Okay, my kids. This is the shortest chapter I've done in a long time, and though there isn't much in the way of length, THIS ONE'S GIRTHY. HOOOO HO HO. Yeah. I'm a horrible person.

I wanted to get something up and out to you guys today because I'm leaving(OH FUCK) in an hour on vacation. Long roadtrip through the south, and then...I'm going to THE CRAPPIEST PLACE ON EARTH. That's right. Disneyland(not by choice, mind you...A very good friend of mine is getting hitched, so *obligation*).

But yes! STORY. This one is all Pru, and it's pretty dark, so be ready.

As for you, my beloved readers, thank you once again for sticking by me and inspiring me! To those of you who reviewed for the first chapter and this one, expect PMs later. I'd reply now, right here, but I legit am about to run the fuck out the door.

...If you're at all curious about the carnage that's about to befall the South, however, you feel free to follow me on Twitter. I try to keep the fandom stuff to a minimum, but there's a lot of doggies, and bad jokes, and I can promise you many, many angry rants about humanity as a whole. LuuuCifer

And yes. My dog does have a box of PBR on his head...And there *IS* lasagna on the floor in the background.

Thank you my lovelies! Enjoy the chapter, and enjoy your week!-Laur


She cried out for him softly, and he still wasn't there, despite how hard she'd been pleading the fates.

"Daryl." She whimpered.

The room would have been completely dark had it not been for the small, battery operated camping lantern that must have been sitting in the corner of the cell. Its LED light cast a cool, bluish glow around the otherwise black room that she could feel more than she could see. Not that there was much to see, or that she'd want to lay visage to the oppressive, grim space. Her eyes were still painfully swollen shut from the blow that had broken her nose, and she was almost thankful that there'd be no visual reminders of her situation that she'd have to look upon. The bleeding had since stopped, and an itchy, dried crust of sanguine covered her upper lip, chin, and her throat. She was doing her damnedest not to move now. With every slight adjustment she'd made against the cold, dusty floor of that basement, an excruciating, searing pain would fly up from her left bicep and shoulder, to her neck, and into her brain.

Deacon had finally left long, torturous hours after he started in on her. He'd carved the tattooed flesh of her arm into ribbons, doing as he'd said he would- traced every line with the blade of her own knife, then ravaged her. His final blow had been to raise the cutlass to her face.

"You wan' a new tattoo, beautiful?" he'd asked softly, mockingly, before pressing the sharp edge, once again, into her flesh. She'd not struggled against it as it cut into the skin below her left eye. She'd not cried out. She'd just sat there and winced slightly, unable to dredge up the energy to fight or the emotion now. When he'd spoken up after the fact, she noted, with a small amount of satisfaction, that his words beneath the audible grin had carried the intonation of disappointment.

"There you go," he'd said, "Now you got somethin' to 'member me by…Now you rest up. I'll come see yer sweet ass again tomorrow."

He'd thrown a damp towel over her bare lap and left her then, in the dark, bound to something overhead. The elevation of her arms had quickly helped the shallow, but many, cuts to her skin quickly coagulate, preventing much blood loss. For that, she was simultaneously thankful for and unappreciative of. She didn't want to die in this dank, ancient cell, but at the same time, she didn't want to live to endure what Deacon, Merle, that highfalutin' fuck, The Governor, or any one of his jackals might do to her.

She groaned out a thin whimper from her throat unintentionally as the thoughts began to wander to her friends; the other women from their group that had been taken captive. Where were Michonne, Andrea, and Beth? Were they hurt? In as much pain as she was in? Had they been violated? Did they escape?

…Were they even alive still?

She whimpered again, but this time it wasn't because of the pain. Her heart and mind became heavy with regret. The others had had a chance to make it out of here, not only alive, but uninjured maybe, until she'd gone and done what she had when Merle had told her she wasn't going to be given the same chance…That everything she'd feared would happen to her would; Punishment for the life of some asshole that she'd taken in self-defense. When she'd gored Deacon's hand with the blade, it had been out of pure rage. She hadn't been thinking, and once again with her temper getting the best of her, she'd not only made the situation even worse for herself, but she'd condemned her friends to possible rape, torture, and very likely, death.

"We were almost there." She cried quietly to herself as she sat, blood soaked and cold in that tight, dark space. Emotion, thick with blood and mucus in her throat, softly poured out of her for a long while as she pled to the unhearing ears of her friends for forgiveness, and as she pled to those bars and walls, hoping that they'd melt away.

"Daryl."

