Scraping By, Chapter 1: At the Walgreens
I started writing this a while back and decided to post it before season two officially starts. The pace is going to be slow at first , but everything is picking up already. I've already written five chapters.
Title: Scraping By
Author: Quicksilvermad
Fandom: The Walking Dead
Summary: The group finds one more lost soul on their journey to find somewhere safe.
Pairing: Daryl/OC
Rating: M
Warnings: Set after the end of season one-language, violence, scenes of a sexual nature (much later on)
Disclaimer: All rights for The Walking Dead go to Robert Kirkman, Frank Darabont, and AMC. This story takes place strictly in the TV show 'verse.
Chapter 1: At the Walgreens
Whitney had been digging through the pharmacy shelves of a deserted Walgreens for the better part of two hours since she walked into town. Her hair stuck to her cheeks with sweat and she periodically swiped a hand above her eyebrows to keep the sweat from running into her eyes. The stray Doberman mutt that adopted her (it wasn't like she had any say in the matter since he kept following her everywhere) was lying on the floor and hadn't moved since she told him to stay put. After three weeks of calling him "dog" she finally caved and named him Zeke.
She grabbed another stray bottle of vicodin out from under one of the toppled shelving units and shook it. The rattling was far more promising that the last two pharmacies she hit.
One-handed, Whitney emptied three pills out of the bottle and into her "loose pills" collection bottle. She continued to dig around in the back of the store.
"Nobody has any fucking lithium pills," she grumbled.
The bell attached to the front entrance dinged and Whitney dropped to the floor on instinct. Zeke tightened his snout and almost growled before her left hand whipped out and closed around his jaws. Her right hand tightened around the handgun she carried in a shoulder harness and she waited.
It wasn't a walker. The footsteps were too precise and quiet to be one of the shuffling creeps. Still, Whitney stood up and fell into a shooting stance, Kimber 1911 aimed at the figure walking towards her. Zeke shot up on all fours and bared his teeth at the intruder.
Whitney swallowed nervously when the stranger aimed a crossbow at her.
"This thing might have a safety on it, but the dog doesn't, so let's be clear right off the bat. I am only here for specific medications and then I'm gonna fuck off on my own way. I will not bother you, you will not bother me, got me?" she raised one eyebrow and pursed her lips in trepidation.
Whitney sized him up and forced her body to keep still. He was a lot taller than her and would still dwarf her even if she wasn't half-starved. Without shirt sleeves, she could tell he had more muscle than the average survivor-probably from using a crossbow. He looked like he could punch Zeke before the mutt dug his teeth in him.
The last thing Whitney focused in on was the slight upturning of his lips and a small mole near the corner of his mouth.
The man slid his finger outside the trigger guard and dropped his arm. "Gotcha," he said.
Satisfied, Whitney re-holstered her gun under her left arm and resumed her search. Zeke, however, kept watch.
Halfway down the sparse row of antibiotics, she paused at the sound of a radio crackling. Looking up, she saw that the man was close to the employee lounge door and she snapped her fingers to get his attention. His eyes cut back across the store at her and he frowned.
"What?" he mouthed the word at her.
Whitney held up four fingers and pointed at the door he was standing in front of. He caught on fast enough to back away from it immediately and grab the radio on his belt. "Did you lock 'em in there?" he asked her.
Whitney nodded. "Didn't wanna waste the ammo and bring more of 'em in here. It's easy enough to make them chase you where you want 'em to go," she said. Her throat was scratchy from disuse and she grabbed a bottle of Gatorade from her backpack. She only sipped at it.
The man pressed the talk button on the radio. "Hey, Rick, got four walkers locked in the employee lounge inside. All clear," he said.
"Thanks, Daryl," the radio squawked at the end and Whitney smiled a little bit.
"How many of y'all are there, Daryl?" she asked.
"'Bout ten others."
"Shit," Whitney stared at him and clutched her coveted bottle of antidepressants with hands that were starting to shake more and more.
Daryl made a dismissive gesture with one shoulder. "You been on your own for long?" he asked.
