Part Two

..

Ten

Enough In Your Eyes

.x.

"You should get yourself checked out."

Esther turned to Rick who had come out looking for her. She was sat on the porch steps, the early morning sunshine kissing her bruised legs with the light of a new day. She couldn't remember how long she had been sat there for; she had seen people approach her, mumble something to her before heading back inside. The hours seemed to tick by slowly as seconds or minutes did when you weren't watching time. The night had passed by in a blur of panic, of screams, of uncertainty and fear, and worried glances and unspoken promises.

Rick had been lingering around her for most of the night but had only just approached her. She'd heard him and the others having hushed conversations around her, but she knew there was no way she was able to pinpoint what they were talking out. She had no energy left to strain her hearing, and if she was being honest, her mind was with the man who was currently being worked on by the veterinarian.

Hershel had been a man they had met whilst Esther and the others were locked down at the arena; and had shown them the way back to his farmhouse in order to plan to rescue his daughter. According to Hershel, he hadn't expected to find his son banging on the door whilst carrying his unconscious sister, Beth. Samson had informed them about Esther, how the right-hand man of the leader had taken a dislike to her and had set her up to fight against guards as well as the dead. From what Esther could manage to get from what the others were talking about, it seemed as though their whole worlds collided at the right moment. Samson had led Daryl and the others inside, and they had seen Esther be carried away by Philip.

"I'm fine," Esther whispered, her voice hoarse, and returned her gaze to her bloodstained hands. Daryl's blood was deep within every crevice of her hands, staining her nails and staining her skin. She wrung her hands together in an attempt to rid herself of the images of the night before.

Rick approached her slowly, aware that she wasn't in the best state. He hadn't anticipated seeing the injuries to her face or body when they had ridden towards the farmhouse. The injuries to her face were substantial and startling for many of them, but she had been adamant that Daryl's injuries severely outweighed her own. As Daryl had been carried into the back bedroom in the farmhouse by his brother with Hershel and his daughter Maggie as well as Lilly following behind him, she had remained on the porch, chest heaving from panic as everyone circled around her. Michonne had led her away from the door, directing her away from the watchful gaze of the others and seating her underneath the window of the room that held the man that had come to her rescue. Merle was quick to return to her side, almost warning off the others, and had all but shoved her a bottle of whisky that he had found at the back of a kitchen cupboard.

Merle had returned to his place outside the bedroom, proving himself to be more of a hindrance than a help as Maggie, Lilly and Samson rushed in and out to retrieve supplies around the house they had needed and forgotten. As everyone tried to find something to do to fill the uncertain time, he never strayed far from his brother.

"You don't look fine," Rick told her, an authoritative tone to his voice.

Her gaze rested on Samson who approached them, and she lowered her gaze. She had believed she would never see him again in the chaos of the new world, let alone here at the farm. But he was here, his presence reassuring her that he and his father along with the others would do everything they could to save Daryl's life.

Esther saw the medical pack in Samson's hands, and shook her head. "He needs it more than I do."

"He's okay," Samson reassured her. "We have enough supplies for him."

Tears stung her eyes, threatening to fall against her will. She felt the pain in her chest, the tightness that seemed to worsen every time her thoughts wandered to the man inside the room. "You don't know that," she mumbled, her gaze flicking over to him.

The two men could see the way her lip trembled as she struggled with not knowing how he was. The small titbits of information that Samson or Lilly came to the group with didn't offer her any reassurance. Until she could see him with her very own eyes, she couldn't believe he would ever be okay.

"Is he…" she began but her words failed her. They had been there for most of the night, and they had been working on Daryl for just as long. "Is he going to be okay?"

Samson glanced at Rick then rested his gaze on Esther. She had seen the small exchange; and was nodding to him. "We don't know," he said honestly. "We're working on him and he's responding well to everything but…"

"But shit happens, right?" Esther breathed, her voice exhausted.

"Please," Samson urged her. "Please can I check your injuries?"

Esther offered him a small nod, which he returned gratefully. He sat on the porch step beside her, with Rick on the other side. He began to clean the wounds to her hands first, knowing that to clean and patch up her face would take her some getting used to. He saw the bruises to her hands and arms, from the punches and kicks that he had watched her take in the dark room. He felt defenceless, unable to do anything to stop it. Samson watched for any emotion on her face when he cleaned up her wounds, but she didn't flinch once despite the wounds being deep and painful.

"What happened back there after I left?" Samson asked, his voice low.

