Oooh, I was so comfy. But goddamn, the back of my head hurt. I rustled a little bit trying to get the pressure off my head. I paused in a more comfortable position, wondering absent-mindedly if I had somehow replaced my pillow with a rock by accident. However, I felt nice. Happy. Relieved. It felt like a lot of whatever I had been stressing about had been resolved recently.
Wait! Oh shit! The gates and Rick and the dying sick people! I snapped my eyes open to a blinding flood of light.
"Fuck," I mumbled out loud, shielding my eyes. Well, it was clearly daylight outside. The light I was battling with my arm was streaming in through my own cell window. I was for sure laying in my own cot. My pillow seemed to still be a pillow. All good signs so far. If I had been transported all the way here, and clearly not eaten, nothing too awful must have happened last night. I had been about to get eaten, right?
I slowly propped myself up on my elbows. I jumped, noticing Daryl sitting on the floor of my cell, his back was pressed against the wall. He was watching me.
"Hey," he said, getting up and walking the short distance to me. He looked like crap, tired and distraught. "You okay?"
He was standing over me, looking down.
"Your head." He said, like it explained everything.
"Oh, yeah." I lifted my hand up to touch the tender spot. Oh gross, my hair was down and it was matted underneath with blood. "It feels fine, I think. I hit it on something, right? Or did someone hit me? I mean, I don't feel nauseated or anything, if that's what you wan tot know."
That was actually a lie, I felt a little bit dizzy and a very bit icky. He kind of smiled down at me and said, "You damn liar."
"C'mon, can you sit up?" Daryl asked me. "I need to see if it looks alright. Slowly though," he warned.
Sort of bewildered, I let him help me sit up straight and meekly held my hair out of the way. I couldn't imagine what looking at my head wound would tell someone with no medical experience and it didn't feel like I had stitches, but I sat still anyway.
I couldn't help noticing his bare arms were covered in blood.
"Hey, is that all mine?" I asked, pointing to it. I thought it might be for some reason that was becoming fuzzy in my memory.
He stepped back and sat back down on the floor.
"Yeah, you passed out and I carried you back here when it seemed like a good time. I couldn't have you dying under my arm."
Huh, well I sure didn't seem like I was even in much danger right now. Everything seemed to be perfectly swell, actually.
"Did you stay here all night?" I asked him.
Wait, what had I been doing last night? Why did my head hurt again?
He shrugged, "Herschel checked you out and said there wasn't much to do 'cept wait for to wake up and make sure you didn't swallow your tongue, or whatever. So I made sure you didn't swallow your tongue."
"That's a real concern with concussions," I said mock-seriously. Slowly laying back down.
However, my clothes were covered in grime and I didn't feel like laundering my sheets today. This suddenly felt very important. Deciding I wanted to change immediately and save myself from the satanic process of hand-washing sheets, I brusquely went to stand up and knocked myself silly on the top bunk.
"Dammit!" I shouted, sitting right back down.
Daryl stood up to help, trying not to smile.
"You feel fine, my ass", he said.
"I just wanted to change my clothes," I said, tugging on the bottom of my crusty shirt.
"C'mere," Daryl mumbled, holding out a hand to me and placing the other on top of my head, helping me up and making sure I didn't do anymore damage.
He held me close to him, like he was scared I might fall over. Which was probably a wise choice on his part. I fought off a wave of nausea.
God, I couldn't get my mind straight; everything kept jumping around in my head. I had just been worried about something, hadn't I? Well, I guess if I couldn't remember than it must not have been very important.
With him still holding onto my arm, I started trying to take my shirt off.
"Grey," He said, stopping me. "I don't got anywhere to be for a while, want to go clean this off? I'll go with you." He tugged lightly on my equally crusty hair.
I grinned stupidly at him. "Mmmk."
He smirked, not unkindly, back at me.
Goddamn he was nice looking. I held his gaze for a minute, assessing his severe attractivenss, the grin sliding off my face. I was almost as tall as he was. We stood there, perfectly still. If anyone had seen us, it probably looked like we were about to beat the crap out of each other.
