So after I saw the latest episode and we were informed that Herschel's family's from Ireland and he believes in god I just had to write this little conversation in.
Because christ, it's like the Walking Dead writers are such a tease. :D I hope I'm done with the pointless small talk chapters now and get some more action in later chapters.
As for now, enjoy a little Ireland talk.

setting: episode 10 "18 Miles Out"

Salvation

Chapter 26 - Fever

Connor watched how Daryl left the farmhouse. He was surprised how quickly his mood had changed from joking around to being all pissed again. He noticed that his mood had changed when Carol went after him. He snorted. Jesus, just get laid already, he thought and shook his head. The Irishman tried to get up to follow Daryl when his leg gave in and he almost fell. Jesus fuckin Christ that hurts. Connor tried to get hold of the chair when someone placed a hand on his shoulder. When he looked up he saw Herschel standing next to him.

"Maybe I should take a look at your leg, boy?"

Connor shook his head and waved it off.

"Nah, 's all right. Maggie stitched it back tagether yesterday. I'm fine."

He was just about to leave when he almost fell again. Herschel took him by his arm.

"I think you should come with me."

Connor bit his lower lip to muffle a groan. He hated to admit it, but he was in much pain this morning. Daryl had done the right thing yesterday. Pulling him out like that. But even though it had been the right thing to do it didn't mean he liked it. It had been either that or death though, so he tried to hide the pain. Connor followed Herschel to the room he had slept in last night and lay down on the bed when the farmer told him so. He felt quite uneasy about it since someone was fumbling around on his wound all over again. When Herschel got rid of the bloody bandage around his thigh Connor hissed in pain.

"That looks pretty deep. "

"Aye."

"What happened exactly?"

"Got stuck in te car after the crash. There was that great big piece af glass stuck in me thigh and it cut right through when Murph pulled me out.
But we didn't have time. There were walkers everywhere."

"You're not going to be able to walk around much during the next couple of weeks."

"Aye, I fuckin know" Connor mumbled and lay back.

Just looking at the wound made him feel sick.

"You're quite lucky that Rick's such a decent man and convinced me that your group can stay."

"Aye, I thank the lord fer that. Sweet mercy."

Herschel took care of Connor's wound for a moment. When he looked up he eyed his rosaries.

"We never really had the chance to talk much before. Do you believe in god, boy?"

Connor nodded and grasped his rosaries.

"Aye. Af course. But kinda feels like I'm the only one these days. Everyone loses faith so easily."

"You're not the only religious one in this house. I raised my children under the lord's name. We still pray every morning."

Connor looked at him for a while and nodded.

"Aye, me too."

He winced when Herschel touched his wound again.

"You're from Ireland?" the old man went on after a while when Connor stopped groaning in pain.

Part of him just wanted to curse Herschel for all his questions.
In the end he knew why he was doing it though, because the farmer was smart and wanted to distract him from the pain.

"Aye, it's nat like you can't hear it. Why'd ye ask?"

"My family's from Ireland too."

Connor snickered.

"Well isn't that funny. Where ye from?"

"It's been over a hundred years since they moved here. Before I was born. A couple of miles outside Limerick I was told."

"Right" Connor murmured and thought about his home country.

He missed Ireland. But even if he could go back now... even Ireland wouldn't be home any more. Because Murphy wasn't there with him. He thought about all the years he'd spent over there. Oddly enough, he didn't think about the last 10 years he'd spent there with Murphy. Of course, those years had been peaceful and calm but somehow, when he heard "Ireland" now, he thought about little Murphy. Snotface. He'd called him that all the time. He remembered them running across fields all day, setting things on fire, running after Mr Lynch's cattle and scaring the shit out of them. Going to church with Ma every Sunday.

Oh Christ, Ireland made him think about his mother again.

That crazy woman.

He had Murphy had been talking about her back in Boston when they had tried to get to the boats. Both twins had kind of accepted that their mother was dead, but sometimes Connor wasn't so sure about it. Because she was Annabelle fuckin MacManus. He remembered that crazy drunk woman that smelled of whiskey all the time and that kept making fun of them 24/7. Well, he was just like her after all. Even walkers couldn't kill that woman, could they? He imagined her standing there with her pans and beating the shit out of those dead bastards. It made him smile.

I hope you rest in peace now, Ma. Cos I don' wanna meet ye some day and have ta tell you that our Murph's dead. I fuckin failed Ma. I couldn't fuckin save him.
I wonder if he's with you. Maybe yer laughing at me now, the two af ye. Af course yer laughing at me. 's Da with you as well? Christ, I'd love ta see that.
You've spent all yer life complaining about him.

And as he thought about his dead family he felt sad all over again. He was the only MacManus left on this world. His parents, his brother, they were all in heaven. Waiting for him. Maybe heaven was green. Maybe heaven looked like their old house, or their farm in Ireland. Whenever he thought about peace, this was what he pictured after all. Peace. That felt nice. Now that he was so tired. Maybe, if he could just close his eyes a little...

"Connor."

He smirked when he heard that voice.

"Eh snotface."

"Stop callin me that."

He snickered and shook his head.

"Nah, ye're a snotface."

"Connor, wake up."

"What are ye talking about, Murph, I'm here" he murmured but winced when someone hit his cheek.

