Seven

The rain had stopped twenty minutes ago, and the only sound they could hear inside the Jeep was the uncomfortable grunts Henry made around the pacifier Sophia had popped into his mouth.

They'd pulled into the drive of one of the first houses they'd passed inside of town, and Carol had gone inside to check on things. Lydia was shivering again since Carol had cut the engine—and the heat—upon pulling into the drive.

Lydia looked into the back seat when Daryl groaned. His head lolled to one side, and his hand came up to rest over the wet blood stain on his shirt. Sophia glanced into the back before looking back to Lydia.

"So it's just you and your dad? You don't have people?"

"Not since we got spilt up from my uncle Rick," Lydia said quietly. "We were on our way to find him." Lydia coughed, and Sophia offered her a bottle of water. She took it and thirstily gulped half of it down in three swallows. "What about you? It's just you and your mom?"

"Yeah. It was just us. At least 'til my brother was born. But even before, it was just me and my mom. My dad stopped coming around."

"Sorry," Lydia muttered. "Do you think he's still out there?"

"I don't know," Sophia said quietly. "Not sure it matters anymore. I'll never see him again." Lydia took another sip of her water.

"I had a mom," she said quietly. "I mean, she's probably still alive, but she left me with my dad when I was just a baby. I don't remember her."

"Sorry," Sophia said quietly. "Do you think she's still out there?"

"I don't know," Lydia flinched. "I don't care." She tensed up, and Daryl mumbled something in the back seat. "My dad—his name's Daryl—he raised me. I guess they were young when they had me, and my mom couldn't deal."

"I don't know what's worse," Sophia said quietly. "Them leaving before you can remember them or after."

"Lydia." The girls both startled and turned in the seat to see Daryl sitting up, groaning in pain as he wrapped a seat belt around his wrist to help pull himself up.

"Dad!"

"What…what happened?"

"Dad, lay down! You're gonna bust your stitches!" Daryl was dazed, and when he saw the girls both looking at him, he flinched. He glanced at Lydia and then at Sophia.

"Who're you?"

"Dad, you're hurt." Daryl groaned in pain and put his hand to his throbbing side. "This is Sophia. Her mom sewed you up. It's ok."

"Lydia, you ok?" he asked.

"I'm ok, Dad. We're ok." He looked around for a moment. "What happened?" Lydia looked at Sophia worriedly, and Sophia cleared her throat to speak. But before she could utter a word, Daryl slumped back against the seat, and his breathing slowed.

The low beam of a flashlight cut through drying raindrops on the windshield as Carol came out of the house, each footfall firm and confident. She came around to the side of the Jeep and opened the front passenger's side door.

"It's safe," she assured Sophia. "Sophia, take Henry inside. Lydia, help me get your dad into the house."

"His name's Daryl," Sophia said quietly, glancing into the backseat. "He woke up, but I think he passed out again." Carol stepped out of the way and took the car seat so Sophia could get out before passing it back to her. She headed into the house, and Lydia slid out next.

"Did he say anything?" she asked the girl.

"He was confused. Maybe he hit his head, or…"

"He's disoriented. He's gonna be woozy for a while. He lost a lot of blood. Maybe too much. He'll need to rest for a few days." Lydia's shoulders slumped, and she nodded drearily. "Come on. Help me with him."

Carol opened the back door to find Daryl slumped against the back seat, the seatbelt coiled tight around his wrist turning the flesh around the area pale. He lifted his head when she touched his arm, and she froze in place.

"Dad?" Lydia asked, peering into the vehicle.

"Lydia, don't forget. Amarillo." His head lolled, and Carol reached in to place her hand against his forehead. He was burning up, and she knew if she didn't get some antibiotics in him, he might die.

"Can you walk?" Carol asked, unwrapping the belt from his wrist. "Daryl?" He groaned softly, barely responding to her voice.

"Dad?"

"Tell Merle I ain't paying his bail anymore," Daryl grunted. Carol looked to Lydia.

"My Uncle," Lydia explained with a shake of her head. Carol nodded.

"Help me with him," she urged, tugging on Daryl's arm and helping him out of the vehicle. He was on his own two feet, leaning heavily on Carol. Lydia put her arm around him and took some of the burden off the kind stranger who'd helped her dad.

Carol grunted under the weight of him, as he leaned more than he walked. He was close to passing out again, she was certain, and she let out a breath of relief when they got him into the house and into one of the bedrooms in the back.

They eased him onto the mattress, and Carol straightened, feeling a twinge in her side from the effort.

Sophia and Lydia stood back while Carol tugged his shoes off. He was in desperate need of a bath and some clean, fresh clothes. When Lydia offered to bring in her dad's pack with some dry clothes from the car, Sophia took Henry to the kitchen to start looking for food.

Carol knew she was going to have to feed him soon. The poor thing had tuckered himself out crying, but her breasts were uncomfortable and heavy, and she was going to have to nurse him soon. So, she made quick work of removing Daryl's wet clothes. First his socks which had more holes than fabric, then his jeans and underwear.

