After a delicious -More precisely the most delicious since the outburst..., Spencer thought- and silent meal Reid curled, weighted down with weariness. But the noises of the night that was besieging the little fire besides Spencer kept him in their grip, letting him stay wide awake. Not only owls, cracking scrubs and the chirping of crickets, but also the terrible moans of the Infected forced him to forget sleep or either rest and had him anxious in the dark, one of the things he feared the most besides Infected and losing hold. He stared into the little flames, the embers, although his eyes hurt after a short time.
"Daryl?", he asked smoothly into the unknown. A face appeared in the sparkle of the fire, Daryl's face. "I can't sleep.", Spencer mumbled, "Can I ask you something?" Again that suspicious look he had seen the afternoon in the redneck's eyes. "One question, but you may not get an answer..." Spencer sat up and responded: "No answer could also be an answer.", Daryl nodded in his direction, so Spencer continued: "Why do you insist on helping me?" There had to be any reason. Besides, killing him would also have been a bad option, he only had the Colt and nothing else than his clothes, to rob him wouldn't be profitable. But having Reid alive was a bad choice neither because of his injury and his impossibility of surviving without half-way dying.
"As I've said, you remind me of someone I knew." Spence took another guess: "It's you before all this happened, isn't it?" Daryl shook his head as if he didn't want to think of it and Spencer jumped at conclusion that he was right, he was able to gaze through the permanent pokerface. "I said one question." It was Reid who smirked this time, and smiled for the first second in that current state. "And still no answer is an answer too." This showed to him that he was still good for something -it just wasn't some video game sort of apocalyptic experience. He laid down again and closed his eyes, trying to overhear the things that awaited in the darkness.
The next morning Daryl was already preparing for the departure as Spencer woke up and rose. He rubbed his temples for a second and groaned sleepily. "Spencer, get up.", Daryl grinned, and then looked back over his shoulder because a Walker tottered towards them. It made Spencer cringe, but Daryl bewared a cool mind and loaded his crossbow to shoot an arrow into the Walker's eye. "I ain't got all day.", he pulled out the arrow and cleaned it with a farn, then turned to see Spencer stand up, his weight only on one side of his body to unload his knee. He hobbled towards the redneck who would like to lend him a hand but didn't do it by now. "How is it?" Spence looked up from the ground and explained: "Seems better, but my knee is numb. And it still hurts when I put weight onto it." Daryl nodded.
He led Spencer to a small hut. It was surrounded by a rough-and-ready fence to defend Walkers and it seemed as if Daryl would live there, but he just took a motorcycle out of the garage, mounted and slided it in the direction of Reid, who was wide-eyed. Then he twigged and leaped onto the motorcycle, sitting down carefully behind Daryl and searching for grip. Finally he pulled his arms around Daryl's chest and leaned on to prevent himself falling off the Honda Nighthawk-based bike.
Spencer began to ask a question every day, sometimes two, but Daryl was sure the boy never learned from his answers, but nevertheless Reid began to understand Daryl, his pokerface, his shell, he could speculate about the reasons. But also Daryl recognised a few things; for example Spencer often looked at a small cat-call he wore around his neck. He must know it would only draw Walkers in their direction if he blew the whistle, so it had to be an emotional connection to something.
Once they sat around another fireplace, Spencer began to ask another question, it was in the morning hours: "Did your parents abuse you?" A question so direct surprised Daryl, and he played with the possibility of staying silent, but he raised his voice: "My mother died in a fire accident when I was little. My father hit my older brother and me." Enough for an answer..., thought Spencer, he had a bad feeling seeing the hunter in front of the fire so bland. "My mother has... had paranoid shizophrenia. My father therefore abandoned us. She never could help me when older students bullied. One day they undressed and tied me to a soccer goal. When I freed myself and ran home my mother was having an episode. I know it's not like child abuse but both our fathers weren't good ones..." A sigh, then both of them hushed for a while, deeply thinking of what they lost. They both were somehow sorry for the other, but they didn't show it.
Once again when Spencer got a bit sleepy Daryl broke the silence again and asked: "What's with the whistle you often hold?" It was the first time Daryl showed openly interest in Spencer who lifted his head and took out the whistle. "It was my best friend's one. He gave it to me first when I worked for the FBI's Behavioral Analysis Unit and failed my shooting exams. Later I succeeded and gave it back to him. When our jet crashed we were the only ones to survive and we did, over more than a year, but then the circumstances changed; he sacrificed himself for my sake. I took it to have something that reminds me of him, although I will never forget how he looked like after the infection." Spencer looked down, unintended at his knee. Still they needed medication but it looked better than a week ago. Daryl didn't know what to say, so he said nothing, staring into the flames. Spencer stared in the same direction, then started to contemplate Daryl. He had no feeling of getting close to Daryl, never ever. But still he felt a slight shadow of a link between the two. Maybe because I depend on him..., Spencer admitted silently to himself.
As the sun rose from the horizon they began to pack and went on, using the motorcycle. Normally they didn't travel on bigger roads, but they needed fuel, so they tried to get across masses of cars just standing there -and a few Walkers.
The town they explored was partly destroyed, burned down buildings or just run-down ruins. Only a few houses were unharmed and Daryl started to search for a gas station as Spencer's attention was drawn by a pharmacy. "Daryl.", he looked back over his shoulder to follow Reid's gaze. Then he gave to him a knife, Spencer took it and they went separate ways.
The drugstore was nearly empty, but Spencer searched carefully for what he needed: a painkiller. Or even antibiotics, but he wasn't that keen to think there was anything left. But he found a small package with 500mg pills, 2-(p-isobutyl-phenyl-)propionic acid -short: ibuprofen- as active agent. He found a First Aid set too and wanted to get back to Daryl when he suddenly stopped at the door, went back to the rooms behind the actual store and searched for a name onto the endless number of drawers