Part Two of Three

AN: Edited because I am never happy when I reread something. There were things I wanted to smooth out and adjust. Sorry, I didn't mean to have to repost it but I zigged where I should have zagged in the document manager.

Her knife.

No body.

He needed to do this.

Daryl stabbed the knife down into the floor, over and over. The door continued its soft banging against the body laying in front of it. Constant. Maddening. He got up and kicked the door. He walked to the right, and to the left. Just do it already. Deep breath. She wouldn't want to be left that way.

She wouldn't have wanted to…

He kicked the body out of the way, threw open the door and…

He was ready.

And she was there. Daryl felt his breath catch. Carol. There was blood on her, she was exhausted, but her eyes were clear and she was alive.

She was so light. He carried her back to the cellblock and lied her down on a bed. He ran his hands down her arms, inspecting. He patted her legs. No blood. No bites, no scratches. Her arms were clean. Daryl backed out of the cell and grabbed a bottle of water off the shelf. He uncapped it and gently lifted her head and put the bottle to her lips. She drank and coughed a little. Daryl propped her up a bit higher, using his body to support her back and his other arm wrapped around her shoulders to keep her steady.

Slowly, she drank.

"I'll get you some food." He moved slightly, but she reached up and weakly grabbed his wrist. He stopped moving.

"Thank you." There was barely any sound to her voice, and he only knew what she said because he'd been looking at her lips.

"Don't say that." He whispered.

There were too many feelings going through him at once and he couldn't sort them. He was happy and pissed off and he wanted to smile and start screaming curses all at once. The pain in his chest from when he'd been trying to gather up the courage to open the damn door wasn't going anywhere, and it twisted into a mixture of anger and guilt buried deep as a knife because he hadn't tried hard enough to look for her.

But here she was and he was so relieved to have her back and his head ached from the cacophony of everything warring in his mind.

Daryl huffed out a frustrated breath. "Save your thanks for someone who deserves it."

She wiped at her eyes and he helped her take another drink of water. "Let's get you cleaned up." He pulled his wrist out from her grasp, and helped her lay down. Then he went and got a bowl of water and a cloth, came back and gently started wiping the blood off her head and her chest. She closed her eyes while he worked. He was afraid to hurt her though, and so he went about it slow and careful. There were some nasty scrapes on her forehead. He changed the water and dabbed antiseptic on it.

He took a pause when he was done, and she opened her eyes just staring at him, and he stared back at her for what felt like forever. Then, on impulse, he leaned forward and quickly pressed his lips to her temple. He leaned back and her eyes followed him the entire way. "You did really good, must have fought like a wildcat to survive like you did."

She smiled, and he let the corner of his mouth twitch just a little bit into a grin.

"Everyone's going to happy to see you."

He would never underestimate this woman again.