Holiday travels are finally done, so I can get back to writing again!

Reminder: the "I don't own this" disclaimer is in chapter one.

"Only one ass I got my eye on."

He patted Carol's butt fondly. It was no lie. He'd be happy to watch her ass all day, any day.

But for now, it was time to get to work clearing the prison courtyard, so he turned to join the group at the fence. He grimaced. This wasn't gonna be fun.

After they'd secured one cell block and the inner courtyard of the prison, everyone found a place to sleep. Daryl declined a cell and claimed the perch instead. He'd be damned if he'd sleep in a cage. And if somebody else was too claustrophobic to sleep in a cell, well, there was room enough for two.

After a brief rest, he went out hunting while there was still a few hours of daylight to try to rustle up some dinner. Though he only killed two squirrels, he was lucky enough to find an old campsite. The previous owner's well-chewed bones were scattered throughout the site, and it was clear the place hadn't been disturbed since then. He gathered up everything useful he could carry and returned to the prison. Most everyone was sleeping except T-Dog who'd volunteered to take watch and Beth who helped him stash his find.

After a hasty meal from the scrounged goods, he took up the watch. The hours passed uneventfully and eventually Glenn came to relieve him. Though he'd never admit it, Daryl was exhausted. All he wanted to do was pass out on that stupid prison mattress and saw logs for about twelve hours. He slogged through the yard and turned to make his way into C-Block. He yawned massively as he stepped into the shadows by the building, failing to see the untidy pile of damaged fencing and broken metal flung there in a heap. His foot slipped on some chain link, and he struggled to keep his balance. He managed not to fall, but a sharp metal edge of something caught the back of his leg, tearing through his pants and cutting into his calf.

Untangling himself proved difficult in the dark, but he managed without causing any more damage. He swore quietly but creatively as he poked the injured area with his fingers. He couldn't tell how deep it was, but it was bleeding like a stuck hog. Better get inside quick and get it doctored up before every walker in the county smelled him. He wiped his hand on his pants, picked up his crossbow, and headed to C-Block.

Daryl swore under his breath as he made his way gingerly up to his perch, blood dripping down his leg and soaking his right sock. Careful not to bleed all over his bedding, he stripped off his right boot and bloody sock and rolled his pantleg up to his knee. He dug out a little flashlight and flicked it on to try and assess the damage. But no matter how he twisted and turned, he couldn't see it well enough to tell how bad it was. He sighed. Best just tie it up with a bandana or something and worry about it in the morning. He was just too damn tired.

As he was rummaging to find a relatively clean cloth, he heard soft footsteps approaching. Carol was padding over to him in her sock feet, looking sleep-rumpled. Her hair, short as it was, stuck up in funny little spikes and she rubbed one eye with the heel of her hand. It made her look about ten years old. He felt a smile touch his lips despite his exhaustion. She always made things better.

"I heard you grumbling. What happened?" she whispered blearily.

He sighed again. "Cut myself like an idiot."

Her brow crumpled in concern. "I'll go get the first aid bag."

She was gone before he could argue.

Moments later, she was back with a zippered bag. She made 'gimme' motions with her hand until he passed over the flashlight. She sat on his mattress and dug through the bag, pulling out bandages, antiseptic, and God knows what kind of medical torture devices.

"You don't need to do this. You should go sleep. I was just gonna wrap it up until morning."

"Hush, you. Stand here so I can see."

He rolled his eyes. Clearly there was no getting out of this. He stood facing away from her and leaned on the railing of the perch. She peered at the cut and hummed disapprovingly. Her breath tickled his leg.

"This is kind of deep. I'll clean it up, and we'll see if you need stitches."

He felt the light touch of her warm hands on his calf. Her touch was gentle and professional, but it made him shiver anyway. His belly danced along with her fingers. She carefully cleaned away the blood, which had finally gone from a gush to an ooze. Then she poured something onto a gauze pad and looked up.

"This is going to sting."

He looked back at her and snorted. "It's fine. Just do it."

Whatever she was using did sting like a bitch. He gritted his teeth and gripped the railing, but didn't make a sound.

She finished cleaning out the wound and reached for the bag again. "Sorry, pookie, it's too deep. We need to stitch you up."

"Did you just call me...'pookie'?"

He could see the grin flash across her face in the glow from the flashlight. "What if I did?"

He glared at her through narrowed eyes. Snorting again, he turned back to the railing. She laughed softly and touched his calf. The woman was impossible.

"Here we go. This won't be comfortable, but we don't need to do too many stitches."

He grunted when she ran the first stitch, but bit back anything else. She worked quickly, and after she snipped the last thread, he let out his breath. When he looked back at her bandaging the cut, he froze.

She was on her knees at his feet with that flashlight clamped in her mouth while she worked on his leg. A flush crept up his neck. She glanced up when she finished and met his eyes. She was so...hot kneeling there at his feet with her lips wrapped around that light. She didn't look sleep-rumpled anymore - she looked sex-rumpled, and God damn, it looked good on her. He shut his mouth abruptly when he realized he was gaping at her. Without dropping the flashlight, her lips curled into a smile, her eyes shining with amusement. Shit, she couldn't tell what he was thinking, could she?

She reached up and retrieved the light. She licked her lips, which made his brain completely short-circuit.

"All done – stitched and bandaged. Would you like me to kiss it better?"

His mouth dropped open again, but there were no words. He blinked stupidly at her, and her grin widened. She set the flashlight on the mattress and held up a hand. Automatically, he reached out to help her up. Her other hand trailed along the skin of his injured leg, then along the front of his pantleg as she got to her feet. Her wandering hand came to rest on his ribs. It burned him through his shirt. She was so close it made him suck in an unsteady breath.

She tipped up her chin and leaned in close to his cheek. "Drop your pants."

He twitched back and stared at her, his face undoubtedly showing the panic and arousal warring in his gut.

She laughed and added, "Well, whenever you're ready, bring them to me. I can wash out the blood and mend the hole you just put in them as well as that hole in the knee that's the size of Rhode Island."

"Oh." He cleared his throat. "Uh, OK."

Her smile softened and she stepped toward him again. She reached up with one hand and gently pulled his face to hers and touched a kiss to his cheek, light as a butterfly. She pulled back, and her eyes were a little sad.

"Tradition," she said. "When you get hurt, you get a kiss to make it better."

Then she gathered up the first aid items and whisked away into the darkness, back to her own cell, leaving him with his insides churning. Again.

Hell. He scrubbed a hand over his face and shook his head. He was exhausted, but he'd never get any damn sleep now.