[ lix. would've, could've, should've ]

october 14th, 2012

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"LOOK, WE WANT TO generate a trade. Gregory does . . . But ammo isn't something that we urgently need."

In the aftermath of Astrid's fiery, near-damning clash with Gregory, she had promptly stormed out of the study room, only to find herself, less than a mere second later, face-to-face once more with Jesus and the rest of her own group. The air was thick in the Dixon woman's wake, remnants of the venomous exchange still echoing—still rattling—in her ears. Yet it was clear the others had heard its final pieces, too. Her hunter certainly had. And Daryl's current scowl as he looked upon Astrid now hinted at displeasure. But she was uncertain whether his anger was genuinely directed at her inability to control her outburst or at Gregory's sinister sneer.

Still, Astrid could not give her sole focus to it. Her frown deepened as she turned her attention fully back to Jesus. "How could you not need ammo?" She demanded. "It's crucial to protect yourself. To survive."

"The walls hold," Jesus calmly explained.

"They won't forever," She pointed out. Her skin was still tingling from the atmosphere of the study, her glassy, green eyes ablaze.

The Hilltop scout pursed his lips. "We just brought in more men and medicine. Gregory wants the best deal possible."

Beside Astrid, Daryl all but growled, "Yeah, well, we want things, too. We need food. We need medicine. I'm not leavin' here until we get it." His voice turned low and threatening. "Until my pregnant wife gets it."

"And we're going to get it," Rick asserted sternly. "We came all this way for it."

"You did. So, I will talk to Gregory, and we will work this out," Jesus promised. "Circumstances change. We're doing well now, and you'll do well next. I will make him understand that. Can you give me a few days?"

Astrid immediately yearned to reject the proposition, but ultimately held her tongue, understanding that this decision rested solely with Rick. No matter, his steely eyes naturally flickered towards hers, questioning. She subtly shook her head.

However, before he could even consider to speak, another answered for him. "We can." The confirmation, unexpectedly, now came from Michonne, her voice resonating with steady sureness as she stood near the grand staircase, locking eyes only with Rick. Astrid watched as her leader, with a tightened nod, accepted his new partner's agreement.

Inwardly, Astrid bristled.

Jesus exhaled in relief, yet the brief respite between barely allied groups was broken quickly when the mansion's creaking front doors blew open, revealing a breathless, nameless Hilltop member on the threshold. Almost instantly, the study doors swung open next to reveal a stoic Gregory.

"What's wrong?" He demanded.

"They're back," the Hilltop man answered.

An icy stillness encompassed the mansion's foyer. Then, as rapidly as it formed, it broke again into a maddening scramble. Without a word to any of the onlooking Alexandrians, Gregory, Jesus, and the Hilltop man hurried out of the grand house.

In their wake, Rick, Daryl, Abraham, Michonne, and Glenn instinctively moved after them, leaving Maggie, Bailey, and Astrid in the foyer. Wordlessly, they followed, too. Stepping onto the white-painted porch, Astrid's eyes narrowed upon the sight of a furious group reentering Hilltop—two males and a female, their dirtied faces ranging across visceral blends of anger and grief.

Maggie tore after her husband, leaving Astrid no choice but to release Bailey's hand with a firm command, "Stay here."

The young girl nodded, her eyes wide with concern, as Astrid hurried down the dirt path to join Daryl. His gaze flicked over at her approach, a silent acknowledgment of her shadow over him. Together, in a tense silence, they observed as Gregory approached the small, distraught trio. "Nathan," He called out with a strained optimism. "Where are the others? Tim? Marsha?"

The largest man, presumably Nathan, cast a glare at the old man. "They're dead," He spat out.

The color drained from Gregory's face. "Negan?"

"Yeah," Nathan affirmed bitterly.

Negan. The odd name resonated in Astrid's memory, and her spine stiffened. She had only ever heard the name once before, but it had been enough. Enough to know these strangers now spoke of the man who had threatened her husband, Abraham, and Sasha outside Alexandria, demanding their supplies. Only Daryl's quick thinking and the use of an RPG had spared their lives.

"But we had a deal." Gregory's words tore Astrid from her thoughts.

"He said it wasn't enough," the other man from Nathan's group interjected. "Was the drop light?"

Gregory's frown deepened. Had he hesitated? "No."

Now, the lone woman tensed. "They still have Craig."

"They said they'd keep him alive, return him to us, if I deliver a message to you," Nathan snapped.

"So, tell me," Gregory ordered. His tone was timidly sharp. An almost desperate command mingled with fear.

Nathan closed the distance until he stood mere inches from Gregory's pale face. Seizing the old man's shoulder, he pulled him close, as though sharing an intimate secret. His lips hovered near Gregory's ear. "I'm sorry," He whispered.

In one swift, merciless motion, Nathan thrust a long knife into Gregory's stomach, the blade sinking deep with a sickening squelch.

