A/N: Just a short filler chapter this time. A little angst, a little fluff, a little luvin'. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: This is just a fanfic. The Walking Dead ain't mine.

Daryl didn't react as Nana stitched the gash on his left cheek. The rhythmic jabs of the sewing needle hardly registered. He hurt all over. Dragged, beaten, hanged, his body was a mass of bone-deep bruises, cuts, and scrapes. Angry purple bands circled his wrists and neck. His shoulders sent out stabbing pains every time he shifted them. It was a miracle there were no broken bones.

Children crowded the doorway to Lia's and Daryl's room in anxious curiosity. Many had been under the impression that Daryl was all but indestructible. Seeing him wounded, knowing other people were responsible, left them feeling shaken and vulnerable.

Jessie was among them. She'd paled when she first saw Daryl's condition. Once the initial shock waned, it dawned on her that had she disobeyed and followed Daryl, she might have suffered a similar fate. Or something worse. The resentment she'd felt towards Daryl for sending her home faded in the face of this realization.

Nana tied off the last stitch and snipped away the trailing thread. "Lucky you're fanatical about honing that knife," the old woman remarked as she taped sterile gauze over the wound, "The cut's so thin there should hardly be any scarring once it heals."

Daryl didn't respond. He sat on the mattress with his knees drawn up, eyes staring downward at nothing. The adrenaline that had fueled his and Lia's escape was spent. Now it was all he could do to hold his head up. He blinked tiredly and looked around him. "Where's Lia?" he slurred. Last he remembered she'd been hovering anxiously beside him.

Nana packed away her jerry-rigged medical kit. "Beefing up security. Making sure everyone has their weapons in reach. Not much more we can do after that, except wait and see." She regarded him with worry in her almond eyes. "Do you think they will come here?"

Daryl shrugged and instantly regretted it as shooting pains radiated from the strained joints. "Dunno. Dumb bastards don't know nuthin' 'bout trackin', and Lia slashed the tires on their vehicles pretty good. If they do find this place it'd be more from dumb luck than anythin'."

"Well, let's hope luck stays in our favor, then." Nana stood, placed her hand briefly on his shoulder. "Get some rest," she murmured gently, then exited the room, shooing the kids ahead of her.

It was dim in the room. Outside, the sun was rapidly setting. The window was shut, the curtains drawn, blotting out much of the waning light. Daryl sat for a long while listening to his own breathing. He knew what was coming. The tremors were subtle at first, thin cracks in the dam, growing in strength until Daryl thought he might shake himself to pieces. It was a sensation he hadn't experienced since he was a kid. Sometimes the old man would go on a day-long bender and came home looking to whale on someone, and like as not Daryl was that someone, especially after Mama died. He'd huddle in his room afterwards shaking like a stray dog caught in the rain. But he never made a sound. He kept quiet, kept out of sight, forgotten.

Daryl abruptly got to his feet with a grunt of discomfort and hobbled to one of the filing cabinets. He pulled open a drawer. Nestled amongst his handful of shirts lay the bottle of scotch Lia had given to him, still more than two-thirds full. He picked it up, unscrewed the cap, and took a slug directly from the bottle. Fuck a glass. Right now all he cared about was numbing the pain, physical and emotional. He shuffled back to the mattress, pausing to take another drink with a toss of his head, then plopped down. The alcohol's warm glow spread out from his mostly empty stomach. He still felt the pain, but it no longer mattered.

All Lia wanted was to nurse Daryl's wounds, but she had to focus on the kids' safety first. She doubled the lookouts, but once night fell there was little the extra eyes could do, since they didn't have enough night-vision binoculars to go around. All they could do was wait.

Lia made her way down the darkened hall to her room, relying on memory and feel rather than sight. Inside the room was pitch black, the heavy curtains on the window blotting out even the faint glow of the stars. "Daryl?" she whispered. No response. She fumbled along until her outstretched hand encountered the bookshelf. She felt along the top until she found the solar-powered lantern and switched it on. Even as dim as the light was, its suddenness dazzled her. Lia blinked away the dancing spots until the room came into focus.

Daryl sprawled face-down on the mattress, his head turned away from her. He'd taken his shirt off at some point and Lia could see the massive bruises mottling his back, all but overshadowing the winged demon tattoos on his shoulder. His right hand loosely clutched the neck of the scotch bottle. The amount of liquid inside was noticeably less.

Lia's throat tightened. He must've been in more pain than he'd let on. Not for the first time, Lia wished they had something stronger than aspirin and Tylenol. Staring at her boyfriend's battered form, she felt the guilt rise up in her again. She never should have gone off on her own. She should have known that Daryl would worry enough to come after her. Her actions had led to him almost getting killed. Lia never would have forgiven herself if he'd died.