The sound of the door at the top of the stairs squeaking open woke her some time later. It could have been a handful of hours, a day, five fucking days…She couldn't know for sure. She tensed immediately, fearing it was Deacon, come back for round two. She growled low in her throat, like a dog warning an intruder not to come any closer, until she realized the footfalls on the rickety planks of wood were much lighter than Deacon's. The person who was now in the room with her tugged the small overhead light's pull, and the dull, yellow shine lit the room.

A sigh from a man came, and then the feet were moving again, towards the cell. She scooted further back, ignoring the excruciating pain that was gnawing at her arm, and continued to try to make as intimidating noise as she could muster.

"I can't tell if you're a corpse or not with you makin' that noise…But you backed up instead of comin' closer, so…" the man said tentatively. She then heard the brief jangle of keys before he undid the bike lock that was keeping the door held shut. The cell's door yawned out a loud iron hum as it swung ajar on its old hinges. The man stepped into the cell and she could feel his presence. He'd surprised her with what he'd said next.

"Goddamn them." He whispered and she felt him crouching down just in front of her now. She kicked out in front of her out of reflex and snapped her teeth like a hungry walker, making it clear that if he dared come too close, she wouldn't hesitate.

"Easy! Shhh! Hey, I'm here to help." He assured as he gently grabbed ahold of her right foot as it weakly kicked at him. Her struggling slowed after a minuet as she grew weak with exhaustion and blood loss.

"Getcha hands off me, ya bastard." She snapped sluggishly, her thick New York Metropolitan accent made thicker by anger, weariness, and her injury. He sighed again and she could hear the frustration in his voice as he cracked the top off a plastic bottle.

"Here, look. I brought you water…I'm not here to hurt you."

She felt the bottle being pressed up against her lips and she turned her head away, briefly, but as the cool liquid splashed against her thirst parched lips and dribbled a bit down her chin, she found herself giving in before she realized it. She drank the bottle down quickly as he tipped it forward for her. She sputtered on it a bit, half way through the bottle in her rush to rehydrate herself and he pulled it back away from her lips so she wouldn't drown on dry land. She choked a bit on the taste of blood in her mouth for a moment.

"Who are you?" she asked weakly, though she had an idea. She thought she'd recognized his voice from earlier. He sighed again and she felt him dabbing at her sore face with a damp cloth or rag. She winced.

"Sorry," he apologized to her for the pain he was inflicting as he wiped the dried mess away from her face, "I'm Eli."

"Ya the one Merle and the rest of them have daggers for?" she rasped.

"I 'spose."

"Why-" she began, but was cut off by another tickle of a cough at the back of her throat. He let her finish before giving her an explanation for his actions.

"Because this isn't right…None of this is."

She groaned a bit, clearly in pain, as a response. No fucking shit.

He started dabbing lightly at her face again for a few seconds and she began to grow more and more agitated with them man's actions. She tugged her face away sharply, tired of the pain he was causing her with his futile attempt at cleaning the blood away.

"So ya gunna let me go, or what?" she snapped. He sighed once more and she heard him scratch at the stubble on his chin.

"I can't do that…They'll kill me." He said, voice heavy with regret. Oh, this guy was a piece of work.

"So ya came down here to play doctor for a minute and to tell me ya sorry for what ya people are doin' to me and mine? So ya conscience is all free and clear now, ya can go on ya merry way and keep running with the pack?" she laughed morosely, wanting like hell to kick the asshole square in the dick.

"That's not it." He said, voice as heavy again, "I figured you'd want to know about your friends."

Her heart stilled for a beat in her chest, and it felt like the rest of the blood had drained right out of her. Had something happened to them? Had they been executed like the Governor said they would be?

…Did they escape?

"What happened?" she asked, her voice a quivering whisper. If her weight wasn't being held up by whatever she was tied to, she would have collapsed limply against the wall behind her. She didn't know if she wanted to hear what he was going to tell her, and judging by the tone of his voice, it wasn't good news. After an impossibly long moment, Eli opened his mouth again.

"They're fine for now, and in way better shape than you are…That one girl…The black one. She's upstairs on the third floor in the Governor's 'office'…She's been givin' everyone that goes in there hell. She went ballistic last night when she heard you screaming, they said."

She exhaled forcefully and the vice that was crushing her chest came off a bit. What was with the doom and gloom build up he'd given her before telling her that? She shifted her weight on her bare legs and sat up a bit more.

"And the other two? Andrea and Beth? Where are they?" she croaked.

"Upstairs, in a supply closet. Merle was gunna move them somewhere before. Probably either his place or back to the Governor's house, but he was called away. The Governor had him and a few men go on a fuel run this morning, since they didn't come back with any when they brought you back…They all use the shit up like its goin' out of style."