"He found me," Esther whispered after a moment. "He knocked me out. I woke up in a room. There was a woman… Mary, I think it was. She handed me a scalpel, told me to help her take this place back for her and the others… and then he came back and… I stabbed him. And I left the scalpel in him… I locked him in…"

"You weren't to know," Samson quickly assured her. "You can't control men like him."

"And Daryl might die because of my mistake," Esther choked. "He found me, and I could lose him."

Samson nor Rick said another word. As Samson continued to clean her up, he was able to see the true extent of Philip's attack on her, from the broken nose to the bust lip, from the scratch marks down her arms and neck to the burst blood vessel in her eye. He applied antiseptic cream to the wounds that needed it before he applied gauze and bandages to them.

"Promise me…" Esther whispered, reaching for Samson. "That you will do everything you can to save him. He doesn't deserve to die."

Samson nodded at her as he stood to his full height. "I promise."

.x.

The house was still and peaceful.

What would've usually been a quiet Sunday afternoon that once consisted of dinner cooking in the oven, music playing gently in the background, the morning newspaper folded on the dining table, him reclining in his armchair with a book in his hand and him finding himself lost in it, as his daughters either studied or sewed or went for a walk in the sunshine. But for Hershel, this was all new, as he watched the new people milled around, trying to find something to do. Most of them remained outside, basking in the afternoon sunshine, their minds wandering back to the events of the previous day. He had been working on the severely wounded man for hours now and despite his skill and experience, he was exhausted.

Samson, Maggie and Lilly were all assisting him with the care of the man. Whilst Samson had more experience with treating humans, his knowledge was able to help his son and with their own combined skill, the man was stable. Daryl was his name, as he overheard the man's brother outside asking about him. Samson had ventured outside as Lilly wrapped a bandage around his abdomen, and Hershel had followed behind him.

He was aware of the attention focusing on him and his son as they moved out onto the porch. His eyes faintly rested on the battered woman who hadn't moved from her place on the porch, just below the bedroom window. His heart ached for her; his own mind preventing him from imagining the attack on the both of them. He didn't ask any questions, but he understood what human beings were capable of doing and she was proof of that.

"How is he?" Rick, the sheriff, asked. Michonne and Tara approached him them.

"He's stable for now," Hershel took the lead. "His wounds were severe, and all we can really do right now is to wait."

Samson was nodding at his father, then took the lead. "But he's a fighter," he said, his gaze falling on Esther who was staring at him. "He'll pull through this, I'm sure."

As everyone returned to their previous activities, Samson approached Esther, scuffing his boots against the dried soil at the bottom of the steps. He remained quiet, aware of the untouched whisky beside her.

"How's your sister doing?" her voice was small, meek.

"She's doing okay," Samson nodded, his gaze flicking to her. "She's sleeping the drugs off."

"They drugged her?"

Samson nodded, which caused Esther to shake her head in response. She wrung her hands together, in an attempt to iron out the frustration and anger within her body.

"You should try to sleep," Samson told her, lowering himself to sit on the bottom step.

Esther shook her head. "I'm not tired."

"Your eyes are dropping out of your head," Samson scoffed. "There's a spare bedroom in the attic. Just… get your head down for a couple hours. You'll feel better."

"I can't leave him," Esther said sadly.

"And you aren't," reassured Samson. "Anything happens, I'll come and get you. But he's stable. He's doing better than any of us were expecting."

Esther gave him a firm nod. Samson led her inside the house, aware of the attention she was receiving and was oblivious to. He noticed Michonne motioning towards something, drawing their focus away from her. He was grateful to her, and she offered him a nod in the distance; and they were able to shield Esther from unwanted attention even if it wasn't meant badly. People were just inquisitive, and with Esther being as bruised and beaten as she was, people were going to stare.

She was following behind him slowly, the attack on her body causing her muscles, joints and any movement she made to protest against her. She stopped outside the door that held Daryl, hearing the hushed voices of Merle and Hershel.

Samson noticed she wasn't following behind him and turned to her. "He's okay, Esther. I promise. We're doing all that we can for him."

Esther nodded at him and closed the gap between them, following him up the stairs to the attack slowly. She winced and grunted in pain, but still she climbed. She fought through the pain, the soreness, the tenderness of her joints. He helped her up the last few steps with an outstretched hand which she took in hers and pulled her up gently. He guided her to the bed, made sure she was comfortable before he left her.

