She walked slowly, almost dragging her heels, weighed down by a long day's work.
As always, she had gotten up at the break of dawn to prepare the breakfast area and get everything ready for people coming in from watch, cold, hungry, tired, who wanted a quick bite to eat and then go to bed. And for those who had spent the night in the relative comfort of their cells, resting on the thin mattresses of their cots, trying to get a full night's sleep before facing another day.
After that, she had done dishes and laundry, and then had found out, to her dismay, that Daryl was scheduled for a two-day run and would not be there to tease and stalk to the watch tower once she would be done. In order to vent her disappointment, she had gone to the fence instead and helped out there for a bit, stabbing walkers through the chainlink with a rusty crowbar. And after that, for good measure, she had helped with dinner and dishes, feeding the hungry masses a second time that day.
It was because she was so tired that her fingers strayed to the wrist on which she had always worn Sophias hair tie since the horrible day at Hershel's farm. When she was rested and functioning well, she remembered that she had somehow managed to lose it here at the prison, probably while doing laundry. When she was tired or feeling lonely, as she was tonight, she tended to forget and tried to find solace by touching it, recalling to mind her daughter's face, her smile, her voice, and her laugh.
Not having her here with her was a constant ache in the back of her mind. She was reminded of her every time she saw Carl, who had been her last friend after the Morales family had parted ways with them at the quarry, every time she saw Judith, every time she saw one of the children who had arrived from Woodbury. There were days when the pain felt too huge to contain, and on those days not having the solace of that rubber band around her wrist any longer stung.
She sighed, running her hand through her hair and then across her eyes, wiping away the tears threatening to spill over and roll down her cheeks. No use crying over spilled milk. Sophia was gone. Her hair tie was gone. There was nothing she could do about it.
As she arrived in their cell block, she noticed that Daryl's curtain was drawn. Apparently, he had come back early from his run and never bothered to come to her to let her know everything was okay. Usually she waited for him at the gate, but as she had only expected him back the next day she had never thought to look out for him. Instantly worried, she made her way up the metal stairs to the perch and his cell.
The mere fact that he was sleeping in his cell instead of unrolling his sleeping bag on the perch had her worried for him. Approaching the cell, she softly called out his name, but got no answer. „Daryl?" she repeated herself slightly lourder, not knowing who might be asleep already after a day's work or still be asleep before a night watch. Again, he didn't answer.
She saw that there was light behind the curtain, and she couldn't imagine any reason why he might not want to answer her. Maybe he had already fallen asleep. Maybe he was using the bathroom. Maybe he was changing into fresh clothes, however unlikely it seemed for him to have reached his grossness limit. „Daryl, if you're in there, I'm coming in now!" she called out again, as softly as the first time.
Reaching out with one hand, she pulled the curtain aside. A single candle started flickering in the draft from the door, filling the small cell with light and dancing shadows as she stood there, taking it in.
He wasn't here.
Confused, she stepped into the cell to blow out his candle, wondering who had come in here, lighted it and left it burning, but then she noticed a small, dark object on his pillow. Frowning, she changed direction, going for his cot instead of the candle, and leaned down to check what this was. Maybe whoever had left it there didn't know he wouldn't be back tonight.
Her breath caught in her throat. She closed her eyes against the burning tears, one hand fluttering up to her chest. A whimper escaped her before she could control herself. One of her hands went out to steady herself against the metal frame of his cot.
Lying there, on Daryl's pillow, was Sophia's hair tie.
Her last memeto of her daughter, that she had believed lost.
Bowing her head, she allowed her grief for her child to take over for a moment, allowed the tears to spill down her face, allowed her sobs to wrack her body. Then she wiped her hands over her eyes and down her face and drew a deep, shuddering breath. Reaching out with trembling fingers, she picked up her daughter's hair tie and slipped it onto her wrist again.
That done, her hand went out to his pillow again, her palm and fingers lightly brushing over it, caressing it the way she wished desperately to caress him in gratitude for this huge, unexpected gift. Leaning down, she placed one cheek, still wet with tears, on his pillow ever so slightly, not leaving a dent in it. Closing her eyes, she inhaled his scent, trying to memorize it forever. She knew that he would never accept her gratitude in the way and to the extent that she would have wanted to express it, so this would have to do.
Breathing in once more, her hand still resting, feather light, on his pillow, she turned her head to face down and kissed his pillow, ever so gently. „Thank you so much", she whispered.
Straightening up again, trying to get her emotions under control again before she'd have to step out of his cell and face the world once more, she started to turn toward the candle on his small table to extinguish it - and froze in midmotion.
He was standing in the open door to his cell, staring at her as if mesmerized. There was an expression in his eyes that she had never seen and could not decipher. His chest heaved as he watched her step back from his cot. His eyes never left her face except for the split second in which they went down to her wrist to find the hair tie she was wearing again.
She stepped up to him, holding his eyes, still trying to understand the wild maelstrom of emotions there, and raised one hand as if to touch him. But although he never moved, didn't flinch or step back, she refrained from actually touching him. Her hand hovered just shy of his arm as she stood there, silent in the face of his stillness. When she opened her mouth to thank him directly, he shook his head almost gently. His gruff voice cut her off, raising goosebumps all over her body. „Welcome", he mumbled.
As if they were performing a choreographed dance, he stepped aside as she took her first step forward again, and then she was out on the walkway once more, on the way to her own cell, and her heart sang inside her.