"This morning?" she queried, "What time is it?"

He thought on in for a moment, probably not exactly sure. Time wasn't really kept or paid mind to these days. Morning, noon, evening, and night were accepted approximations. Approximations that she'd gladly take right now. She wanted to know how long she'd been out, and how long he thought they'd have until Merle and the rest of those barbarous fucks came back.

"I'd say it's about noontime, now." He answered finally. She heard his feet shift in the grit on the floor as he adjusted his crouched weight. She worked her puffy eyelids a bit and angled her head up to finally look at him. The swelling had peaked at some point during the night and was starting to calm. She could just about make him out, but her vision was still blurry, and the meager light stung her eyes harshly.

"When are those assholes coming back?"

"No way of telling, really. Sometimes people go out for days. Sometimes only hours. But fuel is getting scarce in these parts and we're starting to have to go further and further out for it…Deacon's still around, though. Left him behind because of his hand… And so's the Governor…He rarely leaves." He explained. She swallowed thickly at the thought of Deacon still being within the town's walls. He could come barging in and down those stairs at any moment.

A chill ran up her back and neck for seemingly now reason and she huffed, settling her head back against the wall as he fell silent in his speaking for a long moment. She heard him move a tiny ways across the floor, more of a lean than actual locomotion. A second later, she felt something brush against the skin on her bare feet and jumped a bit.

"Can you stand?" he asked, looking over to her. He's apparently noticed her shiver and that she was bare from the waist down beneath the filthy, blood-soaked towel on her lap. He was now trying to tug her pants back on for her.

"I don't know." She said honestly when she figured out what he was doing. He grabbed her up by her uninjured arm and she floundered for a beat, partly because she didn't want him touching her, and partly because her legs just didn't want to support her weight.

"Easy," He said as he pushed her shoulders back a bit so she could rest at the wall, "I'm a doctor."

She stilled a bit as he slid her pants back up her legs and she held her breath, still not trusting him. He did up the button at the front for her, probably realizing that doing it one-handed was probably going to be more trouble than what it was worth. When he backed off, she drew her now slack arms to her chest and sat on the stool in the very corner.

"Ya looking for a pat on the back? An award maybe?" she snarked, not caring if he was a doctor, the president, or a goddamn astronaut. He cleared his throat and crouched back down to the floor across the cell from her, back to the bars. He rested his elbows on his knees and she could just make out how he was tipping the bottle of water back and forth, watching the liquid flow from one end to the other.

"I had a couple of those, actually…Awards, I mean. I was a medic, then a doctor for the Army. Three tours in Iraq before all of this shit happened."

She said nothing. She just shifted her weight a bit in her seat, not really caring about what he was saying and enjoying the feel of the cramps leaving her legs and the numbness in her arms subsiding. Her silence though, he apparently been permission enough to continue on with whatever story he was telling.

"…I thought what I'd seen over there was fucked up, yanno? War, death, senseless violence committed on both sides of it…Came home just as this whole thing was starting…Got called away from my wife and daughter when they started doing E-Vac. I told them I'd only be a couple of days. That this would all blow over, and they should just head out to the mountains…Go camping for a little while."

A small, sad laugh mixed with a strangled half-sob escaped his throat, "Camping," he said ruefully as he shook his head, "Camping…"

She sat up a little bit straighter as she again became annoyed with him. Apparently the man sitting in front of her was either simple or the most self-centered person in existence.

"Excuse me if I can't seem to dredge up any fucks to give, right now. I'd say that my situation kind of trumps the one ya're crying about...Everyone's lost people. Ya aren't special."

He sucked in a breath, loudly and rubbed at his face as she strained to look at him past her purple lids.

"You're right...You're right, I'm sorry." he apologized. She huffed, almost feeling bad for the sad sack in front of her as he pawed at his eyes.

"What did ya do?" she asked him suddenly. She watched as his shadow turned its attention back to her.

"What did ya do to make those assholes look at ya the way they do?" she clarified. He let his legs slide out from under him as he settled onto the floor. He was obviously making himself comfortable, now faced with the need to rattle off a long story.

"I was here before they were…Or before they took over, rather."

"Took over?" she asked, cocking an eyebrow at his incomplete explanation, "What was this place?"

