Daryl thought long and hard about the advice Rick gave and the words that echoed through his head and kept him awake were 'she needs the words; not just the feelings that go with them.' Had he ever truly shown her his true feelings? Sure there was that drunken fumble a few months back and then when he was out of his head on pain meds; but had he ever really shown her on a daily basis just how much she meant to him? It was hard for him to accept the casual touches that the rest of the group took for granted; a slap on the back for a job well done, a hand on the arm to point something out, a hug, a kiss – the list was endless; apart from Carol. It had taken a few months, but Daryl no longer flinched or shied away at her fleeting touch, and it was only now that she had distanced herself that he realised just how much he looked forward to them; the brushing of her fingers against his hand whenever she handed his plate to him, the hand on his shoulder to steady herself when she overreached for something, the whisper of her lips against his temple. Now that he had tasted the sweetness of her lips, it was like she was the oasis in a desert and her kiss the only way to quench his thirst.
He needed a plan, and he needed it fast. Daryl turned over on the bunk, mindful of his aching knee and stared at the bottom of the sagging mattress above his head, he laced his fingers over his abdomen and tapped them together thoughtfully. "Yeah, that could work…" he muttered to himself as he slowly started to formulate a plan. "Gonna need some supplies, and someone who can keep their trap shut. Ain't no way I'm gonna ask Short Round, who else can I trust ta git tha job done?" He strummed his fingers again, lost in thought. A light tap on the metal of the cell door had him looking up at the narrow beam of weak sunlight trickling in through the bars of the high window. He'd been so lost in his plans that he hadn't even realised that the night had passed him by and it was morning already.
"Daryl, you awake?" The low melodious voice of Michonne called out from the doorway, and she poked her head through the gap in the blanket that served as a privacy screen.
"Yeah, come on in." He replied and watched as the tall woman swept into the cell and took a perch on the overturned bucket that served as a stool.
"So, how're you doing? Anything I can get you? Hershel said that you'd be out of action for another week or so." Michonne tapped her fingers nervously on her knee, she was the type of person that didn't do well in enclosed quarters, and knew that Daryl was of the same mindset. She was ready to head out on a supply run and had only called in to see Daryl as she had heard that Carol had decided to take up residence in the library and felt it was only polite to check how he was doing.
"Yeah, sucks big time. Ya headin' out?" Daryl rolled over carefully so that he could face the tense looking warrior. She nodded and shifted uncomfortably on the bucket.
"Going up a few miles, there's a small shopping mall that we passed a few days back; seems fairly clear of Walkers."
"Who ya takin' as back up?"
"Just Tyreese this time, if we find anything worthwhile we'll go back with more troops tomorrow."
"Uh-huh." Daryl nodded, the plan made sense to him, there was no point in taking everyone along until they'd checked the place out firsthand. If there was enough to salvage, then they could easily return on another day with more back up and a larger truck. Daryl picked at the hem of the thin blanket covering and cleared his throat hesitantly. "Ya think ya could pick me some stuff up, real quiet like?" He peered through his overly long hair at the woman sitting quietly on the overturned bucket and she merely nodded in response. "I wanna do somethin' nice fer Carol – need ya ta look out fer an art supply store an pick me up some canvasses, brushes, oils and watercolour paints; that kinda stuff – know what I mean?"
"Large or small canvas?" Michonne asked quietly, she didn't question his wants any further.
"Coupla large and a heap of small; make sure ya pick up a selection of brushes though – none of that kiddie crap neither."
"Consider it done." Michonne nodded once more and rose up from the bucket in an elegant manner; almost as if she was a queen rising from a throne. She paused on her way to the door and arched an eyebrow at him. "Something else you need, Daryl?"
"Nah, just waitin' fer ya ta call me a pansy ass fer wantin' a bunch of arty farty stuff," Daryl shifted on the bunk, almost expecting some sort of rebuttal for his request. Michonne gave a half smile and merely shook her head in response.
"Art is just art, no matter what shape or form it comes in. Who am I to comment on that? I'll drop them in a little later."
"Thanks, 'Chonne, 'preciate it." They exchanged nods and Michonne stepped back through the doorway, letting the blanket fall closed behind her.