Chapter Four

They looked quite the pair, walking back into the prison in clothes that were soaking wet and still tinged with blood. Carol watched them from the guard tower, hands tightening around her rifle when she noted that neither was wearing the clothing they'd left in. She had little time to seethe before Daryl and Layla had disappeared inside.

"Hershel says ya gotta change the dressings," Daryl announced, finding Layla pacing his cell. The rest of the group, newcomers and all, were dispersed throughout the prison, acclimating to their new jobs. And it didn't surprise Daryl at all that Layla had managed to find the least populated spot in the whole damn place to wait for his return. Once he'd been forced to pick out a cell of his own, he'd nabbed the one farthest from the others. And hardly to his surprise, it had remained relatively isolated, even after their group had grown.

"Great," Layla carped sardonically.

Daryl moved into the doorway, holding gauze and ointment. Layla turned to face him, and even though she tried to hide it by immediately looking to the floor, he saw the flash of panic. He recognized his mistake, and moved out of the doorway to sit on the bed, reopening her exit route. She visibly relaxed then, flashing him a grateful smile.

"Didn't think you'd wanna find Hershel to do it," Daryl said softly. "Ya didn't seem too happy 'bout it last time. I could uh…get Michonne? One of the girls?"

Layla closed the privacy curtain and went to sit down beside him. She wrung her hands together, staring into her lap. "I'd really rather they didn't…see. I'd rather no one did, to be honest."

"Ya got nothin' to hide," Daryl immediately said, and green eyes darted up to meet him. She gifted him a soft smile.

"Maybe, you could? If you don't mind…" she asked hesitantly.

"'Course, if that's what you want."

Layla scooted closer to him on the bed, then slowly turned so her back was towards him. She took her time unbuttoning his flannel, then shrugged it off, letting it pool on the floor.

A thought occurred to him, and he grimaced before forcing himself to open his mouth, "I uh…gotta unhook your bra. To get at the bandages. I ain't gonna pull anything, Layla, I swear! S'just in the way, and if I wanna—"

"Daryl," she interrupted him, and he breathed out a sigh of relief when her tone was far from upset, or frightened. "It's fine. I trust you, okay? Just do what you need to do."

He nodded to himself, and easily unhooked her bra, waiting for her to slip it off her shoulders and deposit it to the floor with the rest of her clothing. She brought her knees up to her chest, hugging them loosely.

"Okay," she murmured, "Let's just get it over with."

Daryl allowed himself the small pleasure of gathering her hair in hand and pushing it over a single shoulder. Layla shivered pleasantly when his fingers barely grazed the side of her neck, momentarily forgetting herself. But then there was the sound of a gauze packet being ripped open, and she couldn't stop her heart from picking up pace.

Daryl watched her shudder with every outward breath, shoulders squared off the way his had always been before getting the belt. He cursed himself for having no goddamn idea what to say to make this any easier.

Instead, Daryl steadied his own breathing and reached for the first bandage. His fingertips made contact with her back, and Layla instinctually recoiled, gasping audibly and curling into herself.

"Sorry, I'm sorry," she quickly whispered, turning to look at him. But Daryl was shaking his head, holding his hands up in mock surrender.

"No, it's my fault. I shoulda—"

"It isn't your fault, it's mine. God, it was bad enough with Rick and Hershel there, but at least I held it together. I didn't want them to see me… like this, I guess. I can do it. I can, it's just…"

"Tell me what to do," Daryl softly pleaded. "Tell me what you need me to do. Anything, Layla."

"Anything?" she asked, looking over her shoulder at him with a small twinkle in her eye.

He huffed out a laugh, "Call me a pussy, but yeah. Whatever ya need."

Layla bit her lip contemplatively for a beat, before asking, "Maybe you could keep talking, during? Maybe if I can hear that it's you, it'll be easier."

"I can do that," Daryl said with determination, "Are you, uh, ready?"

"Yeah," she breathed, turning her back to him again.

"What do ya want me to talk about?" he asked, peeling back the first of the bandages.

"Doesn't matter," she said with a shiver. "Anything. The people here. Your brother. The weather."

"I was never too good with small talk," Daryl mumbled.