I inhaled sharply and bending over, broke the moment. I grabbed some dark burgundy skinny jeans riddled with holes and a dirt-stained white V-neck shirt.
Daryl wrapped a supportive arm around my waist and led me out of my cell.
I was glad he came with me; I wouldn't have been able to remember how to get to the showers without him. Things kept dancing just on the edges of my bleary memory. The direction to showers was probably up there, but I couldn't grasp a hold of it. I wouldn't have been able to ask anyone the way either; we didn't pass a single person the entire walk. The whole prison seemed empty. Huh. I wondered long and hard about everyone was. It seemed like an important thing to wonder long and hard about.
Daryl led me right up to a shower; I padded silently after him with bare feet. He let go of me reluctantly, watching to make sure I wasn't going to fall over. He set my clean clothes off to the side and stopped in front of me.
I stood bemused for a second and then realized he was going to help me take off my clothes. I giggled out loud for some stupid reason and then held my arms up over my head. He leaned in and started from the bottom of my shirt and lifted it over my head. He smelled familiar, like he somehow reminded me of something that happened yesterday.
Daryl tugged the shirt off and, being a complete gentlemen, he averted his eyes from my dirty bra. He knelt down to undo the buttons and zipper on my jeans and gently yanked them down. I put my hands on his shoulders in order to obediently lift each leg while my jeans came off.
He stood and then pulled his vest off and his ripped sleeveless shirt. He noticed me watching him and said simply, "Don't wanna waste water, right?"
His shaggy hair fell into his eyes while he kicked off his boots and took his own jeans off.
Ugh. He looked so good in just his boxer briefs. His arms looked amazing even covered in blood and his chest and stomach were taut with muscle and leaned out.
He moved around and began to pump the water for us.
I guess he felt too insecure to take off his underwear, but I was feeling freaking invincible, so I stripped my bra off (with some fumbling) and my washed out pink panties.
Daryl looked surprised for a split second, and didn't avert his eyes as quickly this time, but recovered and shrugged, smiling unapologetically at me, heading back under the showerhead.
I prepared myself for the icy jet of water, but it took my breath away every single time I showered because it was so damn cold. Then, to top off the fact that I was freezing, I made the mistake of looking straight up at the water and made myself instantly queasy. I about puked all over myself and Daryl.
Daryl grabbed me by the waist, like he had mistaken my expression and thought I was about to pass out. All awkwardness forgotten, he got soaked himself. We stood like that for a beat, the water echoing off the floor in the big, empty room. My own dried blood was pouring everywhere around us; the puddle at my feet turning a gross reddish-brown.
I'd closed my eyes to let the nausea pass, and went to open them, to let Daryl know I was okay, but found myself looking straight into his eyes. He looked at me with a loaded expression, and then, closing his eyes with water drops sparkling in his eyelashes, he cupped my jaw with his hand and pressed his lips to mine. I intertwined my hands into his sopping wet hair and felt him tighten his hold on me. It was so delicious and wonderful, after a minute, neither of us noticed the shower had stopped running.
This. This is what was making that horror and the anxiety of my past dissipate. This is why I'd felt relieved when he'd come back from wherever he'd been. Where I was right now, I could have caused the apocalypse and his lips would have erased my guilt.
His tongue was running along my bottom lip when I felt his body suddenly jerk away from me, his head turned in the direction of the door. He held wholly still, like a deer, listening.
"No," I mumbled, "Don't stop."
He whipped around to face me, "I hear someone coming. Grey, put on your clothes."
He tossed me my clothes and pulled his own on in record time.
I made a pouty face that Daryl couldn't see and navigated putting my under garments back on.
Although he was hurried, Daryl hadn't forgotten about me. He came to my rescue while I struggled to stand on one foot, fighting with my burgundy jeans. He had just finished buttoning them for me when Rick walked in.
