Daryl should hate you and everything you stand for. He should do everything in his power to avoid you. You were Negan's daughter after all. And yet Daryl couldn't stay away from you. His eyes always met yours when you'd show up with your father and a group of Saviors, ready to take whatever you wanted.

He saw something different in your eyes. Whilst Negan's held a thirst, for power and blood, yours didn't. He could see the brief flash of pain whenever Lucille was swung too close to someone, whenever an innocent person was beaten, he could see the humanity in your eyes. He knew that you weren't like the rest of them, even if you tried to act like it. Daryl might have been the first person to see through your carefully crafted facade. Maybe that was why you liked him so much.

Every time you came to collect from Alexandria, you sought him out. You always found your way to the same room as him. Things had eventually escalated. Now, the two of you met up in abandoned buildings far from any of the outposts your father had in his control, and far from any Saviors out on errands. You knew all, as your fathers only heir, and used it to your advantage.

A short drive had led you to this small, picked over town. There was an old white house, one you'd been too before. One where you knew Daryl would be waiting for you. You took the steps two at a time, anxious to be inside. The knife clipped to your belt was unsheathed as you slowly pushed open the door. There was always a chance that Daryl wouldn't be the one inside. Being greeted by his face made you put up the weapon. A smile graced your face.

"Took you long enough," he grumbled, arms crossed over his chest as he leaned against the wall. "Been waitin' for two damn hours," he added, his displeasure already fading at the sight of your face.