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"Oh my God!"

"What the hell happened?!"

"Is he dead?"

I squeezed my eyes shut, voices penetrating into my horrid nightmares, tricking my mind into thinking they erupted from my dreams.

"How did he get here?!"

"I thought he went hunting...he didn't make it far..."

"He look's terrible! Was he attacked?"

"Obviously not the work of a Walker. They wouldn't do that..."

"But...who would do such a thing?!"

"Wait! Hold on! I think he's waking up!"

It hit me like a wave, rolling over me and adding piles and piles of monstrous pain. I had a crook in my neck from sleeping awkwardly, my back took a toll from the cement, and I felt completely drained of energy. Vomit had dribbled down my face, blood crusted my already-chapped lips, and my shirt was rimmed with sweat. My muscles were sore in my legs, thighs, arms, you-name-it. I could also tell that my skin was peppered in goosebumps and fresh bruises, and I would be covered in scratches head-to-toe.

I took a deep shaky breath, letting out a quick exhale upon the realization of how painful my ribs felt. Breathing through my nose was impossible, but breathing through my mouth tempted another session of vomit. I groaned, wearily opening my eyes, blinking against the harsh sunlight and the shadows looming above me.

"He doesn't look to be in a good condition."

"Is he waking up? Did he say something? I thought I heard him say something..."

"Daryl? Daryl, can you hear me? Daryl?"

My eyelids flickered close. Another moan escaped my lips, along with a labored coughing fit. A swarm of hands fell over me.

"He needs help! He's going to die!"

"What if he got bitten? What if he's hit with the fever?"

"How could a Walker do this?! They wouldn't leave him bruised like this! They would eat him down to bones! This was the work of a man..."

"What if the Governor did this?! Could it be that the Governor attacked him?"

"Guys! Daryl can't breathe! We gotta help him!"

I kept coughing until I managed to hack up more digested fluids from my system, then settled into a shaky trance where I remained still, hesitantly breathing, praying my lungs could function properly. My throat stung and begged for water, even though I knew my stomach couldn't handle the refreshment without vomiting again. I had a killer headache, my limbs were too exhausted to move, and so badly did I want to sleep. But the voices were yelling above me, calling my name, keeping me from dozing. I wanted to tell them, I wanted to let them know, but I was too tired to say anything. The excessive fits of convulsions were rendering my body helpless and weak, almost forcing me into a coma. It was brutal every time my stomach lurched and liquids bubbled from my mouth. I literally felt like I was on the verge of death.

A generous amount of hands reached out for me, turning me over to my side as I threw up. I coughed, my body thrown forward, forced to be curled into a ball, surrounded by acidic fluids that I barfed. I kept vomiting until my convulses were in vain, my stomach trying to pump out the liquids even though it was empty, which made me just cough without puking up the food I had eaten days earlier. I kept retching until my body calmed down, growing tranquil and unresponsive again. I released a sigh, thankful that it was over. I felt much better, but I was still in pain.

"What could be wrong with him? Hershel?"

"He may just have an illness. Maybe he caught something..."

"Daryl got sick so suddenly..."

"A virus, then?"

"...but I think it may involve his injuries. He couldn't have done that to himself."

"But WHO did it? We obviously didn't. We were all in there, safe and sound in the prison, locked in our cells. Someone from outside attacked him, I just know it..."

"But no one was here..."

"You don't know that. The Governor is out there, a few miles away. He could have easily snuck up, taken him out, and left him here."

"How long do you think he was out here? All night?"

"Only one way to be sure..."

I felt a hand grip my shoulder, firmly but not hard enough to cause any pain. I inhaled sharply, searing pain ripping through my chest.

"Daryl? Can you hear me? Wake up. C'mon, please wake up..."

My face contorted with pain as I turned my neck, craning to look up. Pinching my eyes, I slowly gazed up at them sleepily, not fully aware of myself. I blinked slowly, my eyes adjusting to the light. I was surrounded by tall figures, their faces blurred from my watery vision, their facial features concealed in the contrast of light and darkness. My head fell back to the pavement with a groan.

There was a flurry of gasps, followed by questions firing from all directions.

"What happened?"

"What hurts?"

"How did you end up like this?"

"Was it the Governor?"