Astrid's eyes widened as she watched the Hilltop Colony's leader crumble to the dirt, clutching at his blood-soaked shirt. Then, her group acted in accord, called to the very violence as it erupted. Rick lunged at Nathan, while Abraham engaged the other man.

Each duo fought with fists. Rick's blows rained down on Nathan, each punch a fierce retaliation for the betrayal. In the next breath, out of the corner of her eye, Astrid glimpsed Abraham now caught in a compromised position on the ground. That was, until Daryl intervened. With ruthless intent, her hunter seized Abraham's distracted holder and snapped his right wrist. The man's cry of pain shrilled as Daryl callously flung him aside, ensuring he landed on his now broken hand.

"No!"

Abruptly, at the newfound shriek, Astrid's attention seared to the lone woman charging at Daryl's back with a glinting knife. Instinct propelled her into action, and without hesitation, Astrid leaped forward, intercepting the woman. Astrid's fingers clenched around the bare arm wielding the blade, while her other hand closed mercilessly around the woman's exposed throat. Her swift knee struck the woman's stomach next, stripping away her breath, causing her legs to buckle and the weapon to drop from her grasp. In a calculated motion, Astrid swiped the knife mid-air as they tumbled to the ground, her body landing atop the woman's with a predatory grace.

Straddling the woman's legs, Astrid's grip only tightened, one hand planted on her chest, the other now holding the stolen knife to her throat. The captive woman gasped for air, her wide eyes transitioning from aggression to pleading. Feeble attempts to escape proved useless against Astrid's strength. The blade pressed harder against her throat, and Astrid hissed.

"Don't touch him."

Staring deeply into the woman's tearful expression, Astrid soon found herself far away. Found herself transfixed by a strange, new muddling of both awe and confusion. Fear, naturally, had manifested in the woman's gray eyes, but this was the first time, perhaps, Astrid had witnessed its creation because of her. And so very personal and close, too. Close enough to see her own reflection stare back at her.

And Astrid was suddenly startled at what she saw.

Who was this woman with fiery eyes and snarling teeth? The killer poised to slice a throat without remorse. Who—deep down—wanted to? It could not really be her, could it?

But it was. Astrid was the one holding this woman down against her will, ready to open her up. The one prepared to take another life needlessly, driven purely by a dark compulsion. She knew it for what it was. A desire for power, to instill fear in others. In that very breath, she blindly craved the cruelty.

"Astrid."

A worried voice attempted to tear through her murderous trance.

"Astrid!"

Daryl.

Astrid could hear her hunter's screams on the frayed edges of her consciousness, urging her back to him. Yet, she lingered, frozen, suspended as her hand tightened around the stolen blade. Fresh blood was beginning to stain her fingers. Not hers. She had begun the cut.

And still, she pushed further down.

In the deafening silence that was her spinning head, Gregory's words taunted her, a disorienting whirlwind of torment.

"You're on an edge, girl. And I can't wait to see you fall."

Astrid had not been hurt by his words then. But as she knelt there, understanding that she had—truly—been falling for a long while now, plunging over the precipice of sanity with no glimpse of a soft landing below, it hurt now. Because it was a descent she did not wish to endure. To free-fall into darkness.

"Please," the captive woman choked, daring to speak. A single tear traced a path down her cheek. "Don't kill me."

Kill her. Because she would kill you.

How Astrid wanted to succumb to the vicious impulse, to drive the blade so easily through her captive's skin for threatening Daryl and her people. Too many times had they already been betrayed, deceived by false hope, friendship, and the very basis of genuine humanity. From the beginning of the end, Astrid had tried to be the force of good amidst overwhelming bad—but the scales seemed perpetually tipped against them. Against her.

And yet.

Yet, sometimes, they were not.

They could not be.

Not if Astrid still retained the capacity to bring that very goodness, that life, she sought into their strife-torn world.

A cry of frustration—of pain—abruptly tore from Astrid's lips as the violent coil within her snapped. She relinquished the blade, ultimately casting it far away with a forceful throw. Her hands trembled.

What the hell was wrong with her?

Before Astrid could plunge further back into herself, a sturdy presence lifted her off the cowering woman below. She did not need to look to recognize the familiar touch—and warmth—of her hunter.

Daryl turned her around in his arms, his calloused fingertips gripping her chin, forcing her head upward. "Hey. You here?" He demanded. Brushing her hair back from her face with both hands, he stooped lower, attempting to meet her eyes, but Astrid resisted.

Instead of meeting his gaze, Astrid stared at the ground beneath her. "I'm here," She stammered. Even if she did not believe it. Even if she was still feeling the profound tremors coursing through her body.

