Eve's POV

My hand's still shaking and it will be for awhile, but that's alright. It's never as bad as it used to be. Maybe some day it'll be gone.

Inhaling a long deep breath, I collected the scattered cards in my lap, reshuffling them to fully distract myself for a few seconds.

I haven't had an attack so bad in years. In the last few years it's been several close calls but...this time everything I know and use to deal with them flew right out the window.

I've been handling them on my own for so long, it's strange for someone else to actually know what to do.

I looked to Hershel, "Thank you"

"There's no need to thank me. I trust you know at least a few of your triggers?"

I nodded, running my tongue over my dry lips.

"It seems you have things well in hand, then. Come on, girls. Let's let them rest." Hershel stood, motioning at his daughters.

I quirked my eyebrow as the three of them shuffled out, closing the door behind them.

I glanced at Daryl and his expression is almost identical.

Wait, don't tell me they think….

Awwwwkward

I shook my head, clearing my throat. Whatever, it doesn't matter.

Daryl shifted, laying back down with an uncomfortable pinched expression. I'm gonna take a wild guess and say he's in pain from sitting up.

I raised my cards and resumed our game, in hopes of erasing awkward tension. And, may also be to avoid the assault of questions that usually rains down after an attack.

Can we please skip this part, just this once?

"How long you been…?"

Damn

"Having panic attacks? A while."

So close. If the tension had been just a little more awkward, he probably wouldn't of said anything.

"They always like that?"

I sighed, resigning myself to this conversation. "More or less. They haven't been that strong in a while though."

"..." Daryl nodded, looking back at his cards and rearranging them in his hand.

…Is that it? That's all he wanted to know? He's not gonna ask why I have panic attacks, or what they're about, or— well I guess he already knows what they're about.

What the Hell. I'm not usually one for this, but this time, I'm not gonna look a gift horse in the mouth, and just take the win.

I rolled my shoulders and stretched my back, popping my spine. That's what you get for sitting in the same position for a solid hour without so much as turning your head.

My shoulders hate me. Not as much as my thighs, or my heels for trudging around all day but still, I've had worse. I'd gladly take sore muscles over broken bones any day.

"In a lot a ways, I'm grateful for being in that house."

Daryl looked at me like I just declared I'm gonna blow up Batman's girlfriend, after proposing to a lawn gnome.

Think I just remembered why talking is tiresome. What was I trying to accomplish by telling him all this again? Whatever it was, I think I missed. By a long shot.

"What in the Hell could make ya grateful about that place?" His hoarse voice makes him sound angrier than he actually looks. But I don't understand why he's angry, in the first place.

Most people would'a been surprised, yeah, but not angry like this. Then again, he isn't most people. Neither am I.

"If i'd never been in that house, I never would'a learned how to fight, or why it's important to when others gives up. If I hadn't been in that house and that stuff hadn't happened. If I didn't struggle afterwards, I'd have never figured out how lucky I've been. I never would've gotten these to remind me." I gestured to my shoulder.

Daryl looked at me like a lunatic. "You call that luck? Why would ya wanna remember?"

"I didn't for a long time. But I met somebody once. By sheer chance, and she told me something I've never forgotten. All a scar means, is you were stronger than what tried to break you."

"I'm 90% sure she was quoting something and I don't think she meant it to be taken so seriously, but… it helped. Still does."

"Point I'm tryna make is, it could have been a lot worse. I'm still here, and they aren't. So I'd say I got the better deal."

Daryl's POV

No wonder she could stand up to Merle. And I thought he was the toughest person I ever knew.

I don't understand this woman. How could someone just move on from somethin' like that?

She had a panic attack barely half an hour ago, and she's actin' like it never happened.

Eve glanced at her cards, rearranging 'em in her hand and I scowled at my own.

"If yer expectin' me ta spill my guts now, forget it." This is as good a time as any to keep playin'.

She laughed and I almost dropped my hand.

"Wouldn't dream of it."

Everything was quiet for a bit, just the sound of cards before Eve clicked her tongue as she lost, again.

"You ever play Blackjack?"

I nodded, handing over my cards and watched her shuffle 'em.