She slipped off her shoes and crept over to the mattress. With tentative care, she slowly slid the nearly empty bottle from his grasp. Daryl's heavy breathing didn't even change. Lia set the bottle aside. She gazed at the discolored skin of his back, thinking about how badly his abused muscles would stiffen during the night. He'd be lucky to move at all in the morning. Lia hesitated, thinking she should let him sleep, but then again he'd drunk enough whiskey to put down a horse. If he did wake he'd probably just pass out again. Her mind made up, Lia knelt beside the slumbering man and placed her hands on his back. Her fingers kneaded the tightened flesh, coaxing knotted muscles into relaxing. Daryl let out a deep sigh. Lia worked her way from the small of his back up. She was amazed at the heat radiating from his shoulders. They'd taken a terrible strain when those men strung him up. The tissues were so tender Daryl hissed when Lia's fingers lightly prodded them. Lia stroked his shoulders gently, afraid to do anything more. She wished they still had electricity to make ice. A couple of bags of frozen peas probably would have done wonders for Daryl's shoulders.

"Don' stop."

Lia jumped, a startled gasp lodged in her throat. She slowly leaned over until she saw Daryl's face in profile. His left eye cracked open and looked at her sidelong.

"Sorry," Lia apologized, keeping her voice low, "Didn't mean to wake you."

"'S okay. Felt nice."

Lia smiled, then continued massaging his back. Daryl's eye drifted shut once again. He sighed deeply.

"I'm sorry for this," Lia murmured.

"Wasn't yer fault."

"Yeah, it was," she bit her lip, "You were out there looking for me."

"Coulda been you gettin' hung just as easy. Think that would've been better for me?" He shifted to a slightly more comfortable position. "Anyhow, I'm used t' gettin' the shit kicked outta me. Like bein' a kid again."

Lia pressed her lips to a particularly large bruise. A tear slipped from her cheek and landed on his shoulder. "No kid deserves this."

"I'll be okay." It wasn't until he said this that he knew it was true. Having Lia with him banished the memories of childhood abuse that haunted him, something even the whiskey didn't succeed at. What happened to him out in the woods was traumatic, but he would survive. It's what he was best at.

He heard a rustle, then felt warm, bare skin against his. "What're ya doin'?"

"I remember reading somewhere that these doctors did a study about how skin contact helped people heal faster."

Daryl smiled. He slowly rolled over until he lay on his back. Lia sat up beside him, as shirtless as he was. He reached up and pulled her against him, tucking her head beneath his chin. Her weight made him all the more aware of his aches, but the feel of her skin against his outweighed the discomfort. "I feel better already."

Lia gave a small laugh. The back of her hand wiped the moisture from her cheeks. "I love you, Daryl."

I love you, too, he thought, but still couldn't say.

He had no memory of falling asleep. The combination of booze and exhaustion ensured a dreamless night. When he woke it was morning. He had a slight hangover, which made little difference in the grand scheme of things. Lia's attentions last night had helped, but he was still stiff and cramped. The bruises had darkened overnight, a truly alarming sight, especially where the rope had left its mark on his wrists and neck.

Lia slept with her head still resting on his chest, her upper body pressed to his. Daryl smiled and slowly ran his fingers up her spine. She shivered, stretched, her body flexing against Daryl's in interesting ways. Her eyes blinked slowly open and met his. "Hey," she murmured, "You okay?"

"Kinda stiff," he answered.

Her brow furrowed in sympathy. She rose up onto her knees and placed her hands on his shoulders. She carefully started rubbing, lightly at first, then gradually adding more pressure. Daryl hissed as her thumbs pressed into particularly tender spots.

"Too much?" she asked, starting to back off.

Daryl shook his head. "Keep goin'."

Lia continued with a little more confidence. At one point she moved to straddle him. She smirked at Daryl's pleased expression. "I suppose it helps that I'm topless."

"Does make fer a nice view," Daryl admitted, grinning. His hands rested on her thighs, thumbs stroking the material of her pants. His eyes were drawn to her calm face, to that tiny scar on her lower lip, so faint he would have missed it if he hadn't known where to look. His hands slid further up to her hips.

Lia glanced down, her mouth quirked in amusement. "Speaking of stiff."

Daryl chuckled. "I ain't as bad off as y' thought."

Her expression sobered. "I won't do that again. Go off on my own. I don't wanna put you in a situation where you feel like you have to come to my rescue. So I won't."

Daryl stared at her, then shook his head. "Yeah, you will. 'Cuz you'll always make th' choice t' look out fer the kids." There was no resentment when he said this, just a statement of fact. He stroked her hips. "I don't want y' makin' promises you'll only hafta break later."

Lia cradled his face in her hands and touched her forehead to his. Her long braids fell to either side of their faces like a curtain, shutting out the world. "Okay, then I promise I'll always be as careful as I can be."

"And I promise I'll always come after ya." He leaned up to kiss her. His hands left her hips and slid further up her body.

Lia drew back and brought her hands to the waistband of his jeans. She popped the button, unzipped the fly, then slid them down his legs and off, followed by his underwear. Daryl raised his hips to make their removal easier. Lia then removed her own pants and straddled him once again. She steadied his member with one hand as she slowly lowered herself onto him. She kept her movements slow and careful until Daryl grew impatient and finally grabbed her hips to guide her into harder thrusts.

"I ain't made o' glass," he rasped, eyes stormy with arousal.

Lia's breathing grew unsteady. "I don't...wanna...hurt you."

"I never...felt better."

And there was nothing left to say. No more apologies or explanations, concerns or regrets. Their voices rose only in wordless cries as they brought each other to their climax. And afterwards they clung to each other, grateful that they still could.