Daryl pulled her in the safety of his wide chest, his arms winding protectively around her shoulders and head. Astrid tried to reciprocate by lifting her arms to hold him, but they felt like lead, glued to her sides. Closing her eyes, she breathed in the comforting scent of Daryl, desperately attempting to regain her composure before she was forced to confront what she had done—or rather, failed to do.

"Hey! Let him go!"

Astrid lifted her head. Another fight had continued, and she turned to find Glenn pointing his gun at Nathan, who had gained the upper hand against Rick. The latter lay on the dirt, vulnerable, with the former hovering over him, a knife pressed to his throat.

"Stay back!" Nathan hissed. "Anyone who tries to stop me is killing my brother!"

"Drop it!" Michonne growled, her katana at the ready.

Nathan tilted his head to snarl at Michonne, and the moment his guard lowered, Rick seized the opportunity from below to strike. Retrieving a spare knife from his jacket pocket, he thrust it upwards, slicing Nathan's own throat. The man's eyes widened, then rolled back, and he collapsed, his blood drenching Rick entirely. Loud, frantic gasps of surprise rippled through the faraway Hilltop Colony's onlookers as Rick slowly emerged from beneath the weight of the now lifeless corpse of Nathan, annoyance etched across his face.

"What?" He demanded fiercely.

Smartly so, no one answered.

Until a new voice dared to intrude. "Drop it now!" Upon the command, all eyes, including Astrid's, now turned to Cal, the young man from the main gate's lookout. He charged with a spear.

Rick swiftly pivoted, dropping the knife as he reached for his revolver. "No, I don't think I will," He spat in response. As he advanced towards Cal, intent on more bloodshed, Jesus sprinted forward, interposing himself between them with his arms raised.

"Stop! This is over!" He cried out. "Yes, Nathan was our friend, but let's not pretend he was anything more than a coward who attacked us," Jesus addressed the Hilltop members. "He, one of our own, did this." He then motioned toward Astrid's group—the Alexandrians. "And these people stopped him."

A weighted silence hung over the lower lands of the Hilltop Colony, the fall air thick with the smell of fresh blood and chaos. The whimpering of a man cradling a broken wrist and the guttural sounds of a woman fighting for breath clawed at the quietude. Both were victims of Daryl and Astrid. The realization gnawed at the latter's stomach, an unsettling feeling that she could not fully comprehend. Daryl had not needed to shatter the man's wrist, and she had not needed to slice the woman's throat. But they had.

What kind of people were they, inflicting such harm with careless abandon? What kind of parents could they hope to be beneath such reckless actions?

Slowly, Rick lowered his gun, a weariness on his face. "What can I do?" He asked Jesus. He would be the first to mend the fractures between communities. If Hilltop would let him.

Jesus lowered his arms. "You've done enough," He insisted. "And you need to know that things aren't as simple as they might seem. Just give me some time."

With determined steps, the Hilltop scout started back towards Barrington House, where Doctor Harlan and other community members were transporting a bleeding—but still breathing—Gregory inside. Bailey still stood on the porch, a silent observer as the procession unfolded before her, her young eyes absorbing every detail.

Behind Astrid, Rick sighed heavily. She turned to face him, watching as he wiped thick rivulets of blood from his face.

"You should wash up," Astrid suggested dryly. "We wouldn't want to give them the wrong first impression."

A weakened smile, a near grimace, played on Rick's lips, and he reluctantly nodded before making his way towards the house, too, with Michonne trailing behind. Astrid watched them depart, until she felt a touch on the lower part of her back. She looked up to find Daryl, but before he could speak, she preempted him with her own words. "I'm fine," She assured him.

"You shouldn't have stepped in."

"You had your back turned, and she was coming at you with a knife. What was I supposed to do? Let you get stabbed?"

"I would have been fine," Her hunter stubbornly retorted.

"Would have. Could have. Should have," Astrid murmured, her lips tightly pursed. "Those are three things I'm not willing to risk. Not with you."

"I should be the one sayin' that."

"I can take care of myself, Daryl," Astrid asserted. "And I know I need to be careful. But God forbid I just sit there and watch you get hurt, knowing I could have done something to prevent it." He attempted to voice his protest, but she gently placed a hand over his chest, directly above his beating heart. "This, right here, is the most important thing in the world to me." She then took his other hand, and placed it over her abdomen, emphasizing the tiny swell of life there. "And I'm not raising him without you because I can't face that life without you. So, you're just going to have to learn to accept that I will risk my life for you. Because that's what I do. That's what we both do. We protect each other—no matter what."

"Astrid—" Daryl tried to softly interject. Something was burning in his eyes. But Astrid could not see it.

"Don't," She cut him off sternly, taking a deep, heaving breath. She tightened her grip on his shirt, locking eyes with him—a fervent forest withstanding an icy ocean. "No matter what," She repeated.

