Disclaimer: I don't own AMC's The Walking Dead. Everything belongs to whoever owns them, my wishful thinking aside.
Authors Note #1: carylwarrior asked for: "Caryl prompt: Carol sprains her ankle and Daryl follows her around to make sure she doesn't hurt herself again."
Warnings: Set pre-season one at the Atlanta quarry, adult language, adult themes, drama, allusions to domestic violence/spousal abuse, hurt/comfort, fluff, Carol is in pain and Daryl is twitching about it.
I want everything (I've never had)
She hissed a little as she shifted in her seat on the milk crate, twisted ankle sticking out in front of her - gingerly off to the side - as she darned the fraying hem on one of Dale's shirts. Fighting the taint of uselessness that was starting to make itself known - sour and building in the pit of her belly - as the others criss-crossed around camp. Busy as anything as the breakfast cleanup and morning washing was done without her.
The grimace she let show was small - little more than a tightening of her jaw and a sudden thinness in her lips whenever she put her weight on it. But she was tougher than she looked. Ed had proven that to her in spades over the years. She'd muddle through. She just wished there was painkillers to spare. They were running so low on everything that Glenn had gone back into the city to try and find the essentials. It wouldn't be right to ask for even one for something like this. Not when there were other people in camp that were worse off.
"How's the ankle?" Lori asked, sympathetic and softly worried as she sank down on her haunches in front of her. "Can I take a look?"
She nodded. "Nothing a bit of time won't cure. It would heal faster if we had some ice, but I have a feeling that is one thing we aren't going to get for a long time," she replied ruefully, catching sight of Ed lurking around the curl of the RV - smoking again - before skittering automatically to make sure Sophia was where she'd last seen her. Playing in the shade with Carl and the other children as Andrea and Amy sorted through the kindling Shane and Morales had split that morning.
Everyone had a job to do.
That was what Shane said when they'd realized help wasn't coming any time soon.
She nibbled on the inside of her cheek with something close to mutiny.
So, then why, even with the towering pile of mending beside her, did she feel so useless?
"It still looks a bit swollen," Lori commented, easing the cuff of her slacks back down before unfolding herself back up to her full height. "I am going to see if I can't steal you a Tylenol or something. It's been like this for almost two days. How did you say you did it again?"
"Tripped on a root," she returned, even going so far as to point it out. The gnarled one by the left side of the RV. The truth felt oddly weak after almost a decade of similar, white-tipped lies. Because stupid as it was, she had tripped. She'd done it coming back from the little RV-bathroom in the pitch black. Ed had taken her flashlight days ago. Said he needed it and had simply never let her have it back. She knew Lori didn't believe her – not after the bruises - but honestly, she wasn't going to lose sleep about it. They all had bigger problems.
Speaking of which-
She waited until the woman was safely away before she let her eyes rise a fraction. Catching the man in the act - not for the first time over the past few days - as the weight of Daryl's stare itched questioningly between her shoulder blades. It wasn't unwelcome, or even oppressive, it was just-there. Remarkably out in the open considering how much he and his older brother seemed determined to keep to themselves.
It was getting to be a familiar feeling. And an equally familiar result. She would feel him watching. She would acknowledge it. He would grunt and look away. Stalk off or huff something she couldn't hear and duck into his tent or push off into the bush with shoulders set like lead weights. But eventually the cycle would continue.
Only this time he didn't look away.
This time he stared right back at her.
She blinked.
He didn't.
Instead, his dark eyes slanted suspicious for a fraction of a beat before he reached down and grabbed something at his feet. She kept her eyes up, but lowered as he looped vaguely towards her. Each action careful-cautious when she realized he was actually angling on having a word. Cognisant that Ed was probably watching. Glaring. Mouth turning down with that jealous tug she hadn't seen for a long time. Something that reminded her of the feeling of her long red-brown curls bouncing as she walked, Ed's hand firm and cocky-confident around her waist only to turn punishing whenever he figured someone was looking just a bit too long.
He was practically right under her nose while she was still caught on it, weighing the layers and the words she had to be careful about letting loose before she realized what he was holding.
A handmade crutch.
He'd made her a crutch.
It was something he must have spent hours looking for out in the woods. Something that had a stronger top and base then in the downward slope. Hours whittling it down, hours watching how she moved, judging her height, making sure it was just right - all for her.
For one terrible moment she thought she was going to cry.
"Thank you," she managed, gripping it by the padded under shoulder – something that looked suspiciously like the duck-down flannel from a ripped up sleeping bag. Fiercely hating how empty the words sounded as he ducked his chin in an awkward half-nod.
"Ain't nothin'," he grunted, knuckling the back of his head for a drawn out sampling of seconds before Merle called for him. An over loud string of uncomplimentary words from the depths of the tent Merle had claimed as his own. She felt a strange sort of kinship in it when she realized they'd both flinched.
"Don't put none of 'yer weight on it till the swellin' goes down or 'yer gonna need it longer," he said, over his shoulder and distracted like a self-dismissal as he legged away in the vague direction of his brother's tent.
She nodded, wordless. Watching him slouch away as she gripped the crutch close to her chest. Nail-tips ghosting down the length of the stripped off bark and occasional rough edge as something unfamiliar and warm blossomed – fledgling small – in the deepest part of her breast.
She ended up being the one that watched him more often than not after that.
Authors Note #2: Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed. - This story is now complete.