Daryl wasn't allowed to move around much for the next few days. Hershel had been out the night before - a fleck of Carl's blood still on his cheek - to check over and then stitch up Daryl's wound. It hadn't been fun, but it also hadn't been his worst experience with medical personnel. He supposed it would be just like him to choose a vet as his preferred doctor. Hadn't Merle always said he acted like a wild animal when injured? (Of course, Merle was just being an ass. Daryl was perfectly civilized. He just tended to growl when people came at him with needles while he was already in pain. And so what if Hershel's soft cooing had gotten him to settle down? That didn't mean anything, even if it was the same trick he used on injured dogs.)
Really, Hershel had told him not to leave his tent. After trying that for a few minutes, Daryl had heaved himself off his back and wandered outside, looking for something to do. He'd pulled at his stitches a little bit, but it hadn't bled through his bandage, so he figured things were mostly intact for the time being. Still, he was careful not to move too quickly or do anything too strenuous. Sure, he'd had his eye on the dwindling wood pile the night before, but it'd only taken a curious glance from Lori for him to set down the ax and look for something else to occupy himself with.
But he was useless at setting up the fiddly tents that most of the group tended to use, so he hadn't even bothered asking Glenn if he'd needed help in that department. And although he wasn't adverse to doing a little laundry, he wasn't sure Lori would want him handling her clothes. He thought - for a moment - about going to see if Shane or Rick had anything for him to do, but he didn't want to act like he was sitting around, waiting for their orders. He wasn't. He just didn't like sitting around, and if they had something he could get done then he wanted to do it. But it wasn't as though they'd see it that way, and so Daryl kept silent. He sat in Glenn's camp chair and glowered at the fire, over which Lori was roasting a rabbit he hadn't shot.
"Just gonna sit there and stare all day?" Lori asked after a while, sounding amused.
"Ain't staring atchya, woman," he grumbled, shifting so that he could set his chin in his hand.
"No, but you are staring," she said lightly. "You should be resting, you know."
"What's it look like I'm doin'? Jumping jacks?"
Lori rolled her eyes. Daryl was always pleased to get that reaction out of her.
"I mean you should be in your tent, lying down. We'll do fine out here on our own, you know," she said earnestly. "We all appreciate what you've been doing for us, but you need to take a rest."
Daryl squinted at her, wondering where all this favor had come from. He'd never interacted with her much aside from her thanking him for bringing dead animals to her and Carol, but he sure as hell remembered all the disdainful glares in between. It'd never bothered him much coming from her. She was a mother and a housewife, and he didn't expect her to be anything but shocked and appalled by him and Merle. He was a little more concerned with her sudden soft smiles and kind words, forced to recall how quickly she seemed to jump from one man to another.
Lori must've caught his expression. Her smile faded and turned abruptly into a firmer look. The one she wore when she told Carl to stay close to camp. "We need you around, Daryl. You rest up so you can find Carol, too. God, don't let that girl lose her mother, and don't let me become the only sane woman around here..."
He decided that she didn't need to know what he thought about her sanity, but he wasn't sure he wanted to stand for her telling him what to do.
"Whatever," he muttered.
"We sure appreciate you going out there and saving Sophia, you know," she insisted. He wondered if he should tell her the rabbit was burning.
"Actually, I saved him, Missus Grimes," Sophia piped up, doing her usual trick of stepping out of thin air. The girl didn't weigh nearly enough if she could sneak up on Daryl without even trying. "Isn't that right, Mister Dixon?"
"Don't call me that," he warned, his eyes sweeping over her tiny frame. Her scratches were healing and her eyes were drier than usual. He decided she could stand to take a little heat. "How many times I gotta tell ya that b'fore you start listening to me?"
"What's she talking about, Daryl?" Lori asked, preventing Sophia from answering his question and changing the subject, as he'd meant it to. Her brown eyes were fixed on him with something a little like suspicion and a lot like amusement. A ragged sigh escaped him when he realized he wasn't going to get out of spilling the secret. If you could even call it a secret.
"Was lookin' for 'em in the woods. Heard the girl screamin' and followed the sound. Three walkers. Got two down, third got me down. 'Phia stabbed it in the head with my knife," he grumbled. Lori's shocked look was worth the story, as was Sophia's proud smile. He figured she could have her pride. She'd done alright. "She's a good girl. Course, she'll do better after a bit of trainin' up."