Without waiting for a response, Astrid began making her way up the dirt path toward the mansion after the others. Daryl followed slowly behind as she approached Bailey, slipping her hand into hers. "Are you okay?" Bailey asked softly.

Astrid nodded reassuringly and guided her deeper into the mansion, where all had already regathered in Gregory's vast study, awaiting news on whether Hilltop's leader would genuinely be all right. In truth—at least to Astrid—his loss should not significantly impact them. Hopefully, Jesus would become the new leader, and they could negotiate a better deal with him. All that still mattered to the still-fuming Dixon woman was whether they would secure the much-needed food or not.

Daryl navigated through the study to where Astrid stood on the farthest edge, distancing herself from the wreckage of Gregory's desk—where she had unleashed her fury, leaving his belongings shattered. Despite the tension still ebbing from the ending of their conversation, Astrid was grateful for her husband's presence. The subtle brush of his hip against hers, the reassuring solidity of his bicep pressed to hers, provided a sense of comfort. It helped her relax, her faraway anger slowly dissipating further.

Across the room, standing directly behind Gregory's desk, Rick had managed to clean up his face, but his hands and white undershirt remained stained with the hue of semi-dried blood. Astrid often wondered why he even bothered with white attire in Alexandria when he seemingly always returned from outside the walls wearing someone else's gore.

Ten minutes later, footsteps approached from beyond the study's threshold, and Astrid eyed Jesus entering the room. "Doctor Carson was able to patch Gregory up. He's in pain, but he'll live," He announced.

"So, what happens now?" Michonne questioned.

Jesus pressed his lips into a firm line. "Things like that don't usually happen around here, but . . . It's settled."

"We heard the name Negan," Rick addressed. "A while back, Daryl and Abraham had a run-in with his men. Who is he?"

"Negan is the head of a group of people he calls the Saviors," Jesus explained. "As soon as the walls were built around Hilltop, the Saviors showed up. They met with Gregory on behalf of their boss. They made a lot of demands, and even more threats. They killed one of us—Rory. He was a sixteen-year-old kid. They beat him to death right in front of us. They said we needed to understand, right off the bat." Astrid swallowed stiffly as Jesus continued, visibly bothered by the memory. "Gregory's not exactly good at confrontation," He said. "He's not the leader I would have chosen, but he helped make this place what it is, and the people like him."

"So, to keep the people liking him, he made the deal," Astrid assumed, "with Negan." The name left a bitter taste in her mouth.

Jesus nodded grimly. "They took half of everything," He informed. "Our supplies, our crops, our livestock. It all goes to the Saviors."

"Well, what do you get in return?" Glenn wondered.

"They don't attack this place," Jesus answered. "They don't kill us."

"Why not just kill them?" Abraham questioned.

"Most of the people here don't know how to fight," Jesus admitted. "Even if we had ammo."

"How many people does Negan have?" Rick asked.

"We don't know," He confessed. "We've seen groups as big as twenty."

Astrid eyed every nearby expression. And with each revelation added to concrete the Saviors' existence, Daryl's anger seemed to surge, an invisible tempest consuming him. Invisible to all but Astrid, his partner in every sense. "Hold up," He muttered, his voice edged with a bitter intensity. "So, these people show up, they kill a kid, and you jus' give them half of everythin'?" His head shook in a disbelieving gesture. "These dicks just got a good story. The bogeyman—he ain't shit."

"But how do you know?" Jesus shot back, eyes narrowing carefully.

"Because two months ago, we took some of his guys out," Abraham revealed. "Left them in pieces and puddles."

Daryl's quick nod was an added confirmation, but in the guarded depths of his eyes, an arrogant spark ignited—a glint that Astrid recognized a moment too late. Danger emanated from him, a force that demanded attention, and before she could intervene or speak to him privately, he forged ahead on a course she could not divert. "And we'll do it again," Her hunter boldly declared. "If we go get your man back, kill Negan, and take out his boys, will you hook us up? We want food, medicine, and one of them cows."

A veneer of surprise flickered across Jesus's features. Daryl's sudden rapidity of demands seemed to catch him off guard, yet a knowing smirk gradually stretched over the Hilltop scout's thin lips. He, too, seemed to grasp the extent of the Alexandrians' capabilities after seeing them firsthand.

A growing worry had nestled its way into Astrid's chest. But even she could not suppress a small, proud smile. Her husband was slowly, steadily taking matters into his own hands—becoming his own leader. None dared to object to him. Not even Rick.

Nonetheless, Jesus still glanced toward the Alexandria Safe Zone's leader, a silent gesture of respect. With a nod, Rick Grimes confirmed Daryl's audacious deal, a pact forever sealed in a final parting.

"Confrontation's never been something we've had trouble with."

~~~~~~~~~~

and so, the seeds are planted for astrid's most devastating character arc yet.  this is going to hurt.  what do you all think might await in her future?  i'd love to hear predictions or thoughts!