A stab of pain ran across his arm and stopped him like a punch to the chest. He tried to open his eyes in response to the sudden pain, but he felt a heavy burden on his eyelids.
He put his left hand to his face and rubbed his eyes in an attempt to clear the sleep from his mind until he finally felt the light passing through his lashes, reaching his pupils.
Daryl looked around with tired eyes, face contorted with confusion, while he tried to adjust to the light of day. The room he was in was not too big, but it had two huge windows that let the sunlight illuminate everything. There were paintings with heavy frames adorning the walls, and the few pieces of furniture he saw scattered around the room looked very expensive. He had no doubt whatsoever that he was inside Barrington House.
He had been aware when they arrived at Hilltop desperately seeking help, but once they helped him out of the RV his vision grew blurred and confused, until everything went completely black.
He had no idea how he'd ended up in that room or how long he had been prostrate on the bed, but he felt a deep ache in his muscles. The worst thing, however, was the dryness that tore his throat. His tongue was stuck into his palate and thousands of knives welcomed each gulp.
He needed a glass of water.
He glanced at the nightstand to his right but there were only a couple of bandages and a lamp. He had better luck on the other side of the bed. There was a jug of water and a glass. It was in that moment, when he tried to reach for the glass container, that Daryl realized he was not alone in the room. His heart began pounding furiously for a few seconds until he recognized Paul Monroe's figure.
Hilltop's scout was half-reclined on an armchair, tucked in a shadowy corner next to one of the large windows. He sat with his legs stretched out before him, his head resting against the backrest, in a position that didn't seem particularly comfortable, but apparently he was sound asleep.
Daryl didn't want to wake the man everyone called Jesus, because of a simple glass of water. So he tried again to reach the jug. He crawled as he could over the mattress and stretched his left arm. He managed to touch the handle when he felt sudden pang on his right shoulder. The pain made him flinch so hard he hit the jug, making it fall and crash against the wooden floor.
Jesus jumped on the armchair.
"What was that? What happened?" He asked surprised and somewhat disoriented.
"The jug broke" Daryl said hoarsely "I was thirsty"
The scout rubbed his face, still half asleep, and then looked at Daryl with a tired expression.
"Were you or are you?"
"I am"
Jesus observed the wet stain covered with broken glasses next to the bed, then he laid his eyes on the archer again, and he got up leaving the room. He returned just a few minutes later with a new jug.
"Can you sit or do you need help?"
"I can do it"
Daryl moved into a sitting position not able to hide the wince of pain contracting his face. Jesus placed a cushion so he could lean back more comfortably and then filled the glass with some water.
"Here"
Daryl drank in short sips allowing the liquid to slide smoothly down his throat.
"How do you feel?" Jesus asked, putting the glass back on the nightstand.
"How long have I been here?"
"At hilltop or in this room?"
Daryl grunted. It was not that difficult to answer that fucking question, right?
Yes, he knew Jesus was a good conversationalist; he had an admirable ability to speak with whomever he wanted without the typical awkward silences of those who don't know how to maintain a relaxed chat. In fact, he had come to nickname him the bearded chatterbox. However, Daryl was taciturn, especially if he didn't give two shits about the person he was talking with. And in that moment he had neither the strength nor the courage to strike up a conversation.
"You arrived three days ago," Jesus said aware of the archer's impatience "You were moved here two days ago. We were told that you were shot at close range, so the bullet passed through the flesh easily. The doctor only had to stitch the wound. You did lose a lot of blood, though."
Daryl closed his eyes.
"What about the rest? Maggie…"
"Maggie's illness turned out to be appendicitis. Harlan –the doctor– did a good job and the baby is out of danger. She feels weak, but it has more to do with her physical and mental fatigue than the surgery itself. Rick went back to Alexandria with a group of people yesterday morning."
Daryl opened his eyes not very happy with the news.
"They left?"
"No need for everyone to stay here, and there are important things to do in Alexandria."
"I should have gone with them."
"For what? Right now you're better off here. Also, how do you think you were going to endure a one day trip in a RV, when you can barely move on this bed?" Jesus shook his head as if the mere thought of something like that was incredible stupid. Then he added: "Anyway, not all of them are gone. Eugene, Rosita and Aaron have stayed to help. Do you want more water?"
"No."
Without another word, Jesus walked around the bed and left the room for the second time. When he returned back, he was holding a dustpan and a hand brush. Then he crouched beside the bed and started to clean the mess.
"Didn't mean to break it," Daryl said with embarrassment, then he sighed, tilting his head "Why were you here anyway? Did you spend the night on that chair?"
"Yes, I did."
"Why?"
"Why, what?"
"Why sleep here?"
"I'm doing someone a favor."
Jesus put the dustpan aside, and then he opened a closet at the back of the room. He returned with a piece of cloth and a bowl, bent down again and began to sop the water off the floor.
Jesus mumbled something under his breath that Daryl couldn't understand, but he didn't care. As far as he was concerned, the chatterbox could get under the bed and never come out again. He threw his head back against the cushions and closed his eyes.
Suddenly a door opened, and both of them turned their attention to the stranger who entered the room. Daryl didn't recognize the man moving around slowly, as if he was trying not to make much noise, but he stopped as soon as noticed there were two pair of eyes on him.
