They walked forward, the maddening, ever-faster beep of the tracker sounding the dimness, clashing horribly with the dripping of water from the ceiling. Suddenly, a shape darted out in front of them, flashing briefly in the aisle. Abraham made to shoot, but Dixon quickly hit the gun's barrel, knocking it off course, startling Rick just as much as he did the redhead.

Abraham shook him off, spinning around before glaring at him. "Mother dick…. What the fuck?"

"Hold up." Dixon put out a steadying hand, keeping the man back. He turned back, looking straight at Rick. "Grimes." A short toss of his head was the sole indication of what he wanted, but Rick understood in seconds. He crept forward just behind the other man, wincing at his loud footsteps as he marvelled at the silent way Dixon carried himself.

Dixon crouched down. Rick followed, sinking to the ground and looking into a mess of pipes to their right. It took some searching, but Rick eventually saw what Dixon had seen: a little girl, dark brown hair long and tangled about her face, looking utterly terrified as she clutched what looked to be a sheriff's hat in her hand. Rick looked over at Dixon -- half in surprise at the discovery, half wondering how the hell the other man had seen the girl in time to stop Abraham from shooting her -- before shifting slightly closer.

"Hey, shh…" Rick kept his voice low and quiet, as close to a whisper as possible. "It's alright."

Dixon started shifting closer, slow and steady like he was approaching a wild animal. Rick kept up his quiet murmuring, their combined efforts getting them nearer to the little girl. She was still wary, but she hadn't moved, which Rick counted as a plus despite the fear gripping her -- and, he must admit, him.

The peaceful moment, however, was shattered when, just as Dixon got a hand on her wrist, Gregory spoke in his normal loud voice, saying, "Grab her, Corporal."

As though spooked, she started, eyes wild as she plunged her teeth into Dixon's hand and slipped away. Dixon slid back, shaking his hand with a slight wince. He almost sounded amused when he straightened, saying, "Th' asskicker bit me! Hard, too." Rick felt panic sear through him as the girl moved, some dormant paternal instinct worsening the feeling when he realized that he couldn't make out her fleeing shape in the pipes. Luckily, however, Dixon evidently could, because he was quickly scrambling down the passageway. "Watch it; the grill!"

Gregory -- clearly not having learned his lesson about speaking quietly -- called for Andrea to bring her light up to the front, which she did. The light made it harder for Rick to see, blinding him as he tried to peer through the darkness. Eventually, he gave up, calling out, "Where'd she go?"

Dixon gestured, pointing, and Andrea spoke it aloud. "She's over here."

Rick pointed to the spot Dixon had indicated. "Shine the light!"

The voices started to clamber over each other, mutters of "Here, here" and "Don't lose her", but nothing stopped her from clambering into a vent. Rick followed immediately after, sliding down the shaft and tumbling onto the other side with a clatter. He could just barely see Dixon moving behind him, instinctively recognizing that the man had positioned himself so that he could move if necessary, but was out of the way enough not to spook the little girl. The small portion of him not focused on retrieving the girl -- a stranger, yet one whose health worried him nearly as much as would his own or Carl's in a way that terrified and confused him in equal measure -- wanted to smile at the gesture, glad that at least one other person was watching out for the little girl.

The room within the vents was small, so small that it forced Rick to crouch before moving -- though he'd have done that anyway to seem as non-threatening as possible, his training from his days in law enforcement coming back to him -- and nearly too dark for him to see. Thankfully, little bits of light filtered from the ceiling and Dixon was still at his back, shining a flashlight into the small room in an effort to help illuminate it.

If Rick didn't know that there was a human child living in the room, he might have thought it a nest; it was crammed with stuff: clothing massed in lumps on the edges of the room, toys and dolls resting on top, all arranged in a circle so that the center of the room and the small vent passageways on each wall were the only clear parts. The girl was curled up near one of the stacks, but Rick's appearance was all it took for her to dive for one of the vents and try to pry off the cover.

