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Here is a new chapter to start/end your week.

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Given the situation, he didn't know what to make of her.

Judith had taken a liking to her, and not that he made all his judgments on the personal opinion of a near two year old, she had grown on the child. Damn baby was having actual conversations with her, she listened to her when she was told off, hell, she even put something in her pack all by herself just because she asked her to.

He knew the kid was smart, but he didn't know she could do that. Judith was talking more, with actual coherent words. Her little face shone when she walked up to him pointing at all the 'buks' that were here. She would wobble as she walked up by one of the bookcases, fists waving everywhere as she told Daryl all about the 'buks'.

Then she would open one up and start ripping the pages. His previous thoughts of her being a gifted literary savant doubtful as each page was torn from its binding. Still, he beamed at her, full on beamed.

She could say book. Book. Since fucking when?

She called her 'buk' as well, the stranger. And, much to his frustration, Judith was calling him daddy. Never, never in his year of caring for the child had he ever referred to himself in that way, but she was calling him daddy now. Daddyyyyyyy.

Damn 'Buk' had screwed that up for him.

Another thing to add to the ever growing list of her wonderful qualities. Right next to depressing and trigger crazy.

It was the third day they had spent in the library. His new comrade in arms was no where to be seen. Yesterday she had been out, only to return bloodier, with a new thick, puffy jacket and a couple of cans of beans. Dinner for the next few days, if they were lucky.

She spent most of the daylight away. When he asked where she went, she just said around. She wasn't much of a talker, well, not to him.

She talked non stop to Judith.

Baby loved it. Daryl figured she always knew how to talk, but never really did with him. He wasn't much of a talker either.

On the first day, she'd found a bunch of storybooks and read to her. She sat the baby on her lap, book in front of them, and read and read and read. She waited with an unfaltering patience, Judith demanding to have the exact page read to her twelve times over, her face fascinated by the illustrations. Daryl's heart sunk a bit as he watched the little girl listen in earnest to stories he'd heard back when he was a kid.

If he'd known she'd be like that, her face smiling from ear to ear, he'd have sat her on his lap all those nights she cried and read her stories. He'd have made it a part of his routine, a regular requirement, to grab books for her along with her other things. Seeing her this happy, this excited, was something he only wanted to witness, to cause. Later on she'd come, book in hand, and give it to Daryl with a chirpy, "Buk Daddy".

Broke his damn heart.

She had that particular book opened next to him, Daryl petted her hair and read to her. She didn't know how to say much, but her new vocabulary was in constant use. She shoved the book in his hand, nagging 'buk' over and over until he gave in and read it to her.

She napped after, Daryl wrapped her tight in a blanket and his jacket, before kissing her forehead and getting up slowly. He'd been stationary since leaving the Base, his body still screaming at him from the blatant over exertion.

He was stronger than yesterday. He was taking painkillers like candy corn, but he was stronger. The 'bullet incident' wasn't going to be the end of him.

He didn't like leaving Judith out of his sight, but he was curious as to where the girl was. Sunset had been an hour ago. The library now shrouded in a cool blue light as the winter sun left the sky, the clouds its replacement.

He didn't have to look far. She was on the next floor up, asleep. Body curled in that puffer jacket she stole, back against a book case in the cooking section of all places. She had her knife questionably close to her face, tip near her cheek.

She didn't look comfortable or rested. The hood of her jacket was up, her hair tied in a ratty greased bun which protruded the top of her covered head to an awkward degree. Shallow, near silent breathing moved her chest in small waves.

He left her there. Privacy seemed pretty important to her. She moved to a different floor to sleep after all, he gathered she wanted to be alone.

There was no point to stick around, and he didn't like being too far from Judith. He made his way back to her again, deciding against resting. He'd done enough of that.

They were now in a bit of a predicament, the pair of them. They had this girl now. This Brooke, and he was having trouble making her out.

She had no where else to go, that much was certain. A community full of people and when shit hit the fan she ran for the stranger's baby. People with friends did everything they could to get back to them, not stay in a library for half a week.

He lost count how many times he went back for people. For Merle. For Carol. For Sophia. For Judith. When you lose something important, you go looking for it. You always go back, even when there's nothing to go back to.

It was principal.