And as her head rested on the pillows, she allowed sleep to take her away from the pain and discomfort of the real world.

.x.

He was there in the room with her when she woke up.

Sitting in the chair beneath the dormer window, he was staring at her as her eyes fluttered open. Her chest tightened and her throat became dry as she took in the eye patch and the bloody face. His clothes were dirty, riddled with bullets that she had shot him with, and he was twirling the scalpel in his hands. He didn't say a word to her, just simply stared at her, as if he was trying to bait her. In the grip of silent panic with wide wild eyes, pupils dilating at the mere sight of him, heart racing violently against her ribcage, her brain on fire, hands growing clammy. Esther strained her vocals, but nothing came out, but still she screamed, hoping someone would hear her. Suddenly, her body wracked with raw sobs, painful to the core, as fright consumed every cell in her body, swelling them with such terror that it felt as though her chest would cave in on itself.

She'd seen him on the dirt track leading to the farmhouse, had seen him mingling with the others, had seen him everywhere her eyes landed, a sickening smirk on his face every time her eyes met his. She wondered if that was why she never strayed too far away from the bedroom that held Daryl. And here he was, in the stillness of the room, sitting just a metre away from her, the same sickening grin plastered on his face.

She landed on the floor with a thud, sliding her body across the floor into the corner of the room, allowing her to be hidden from him. He didn't move from his position on the chair, simply released a cackle that didn't belong to him. But it wasn't enough to calm her nerves, her nightmare seeping into her reality.

Footsteps sounded on the stairs, and as Samson called out for her, she refused to move from her safe place. Rick, Michonne and Merle were close behind him. They'd heard her scream even though she thought it was silent; and had rushed towards her in a panic.

Michonne reached her then, lowering herself to the floor. "Esther… what is it?"

"He… he's here…"

Michonne along with the others looked around the room, their eyes falling on furniture. Not another living soul was up there with them. Michonne turned back, nodding. "Tell him to go. Tell him he doesn't live anymore."

Esther wrapped her arms tighter around her legs, resting her head against her thighs. "You don't live anymore… you aren't alive… I killed you…"

"That's it," Michonne reassured. "Keep saying it in your head. He can't hurt you or Daryl anymore. He doesn't have that power anymore."

Esther found herself breathing more easily after that.

.x.

As night settled upon the farmhouse and all its inhabitants, old and new, settled down on makeshift beds of old duvet covers and blankets, Esther found herself settling down in Daryl's room. Merle had stolen the bottle of whisky back and had drunk himself into a light stupor in the attic room that Esther had been in. As his snores, reminiscent of a deadly jack hammer, drilled through the house from a distance, everything was peaceful and still. It was enough to calm Esther's nerves, enough to give her the comfort that everything was okay in the world at the moment.

The vision of Daryl in the bed, his torso bare and bandaged, was enough to cause her entire world to shake, to cause her composure to falter. But she kept her gaze on him as she moved towards the armchair in the corner of the room. He was stable, which was everything Esther could've hoped for. He was responding well to the medication they had given him, and it was up to him now. Which didn't offer her any reassurance. Without the support of reputable hospitals and medical care at your fingertips, she had to rely on the medical experts to bring him back from the brink of death with only their knowledge and the miniscule amount of medical supplies they had around the house.

But he was stable. She had to remember that.

His chest rose and fell peacefully, his eyes remained closed as he slept, and his body was still. Her mind was her own worst enemy in the darkness, and she tried to force herself to stop her memories from wandering back to the previous night. Philip had come out of nowhere; she had been sure she had locked him inside the room at the arena, she had felt the weight of the keys in her hand as she walked away, his face in the panel of glass now just a memory. She had been willing to keep him inside that room, to prevent him any chance of survival as the fire raged on. But he had been there.

The glint of the light reflecting off the scalpel had caused her whole world to crumble down around her. And Daryl had paid the ultimate price.

She could still hear the slickness of the blade being pushed inside his abdomen. She could still hear Daryl's grunts of pain as he realised what was happening. She could still feel the weight in her heart when he stumbled backwards, his crossbow falling to the ground, as he clutched at his bloodied abdomen.

The door creaked open slowly which caused her to break herself from her mind. "Hey," Samson whispered. "I wondered where you'd gotten to."

"Sorry… I just…" Esther began, but words failed her.

"It's fine," Samson was quick to reassure her, moving towards Daryl. "I'm just checking his vitals. Makin' sure he's still responding well to everything."