I tried to speak, but it came out as a series of smeared mumbles.

"Daryl? Daryl, answer me."

"I'm...I'm fine..." I gasped.

"No, Daryl. You're not. Hershel! Get medical supplies. Set up the room in the prison. We're gonna need it. Everyone else, pitch in. We gotta move him into the prison. He won't do good out here."

Pairs of hands flooded my vision and swooped around me. On the count of three, hands dove under my limp body and lifted me into the air. Immediately, I felt insecure with all the hands grazing my skin, flinching with every step as my head bobbed lifelessly. I started shivering again, my clothes wet and clinging to my body. There was nothing that could make me happier than to be in a hot bath. Damn shame there wasn't any plumbing...

The slam of the door and the sudden change in light told me that we were inside. They descended the small staircase with small, hesitant steps and I was moved across the room.

"Over here!"

I was carried into the cell-room, everyone heaving to keep my body suspended from the ground. They brought me into one of the cells, everyone crowding around the bunk bed.

"Ok, on three; one...two...three!"

Everyone grunted, lowering my body on the stinky, tattered mattress. I sighed, relieved that I was inside and off of the vomit-splattered pavement. My head reclined on a pillow, resting the crook in my neck, but I was freezing, shivering quietly, and I submerged beneath a wave of nausea.

"Blankets. Get blankets, Maggie."

"He looks better, now that he's inside..."

"I think he might get sick again..."

"Someone get some water! Where are those blankets?!"

I rolled over again, gagging as my stomach tried to expel excess fluids, though none remained. I chocked, coughing hoarsely to the floor, my eyes squeezed shut. My ribs felt broken, my lungs were ready to explode, and my stomach was cramped from the convulsions. My body felt like it needed to vomit up my intestines. But at last, I settled back on the stinky mattress, gasping, chocking, blood and saliva drooling down my face. I didn't give a crap. Remaining still eased the pain, and I almost didn't want to breath. Every inhale itched my raw throat, and my nose felt awkward.

All because of my father, I told myself. Because of him...

A moist cloth was rested upon my head, dousing the fever that radiated from my skin. I moaned softly.

I feel so weak right now, I told myself.

The last time I was bedridden was when I had the Flu as a child. Laying helpless in bed felt weak of me, though on the other side, all I wanted more than anything was to sleep.

Baby-ish, I though. My father must be gloating secretly to himself.

I got mad, but refused to move.

"Daryl?"

"We should let him rest a bit."

"No. For all we now, he could be hanging by a thread between life and death..."

"He's exhausted, overwhelmed; this man can barely talk. He needs rest, time to recover..."

"He might need life-saving techniques..."

"As far as I'm concerned, it's just minor injuries. He was ruffed up quite a bit..."

"Then explain why he's been throwing up...why he was found, passed out on the pavement, alone, cold, probably there all night..."

"That must have been when he was attacked. You should leave him alone..."

"Not until I find out who did this and what's wrong with him...Daryl? Daryl, can you hear me?"

"He's out cold, Rick..."

"He's sweating through the blankets and shivering tremendously. I think he has a broken nose too and a black eye; his breathing is labored..."

"Maybe the experience was too much to handle..."

"He got jumped, Hershel, by two, three, maybe four men. He was beaten to a pulp. Look at him!"

"Best keep quiet then, Rick. He needs the rest."

"What could they have done to him that Daryl couldn't handle? He's one tough son-of-a-bitch..."

I smiled to myself.

That's right, I told myself. My father IS a bitch. He did this to me. God, I hope Carter heard that...

"Even a man like Daryl can't handle a gang all at once. He was taken down; we didn't know. Only, who would beat Daryl like this during that time of night?"

"I'm telling you; it MUST be the Governor! No random guy would spot him here, attack him then leave him for dead. No one from the group would have the intentions to do so..."

Carter, I thought. Carter. It was all Carter.

"Let's just give him some time alone. He's obviously exhausted. Let him rest some."

"You sure that's a good idea?"

"Better than hovering over him, shaking him to wake up. Let his body take care of himself. Maybe when he wakes up, he'll be able to consume food and take some medicine."