So either there was no one left, or no one worth coming back for. She didn't go back. That spoke volumes about who she was without having any of the conversations.

She'd tried leaving before too. Pack that full, in the woods all alone, lying to her doctor friend — her close doctor friend. No, she had no intenetion of coming back.

Still, if his brief insight into what life at that community was like, he wasn't convinced she'd last long solo either. You don't get taught how to survival in this world, you just did.

She had guts, he'd give her that, but he was starting to think that behind those smarts she was pretty stupid. Youth, he concluded. The thought made him feel squeamish, his growing age showing more than appropriate. He doubted he was years and years older than her, just old enough to know that sort of stupid walked hand in hand with being young.

Or younger.

Hell, he was still that sort of stupid too. He'd been dragging a dead man's baby, one Daryl was inclined to believe wasn't Rick's, for the good part of a year. If he hadn't made sure Merle was rotting right now, he wouldn't be surprised if his brother came back from the grave to smack the crazy out of him.

He got the fire going, waking Judith with a soft cooing. She was antsy at being disturbed, fussing with her dinner. He had to hold her tight on his lap to get her to sit long enough to eat, and he found himself gripping the spoon tighter when she would move her face away.

She'd been starving weeks before, eating anything Daryl gave her because anything was better than nothing. A near month with these people and she developed a palette. Mushed sweet potato and carrot was not a combination worthy of her under developed taste buds.

Daryl couldn't give a rat's ass if she didn't like it. She was going to eat it. Tantrum be damned.

Soon after a full, pissed off Judith sat snivelling as she swallowed the last of the food. He wiped her face with a wet wipe, checked her diaper, and then, despite the fact she was being a brat, he soothed her. He took her book and read to her, her little head underneath the crook of his head,as he read to her. She was smiling soon after, pointing and hitting her hands against the pictures.

"Misch?"

"Mice."

"Misch?"

"Mice, darlin'. Mice."

"Misch?"

"Na, table."

"Misch?"

"Table, Judy. Can ya say table?"

Big eyes looked up at his before breaking into a smile.

"Misch."

She was the devil he gave his soul to. This damn kid right here. He didn't argue and just continued reading. When they finished the one about the gingerbread man he noticed the stranger was still sleeping.

Much to Judith's dislike he closed the book and stood up, taking his hand in hers and the torch and walked. She glued herself to his side as they made their way, a certain relief spreading on her face as Daryl picked her up and walked up the stairs. His back stung but it wasn't unbearable.

Judith never liked the dark. She held on with a sore grip. His hand firm on the torch as she clung on to him, her face scrunching.

She was about to wail.

"Daddy."

He looked at her, shushing, "'S'okay."

She buried her head in the crook of his neck. When Daryl found her, the girl was still asleep. He put Judith down, giving the child the flashlight, her head shaking in protest. He knelt down beside the sleeping girl, moving the knife out the way before nudging her.

She stirred, eyes opening. It was a moment of unsolicited calm, a serenity in her features that Daryl thought suited her. A short lived experience. Panic set a second and Daryl watched as she clearly forgot where she was and who she was with, throwing herself against the bookcase. The sudden force was enough to move the thing, a number of the heavier books up top tumbled. Daryl found his face kissing hardback binding, hands covered his head on instinct as the few books fell to the floor.

Life was a lot safer, healthier, before meeting this woman.

He heard Judith crying, dazed from having his face punched by literature, and turned to see her unharmed. Tears streamed down her face at the sudden crash. He stood up, getting his balance, the obvious sting of an impending bruise present on his face, and went to calm her down.

The child had walkers scream near her face, saw death in all forms, instant to slow coming; witnessed a bullet tear through Daryl like a knife stabbing at uncooked meat, but nothing terrified her more than complete darkness. She dropped the flashlight when the books fell, the noise scaring her to hysterics. She clung at Daryl, who was telling her to stop crying, giving her looks that she knew better than to question.

They didn't need to attract anything outside. They were safe here and they didn't need to test fate. He held her close to him, rocking her in small gentle movements, her heart beat rhythmic.

Small fingers, fingers that were not his own, curled ontop of Judith's head. Both turned at the delicate intrusion. The girl now knelt beside Daryl, her brows furrowed, a silent request for the child to soften her cries to a halt. Against his personal will, Judith did just that, the baby's eyes wet but glistening.