"The Hell we gon' bet with?"

"..." Eve looked around, reaching over to the side table and opened the drawer. She dug around for a second before fishing out coins with a shrug.

She handed me the deck and started divvying up the coins.

I watched the treetops sway through the window, while I shuffled.

"You can actually see the sky out 'ere."

Eve hummed, looking out before setting the coins down and getting up.

She opened the window a crack, letting the breeze in. I didn't notice how stuffy it felt in 'ere before the rush of cool.

I expected her to sit back down right after but she stood there, lookin' out the window.

For such an expressive person, she can be hard to read when she makes that vacant face. But she only makes it for a couple reasons.

"There ain't a lot of walkers in this area from what we've seen. There's every chance she's alright, and just hold up somewhere waitin' for someone to find 'er."

Eve nodded but she don't look convinced.

Eve's POV

"But it's a big forest out there, Daryl… She could be anywhere." I watched the tops of the trees rustle with the cold night breeze. The smell of oak, metal, and something I don't even want to think about wafting all around us, even inside the house.

That smell— that...permanent stench of death, is everywhere. Staining the world, and no amount of vegetation, precipitation, and wind will ever be able to cleanse it. Not in our lifetimes.

It's everywhere. Clinging to every crack, every memory. It'll take centuries for it to be gone; whether humans are still around or not.

"As much as we'd like to, we can't search forever. Sooner or later, we're gonna have to face the music."

"No we ain't." I looked back at Daryl.

"We're gonna find 'er."

"I know we will. I'm not doubting that."

I leaned back on the edge of the bed, looking at all the specs on the window. "But will we find her with a heartbeat?..."

I ultimately won but the whole last half of the game is honestly a bit vague. I felt like I was on autopilot.

Daryl fell asleep near the end(I think I might have dozed off for a few too) so I'm not sure if I can even consider this winning.

I was well on my way to conking out, myself. Having unintentionally used his ankle as a pillow a while ago.

It wasn't as uncomfortable as I would've expected. Either that or I don't have enough energy for my brain to bother recording the information.

How comfortable Daryl's ankles are for sleeping isn't exactly priority information, under any circumstance I can think of.

Something outside the room clinked and jolted me to a state of awareness.

I slapped my leg, before realising my gear was on the floor; my having ditched it after Daryl won the first round of Blackjack.

I glanced at the window, seeing how dark it had gotten. If I had to guess, it's the darkest time of night; just before dawn.

Yawning, I sat up, careful not to wake Daryl and stretched my stiff shoulders. My spine cracked loud enough to make me flinch.

I cast a glance at Daryl to see if he'd woken up at that.

Daryl's a light sleeper— most everyone is nowadays I imagine. I've been on watch long enough to know who is and isn't likely to wake up to the slightest sound.

I waited a few long seconds, scraping my teeth over my bottom lip. His chest rose and fell with every influx of breath and I waited a good 4 beats before —carefully— dragging myself to my feet.

The floor's cold, even through my socks. I'm not used to walking around without my boots anymore. And isn't that just sad. I hated wearing my shoes in my apartment before.

Now though, it almost feels uncomfortable not to have them on. Makes me somewhat anxious; not being ready-able to run at the drop of a hat.

Quietly collecting the cards, I stuffed them back into the velvet pouch where they belonged and shoved it in my pocket before moving the clinky coins back to the drawer.

Too bad I'm not a light sleeper. It could come in handy nowadays.

I sat on the floor and pulled my boots on, before grabbing my gear. Silently cursing at every little sound the metal made even though a mouse would likely be louder.

Moving closer to the bed, I made sure Daryl was still asleep. I don't know how he can sleep with his hair stabbing his eye like that, or his arm at that angle for that matter. Maybe he's more exhausted than he let on. I wouldn't be surprised.

He's not exactly forthcoming, and I did kinda keep him up longer than I probably should have. Both of us were up long past we should've been, to be honest.

My hand ghosted over his forehead, mindlessly moving the strands away before I pulled back like I'd been burned.

I closed the window and turned off the light, slipping out of the room without another sound. Closing the thankfully not squeaky door, behind me.