"I lost track somewhere around July."
"Got a name?"
"Sure do."
The door dinged again. Three sets of shoes-all much louder than Daryl's-headed their way. Zeke had been relaxing against Whitney's leg, but as soon as the man in uniform was within smelling distance, the mutt growled loudly and hopped up onto the counter. Hackles raised, he positioned himself between the three newcomers and Daryl and Whitney.
"Whoa!" the Asian kid immediately put his hands up. "Big dog… Uh, Daryl? You said it was all clear."
"Of geeks, you idjit."
The guy in the deputy's uniform tried to meet Whitney's eyes, but she was too busy scanning for more pain meds.
"Daryl, who's she?"
"'She' was here first," Whitney snapped. Zeke growled again.
"Now, we ain't tryin' to pick a fight here," said the curly-haired fellow with the shotgun. "We're just tryin' to get by, Miss."
"No shit, Sherlock, so am I."
"Mind callin' the dog off?" the cop asked.
Whitney gave it a few moments, shrugged, and snapped at the mutt. "Zeke! Halt!"
Zeke stopped growling and relaxed enough to start wagging his tail. Absently, Daryl reached over and scratched the dog's ear until he sneezed all over Daryl's arm. He had an easier time trusting someone that earned the loyalty of a dog-he'd learned over the years that dogs were the best judges of character. "Where'd ya find this fella?" he asked.
"Who cares about the dog, Dixon," the curly-haired man groused.
"Shane," the taller man whispered harshly. Whitney figured he was the "Rick" from Daryl's walkie. Behind him, the Asian kid wandered off through the broken aisles and started picking up a pitiful amount of canned goods and water. There wasn't much of a variety to find. Whitney decided to ignore the quarreling men and turned back to the shelves once again.
Her hands paused on a new bottle of pills. It hadn't even been opened yet, but it was full of one of the harder to find medications. Most stores she broke into had been missing codeine since the outbreak when most people took it as an escape (whether it be short term or permanent). Finding codeine in that Walgreens was incredibly lucky. She smiled and started walking back to Zeke who was guarding her bags.
It was then that Daryl noticed her slight limp. The others seemed to follow his line of sight and collectively held their breath, fearing the worst.
Whitney popped the bottle open and downed one pill with some of her Gatorade. "I ain't bit," she said. "It's an old injury. I've got scar tissue damage and shit inside my knee. Codeine takes the edge off."
Daryl tipped his head in her direction. "Where ya been headed?" he asked.
"More to the point, what's your name?" Rick interrupted. Shane rolled his eyes and turned to pilfer what was left of the store.
"It's Whitney. I'm headed as far into farmland as I can get."
Rick slowly reached a hand out to her. "Rick Grimes. Fella who just left is Shane, Glenn's the Korean kid-"
Daryl snorted and Rick gave him an acidic glare. "-And you've already met Daryl."
Whitney shook his hand. She'd gone so long without coming in physical contact with other people who were even vaguely clean or had manners that her fingers fumbled in his grip. It didn't help that her last large meal was mostly polysaccharides. That was almost four days ago.
Rick took note of her weak muscles and tipped his head at her in that singularly "law enforcement" way. "You hungry, Whitney?"
Zeke whined pitifully and her shoulders trembled. "Rick, the last thing I ate was a bag of grasshoppers I caught. I am starving."
"I think I can dig up a can of Chef-Boy-Ar-Dee for you."
Whitney clamped her jaw and breathed in through her nose. To her left, Daryl took in the signs she was giving off and slung his crossbow over his shoulder.
"Rick," he warned.
The deputy kept his grip on her hand and arm as Daryl vaulted over the countertop and caught her underneath her arms. Her body gave out and he ended up with a mouthful of hair and almost lost his hold on her. Zeke had to have been trained as an aide dog long before the outbreak, because he set himself up behind Whitney using his back as a way to try and break her fall.
Rick carefully let go of her arm and helped Daryl by grabbing Whitney's bags and Zeke's choke chain collar. Daryl shifted the slight girl into a fireman's carry and walked through the employee gate with the busted lock.
