a smile, and swallows it. It’s the right thing to do, she knows. She just wishes, for once, the burden and the fucking weight of everything could be on someone else. But that’s wrong, somehow. She wouldn’t change a thing. Not for a single second.
Five days pass.
Then three more.
She tells herself many different things. Only a Dixon can kill a Dixon. He’s survived worse. He’ll come back to them, to her. None of it makes her feel any better, and none of it helps her sleep at night. None of it stops the hole in her chest that gets bigger and bigger with every passing day.
She’s always gritting her teeth to get through.
And she feels that weight inching itself closer to her, threatening to collapse and send her into a hole she can’t dig herself out of. It’s too much, and there is no one here to help her.
On the tenth day, he arrives. Like he’d never been gone at all.
The streets are always busy now. Everyone in the community has to help rebuild the walls, try to make them as sturdy as they can possibly be.
Yet, when they let him in, he only looks at her. She feels like she can’t breathe.
He looks like he’s been through hell – there’s a painful looking bruise forming around his left eye, another near his hairline, his shirt’s been ripped beyond repair, and he’s sporting a split lip. There’s more blood on him than she can really process, and the red of it is stark in the sunlight.
They’re standing there, and they’re doing nothing.
She should run to him. She wants to run to him. But her legs feel weak and a part of her doesn’t even know if this is real, or if it’s just a mirage she’s made up to give herself some kind of peace.
His eyes flicker over her body – assessing any wounds, she guesses – and then roam back up, questioning. He clenches a fist, then takes one slow, tentative step. He releases a shuddering breath, and she sees his eyes become watery. He closes the gap between them, bit by bit, step by step.
And then his arms reach out and crush her body to his.
And oh God, it’s enough to leave her sobbing against his shoulder because the weight is, for just this second, so much lighter. And best of all, he’s real. The solid warmth of him against her is proof. His bloodied hand cradles her head so gently that it almost doesn’t seem possible for him to wound anyone or anything.
She can hear his heart beating. Steady. Strong.
The knowledge of that helps her ignore the aching of her back, the bruises there tender to the touch. It doesn’t matter at all. The pain is nothing compared to the comfort and the love from him.
He hugs her tighter, like he can’t get her close enough to satisfy him. And it’s ridiculous, really, for her to be grinning at a moment like this, but they’re alive. Against everything, they managed to survive. She gets to have this moment.
“Ya alright?” he asks. She leans back, but he doesn’t make any effort to move away from her.
“Yeah. We’re still here.”
He makes a soft sound, burying his head against her neck.
She can’t think of a place in the world she’d rather be.