Reacting quickly, he darted forward, praying that he didn't traumatize her further as he grabbed her wrist. She turned to him, then, punching, kicking, and biting in an attempt to get away. He let out a shout as her teeth plunged into his hand -- a distant part of him remembering Dixon's amusement at a similar wound and wondering at the man's patience -- but kept his grip, hauling her closer until he got his arms around her. He started mumbling under his breath, a constant litany of "It's okay. It's alright. Everything'll be fine." It took him too long to get over the fact that, if he were to be asked who he was comforting -- the petrified little girl in his arms or himself -- he wouldn't be able to answer.

Minutes passed, silent and still as they stayed in the vent, Rick doing his best to comfort the girl while slowly inching towards the entrance. Dixon still crouched there, unmoving, even as Rick could see that the others had long since walked away. Rick raised himself to his knees and hefted the girl until she lay in a bridal carry in his arms. Tears sprang to his eyes at the movement as he remembered holding Carl the same way years ago, and he allowed himself a few moments of quiet contemplation before moving the final inches to the door and starting to carefully make his way out.

Dixon stepped back as he approached, watching Rick try to maneuver through the narrow door. It took too long -- too many tries at the same task -- for him to realize that it was far too narrow for both him and the girl to pass, but he couldn't bring himself to let go of the girl. Eventually, he gave in and looked out, meeting Dixon's eyes before tilting his head toward the girl in what he hoped was an understandable gesture.

Evidently, it was. The man nodded once before sidling forward, still silent and slow as he slid closer and took hold of the nameless girl, carefully bringing her forward until she lay cradled in his arms. It was only then that Rick felt comfortable letting go, somewhat reassured that she wouldn't run off, waiting for Dixon to move back -- he was relieved (and wasn't that a funny feeling) to see that the other man only moved a few feet, keeping the girl in Rick's sight while making space for him to exit -- before following. As soon as he was out, Rick straightened and contemplated reaching for the girl again, but, before he could consider the question for long, Dixon gave another nod, something akin to understanding in his eyes. In seconds, he stood at Rick's side, depositing the child back into his arms as gently as possible without either speaking a word.

The trip back to the infirmary was much shorter, taken in a matter of minutes. The girl stayed cradled in Rick's arms, her terrified eyes peeking out from behind her dark hair with an expression that was, at once, strange to see and terrifyingly familiar; he'd seen it in his own eyes in every mirror since the Atlanta mission had crashed and burned. That same panic was still coursing through him -- though it was abating a bit with each step towards safety he took -- and he couldn't stop his eyes from darting around, wary as he checked each corner and ceiling vent.

The infirmary was somewhat dilapidated, but Dixon managed to clear off one of the beds enough for Rick to lay the girl down on it. He wasn't that surprised to see her scramble back upright, perching herself warily on the edge in a tension-filled slouch that spoke of a readiness to move. Michonne stepped in, forcing Rick away from the girl and crouching down in front of her, looking the girl over. Rick tried not to dwell on the fact that his heart rate spiked the second he was separated from the child, tried to keep himself impassive, and was well aware that he'd failed on both counts.

The girl's face was still hidden by her tangled hair, but she couldn't hide the startled jump she gave at the hiss of a blood pressure cuff, nor her flinch as Gregory moved forward, getting into her face. Rick fought the urge to rush forward and smack him away, clenching his hands into fists as the other man spoke in an infuriatingly patronizing tone.

"What's your name?" She didn't answer, and Rick had to grit his teeth at the annoyance in Gregory's expression. "Start at the beginning." He paused again, listening for the answer that never came. "Where are your parents? You have to try-"

Rick couldn't stop himself this time. "Stop. Just… Just give it a rest."

Gregory frowned, huffing as he walked away, muttering under his breath. Michonne spoke as he walked away, telling Rick more than anyone else. "Physically, she's okay. Borderline malnutrition, but no permanent damage."

Rick nodded, watching as she followed Gregory out the door. Most of the other marines had already left the room, so he was surprised to see Dixon walk in just after Michonne had left, a mug in one hand, his weapon in the other. He stepped closer, proffering the cup and nodding towards the little girl. Then, he stepped back, leaning against the wall with the gun at the ready, blue eyes focused on the girl.