"It was just some little town we were sent to help evacuate, but when things started getting really bad, Captain ordered our three platoons to lockdown the perimeter 'til shit cooled down…When it didn't cool down, we kept tight, tried to keep the people inside safe, though, you know how heavy-handed military tends to be…"

She frowned at what he was implying. She heard from a few people that the military had gone in and dropped incendiaries on downtown Atlanta, and shot wildly into crowds of innocent evacuees in the first days of panic that had swept the planet. The world had gone to hell and the people whose job it had been to protect civilian lives had been a bigger threat than the plague itself.

"So, a lot of people, civilians, started speaking out against my C.O.s, and…A lot of people ended up dead. But that one guy, Phil…The Governor. He led a mutiny against us…National Guard and the Army…Killed my C.O.s and most everyone else who wouldn't surrender."

"So you surrendered to them…?" she asked.

"No. Actually, I tried to escape…I wanted to get out. Find my wife and my daughter, but they caught me trying to climb over the fence behind the Wal-Mart…Where no one usually patrols. When they realized it was me, they uh, just decided to keep me around…Being a doctor and all, I guess I'm a pretty hot commodity, these days." He shrugged, "I can't decide if I'm lucky that they spared me, or if I'm fucked."

She scoffed, but her she agreed with the sentiment, her situation being what it was, and all. Nothing was said for a few good minutes as she tried desperately to get a good look at the man whose face was backlit and blurry. She lifted her bloody arm a bit, trying to keep the wounds from sticking uncomfortably to her shirt, but the stretching of the skin caused her such pain that she flinched and reflexively stomped her foot hard against the stone floor. He moved back over to her at that point, trying to comfort or aide her. She didn't know what he could possibly do to relieve her pain or better the situation, aside from letting her go…Which he'd already said he wouldn't do.

"You're bleeding again," He mumbled uselessly. She grimaced and allowed him to inspect the wounds. Despite the fact that he was extremely gentle and careful when he moved her arm, it still sent shockwaves of pain through her body. She felt like someone had sent her arm through a woodchipper. "This needs to be cleaned out and bandaged."

"So do it already." She said lamely, rubbing away the tears that were threatening to spill from her eye and into the insignia Deacon had branded her with.

"I can't. Like I said, if they find out I helped you, they'll kill me."

She kicked at him so violently that it when she missed she fell off the stool and slammed hard into the wall. The impact on her already sore ribs where Deacon had dealt her a few punches along with the ripples of the movement that traveled to the shredded skin as her weight tugged down on her sore arm on the other side of her body caused her to cry out in pain. It was loud and guttural; a heaving sob.

"Shhh! Dammit! You want someone to hear you?!" he chided, hefting her body up off the floor and back onto the stool, "Stop! You're gunna ruin whatever chances we have for getting' out of here if you keep carryin' on."

She sucked in a breath and tried her best to stop her pained bawling.

"What did ya just say?" she asked him, voice hitching.

"We're gunna get out of here…Me and you. And your friends…But it's not the right time now…We can't do it during the day."

"I thought ya said ya couldn't because they'd kill ya?"

"Yeah, well…Sudden change of heart. I need to find my family…And you…None of you deserve to die like this. No one does." He said earnestly.

"I can think of a few people who do." She muttered. It pulled the faintest of humored snorts from him as he turned to retrieve the water bottle from the floor where he'd left it.

"Here. Finish this." He said as he raised the water back to her lips and allowed her to drink the cool water into her thirsty mouth. When she finished she pulled away from it with a refreshed gasp, and she felt him, once again, going back to dap at her face. Less annoyed by the action now than she had been, she allowed him to do it, though it still caused her to withdraw when he pressed too firmly against a few particular spots.

"…Why do ya even care about helping us?" she asked quietly, feeling as low as a snake that she'd tried to kick him a moment ago. She looked back up to the dark shape of the man, and for a moment, her hazy vision almost made her think that she was looking up at Rick's kind features, though the man she'd seen before looked nothing like him. Eli sighed and turned around and headed back to the heavy door.

"Like I said. Nobody deserves this…And your friends…Andrea and Beth?" he asked. She cocked her head just slightly in askance.

"…They look like my wife and my daughter." He smiled sadly. Pru tried to return the smile, but it showed across her face as a grimace.

He closed the iron bars back up and fastened the bike lock back where it had sat before he'd opened it up.

"You hang in there, you hear me? We're gettin' gone as soon as we can. Don't let him break you yet." He said, and it was an order. It was firm and clear and very military, betraying his background. He turned around, not waiting for her to answer, and headed back to the foot of the stairs and tugged that pull string again, plunging the dreary dungeon back into blackness. As his feet found their way back up the old wooden steps, she let her back slump against the wall.

There was still hope. Infinitesimal hope, but hope nonetheless.

"…Daryl."