Daryl's POV
Alarmed amber eyes stared up at me for a solid two seconds before Eve's shoulders dropped, visibly relaxing.
A heavy sigh escaped mud-caked lips as she glanced down, before her eyes came back up to meet mine, a relieved smile replacing the panic-stricken expression from before.
I grabbed her slick muddy arm with both hands and she gripped back as best she could, and pulled her up enough she could almost get out.
It ain't enough, the mud covering every inch of her is too slick, every time she grabs something her hand just slides. My own grip is slipping every time I grab her.
My hold on Eve's forearm slid to her wrist and her foot slipped, slamming her chest against the root my foot was braced against.
Eve coughed hoarsely at the impact and her arm started slipping out of my grip as she started sliding down.
Her grip tightened on my arm but it wasn't helping much she was still sliding.
It was awkward to grab the back of her belt and under her arm but it was the only leverage I could get that didn't slip through my fingers(literally).
Leaning back, I finally pulled her over the edge far enough she got her knee up and we both fell back onto the dry ground. Eve tried to get off my arm but her hand slid and her jaw hit my forearm with a painful 'clack' before she managed it.
I flinched at the sound, knowing I'll have a bruise there tomorrow but as soon as she got up she rolled onto her back and took the fastest deep breaths I've ever seen.
"Thought I said I wouldn't come save ur ass" I panted, glancing over the raised root now covered in mud, into the sinkhole.
How long she been down there? That's gotta be at least 20 feet deep.
I glanced around before resting my arms over my knees. What the Hell is in this mud? It's like slim.
I tried to wipe some of it off on my jeans but it didn't do much, 'cept turn my knee brown.
I watched 'er reach up and push the muddy mass of dark hair out of her face, pulling some of it away from her mouth.
The drying grey mud covers almost every inch of 'er. It's even stuck in clumps on her eyelashes.
I watched her breaths slow and her face twist in disgust when she licked her lips and she coughed again.
"Thanks"
I stared at her for a second before nodding. "Yer welcome"
I still ain't used to hearing 'er speak. Startin' to wonder if I'll ever be.
She sat up and spit mud from her mouth into the hole, going to wipe her mouth on her sleeve but stopped when her eyes fixed on the two inches of sludge caked on it.
I watched her lean her arms on 'er knees, breathing in through 'er nose and out 'er mouth.
Her hands are shaking, and I can't see much of 'er skin underneath the mud, but I know she ain't that pale.
Only time I've ever seen 'er hands shake like this was at the CDC, when we were locked in and she grabbed my shirt.
Eve ain't afraid a much —tries to hide it when she is— but everybody's gotta be afraid a somethin'.
She's claustrophobic, figured that out at the CDC, but I didn't think it was this bad.
Eve's POV
I leaned my no doubt muddy forehead against Daryl's shoulder. Half of it's to say thank you(even though I already did) but honestly, it's more for me than him.
I've hit my limit, I'm too exhausted to stave off another panic attack by myself.
Daryl didn't stiffen like I expected, like he usually does when someone touches him— or so much as stands too close to him, but I don't have the mental energy to read into it.
Focusing on his already normal breathing is helping me calm down tremendously.
I don't know how I thought of it in this state but I tried to match my breathing to his and was almost startled at how easily it helped calm the frenzy in my head.
Usually it takes me 5— 10 minutes to normalize but somehow I doubt it's even been two.
I finally lifted my head from his shoulder and a few seconds of silence passed before he grabbed my muddy gun from just behind us and stood up, offering me a hand.
"It's gon be dark soon."
I nodded and accepted his hand, getting to my feet. The mud's starting to dry and become crusted itchy dirt.
It could be exhaustion, but I'm 90% sure this mud's added an extra 10 lbs.
Daryl gave me a once over and I raised an eyebrow, wanting to know what's provoked such an 'in-thought' look. I doubt it has anything to do with my striking good looks at the moment. I pulled a clump of mud plastered hair off my neck and tossed it over my shoulder with a 'smack' on my back. I'm not even gonna think about why it made that sound.
"Let's go back to the creek first. Wash up a lil' before we head back." he started walking, scooping up his crossbow after wiping his muddy hand on his jeans.
It's not that bad is it? I glanced down at myself, only just realizing I look like a walking mud monster. I can only imagine what this looks like from his perspective.
The stuff of nightmares, probably.
I stopped smelling it a while ago but I don't imagine I smell like roses either.
I moved to follow him, glancing around for my muddy gun before I spotted it in his other hand.
Catching up, the burn in my chest lept to the foreground and the aching in— well, everywhere started up again.
This is the second time in what? two days? This has happened. It's starting to become a habit. A habit I need to get rid of as soon as possible.
Mmm, my head's splitting now. I'm so tired I could probably sleep just about anywhere if I stop moving for long enough.
I laid back in the water, completely immersing myself and ran my fingers through my tangled hair; shaking loose all the mud and debris I could.
The creek isn't exactly fresh clean water but it's better than what I was swimmin' in earlier, by far.
Besides, I was already drenched and covered in mud. I'd say this is a step up, but I'd kill an entire herd of walkers for a hot bath; luckily I don't have to.
I just have to ask when we get back to the farm and I don't think it'll take much convincing; considering I can now smell myself again and may or may have not have felt the need to puke once or twice after the first two or three dunks.
Daryl's POV
I stood on the edge of the bank, leaning against a tree, keeping watch while Eve sheds most of her new layers.
It only took me a minute or two to wash the stuff from my arms and splash some water on the drying spots on my clothes. That bruise on my arm is already starting to form.
I glanced at the water, seeing if she'd come back up yet but she hasn't.
I watched for a solid minute, and she still hasn't come back up.
Unconsciously, I took half a step closer but right as I did, she came up with a splash like a swamp monster; hair tangled over her face like somethin' out of a horror movie.
I couldn't stop the snort that slipped but moved my attention back to the woods.
Eve's POV
Haphazardly moving my mop of hair so I could see, I glanced over.
I could've sworn I heard something like a laugh but that's—...unlikely.
My jaw went slack, leaving my mouth open to catch flies.
That small smile on Daryl's face had me so dazed I didn't notice I'd stopped breathing. Until my chest constricted, forcing me to inhale and nearly choking myself on the water that had dripped down my lip into my open mouth.
I choked for almost a minute before I could finally breathe normally again. I directed my gaze up at Daryl as I stood up.
He offered me a hand to get out of the bank but he looks so entertained I almost want to punch him. If he wasn't the reason I got out of that hole, I just might have.
Accepting his hand, Daryl pulled me out of the creek and I messily tied my hair back away from my face. It's tangled beyond recognition but for now, this'll have to work. It'd be worse to leave it in a giant rat's nest to coat my back and stick to my shoulders.
I rung my jacket out, tying it around my waist as we started walking.
One less thing clinging to my skin and it's unbelievable how much better I feel.
Still tired but a little more awake with how cold it is now. Soaked + sun going down + exhausted = I need a bath, a comfy blanket or heater of some type, and a nap asap.
As we walked, I noticed something white in Daryl's shirt pocket. At first I thought it was a piece of paper but it's sort of round.
I poked Daryl's shoulder and he looked at me, "What?"
I nodded to his pocket and he looked down to the little delicate white object poking out.
"Cherokee Rose"
I nodded, being aware of the Native American story behind the flower but I'm not sure if he is.
He doesn't look like the type to know that sort of thing but then again, neither do I.
He also doesn't look like the type to pick a flower. Why did he pick it?
In my experience there are only a few reasons why people pick flowers— people who don't have an affinity for them— and well...let's just say I really hope it isn't because he's lost hope.