"Doesn't have to be small, then. Anything. I just need you to—"

"Yeah, I know. I get it, really Layla," he paused for a moment, "You really wanna hear about my brother?"

"Why wouldn't I?" she countered, sincerity shining from her innocent tone.

"I guess I haven't talked about him much. Even after he…" Daryl sighed, "Not that many people liked Merle, especially the people here. They're family, and so was he, but they didn't get why I always fought for him. Why I wanted him around so badly."

"Did you try to explain it to them?"

"Never got the chance. Governor told Rick he could either give up Michonne, or he'd kill all of us and take the prison. Rick went to Merle and told him what was what. And Merle took off with Michonne before Rick got the chance to come to his senses.

"And Merle let her go?"

"Yeah. He didn't think for one second that the Governor was tellin' the truth, and I didn't neither. But Merle went and tried to take the Governor out himself, and ya know how that story ended." Daryl balled up the soiled bandages. "I gotta clean out the cuts a bit. Y'alright with that?"

"Mmhmm," Layla responded idly, and Daryl wet his rag with water from his canteen, dabbing carefully at her back. "Do you blame Rick?"

She heard Daryl let out a ragged sigh. "Sometimes. More often I blame Merle, and that ain't any easier."

"What do you mean?"

"He knew it was suicide, doin' what he did."

"But it sounds like he was trying to protect everyone. You."

"Probably. But that still don't change that he left me. Again."

"Again?"

"Back at the beginning of all this, Merle was in the group with us. He went on a run to Atlanta. Got high. Violent. Rick cuffed him to a pipe on a roof, and when another one of our group dropped the key, Merle got left behind. They went back with me the next day to go get him, but when we got there all that was left was his hand, and a bloody saw. Thing was, he knew damn well where the camp was. Where I was. But he didn't come back. Just left me with a bunch of strangers."

"They're not strangers anymore."

"No. Guess not."

"But that doesn't sound like the whole story."

Daryl smirked at the back of her neck. "You're too damn observant for your own good."

"And you're avoiding the topic, so I'll just go ahead and say you don't have to tell me anything. We can always talk about the weather."

"No it's…it's good. Haven't gotten to talk about him, since…The others, they don't wanna hear. And I can't really blame them. He was a racist asshole, my brother. I ain't got any delusions 'bout that. But 'til all this started, he was my whole fuckin' world." Daryl's breath hitched, and Layla reached a hand back to rest on his knee. He tentatively rested his palm over hers, squeezing once. "S'alright, I'm fine," he muttered roughly.

"You're allowed not to be." Layla looked over her shoulder at him again. That same knowing look. And for the first time in Daryl's life, it was a true, brutal fight to stop from kissing the woman in front of him.

"So are you," he murmured. "The thing 'bout Merle was, he cared about me, but he lied to himself. A lot. He took off when I was eight, didn't come back 'til I was near eighteen. Figured I'd be fine without him."

"He just left? Why?"

"'Cuz of our dad," Daryl mumbled. "Gonna put on that ointment, now. S'gonna sting."

"I can take it," she replied with a small smile.

"S'gonna heal up just fine," Daryl told her as he worked, "Betcha a lot of 'em won't even scar none."

"Now you're just lying to me."

"Nah, trust me. I know a thing or two about it. Ain't as bad as ya think. I'm almost finished up."

"That so? I figured you'd try to draw out how long you get to have me topless in front of you," Layla said teasingly.

Abruptly, the curtain was thrown back, and Carol strode right into the cell. "Dinner's in fifteen," she announced, ignoring Layla's mortified expression as she struggled to find something to cover her back.

Instead, Daryl quickly slid between them, blocking Layla from view. "Out, Carol" he growled, towering over her.

She rolled her eyes, the picture of nonchalance. "Fine," she sneered, turning and leaving the room.

He looked back down at Layla, who was clearly fighting back tears. "Stay here," he barked, before charging out of the cell.

He stormed down the empty hallway. "Carol, hold up!" he hollered.

She stopped, and turned back towards him, seeming fairly surprised to find him scowling at her.

"What the fuck was that?" he snarled once he'd closed the distance between them. "What the fuck were you thinking, barging in like that?"

"How was I supposed to know she'd be naked?" Carol snarked, and shuffled back a step when Daryl's eyes went narrow and dangerous.