I listened as people quietly shuffled out of the room, taking turns exiting through the small iron-bar door. After a few moments, the room was dead-silent. I heard their footsteps as they descended the creaky staircase and headed for the large lobby, growing fainter until I heard the assuring sound of the cell door close. I was engulfed in silence, my husky breathing the only audible noise I could distinguish. I knew that they would all be seated at a table, discussing plans for the future in hushed tones, but I couldn't hear their voices. I was still on the bunk, taking short, hesitant breaths, trying to inhale deeper and exhale longer each time. It was a pain, having to think to breathe properly. I imagined that if I forgot, I would die of suffocation. It was a troubling thought.

Through the curtain of silence, something stirred within the room. The soft clicking of a toe, the light breeze wafting from the quick movement of a body, the sudden change in temperature, allowing cold air to seep through the door. I combined the suspicious traits and knew that someone had entered the cell uninvitedly. I didn't need to open my eyes to know it was Carol.

I felt her weight as she sat at the other end of the bed. She was very light, very thin, and I almost felt bad for her being so skinny. I wondered if she ever ate at all considering how tiny she was. She had shallow breathing, taking frequent, watery gasps. I heard her sniff several times, pause to wipe away a tear, before she resumed breathing normally. I could feel her eyes watching me, imagining them to be glazed with water, sunken with purple bags beneath her eyes, and mournfully staring at me as I slept dreamlessly. Only, I wasn't asleep. I remained quiet, hoarsely breathing, listening to her intently.

"Daryl," I heard her say meekly. "I...I don't know if you can hear me...I mean, I want to talk to you so badly but...you're scaring me. Everything that happened last night, between us...I want to apologize. You were scaring me, Daryl. I didn't know what you were saying but...you were getting so mad at me, and I was just so confused. I thought I screwed up, I thought it was something that I did. I hope it wasn't...I just want to know what's up with you, what's making you mad...after you left, God, I felt so bad. I felt ashamed. I thought it was because of me, I truly did. And then...I found you...just, lying on the pavement, lifeless. My heart broke. God, I thought you were dead. I couldn't help but cry...but when you coughed...oh Daryl my heart skipped a beat. I was thinking 'he's alive...he's alive; we can turn this around...' and Daryl...I just care so much about you. Everything that I argued about...I'm sorry that I made you mad. I didn't want to make you mad. I just...thought you needed a little push in the right direction. I thought I would be helping you but...I don't know. I messed up my words and Daryl, I'm just so sorry. I never wanted to anger you. And I'm like about to cry now because...because..."

Carol choked on her words, tears dribbling down her face. I felt the bed shift and she took her hand off the mattress to wipe her wet cheeks. She sniffed her nose then, in a cracked voice, continued to speak.

"...because its my fault you got hurt. It's my fault that you're angry and you stormed off because of me. I just...if I didn't argue with you, maybe you wouldn't have been beaten. Daryl...I care so much about you. Just seeing you in this condition...it really breaks my heart..."

There was a short pause in her speech, and I, with my eyes close, almost started to drift asleep for the lack of communication lulled my dreary mind. However, I felt the bed shift as Carol stood. She walked until she was beside me and hung over my head, breathing quietly as she watched me mournfully. Her hand collapsed over mine. Instinctively, I knew that I would flinch. But, I didn't. The temperature of her hand was warmer than mine, her skin just radiating excitement, anxiety and embarrassment for cradling my hand, although it ceased my shivers and almost gave me goosebumps. Carol laced her fingers with mine and slowly, delicately, her thumb stroked my bloodied knuckles, staring woefully at my battered hand.

At first, I thought,

What the hell is she doing? What am I? A baby?

But on another side, I didn't want her to stop.

Carol stopped what she was doing. I heard her swallow hard, and place my hand back on the bed. She then leaned down, hovering inches from my face. She exhaled softly, and I could detect the faintest scent of pine needles and stagnant water, a fragrance that I was rather fond of, considering how long I've lived in the wilderness. For a moment, she waited, then she leaned farther down, hesitated for a second, then kissed my forehead. Her lips barely brushed my skin, almost feather-like, but it was enough to kick my heart in adrenalin and cause my lungs to exhale loudly. Carol then stood immediately and fled the room quickly, as if being caught by her little action would make her in trouble.

I just laid there, shocked, my heart racing.

The last think I remember thinking was, Damn. I can't remember the last time I kissed a girl...