He wasn't sure why he'd said that, but her blinding smile might've had something to do with it. "You're gonna teach me how to be like you?" she whispered, and her eyes didn't glow, but they did something.
"Yeah, I'll teach ya, kid," he muttered, biting at his thumbnail. "Mind, your momma ain't gonna be happy with me when we find her. But if you wanna be strong and brave, I ain't gonna stop ya."
Sophia moved to his side and dropped to her knees again, resting her chin on the arm of Glenn's chair like she'd done the night before.
"Thank you Mister Dixon," she said earnestly. "My mom will thank you, too, one day."
Daryl ignored the hated title and focused instead on the second statement, steeling himself to look into her eyes. "One day soon," he promised, putting on his best glare to combat the familiar resignation in her eyes. This time, he was willing. He was waiting. He wasn't going to let her brush him off. He couldn't stand knowing she thought Carol was dead.
For once, Sophia was the first one to look away, not a word of protest on her lips. But Daryl knew better than to think she wasn't doubting him. He caught her chin as she turned away and forced her to look at him, feeling anger twist at his insides as he saw the acceptance, the sadness.
"Hey!" he snarled, gritting his teeth to try and reign it in. It wasn't her fault. He had to remember that. "She ain't dead yet," he said flatly. "She ain't dead and I ain't gonna let ya be an orphan. Got it?" His fingers bit into her jaw. "Got it?" he repeated forcefully. She nodded - as firmly as she was able with his hand restraining her. When he saw how restricted the movement was, he seemed to remember himself and quickly released her. It was a relief when she didn't immediately scramble away, but he still couldn't bring himself to meet her eyes again. He cleared his throat, feeling he had to say something to soften his words, soften the faint marks he'd left on her jaw. (Would they bruise?) "Ya can't lose hope," he muttered, biting at his thumbnail again. "Ya can't give up, neither. Carol's out there dependin' on us ta find her. To be lookin' for her, and ya can't look for somethin' you don't believe can be found. Not really."
A little whimper escaped the girl, and Daryl raised his eyes just in time to see tears running down her cheeks before she leaned forward and pushed her face against his upper arm, her tears dripping onto his bicep and running down his skin to tickle the inside of his elbow.
He let her cry.
Sophia was quiet, but Daryl could still hear her soft sniffles. He wondered if he was meant to do something other than sit there, but the idea was quickly put out of mind. Any more contact than her head on his arm, and he might have to bail. Besides, he had to control the growing urge to jump up out of his seat, not because of her crying but because of Carol, who was still out there all alone. Was anyone looking for her? Daryl hadn't seen Shane all day, but he could hardly believe the man would let a defenseless woman remain abandoned out there for long. The man had come to her aide, hadn't he? Daryl might not have been there, but he remembered walking into camp and seeing that someone had made a punching bag out of Ed Peletier's face.
Still, Daryl felt that Carol had been given up as a loss. The thought alone made him shift in his seat and dig his nails into his palms. If no one else was going to look, he needed to be out there.
He suddenly felt very stupid for the injury in his side. After all, who fell on their own bolt? It was stupid. Ridiculous.
"She's taken to you pretty well," Lori murmured, reminding Daryl of her presence. He started at the sound of her voice and then quickly stilled when he realized Sophia was slumped against his chair, fast asleep. He was pretty impressed with the angle. Daryl'd slept in plenty of tight and uncomfortable places, but he wasn't sure he'd've been able to manage that. "She didn't sleep well last night," Lori sighed. "Think she was worried about you."
"Ain't nothin' ta worry about," Daryl said, shifting uncomfortably at the thought. It didn't sit well with him to be worried after. It made him rankle at the girl's presence to think about it.
"Even so," she said with a little smile, setting a paper plate of rabbit on his knees. She perched on picnic table behind her and studied him carefully. "Carol would be happy to know her daughter was getting along okay."
"We'll see when she gets back," he replied, biting at his nail once more.
"Why are you being so good to her?"
"Girl just lost her mother. How else should I be?"
Lori waved her hand impatiently. "That's not what I mean. You don't have to let her follow you around the way you have been. We've all seen how uncomfortable it makes you. Why did you agree to teach her when you know you'll be grittin' your teeth the whole time?" she chuckled.
