AN: Here we are, another chapter here.

I'm just letting you know that this (and the aftermath) is the last major event before this story will be drawing to a close. It'll leave a small window of time before the start of "Daddy." As I mentioned before, there may be some things that aren't perfectly matched up between the two stories. I apologize for that. It is what it is, though. I appreciate your understanding.

I hope you enjoy the chapter! Let me know what you think!

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They covered the bed in towels before Daryl put Carol down. She was filthy, and the towels would at least make cleaning-up easier. Hershel barked out the order to Beth—who was close on their heels—that they would need lots of rags, towels, and at least two or three buckets of hot water. In addition, they were going to need broth and purified drinking water.

His command for other medical items had been tossed at Maggie even as he'd shuffled down toward the cell, moving as quickly as his crutches allowed him.

Daryl barely got Carol spread out on the bed, and got Hershel situated where he could sit on the edge of the bed and have easy access to her, before Maggie came into the cell and put down two bags with an air that simply said "I had no idea what you wanted, so I brought it all." What she actually said, though, was "do you need anything else, Daddy?"

"See how Bethie's coming with the drinking water and the soup," Hershel said. Daryl moved his bags closer so that Hershel could easily dig through them for supplies. He was desperate for answers—for some kind of progress—but he also knew that the man needed space and time to work. Daryl hovered, leaning over Hershel, as he listened to Carol's chest.

"She OK?" Daryl asked.

"Her pulse is rapid. Her breathing is fast and shallow. Her throat is raw. She's suffering from severe dehydration, but she's alive," Hershel said.

For now, it would clearly have to be enough. The hot water came before Hershel was barely through saying the words. At least, some of the hot water came. Beth declared that she'd bring more before she practically ran into her sister bringing drinking water.

"Soup's warming up, Daddy," Maggie said.

"Don't get it too hot," Hershel said. "She's not going to mind right now. It's better if it's not hot enough to burn her."

Daryl watched as Hershel took items from his bag. He filled a hypodermic syringe and, cleaning Carol's hand well with soap and water, found a place he deemed suitable for inserting the needle. If she noticed, she didn't let on.

"What are you doin' to her?" Daryl asked.

"It's just pain medication," Hershel said. "There's some leftover from what we found for Lori, but we won't tell Rick."

"You think she's in pain?" Daryl asked.

"She's been in there for two days," Hershel said. "She hasn't eaten, hasn't drank anything, and she's been wearing her own soiled clothes. She hasn't nursed Sophia, either. She doesn't have to be conscious for me to know there's pain. What I gave her will take the edge off and help her relax, at the very least."

Part of Daryl practically wanted to bark at Hershel that he was in the way while he continued his inspection of Carol. He wanted his own hands on her. He wanted to hold her. He wanted to touch her. He wanted to check her for scratches, himself, and he wanted to see if he could coax her to wake. The other part of him, though, wanted Hershel to take his time with his thorough inspection, because he wanted the absolute guarantee—or at least as close as Hershel could give—that she was fine.

While Daryl waited, pacing as much as the small space allotted to him in the cell would allow, the drinking water and warmed broth arrived. In addition, three large buckets of steaming hot water arrived, and Maggie piled high the towels and rags that Hershel requested.

When Hershel had sent Maggie away, saying that he had all that he needed for the moment, he produced a medicine dropper from his bag. He offered it to Daryl.

"What's this?" Daryl asked, reaching for it.

"If you're serious about saving her life, it's going to take time and patience," Hershel said. "Both of which I think you have in abundance."

"What'cha want me to do?" Daryl asked. There was no need to address any of what Hershel had said. He was right. Daryl could be as patient and diligent as was needed, and Hershel absolutely knew that he wanted to save Carol's life.

"I don't have anything to give her intravenously," Hershel said. "When she builds enough strength to come around, she's going to want to eat and drink quickly. She needs to go slow. You have to control her. Otherwise, she'll just get sick, and that won't do her any good."

"I understand," Daryl offered.