Once she covered him with a blanket and removed his soaked shirt and the soggy bandages, she set to work cleaning the wound again.

When Lydia reappeared with some supplies, Carol sent her to help Sophia look for food in the kitchen, and she closed the door before putting some dry underwear on him.

She'd taken care of a lot of patients over the year, so doing this didn't bother her at all. Though, a part of her wondered how Daryl would feel with his one-night-stand caring for him so intimately.

She shook the thought away, feeling ridiculous. He was injured, and she was caring for him. And the more she looked through the clothes in Daryl's pack, the more uncertain she was about using them. They were dry, but they were filthy, and she didn't want them anywhere near Daryl's wounds.

She rummaged through the closet and the chest of drawers before finding a black tank top and a grey pair of sweat pants. They were close enough to his size to fit, and once she had him dressed, she re-dressed the wound.

It took a while to find some antibiotics. Getting them down his throat didn't take much effort. She got them in his mouth and then urged his lips open for a drink of water. He coughed and sputtered a bit but got them down, leaving Carol to rest.

It wasn't long before Sophia brought a fussy Henry to her, and Carol finally settled down to nurse him.

She sat in the chair by Daryl's bed and watched him flinch and fidget in his fevered sleep. Occasionally, he'd turn his head toward her and mutter something in his sleep, but he was too far under to be coherent.

Henry was bleary-eyed but still hungry when Carol shifted him to nurse at her other breast. She leaned back in the chair and watched Daryl sleep. Daryl. Two hours ago, she never would've thought she'd see the man again, let alone know his name.

She wasn't exactly proud of how she'd handled that situation. She'd had a rough day at work, and she hadn't been out since the divorce. She hadn't even expected to hook up with anyone. She'd just gone out for a drink to clear her head while Sophia was sleeping over at a friend's house.

And then he'd shown up smelling like smoke and looking at her with those ice blue eyes that seemed to look right into her soul. Maybe it had been the alcohol, but she'd felt some instant spark with him, and when she'd brought him out on the dance floor, he'd been sheepish and uncertain, but God, they'd had so much fun.

She was thirty-two. A single mom. A surgical nurse that worked grueling hours. And she still had the image in her mind of her ex-husband driving away, driving out of their lives for good. It'd been almost six months.

He'd wanted her number, and she'd been guarded against anything beyond a cab ride and a quick fuck in a hotel room. She'd felt guilty for days after, even making the trek back to the bar, wondering if he'd show up again before the two weeks she'd asked him to give her. But then the world had gone to hell. Smoky barrooms and fruity pink drinks had turned into cowering in quiet rooms and hiding from the dead.

And then came Henry. And there they were.

She looked down at her beautiful boy and then at the man she had to thank for him, and she couldn't help but smirk at the irony of it all. She'd been so scared of getting hurt that she hadn't even given him a simple telephone number. And then the world went to shit. Now she was nursing his son and watching him fight a fever and recover from a gunshot wound. And he had no goddamn idea she was even there.

Same bar, same time, two weeks. Maybe we can start with our names.

She scooted up in her chair and leaned over to put her hand over his.

"I'm Carol," she whispered. He muttered something in his fever dream, briefly opening his eyes. For a moment, she thought he saw her, she thought she saw a twitch of confusion on his brow. Then his eyes rolled back again, and she sat back in the chair. "Hold on, Daryl. Just hold on."

...

Supper was a can of stew and a can of green beans split three ways. They sat silently around the dinner table. Henry was sleeping soundly after nursing and getting a clean diaper, and Carol kept peering over at where he slept on the couch with a pillow beside him for safety.

"Did he say anything?" Lydia asked, finally breaking the quiet. Carol looked up and shook her head before taking a bite of room-temperature beef stew. Lydia pushed a piece of carrot around her bowl with her spoon. "He's really sick."

"He is," Carol said quietly. "But he's strong." She raised her eyebrows. "Right?" Lydia nodded.

"We're just trying to find my Uncle Rick. We got split up a long time ago. We found a sign he left for us. He's going to Amarillo." Sophia sat up a little.

"You're going west?" Sophia looked from Carol to Lydia. Lydia just nodded and took a bite of stew.

"Yeah. That was the plan. Until…" Her shoulders slumped again, and Carol put her hand on Lydia's arm.

"You did good today. I'm sure your dad would be proud."

"I was stupid. I left the gun on the hood of the truck. It's my fault." Her eyes filled with tears, and she looked away. "We're always so careful. But he got stung, and I went to help him. I didn't think." Carol gave Lydia's arm a little squeeze.

"You can't blame yourself," Carol insisted. "Bad things happen. Especially now." She looked from Lydia to Sophia and then back to Lydia, wanting both girls to understand the new reality. "We can sit and feel guilty, or we can learn from our mistakes. Maybe I don't know your dad, but I'm willing to bet he's not the kind of dad that would blame you for something like this. Right?" Lydia nodded shortly and rubbed the back of her neck. Her elbow rattled the top of the dinner table.