His gaze traveled from Jesus to Daryl.
"Oh! I'm glad to see you're awake," He said with a big smile.
He set his briefcase on the nightstand, pulled up a chair beside the bed, sat down and placed a hand on Daryl's forehead. He left his hand there for a few seconds, and then he lowered it to his cheek. The contact made the archer so uncomfortable that his body stiffened completely.
"You're not the doctor" Daryl muttered.
The man noticed the suspicious look the archer was giving him and withdrew his hand immediately.
"I'm sorry, I forgot you've not been very aware of what's been going on for the past two days" he remarked, trying to offer him a reassuring smile. "My name is Alex, I'm helping Harlan, the doctor."
Alex was more or less the same age as Jesus. He was a rather skinny guy with angular features. His short, dark blond hair was matted and there were visible signs of tiredness on his face, enhanced by the dark circles under his big blue eyes. The dimple on his chin was his most notable feature.
"Aren't you a bit early?" Jesus said, not moving from where he was crouched down.
"I fell asleep the moment I hit the bed; I'm fine," he said, moving around the bed to join him. "What happened?"
"Some water… but I've cleaned most of it."
"What about that glass? Is the jug broken?"
Jesus didn't answer the question; he just got up and left the bowl and the cloth on one of the drawers.
"Did you get some sleep?" Alex asked him carefully.
"You would have found me drooling like a St. Bernard if not for the jug."
That was not an accusation, the archer understood that immediately, it looked more like Jesus was trying to dispel the guilt reflected in the nurse's eyes.
Daryl watched the scene with more interest than he was even aware of.
"How are you feeling?" Alex asked, turning his attention back to Daryl "Are you in pain?"
"I'm fine."
"His shoulder is hurting him," Jesus pointed out, "but he doesn't seem like the type who would admit to it."
Daryl muttered something unintelligible. Not only he had to endure one chatterbox, now he had to listen to two of them.
"Does it hurt now that you're resting?"
"Does when I move."
"Oh well, that's normal" Alex said. "The fever is what worries me the most right now, you may have an infection and we're running low on antibiotics" the nurse huffed. "Maggie also needs meds we don't have, it's not urgent but–"
"I'll go out in a couple of days" Jesus said "I can change my plan, leave tomorrow and try to find everything you need."
"Paul, no" Alex grabbed Jesus's arm and both walked away to the other end of the room "You just got back three days ago and you've been working nonstop. You shouldn't even have spent the night here. Look at you, you need to rest."
"I'll rest later, this is important."
"Yes, of course it is, but they can organize another group."
"Yeah, because that went well before… Look, I'll go see how Maggie is doing, and then I'll go to bed and stay there until morning, ok?
The nurse sighed folding his arms, it was obvious he didn't like that idea, but he didn't bother to say otherwise.
Daryl was trying to turn a deaf ear to the conversation between the two, because it was much more personal than it might seem. So in an attempt to distract himself from the two men, he reached out his left arm trying to grab the glass.
"Wait a second," Alex said hurrying to the bed and handing him the glass.
"Instead of havin' a couple of nannies cackling in my room, wouldn't it be easier to leave things nearby, so no one needs to ride my ass every time I need a sip of water?"
Alex leaned back, frowning, clearly surprised by the sudden outburst of sincerity coming from the archer. Behind him, however, Jesus let out a slight chuckle.
"I bet it was easier to take care of him when he was completely out of it," he said at the foot of the bed.
"Laugh all you want, prick. I'd like to see you in this situation."
"Who says I haven't been?" Jesus replied, hardening his tone. "But you're right, I wouldn't want to be in your place. However, I'll tell you that I'm not feeling any kind of compassion for you right now, Dixon. In fact, if it depended on me, I wouldn't hesitate to shoot you right up the other shoulder at this very moment. Perhaps, when you wake up again, you'll show some more gratitude for those who are working tirelessly and selflessly, so you can get that arse of yours out of this bed."
Alex coughed nervously and cleared his throat in an attempt to divert the attention away, hoping to dispel the tension that seemed to be increasing between them. He walked to the nightstand where he had left his small briefcase.
"I'll give you a muscle relaxant to calm the pain until the doctor comes to see you and determines your treatment. We'll change the bandage after he takes a look at the wound."
Daryl accepted the nurse's words but he didn't take his eyes off Jesus. He was moving around the room picking up some things, including the dustpan with rest of the jug he broke. Then he walked towards the door.
"I'm leaving." He said.
Before he even could put his fingers on the doorknob, Alex reached out a hand and grabbed his wrist to stop him.
"Will I see you before you to leave?" he asked quietly.
"Sure."
Jesus gave him a warm smile and left the room.
That simple gesture didn't go unnoticed by Daryl. Not that he hadn't realize already by the brief conversation they had, that the relationship between them was hiding something more than the comradery of two people who have been living in the same place for a long time. That slight touch expressed much more than the words they'd shared, and he couldn't help but feel even more uncomfortable than he already was.
He was a stranger here, and for a moment he felt alone. He needed to see his people; he needed to feel their closeness. And above all, he needed to know they were okay.