Esther nodded, watching him with a furrowed brow as he did his checks. "Can I stay here awhile?"

"Of course," Samson nodded with a smile. "I'm surprised you didn't come to visit him sooner."

Esther fell silent. "I was scared."

"And that's understandable," Samson whispered, moving away from Daryl once he was happy with everything. He quickly noted something down in a notebook resting on the bedside table. The lamp on the drawers behind Esther offered the room some warmth. "Seeing someone you care about in this state can be… alarming. Especially when you're so used to them being this strong figure."

Esther chewed on her lip. Her eyes rested on Daryl, and her throat burned.

"Be honest with me, doc," Esther began, her eyes narrowing at Samson who came to sit on the bench at the bottom of the bed. "Does he have a good chance?"

"I think so," Samson whispered, reassuring her with a smile. It was strained, mostly from exhaustion. "I'll leave you to it. There's some books in that closet there if you want to keep your mind away from all this."

Esther nodded, thanking him silently. As he passed her, she reached for his hand. She stood and wrapped her arms around him, a sign of her appreciation for him helping her whilst inside the arena. He hugged her back, aware of the state her body was in and the many bruises that were still hidden from her clothing. There was a sense of awareness that passed between them; the fact that strangers were capable of being good to each other outweighing all the hate and monsters in the world.

Once Samson had excused himself out of the room, breaking away from the mutual hug, she pulled open the doors to the closet and searched for a book title that jumped out at her. She wanted something to capture her attention, to allow her to delve into a new world and become lost in its words of greater places. She relaxed back into the comfortable chair, bringing her legs up underneath her.

The hours ticked by, and she found herself deeply engrossed in the book. She read pages upon pages, aware that most of the time she remained on the same page, the words not sinking in. But she was defiant.

A groan sounded from across the room, and her attention was fixed on the man lying in the bed. She held her breath as she listened out for another one; her heart pounding against her chest at the thought of her worst nightmare coming true. It was a possibility, she knew that. She placed the book down, slotting it between her thigh and the armrest.

"Son ov'a bitch," Daryl grunted in pain, which was enough for Esther to breath a sigh of relief. She closed the gap between them, the panic in her chest being replaced with joy at seeing him looking around the room.

"Hey… you're okay, don't move…" Esther said quickly, aware that if Daryl moved too much or too quickly, he could burst his stitches. She placed a hand upon his bare shoulder.

Daryl's eyes wandered over to her, and she saw him flinch in response to her face. The wounds were still raw, and the bloodshot eye was a startling thing to see. "Shit… ya okay?"

"I will be," Esther said with a nod, feeling Daryl's calloused hand find her own that was still on his shoulder. "Are you okay?"

"I feel like I've died a couple times," Daryl said honestly. "How long…"

"A whole day."

Daryl squeezed his eyes shut. His skin was pale and clammy as a wave of pain washed over him. He squeezed her hand as gently as he could.

"Let me get Samson—" Esther whispered, moving away.

"No… I'm fine, promise…" Daryl said quickly. "It just feels like my stomach is made of jello, that's all. Not the best feelin', ya know?"

"I'm so sorry," Esther sobbed, the emotion that she'd been holding in since the incident happened finally being released; and it seemed once the walls that were once holding her up and making her strong collapsed, she wasn't able to stop. Hot, salty tears fell from her eyes in quick succession of each other, falling from her chin and drenching the top that Maggie had let her borrow.

Daryl, shuffling across the bed slightly to make room for her, pulled her onto the bed with him. He held her as she sobbed into his chest. He held her head gently, rocking her ever so slightly as tears soaked his bare chest. A tiny lapse let her pull away from him, her blinking lashes heavy with tears, before he gently pulled her to him again.

Brick by brick, her walls came tumbling down around him. And he was there to hold her, to protect her from the damage, to soothe her in the still of the night. His injuries had frightened her to her very core, and she had truly believed she would lose him.

Daryl placed a light kiss upon her forehead, aware of the cut in her hairline, and he held her from the rest of the night. Her sobs slowed and grew silent, her breathing becoming shallow against the warmth of his body, and he could tell that she had dozed off. He pulled her closer, finding that she moulded to his body with ease, and moved her bandaged hand to rest on his chest and allowing it to rest over his heart so she could feel his heartbeat.

He was alive, and he had to promise her that he would never leave her. Just as long as she remained by his side, he would remain by hers.

.x.

End of Part Two