A sniff of the mug's contents revealed that it held hot chocolate -- or, at least, what passed as hot chocolate onboard a spaceship -- and Rick smiled, edging closer to the little girl and slipping the cup into her hands. "Here, some hot chocolate." He lifted her arms, raising the cup to her mouth. She drank, but it was clumsy and hurried, the drink spilling slightly down her chin. He couldn't hold back a small smile as he reached for his water cup and soaked a corner of his sleeve in it, raising it to her mouth to clean some away. His heart clenched slightly at the motion, countless memories of doing the same for Carl bombarding him until he blinked them away, so he met her eyes again.

Any connection with Carl ended with that eye contact; Carl's innocent blue eyes had never held the haunted expression in her brown ones, the emptiness that spoke of having seen terrible things. Her motions weren't the fluid gestures of a normal child. They were efficient and mechanical, that of a soldier or a robot.

Rick realized he'd been cleaning the same section of her chin for the past few minutes, so he shook himself awake, smile forced this time. "Don't talk much, huh?" He chuckled, then lifted his arm and looked underneath the sleeve. "Uh oh. I made a clean spot. Now, uh…. Now I've done it, huh? Guess I'll have to do the whole thing." He started moving again, slowly and steadily dragging the cloth upwards. He thought he heard an amused huff sound from the doorway where Dixon stirred, but he ignored it in favor of continuing to talk to the girl. "Hard to believe there's a little girl under all this."

It took several long, quiet minutes, but, eventually, the lower half of her face was marginally cleaner. Rick settled back on his heels, smiling up at her. The silence wasn't uncomfortable, but he broke it again anyway. "Can you talk to us? What's your name?" She merely met his gaze stonily, face and eyes blank.

A rustle sounded from near the doorway as Dixon moved, walking closer to where Rick and the little girl were seated. The sound startled him at first -- the man normally moved so silently… Maybe something was wrong? -- but he eventually realized that sudden, silent movements could only scare the little girl. And Rick, but that didn't need addressing. At all.

Dixon walked closer, sinking down at Rick's side. He adopted a similar pose to the girl's -- knees up, arms wrapped around them -- and looked up at her, the closest thing to a smile Rick had seen from the man on his face. When he spoke, it was quiet and soft, lacking both the roughness and the levity that Rick had come to associate with him. "Ya brave, li'l asskicker, ya know that? Dunno how ya managed ta survive -- not many would -- but ya did."

Something thawed slightly in the girl's eyes as she looked over at him, but she stayed silent for a few minutes, eyes pinned on Dixon as though weighing things over. Eventually, she managed a quiet, "J-Judith."

Rick smiled, and he noticed a similar grin on Dixon's face. "Daryl. This is Rick." Judith looked over at Rick, then, but her eyes swung back to Dixon quickly.

Rick reached out and ran his hands along the hat's edge, guiding it to her head with a smile. "Like your hat, there, Judith. Where'd you get it?" She frowned, then, and didn't answer, so Rick kept speaking. "Did it come from your mom and dad?" She nodded, still refusing to speak. "Where are they?"

Rick felt a cautionary tap from Dixon at his side, but he couldn't address it before Judith shouted -- or, at least, as close to shouting as she'd come -- "They're dead, alright? Can I go now?"

Rick couldn't help his shout of "No!", but he at least has the presence of mind to wince as she tenses, wanting to run.

Dixon speaks before she can, voice still low and soothing. "Nah, stay with us, Lil Asskicker. Ain't safe out there."

She looked over at him, eyes still somewhat panicked. "Not safe here, either." Rick watched as her eyes darted over to the door through which the marines had exited, distrust barely concealed in her eyes.

Evidently, Dixon recognized it too, his own eyes sliding over to the door before looking back at her. "Hey, listen… Keeping you safe… that's what's important." He tilted his head to Rick as he continued. "That's gonna be our priority."

Her eyes narrowed slightly, chocolate eyes locking with blue for several tense seconds before she nodded, looking down at the cup still clenched in her tiny hands. "'Kay."

Dixon smiled again, reaching behind him and fishing around in a pocket there. When his hand came back around, it held a red rag, which he tossed to Rick. "Let's get ya cleaner, then, asskicker… Sound okay?"

She nodded -- a motion mimicked by Dixon seconds later before he returned to his post by the door -- and drank the rest of the chocolate. Then, she turned to Rick, allowing him to once more place the rag against her face, slowly stripping away layers of dirt and filth until her face shone clean once more.