"Judith, are you okay?"

She must be made of magic. Fairy dust, or some kind of under the table voodoo shit that he knew better than to question. Judith nodded, the frail baby's death grip looser on Daryl's shirt.

Daryl saw the girl clutch at her left side in contorted pain but she was smiling. A display of falsities all to calm the baby. Features warm and steady and everything Judith needed to see.

"It's very dark here, let's go back downstairs?" she said, "Right, Daddy?"

The urge to vomit at his new reference was strong. Daddies, in general, were just a grey are with him. He was going to have to tell her to stop with this whole 'Daddy' thing.

It made things complicated. Wrong. She needed to see that if she stuck around.

If she was sticking around.

Refusing, on principal, to answer to that, he waited for her to take her things and they both went back to their things. The fire was small, the embers patient for their return, hungry for substance to keep their flames alight. She sat down, Judith awarded with her full attention as Daryl brought the can of beans and opened it.

It was not much. Winter was here, nothing was alive. Paper as their plates, he fished out half the can and split that between them.

The meal was a silent affair on his part. She continued to dote on Judith, a large purple discolouration spreading from her brow to the beginnings of her cheek. Prune coloured and swollen, it was a bruise that matched the new one on his forehead. His hurt, a pleasant post numbing sensation biting his skin, but it didn't feel like how her's looked. He was on a lot of painkillers though, perhaps the comparison was biased to a point.

She hadn't touched her food. He stretched a hand out, eyes lax and on the child. Judith made the decision to ignore him, one was going to change and soon.

"Judy, c'mere."

The wrong girl answered him. She smiled though. It was genuine, a reflex, something he figured rare with her. She looked back at Judith, ready to continue their interrupted game of peak-a-boo.

"It's okay, she's not bothering me."

"Been playin' with her 'stead o' eatin'. Not had a chance t' touch ya food yet."

The food wasn't important. Daryl knew she thought that, knew she wouldn't say it either. She kissed Judith's cheek, her own cheeks raised as the little girl pecked her's right back.

"What's that called Judith?"

She tried so hard to remember the word. Daryl sat there, watching as Judith searched for it. She was blank faced as her short term memory drew nothing from her mind, and disappointment threatened to upset her again.

The girl answered before it happened.

"Kiss, Judith. Can you say kiss?"

"Kish."

"Yes, good girl." she got her to stand up, "Head over to Daddy now."

Defiance. It made him feel better seeing her sass the baby whisperer. She shook her head at the suggestion, wondering why her new BFF would even say such a thing when they were having so much fun.

"Judith, c'mere. She want's t' eat."

Again, she answered, "You should use my name when talking to her. It helps her understand."

Daryl hated when people told him what to do, something that only elevated when Judith was concerned. The urge to rebel against the statement was strong. He swallowed the up coming remarks, and took her advice as what it was: an attempt to help.

If this had been anything else, or if they had met sooner, he doubted he'd comply.

"Judith," he said, "C'mere. Brooke want's t' eat."

Judith didn't give a fuck if she wanted to eat or not. She could've had a whole fucking banquet next to her getting cold, the kid did not care. She wanted to play. She was damn adamant to do so.

"Yeah, she sure understood."

A roll of her eyes, "It really wasn't bothering me."

"Nah I know, 'cept you been bendin' o'er backwards for her since ya woke up. Plain ta see ya face is hurtin' and I haven' seen ya eat since we got here. Give yourself a damn minute, can play with her after."

He edged closer and took Judith's hand, much to the child's disappointment. He was not rough but there was no rebuttal, the baby sat next to him. Past experience told her when it was appropriate to argue, now an example otherwise.

She was annoyed sure, but she forgot about it soon enough when Daryl plonked her book on her lap. Brooke, sat, crosslegged, mutinous to the obvious task of eating. Seemed like she didn't like being told what to do either.

Daryl sat there and looked at her looking at him. Fucking girl was an idiot, this right here was the reason she'd die by herself.

"Eat."

"I'll eat when I want."

He sighed, voice soft, "Ya wouldn't last."

Not soft enough.

"Excuse me?"