Whitney was unconscious.
Chapter 2: Legroom
Title: Scraping By
Author: Quicksilvermad
Fandom: The Walking Dead
Summary: The group finds one more lost soul on their journey to find somewhere safe.
Pairing: Daryl/OC
Rating: M
Warnings: Set after the end of season one-language, violence, scenes of a sexual nature (much later on)
Disclaimer: All rights for The Walking Dead go to Robert Kirkman, Frank Darabont, and AMC. This story takes place strictly in the TV show 'verse.
Chapter 1: At the Walgreens
Whitney had been digging through the pharmacy shelves of a deserted Walgreens for the better part of two hours since she walked into town. Her hair stuck to her cheeks with sweat and she periodically swiped a hand above her eyebrows to keep the sweat from running into her eyes. The stray Doberman mutt that adopted her (it wasn't like she had any say in the matter since he kept following her everywhere) was lying on the floor and hadn't moved since she told him to stay put. After three weeks of calling him "dog" she finally caved and named him Zeke.
She grabbed another stray bottle of vicodin out from under one of the toppled shelving units and shook it. The rattling was far more promising that the last two pharmacies she hit.
One-handed, Whitney emptied three pills out of the bottle and into her "loose pills" collection bottle. She continued to dig around in the back of the store.
"Nobody has any fucking lithium pills," she grumbled.
The bell attached to the front entrance dinged and Whitney dropped to the floor on instinct. Zeke tightened his snout and almost growled before her left hand whipped out and closed around his jaws. Her right hand tightened around the handgun she carried in a shoulder harness and she waited.
It wasn't a walker. The footsteps were too precise and quiet to be one of the shuffling creeps. Still, Whitney stood up and fell into a shooting stance, Kimber 1911 aimed at the figure walking towards her. Zeke shot up on all fours and bared his teeth at the intruder.
Whitney swallowed nervously when the stranger aimed a crossbow at her.
"This thing might have a safety on it, but the dog doesn't, so let's be clear right off the bat. I am only here for specific medications and then I'm gonna fuck off on my own way. I will not bother you, you will not bother me, got me?" she raised one eyebrow and pursed her lips in trepidation.
Whitney sized him up and forced her body to keep still. He was a lot taller than her and would still dwarf her even if she wasn't half-starved. Without shirt sleeves, she could tell he had more muscle than the average survivor-probably from using a crossbow. He looked like he could punch Zeke before the mutt dug his teeth in him.
The last thing Whitney focused in on was the slight upturning of his lips and a small mole near the corner of his mouth.
The man slid his finger outside the trigger guard and dropped his arm. "Gotcha," he said.
Satisfied, Whitney re-holstered her gun under her left arm and resumed her search. Zeke, however, kept watch.
Halfway down the sparse row of antibiotics, she paused at the sound of a radio crackling. Looking up, she saw that the man was close to the employee lounge door and she snapped her fingers to get his attention. His eyes cut back across the store at her and he frowned.
"What?" he mouthed the word at her.
Whitney held up four fingers and pointed at the door he was standing in front of. He caught on fast enough to back away from it immediately and grab the radio on his belt. "Did you lock 'em in there?" he asked her.
Whitney nodded. "Didn't wanna waste the ammo and bring more of 'em in here. It's easy enough to make them chase you where you want 'em to go," she said. Her throat was scratchy from disuse and she grabbed a bottle of Gatorade from her backpack. She only sipped at it.
The man pressed the talk button on the radio. "Hey, Rick, got four walkers locked in the employee lounge inside. All clear," he said.
"Thanks, Daryl," the radio squawked at the end and Whitney smiled a little bit.
"How many of y'all are there, Daryl?" she asked.
"'Bout ten others."
"Shit," Whitney stared at him and clutched her coveted bottle of antidepressants with hands that were starting to shake more and more.
Daryl made a dismissive gesture with one shoulder. "You been on your own for long?" he asked.
"I lost track somewhere around July."
"Got a name?"
"Sure do."