"He'll probably blame himself."

"Yeah." A tired smile curled on Carol's lips. "Moms and dads are pretty good at that." She got a smile out of Sophia and an uncertain frown out of Lydia. "Things will make more sense after a little sleep." She nodded to Sophia. "You girls can share tonight. There's a room down the hall with bunkbeds."

"I'm staying with my dad." Lydia was firm on this, and Carol couldn't blame the kid. She'd almost lost her dad, and now she was sharing supper with two total strangers.

"Alright," Carol agreed. "Why don't you girls go brush your teeth and clean up. I'll check on your dad, Lydia, and I'll lay out a blanket and a pillow in the recliner. You sure you wouldn't rather have a bed?"

"No. It's hard to get used to, anyway."

"Ok," Carol offered with a nod. "I'll check on him. You two finish eating and go get cleaned up."

"I'm done." Sophia got up and started to gather the dishes.

"Thank you," Carol whispered, giving her a kiss atop her head. She knew how stressful the last couple of days had been for Sophia, especially today with having to accept two new traveling companions for the time being. There really hadn't been a choice, and Sophia knew that. She had a good heart, always had, and not even the end of the world had taken that away.

Daryl was still sprawled out on the bed when Carol returned with fresh bandages and an oil lamp. She placed the lamp on the bedside table and turned the wick up to brighten the room a bit. She put her hand against his forehead and felt the beads of sweat against his brow. His skin was still too warm to the touch, so the fever hadn't broken. She left momentarily only to come back with a bottle of water and a dry cloth.

The chair by his bed creaked when she sat down and scooted closer. She poured some water onto the cloth and dabbed at his forehead and the exposed skin on his chest. She wiped his neck down and returned to his face, tenderly tracing the cloth of over his features, remembering the way he'd looked the fateful night that changed her life forever.

"Your kid's pretty scared," she said quietly. "She blames herself. Says you'll blame yourself. So, you better hold on. Don't let your death be something she blames herself for the rest of her life, ok?" She took a deep breath and looked at his bandages. They still looked ok, so she put the other bandages aside to use later. As she was standing up, Daryl's breath hitched in his throat, and his eyes fluttered open. His head moved to one side and then the other, before he squeezed his eyes shut tight and opened them to focus on her.

She froze, staring down at him, wondering if he was really conscious or having a dream. But when he tried to sit up, she put her hand on his chest.

"Be still. You were hurt."

"It's you," he panted. "You're here?" His hand came up to push the shaggy hair from his eyes. Carol's hand was cool against his warm skin, and she gently pushed against him to keep him down. "S'really you?" His breath hitched, and he looked around desperately. "Lydia. Lydia! Where is she?"

"She's ok. She's here. She's in the next room. There was an accident."

"She's ok?"

"She's fine. She's just fine—"

"How'd you find me?" he panted, easing back on the mattress as Carol put the bottle of water to his lips and gave him a sip. He drank, hesitantly at first but then feverishly, letting it spill down his chin in rivulets. He choked then, coughing and sputtering, and Carol helped him sit up enough to get the water up from his windpipe.

Finally, he stilled, and his eyes rolled back a moment.

"You rest," Carol urged, standing. But he reached out, fingers curling around her wrist.

"Thought about you," he murmured. "Didn't think I'd see you again." His breaths slowed, and he fought the pull of unconsciousness, but he was still so weak. "Don't go away."

"I'm not going anywhere," Carol promised. "Get some rest."

"Lydia….is she…"

"She's coming. She'll be right here."

"Dad?" Carol turned to see Lydia standing in the doorway with a pillow and blanket in her arms.

"He was awake. He's worried about you." Lydia slowly crossed the room to standing by his bed. She took his hand in hers, and her chin wobbled with the threat of another sob. But she held it back and took a deep breath.

"I'm here, daddy."

"I'll be right next door." Carol put her hand on Lydia's shoulder and gave it a little squeeze. "I'll check on you in a few hours."

"You don't have to do that."

"Henry'll be awake in soon to eat. I'll be awake. Besides, I want to keep a close eye on him tonight. I'd really feel better if you weren't in here."

"In case he dies?" Lydia asked darkly, her gaze moving to her dad's still form on the bed. She shook her head. "I'm not leaving him." She turned and settled down in a chair across the room. Carol cast one last look at Daryl before offering a quiet 'good night' to Lydia.

She didn't shut the door all the way. Sleep wasn't in the cards tonight. Instead, she'd be up listening to the sounds of his fevered moans and his labored breaths. She'd fear the quiet. She'd toss and turn wondering what she'd say to him when he was finally truly aware of what was happening. For two strangers who spent one night together, they had a hell of a lot of catching up to do.