"On ya own. Don't take care o' yaself."

Her gaze was cryptic, he didn't need to figure her out to know she had a short fuse. He was staring at a bomb with detonation instructions in another language.

"Don't act like you know how to take care of yourself." She began, "I've rummaged through your stuff. The only things you own are a half soaked pack of straights, a lighter and a crossbow. And don't get me started on your back."

His ears perked up, "Back?"

She didn't bat a lash, "You don't get that sort of scaring at your regular Tuesday night bar crawl."

He sat there, stunned, unsure how to respond. She looked raw, exposed. As if she didn't know if she just said those things for real.

Below the belt? He didn't know if it counted as that if she knew nothing about him. It hurt, sure, but it hurt because she had no fucking idea what she was talking about.

So he didn't tell her she was wrong. That wasn't how you handled things, not right away. Rick told him that once.

There was something inherently wrong with this girl. It was like she was a one way train but without any idea where she was going. This wasn't post-apocalypse crazy or lost my mind madness.

He didn't know what this was.

"See her here." he said his head nudging to Judith. She didn't answer, but her attention was on him. He knew she regretted her out burst the minute she said it, the post chill of shame icing over her inner fire.

"She's skinny, but she ain't starved. She's small, but she's talkin'. Nearly lost her once o' twice, but she's here. Said ya seen my pack, I know ya seen her's. Full o' shit. Diapers, clothes, blankets. I look after mysel' for her. 'Cos otherwise, ain't much chance she got out here." he said, "So 'fore ya spit ya bullshit 'bout me not knowing nothing, give y'self a little sense o' perspective. If ya don' take care o' y'self, ya become a risk."

Nothing else was said right away. She didn't eat though. She wouldn't, not now, maybe when he wasn't paying attention. She was stubborn. She wasn't going to concede after that.

Excpet that she did.

She scoped the beans with her fingers, eating with her head down. Judith was still engrossed in her book, the pictures her latest vice. Daryl closed his eyes, fatigue rolling through him like tides kissing the the shore.

"I'm sorry."

He propped his eyes open, in no rush to see the girl in front of his gaze.

"'S fine."

The apology was sincere. He could feel it in the strained words, see it in her too firm expression. She was trying hard, too hard, to seem passive, stoic, but it was there. She was honest in that, but her opinion of him, her perceived judgment, was still unchanged.

It bothered him, sure. It was a good thing it did, he decided. It meant he cared enough about his pride to be upset when someone bruised it. Other people, people who had been through abuse like he had been through abuse, a lot of those people didn't think they deserved that kind of self pity. That healthy care for their sense of worth.

He didn't want to dwell on the hurt now, however. He was still trying to figure out what she was about.

"Why'd ya come back?"

A frown, "Excuse me?"

"When I passed out."

Pause, "I couldn't leave you there. It wasn't right."

"I woulda."

"And I wouldn't blame you. I nearly did. Nearly. I just, I didn't want to."

He thought that over, "Why'd ya take me to your camp. After ya shot me?"

"Because you had a baby."

"Baby?"

"Yeah."

"Don' think it matters if I got a baby o' not. Ya was protectin' yaself. So what's a baby got to do with that?"

She wiped her hand on her jeans, throwing the paper plate into the the flames.

"You said it a second ago, without you Judith's as good as dead. I shot one person in those woods, I wasn't prepared to kill two." she licked her lips, remnants of flavour swept clean on her tongue, "It wasn't right, isn't right."

Her attention aimed itself back to Judith. Daryl resisted shaking his head.

This was, fuck knows what this was.

She spoke, voice inaudible, something he almost confused for a hitch in the wind, the crack of crisp burnt paper, the shuffle of limbs. She modelled sadness well, her features soft, picturesque as the orange light of the fire mixed with the blue hues of her bruise. This girl was not reserved by nature, she tried too hard to hide herself in plain sight.

And she had the most beautiful, sad, sober smile he'd ever seen stitched on a person's face. She was a clown, covered in tough guy attire but a real baby underneath it all.

He was always wary of clowns. The smiles are always painted. Fake.

"I have no where else to go."

If he paid a little less attention, he would have missed it for sure.

Unlike her, his voice did not waver.

"You're where ya ought t' be."