"Alternate droppers of water and broth," Hershel said. He demonstrated what he wanted Daryl to do. Carol, at this point, was more like a rag doll than a human. Daryl didn't know if she was entirely unconscious, or if she was actually caught in that uncomfortable state in between consciousness and unconsciousness. He reasoned she'd be trapped there, for a while, until she could gather a little strength. "You're going to have to help her swallow, at least until she wakes enough to do it on her own. Rub her throat—just here. That will stimulate her desire to swallow. Be slow so she doesn't choke. You can take breaks to keep the intake slow and steady."

Daryl nodded.

"Yeah," he said. "OK. I can do that."

"She doesn't have much of a fever," Hershel said, continuing to rhythmically alternate droppers of liquid as he talked Daryl through the information that he wanted to share with him. "That tells me that there are no scratches or bites that we're missing. The bit of fever she has is coming from her breasts, at least in my opinion. We need to get some of the pressure off by helping her get rid of some of the milk. Then, when you think she's ready, Sophia can help relieve the rest of the pressure."

Daryl cleared his throat.

"You wanna—like milk her?" He asked. His gut tightened and his face warmed.

"I can do it for her if you're uncomfortable, son," Hershel said sincerely. "Sophia won't be able to latch well with her breasts this engorged, and she'll appreciate the relief sooner rather than later."

"I can do it," Daryl assured him. He'd done it, accidentally, plenty of times. He was sure that he could do it on purpose, this once, to earn some relief for Carol.

Hershel nodded.

"I'll send Maggie and Beth in here to bathe her, if you'd like," Hershel said. "Being clean will do her a world of good."

"I can do that, too," Daryl assured him.

"Son—you might not realize that…that smell? It's soured milk and evidence that she's soiled herself."

"Like she had a choice," Daryl mused. "Pitch black in them little cages." He shook his head. "I ain't afraid of milk, Hershel. And I ain't squeamish about piss and shit and anything else she might have to offer me, neither."

"I just thought she might feel embarrassed," Hershel said.

"She's gonna feel more embarrassed if it's Beth and Maggie washin' her up," Daryl insisted. "If she's embarrassed with me, she can talk to me about it. It ain't the same with them."

Hershel nodded again, ceding to Daryl.

"Do you think that Sophia will be interested in nursing after you've gotten Carol bathed and settled?" Hershel asked.

Daryl laughed to himself.

"There ain't much else that Sophia's been interested in for days," Daryl said. "And it don't matter what she's eat, there's always room for milk."

Hershel laughed to himself.

"You'll let us know when you're ready for her," Hershel said. "I'm sorry there's nothing more that I can do. She needs fluids and rest more than anything else."

"And she's gonna be OK?" Daryl asked.

"She's alive," Hershel said. "I believe that—she stayed alive, maybe, knowing that you'd come and get her. She's here now, so I'm simply going to have to assume that she'll continue to stay alive. She has a very strong will, and, sometimes, that's all it takes. She'll feel better when she's clean and her breasts aren't so full. You'll keep hydrating her, slowly, and she'll rest to build her strength back up. In a couple of days, she should be fine—barring anything unexpected."

Daryl nodded. He thanked Hershel when the old man stopped urging Carol to swallow droppers of liquid and passed the dropper to him. Daryl immediately took his place next to Carol and started peeling off her clothes, determined to get her bathed so that he could focus on attending to her other needs.

"Daryl…" Hershel said, as he was leaving the cell. Daryl hummed at him in question and paused in his work. "Let me know the first time she urinates," Hershel said.

"That important?" Daryl asked. Hershel nodded.

"It will tell me that—her system is functioning. That it—hasn't simply started to shut down."

Daryl's stomach tightened. He got the feeling, all of a sudden, that maybe things weren't a hundred percent fine. Maybe they weren't entirely out of the woods. He appreciated, though, the fact that Hershel wasn't focusing on that. Hershel wasn't pushing the warning down his throat.

It was more important, right now, to look at what he could do for Carol and to focus on that.