"Don't you fuckin' lie, Carol. Those curtains ain't soundproof. I know you woulda heard us talkin' bout it. Show the woman some goddamn respect. She spent the last few weeks of her life bein' tortured by the asshole who murdered my brother."

"So she says."

Daryl glowered at her, "You saw her back. Ain't like she invited ya to, but ya saw it anyways. You sayin' she did that to herself? I know you ain't that stupid."

"I don't see why you're so upset about it," Carol calmly replied, crossing her arms over her chest.

"If you don't think I'd know somethin' 'bout wanting to hide scars, then you don't know me at all," Daryl hissed, lowering his voice abruptly. "Thought you and me understood each other. Jesus."

He paced in front of her, trying to collect himself.

"Daryl…"

"You owe that girl an apology," he said firmly, cutting her off. "And you best steer clear of me 'til ya make it right."

With that, Daryl b-lined right back to his cell, roughly pulling the curtain back into place. Layla remained curled up on his bed, knees to her chest and sniffling quietly. She'd placed her back to the opposite wall, now. Undoubtedly to prevent another group member from catching an eyeful. She jumped noticeably when he burst back in.

Daryl stopped hesitantly in front of the bunk. "Layla…" he murmured.

"I'm fine," she said far too quickly, voice thick. "I'm fine."

He crouched down in front of her, seeking out her eyes. "Ya don't gotta be," he told her, repeating her words from before.

That got her attention. She nodded slowly, peeking out at him from under her lashes. "What did you mean when you said you know about hiding scars?"

"You heard that, huh?" he said lowly, no life to his voice. She bit her lip and unwrapped one arm from her body to pull gently at his arm, urging him to sit with her. And despite his surprise, Daryl didn't hesitate to slide in next to her, taking the spot between her and the wall.

He nearly jumped out of his skin when Layla pushed herself into his lap, pulling his legs apart for her to slot comfortably inside. Still wrapped into a ball, she leaned on her side against Daryl's chest. And Daryl might have been borderline alarmed by her sudden desire to touch him, if not for the way her body relaxed completely once safely in his arms.

She breathed in the musk of his shirt, deep and slow. Smoke and wood and leather. "Sorry I jumped you," she mumbled, "It was just- I just needed-"

"Shit, Layla, ya don't gotta apologize. Ain't like I don't wanna be here."

"You do?" she asked quietly, voice lower than a whisper.

And Daryl nearly laughed aloud at that, because to him, it was obvious. He'd never so much as hugged any of the other women in the group. But here he was with Layla half-naked in his lap, and it was the most comfortable he'd been since all this started. "'Course, Layla."

"Can't help thinking you just feel sorry for me."

"That's not it. Ya gotta know that," Daryl told her. Only then did it occur to him that no, she didn't know, because he hadn't told her. "I shoulda had a hard time believin' ya, when ya told me that Merle was the one that saved you. Merle never cozied up to people too easy, and I ain't never seen him go out of his way to help someone that wasn't me. But there's somethin' about ya, Layla. Guess he saw it too. Christ, I can't explain it right…"

"You're doing just fine," Layla replied softly, and he let himself rest one hand on the back of her neck, holding her against him. They sat like that for some time, until Layla murmured lowly, "Guess you really don't want to tell me about what happened with Carol."

"Ain't gonna let it drop, are ya?"

"I do have a history of being quite stubborn."

"Don't gotta tell me that," he said with a small chuckle. He sucked in a steadying breath. "S'like I was sayin' before. Merle left 'cuz of my Dad. And my Dad, he liked to drink. You can fill in the blanks."

It came out in a jumbled rush, and Layla felt the way Daryl's muscles went rigid in the aftermath, as if he were expecting something terrible. She lifted her head, and saw that he was staring into the corner of the cell, frowning at some ghost of his past. So Layla leaned up towards him, ever so slightly, and pressed a lingering kiss to the long column of skin at his neck. He shivered underneath her, and the hand at her neck twitched with the desire to do much more than he'd allow himself at the moment.

Instead, Daryl pressed a brief kiss to the side of her head, and murmured, "How 'bout ya let me finish takin' care of your back?"

TWDTWDTWDTWD

"We really can't sleep outside tonight?" Layla asked once more, after dinner.