The door dinged again. Three sets of shoes-all much louder than Daryl's-headed their way. Zeke had been relaxing against Whitney's leg, but as soon as the man in uniform was within smelling distance, the mutt growled loudly and hopped up onto the counter. Hackles raised, he positioned himself between the three newcomers and Daryl and Whitney.
"Whoa!" the Asian kid immediately put his hands up. "Big dog… Uh, Daryl? You said it was all clear."
"Of geeks, you idjit."
The guy in the deputy's uniform tried to meet Whitney's eyes, but she was too busy scanning for more pain meds.
"Daryl, who's she?"
"'She' was here first," Whitney snapped. Zeke growled again.
"Now, we ain't tryin' to pick a fight here," said the curly-haired fellow with the shotgun. "We're just tryin' to get by, Miss."
"No shit, Sherlock, so am I."
"Mind callin' the dog off?" the cop asked.
Whitney gave it a few moments, shrugged, and snapped at the mutt. "Zeke! Halt!"
Zeke stopped growling and relaxed enough to start wagging his tail. Absently, Daryl reached over and scratched the dog's ear until he sneezed all over Daryl's arm. He had an easier time trusting someone that earned the loyalty of a dog-he'd learned over the years that dogs were the best judges of character. "Where'd ya find this fella?" he asked.
"Who cares about the dog, Dixon," the curly-haired man groused.
"Shane," the taller man whispered harshly. Whitney figured he was the "Rick" from Daryl's walkie. Behind him, the Asian kid wandered off through the broken aisles and started picking up a pitiful amount of canned goods and water. There wasn't much of a variety to find. Whitney decided to ignore the quarreling men and turned back to the shelves once again.
Her hands paused on a new bottle of pills. It hadn't even been opened yet, but it was full of one of the harder to find medications. Most stores she broke into had been missing codeine since the outbreak when most people took it as an escape (whether it be short term or permanent). Finding codeine in that Walgreens was incredibly lucky. She smiled and started walking back to Zeke who was guarding her bags.
It was then that Daryl noticed her slight limp. The others seemed to follow his line of sight and collectively held their breath, fearing the worst.
Whitney popped the bottle open and downed one pill with some of her Gatorade. "I ain't bit," she said. "It's an old injury. I've got scar tissue damage and shit inside my knee. Codeine takes the edge off."
Daryl tipped his head in her direction. "Where ya been headed?" he asked.
"More to the point, what's your name?" Rick interrupted. Shane rolled his eyes and turned to pilfer what was left of the store.
"It's Whitney. I'm headed as far into farmland as I can get."
Rick slowly reached a hand out to her. "Rick Grimes. Fella who just left is Shane, Glenn's the Korean kid-"
Daryl snorted and Rick gave him an acidic glare. "-And you've already met Daryl."
Whitney shook his hand. She'd gone so long without coming in physical contact with other people who were even vaguely clean or had manners that her fingers fumbled in his grip. It didn't help that her last large meal was mostly polysaccharides. That was almost four days ago.
Rick took note of her weak muscles and tipped his head at her in that singularly "law enforcement" way. "You hungry, Whitney?"
Zeke whined pitifully and her shoulders trembled. "Rick, the last thing I ate was a bag of grasshoppers I caught. I am starving."
"I think I can dig up a can of Chef-Boy-Ar-Dee for you."
Whitney clamped her jaw and breathed in through her nose. To her left, Daryl took in the signs she was giving off and slung his crossbow over his shoulder.
"Rick," he warned.
The deputy kept his grip on her hand and arm as Daryl vaulted over the countertop and caught her underneath her arms. Her body gave out and he ended up with a mouthful of hair and almost lost his hold on her. Zeke had to have been trained as an aide dog long before the outbreak, because he set himself up behind Whitney using his back as a way to try and break her fall.
Rick carefully let go of her arm and helped Daryl by grabbing Whitney's bags and Zeke's choke chain collar. Daryl shifted the slight girl into a fireman's carry and walked through the employee gate with the busted lock.
Whitney was unconscious.
Chapter 2: Legroom