The push bar door clattered closed behind Rick. He looked between both Daryl and I for an instant. Us both still dripping wet, me only in jeans and a bra. Daryl held out my shirt, offering it while not looking at me.
There was tension pouring out of the walls. And then, with force that could have probably made a sound if it had really wanted to, my brain clicked.
"Holy shit!" I shouted, startling both guys. "Oh my god, Rick! Are you OK? Is the fence ruined? Is Carl alright?" I ripped the shirt out of Daryl's hand and stuffed myself into it.
"And the sick people!" I turned immediately to Daryl, who was still staring at a bewildered Rick with a look of the slightest defiance, "Did you find medicine? Was there any at the vet place? Did it get administered? Is it working? Is there even anyone left to use it on? And you saved my life!"
Oh, and fuck, that's right. I'm kind of seeing Rick, aren't I?
Guilt coursed thick and fast through my body.
"Uh, hey, okay." Rick said, visibly collecting himself. "How's your head doing, Grey? Not great, I guess."
"No, it's perfectly fine," I said impatiently, moving toward the exit, leaving Daryl standing at the shower. I heard him start to follow after me.
Rick took the hint and headed with me through the exit, Daryl trailing quietly behind.
"You saved quite a few people in there, Grey. Maggie and Herschel were both so grateful for your help. Glenn and a bunch of others probably would have died in there if it hadn't been for you," Rick said.
We walked through the cellblock hall. I snagged up my boots on the way past my cell.
"You nailed your head pretty hard though, but the medicine group got back just in time to save you," Rick gave me a quick smile. "Dunno if you should be taking a shower or anything, but you seem fine."
We made it out into the sunshine. I immediately scanned the fence to see the extent of the damage, a headache swiftly washing over my vision.
"Carl came out and with the automatics, we took down the whole walker group. They broke through though. It got kinda messy. We've got people rebuilding right now.
Oh, and the medicine. Yeah, luckily, the group found medicine," Rick glanced back at Daryl. "Everybody who survived got some and it's looking effective. I think we're going to be okay."
We all halted on a hill overlooking the fence. A large group of people were setting logs against the fence to reinforce it. Others were fiddling with some spare pieces of chain link. I saw Michonne and Herschel in the distance, carting a trailer behind a truck loaded down with dead bodies.
Rick ran a hand through his hair, nodding, "You're not dead, the fence is gonna get fixed. I think we are going to be okay," he repeated.
"Cool." I said, watching Michonne maneuver the truck down a small trail into the forest.
Turning around to the stoic Daryl, Rick said, "Hey, we gotta talk."
For one horrific second, I thought he was going to start in about me. But that was a silly and selfish thought. We are in the damn zombie apocalypse, which means, not only do we not need to have conversations like that anymore, we have way more important things to worry about.
"It's about Carol," Rick said.
Oh fuck. But, that also wasn't a conversation I wanted to be present for. I lurched off toward the fence rebuilders, feeling grotesquely guilty about too many things. I needed to go make myself useful. I started compulsively picking underneath my fingernails, my spine prickling unpleasantly.
I sped up when I heard Daryl growl out an angry response. I wanted to put as much distance between myself and that discussion as possible.
I'd made it a few yards from the fence (Carl waved far too cheerfully at me, making me smile) when I heard heavy foot steps behind me.
A hand grabbed me roughly and I squeaked in surprise, turning around to see Daryl's pissed off expression.
I launched into an explanation. "Dude, I didn't know what the fuck we were doing out there. I thought they were dumping me, I didn't know what was going on until I came outside and they were talking to each other and she was crying and then at that point Rick had made up his mind…" I stopped rambling at the look on Daryl's face.
"Does your head hurt?" He asked, ignoring everything else I'd just said.
"Yes." I said, figuring attempting to lie was futile.
"Good. That means you don't need to be out here. C'mon, we're gonna go secure the cell blocks and the basements."
Daryl headed back up toward the buildings, leading me by the hand, and he glanced at Rick, who was staring at us from on the hill.