"Storm's comin' in," Daryl replied, "And anyways, we've got four walls and a roof. Ought to put them to use."

Layla sighed. "Okay. Then where am I sleeping?"

Daryl stood in the hall outside of his cell, shifting his weight nervously from foot to foot. "I was thinkin' this one," he mumbled, nodding his head towards the cell adjacent to his.

"There's no one in it already?"

"Nah, I'm the only one on this half of the block. Guess no one had the balls to be my neighbor," he said with feigned indifference, anxious for her reply. "That sound alright to you?"

"Better than alright," she immediately responded, flashing him a quick smile.

He let out a breath he'd never admit to have been holding. "Good. Already put some blankets and pillows in there, just in case. And your pack."

Layla's smile only got wider. "You were hoping I would pick that one, weren't you?"

"No," he scoffed. "It was just the easiest place to throw everything."

"Sure it was," Layla said sardonically. "Sorry to be such a burden."

Daryl might have been worried, if not for the clear warmth in her voice, shining through despite her attempts at sarcasm.

"I guess I'll just get out of your hair," Layla murmured, turning towards her cell. But before he'd had time to think it through, Daryl's hand shot out to grasp her loosely by the wrist, stopping her.

She turned back towards him, looking confused more than anything. And Daryl's breath caught in his throat for perhaps the millionth time since he'd met her.

Daryl's eyes bore into hers, searching. His heart was rocketing away in his chest, leaving his body vibrating to the point where he thought he might just dissolve. But the feel of Layla's soft skin against his calloused fingers grounded him. She watched him without any fear in her eyes, or judgment.

And after a long moment of trepidation, Daryl leaned towards her, cocking his head just slightly to the side, and Layla met him in a slow kiss. She leaned her weight against his strong frame, letting Daryl be all the support she needed, and felt his hand migrate north to gently cup her cheek.

When he felt the warm, wet caress of her tongue tracing his lip, Daryl was done for. His other hand tangled into her hair, while their tongues danced together. And just when he couldn't stop thinking that Layla was about the sweetest thing he'd ever tasted, she bit gently at his lower lip. He couldn't help but groan into her mouth, breath stuttering along with his heart.

He pulled away from her all at once, praying she hadn't felt just how hard he was from something as insignificant as a kiss.

But it wasn't insignificant, really. Not to him.

"Sorry. Fuck, I'm sorry," he panted. "I shouldn't have—fuck, Layla I didn't mean to. I swear, I'm not like that, I—"

"Daryl," she said, voice low and dripping gold. "I like it when you kiss me."

And that stopped him, alright. He finally looked up to meet those emerald eyes of hers, sure they'd be brimming with tears at his betrayal. But she was smiling at him again, that slow, soft quirk of the lips that he'd begun to find himself craving. But there was still that dread in the pit of his gut, voices of his dad and his brother mingling in an amelodic symphony of guilt and ridicule.

"Ain't gonna push ya, Layla. Not for that. I don't want you to think—"

"I don't think that. I don't," she said with conviction, and he nodded quickly, biting at his lower lip.

"S'just, I don't want ya thinkin' that's all I want from you."

"What if I want it too?" she quickly countered, cutting him off.

Daryl gaped at her. "I just…I just thought with the Governor, and…"

"You thought I was too fucked up to want you? Or too fucked up to be with anyone, now?" she hissed. He watched the light in her eyes turn vivid and sharp.

Shit, this was not going well.

"No, Layla. I thought you'd need more time! I just met ya, and after everything he did, I figured if I went after ya like that you'd be likely to take my nuts off or somethin'!"

Despite her greatest efforts, Layla's angry façade crumbled, and was replaced with a thin smile. The man in front of her was an absolute mess, but an endearing mess at that. And when all of this grief was being spurred by his worry for her…well, she could hardly stay mad at him for that.

"Daryl, I don't need you to tell me what I'm ready for. I kissed you first, remember? And I didn't regret it one bit. So stop…thinking, so much." She took a step closer to him, trapping Daryl between herself and the concrete wall. "Now, I'm going to kiss you again. Try not to throw a hissy fit this time."

"Hey, I didn't—!" he began to protest. She cut him off with her lips. Then, her tongue.

In no time at all, he could hardly remember his own name.