"Cause she wants to learn," he said with a tiny shrug, careful not to jostle the sleeping girl.
"That doesn't mean you have to teach her," Lori pointed out. Daryl glared at her.
"Yes it does," he insisted, pausing when Sophia found a more comfortable position before settling again. "We could be all that's left out here. Got a duty to each other. 'Phia wants to learn, we gotta teach her. And since no one else knows what they're doin', s'gotta be me."
"We are not the last ones," she said calmly, her eyes widening slightly as the thought took hold of her.
"Don't matter," Daryl muttered around him thumb. "We might as well be, for all the trouble other people are causin' us. 'Sides, we only got each other now, and I want someone useful watchin' while I sleep."
"So that's what this is? You're doing this to save your own back?" she countered, setting her hands on her hips.
"The hell you want me to say, woman?" Daryl grunted, pulling his thumb away from his mouth to glare at her. "We could be the last ones, and that means we gotta do the best we can to keep each other alive. That means teachin' 'Phia to survive, goin' out to look for Carol, and grittin' my teeth while this thing drools on my arm. Can't do nothin' but abide each other and try not to let anyone else die because we were too stubborn or stupid to set things aside and help."
Lori tilted her head to the side and stared at him for a long moment. To his horror, he saw tears start to fall from her doe eyes.
He let her cry.
Daryl wouldn't call it a nap. He'd never been able to sleep in the open with too many people around and this time had been no different. But he had closed his eyes and let his mind wander, and it had eventually led to a sluggish sort of rest that was somewhere just between sleeping and wakefulness. It had ended real fast when Shane came stomping back into camp, and Daryl'd cracked an eye to watch as he approached the waning campfire and snorted when he caught sight of Sophia cuddled up next to Daryl's chair.
She'd moved to a comfier position on the ground, one arm twisted around Daryl's left ankle and the other tucked into her chest. Her side was trapping his left foot while her head rested on his right shoe.
He wondered when that'd happened.
"Since when did you turn into Santa Claus, redneck?" Shane muttered, clearly not aware Daryl was conscious.
"Do I look jolly to you, Walsh?"
Rick laughed, coming along beside Shane to take in the scene. "Looks like Carl has to find a new best friend when he's back on his feet," he said to his partner. Daryl felt alarm bells ring in his ears when Shane simply glowered at the man before stalking away. Daryl knew all too well what happened when you got on Shane's bad side, and while he wasn't scared of Shane... he hadn't stolen Shane's girlfriend.
Daryl squeezed his eyes shut, telling himself not to think about it. That nothing but a headache ever came from thinking about the Rick-Shane-Lori thing.
"Mommy?" Sophia yawned, swaying slightly as she pushed herself up.
"Not yet," Rick said gently, kneeling down (a little too close for Daryl's liking) and setting a hand on the girl's shoulder. "We've been out looking all day, though. We'll probably find her tomorrow on the other side of the creek. Got too dark to keep going today, but we'll be out again at first light."
Daryl narrowly prevented himself from scoffing. That would only encourage Sophia's doubts, and Rick was trying. That had to be enough for now, while he was still laid up in bed. Chair.
That still didn't stop him from doubting the guy. He'd been okay since the Atlanta incident, aside from losing Carol, and did a good job of balancing out Shane's psychotic tendencies. But Daryl still held a bit of a grudge against him for the way things had gone down at the quarry, and he wasn't about to trust a man that had left his brother handcuffed on a roof, no matter how much Merle had brought it on himself.
"Can I go?" Sophia asked. Daryl chuckled when he saw Rick twitch under her unnerving gaze.
"Sorry, sweetie, but I think it's best if you stay here," Rick chuckled, unabashed. "We need you to take care of Daryl."
Daryl grit his teeth, irritated at the whole situation, but just managed to hold his tongue. Sophia had no such qualms. "Well, okay," she said with a little nod. "Just until he's feeling better, though. Then we'll go out and find her." Her tone left no room for correction, and when Rick opened his mouth anyway, Sophia turned her fiber-glass gaze to him. "Right, Mister Dixon?" she pleaded.
"Fine," he grumbled, ignoring Rick's meaningful look. He pushed himself to his feet and escaped toward his tent, wondering when he'd get another day to himself. The answer, he conceded, was very clear.
Merle always said it'd take the end of the world for Daryl to become a social person.