Daryl closed the curtain to allow Carol what privacy he could, and he alternated feeding her water and soup with stripping her out of her clothing. When her soiled things were piled up—ready to either be thrown away or washed, as the case may be, Daryl spent a few more moments focused on feeding Carol before he moved to washing her body and her hair, drying her, and dressing her in clean, soft clothes that she liked for sleeping.

After he moved her onto the clean towels—the soiled ones going to the wash pile with the clothes—and after she was dressed in her clean pajamas, Carol started to stir. As soon as Daryl noticed her movements, he washed his hands and returned to gather her up into his arms.

"It's OK," he said, keeping his voice low. "You're OK now. I got you. You need to rest, but I got you."

Carol turned her head and opened her eyes for the first time since Daryl had grabbed her up from the solitary confinement cell that had nearly become her coffin. She looked confused. Bewildered. Maybe she was even blinded by the light in the cell. The lamp's light, though dim, was still brighter than the almost absolute darkness that she'd been in for the past two and a half days.

Daryl couldn't help but smile at simply seeing her eyes open.

"Hey," he said. He suddenly wished he could think of something better to say. He wished he could say everything that he'd thought—during all those hours he'd spent thinking that he'd never see her again or, if he did see her again, he'd see her as one of those creatures—but he couldn't manage to bring a single other word out of his tight throat and onto his tongue.

Somehow, though, it seemed to be enough. A faint smile brought up the corners of Carol's mouth, although very slightly.

"Hey," she rasped.

Her voice was almost gone. Her throat was raw. Hershel had ticked that off in his quick inspection of her. There was no telling how much energy she'd spent trying to call out for Daryl. On top of that, she was severely dehydrated. Daryl reminded himself of everything she was still facing. Daryl shook his head at her.

"Don't use your voice," Daryl said. "Don't use your strength. There's time for that. For now, you just gotta rest. OK?"

Carol nodded her head and Daryl thought about kissing her. As though he hadn't kissed her a thousand times before, his heart pounded wildly in his chest at the thought that he might kiss her again. He'd been sure that he'd lost her, so it felt almost like a first kiss—but a first kiss with the knowledge of what losing her felt like.

He pressed his lips gently to hers, not wanting to even accidentally hurt her or overwhelm her, and she reciprocated. When he lowered her back onto the bed and against the pillows, he broke the kiss.

"Time for that, too," he offered. "You gotta rest. I'm sorry—I did what I could about your milk. Was as gentle as I could be…and I'm sorry if it weren't so gentle. I'ma take all this out to be washed. Dump these buckets. Let you rest. But—you think you might be up to…feedin' Soph with all that milk you got left?"

Despite the absolute exhaustion on her features, Carol's face lit up at the mention of Sophia. She nodded her head and smiled, but she obeyed Daryl's command to save her voice and her strength. Daryl nodded his understanding.

"Close your eyes," he said. "Get some sleep. I'ma help you get more of that soup and water. Maybe get you a mug so I can help you drink it while you gettin' stronger. Bring Soph in. In the meantime, you get some sleep. OK?" Carol nodded at him again. Daryl gathered up the soiled towels, rags, and clothing. He'd make a couple of trips to carry it all outside, but, for the moment, he settled for placing it all in the corridor so that he wouldn't bother Carol with every trip back. On his last trip to move things out of the space so that she could rest, he watched her for just a second before pushing their curtain aside again.

Her breathing wasn't visibly as rapid as it had been earlier. She looked relaxed. She had her eyes closed, prepared to do what he'd asked of her.

"I love you," he offered, not even knowing if she could hear him.

She smiled softly in what he would have sworn was sleep. She was only playing possum—doing everything she could to make him happy by following his orders.

"I love you, too," she said, her voice coming out as nothing more than a whisper so that she didn't actually have to employ her vocal cords and go against Daryl's wishes.

Daryl smiled to himself and slipped out of the cell to clean up before he went to tell Sophia the good news.