It's been almost a week. That was all Daryl could think about. The fever had hit four days ago. Four days ago Connor had collapsed inside the farmhouse, just when Herschel had taken a look at his leg. He'd been gone all day when it had happened. Just after he had left. The day Carol had followed him and he'd run off because of that. Gone hunting. When he had returned later that evening, Rick had told him about Connor. That Herschel had taken another look at his wound and discovered that it was infected. Because nothing was sterile these days. Because that stupid glass had been dirty. The Irishman had been feverish for four days now. Herschel blamed it on his blood loss and malnutrition. That somehow, Connor's body was just too weak to fight the infection properly. Funny how something like this could be deadly nowadays. A year ago you would've gone to some Doctor and three days later you were healthy again. But now? All they had was a freaking vet and an his daughters.

When people like Carol, Rick or Lori had asked him whether he wanted to visit the Irishman he'd turned them down. He still hadn't seen Connor. He didn't want to. Most of the group assumed it was because he was still trying to isolate himself. Because they believed him whenever he told them that he didn't care about the Irishman and his stupid fever. The truth was rather different. He was worried sick. He knew that Connor could die any minute now. And he needed to be ready. He needed to get used to the loneliness again. Used to an empty tent. Used to the silence. He'd done everything he could. He'd gone back to save the Irishman from certain death. He'd pulled him out. He'd brought him back home. There was nothing more he could do about it.

Daryl went hunting again. More regularly. On longer trips. And whenever he returned with a bunch of squirrels he prepared himself for the notification: Connor 's dead. But somehow, every single time he returned from another hunt, no such thing would happen. The kid Rick and Glenn had brought from the city had recovered, too. It was the day when Rick and Shane decided to drive him away, some place where he couldn't possibly find back, when Daryl finally entered the farmhouse to check on his friend. Because after one week of just waiting he needed to see for himself. Connor was still lying in bed, all sweaty and pale. Daryl sat down next to the bed after a while and sighed.

"Aren't yah a whiny pussy. Always in bed with some sort of stupid injury" he murmured and looked at his friend.

"I mean I got shot and had an arrow stuck in my side and I was fine and then there's you..really, what a girl."

"Snotface" he heard Connor murmur which made him snort in surprise.

"What did yah call me?"

"It's nat my fuckin fault te cat's dead" Connor went on which made Daryl frown.

The Irish freak's dreaming about dead cats?

"Connor" he said then because this was getting ridiculous.

"Eh snotface."

Daryl growled.

"Stop calling me that."

Connor snickered and shook his head.

"Nah, ye're a snotface."

So was he actually talking to him now or was he still dreaming?

"Connor, wake up" he said angrily and shook Connor impatiently.

"What are ye talking about, Murph, I'm here" the Irishman answered and Daryl had enough.

It's about time someone wakes yah up. He slapped Connor which made him wince.

When Daryl's hand touched Connor's cheek he felt how hot his skin really was. Christ, he's burning up, he thought and sighed.
After quite a while Connor's eyelids fluttered.

"Good lord's about time yah wake up. Silly bastard."

"Murph?" the Irishman muttered and blinked a few times.

"Daryl" his friend corrected him impatiently and shook him.

"Now wake up."

It took Connor a while to wake up properly and once he did he eyed Daryl and grabbed his cheek.

"Stop fucking hitting me fer once, will ye" he murmured and got rid of the blanket.

When Daryl saw his wound he gasped in surprise. It looked disgusting and nasty. He tried to ignore it and looked at Connor.

"Somebody needed t'wake yah up."

"When did I fall asleep?"

"Bout a week ago."

Connor's eyes widened.

"Are ye fuckin kidding me?"

Daryl shook his head and shrugged.

"Now hurry up with the healing crap. We've got bigger problems now."

"Like what?"

"The kid."

The Irishman frowned and scratched his neck.

"What kid?"

"The little fucker Rick brought when they returned. He doesn' have the guts to kill 'im so he and Shane took him out today. Drove off somewhere."

"And how's that a problem?"

"I think he's a danger to the group. His group. I mean they tried t' shoot Rick."

Connor snorted and tried to sit up.

"It's a fuckin kid, how old was he? 17?"

"Yeah but his group..."

"So, what do you want me t'do about et?" the Irishman interrupted him and eyed his friend.

He rubbed his eyes tiredly and took a deep breath. Daryl just eyed Connor for a while and then got up with a sigh.

"I just meant t'tell yah. Better heal up soon. They could attack us any day and when all hell breaks loose I ain't gonna babysit yah cripple."

The Irishman smirked and snorted.

"Yer worried 'bout me, aren't you?"

Daryl snorted and shook his head.

"Yah wish. I just had the guts t'tell yah that yer going t'bite the dust soon."

"Ah, ye think so?" Connor snickered and Daryl nodded.

"Counting on it."

"Oh ye just watch me. I'll cover yer stupid ass when they attack. I don't need two legs ta raise a little hell."

Daryl smirked. Now that's what I wanted to hear.

When he left his face fell though. They were in a pretty stupid situation. No, even worse.

We're fucked. Just because the stupid cop hasn't got the guts t'make the right decisions.

He considered leaving again. Because he didn't want to die because of someone else. Just because this group consisted of so many stupid idiots. In the end he knew that he wasn't going to leave though. He'd gotten used to everyone. He'd gotten used to being a part of a group. Because people finally let him be part of something. Because he'd made friends here.

We're fucked. I'm fucked.

He remembered what Connor had said just a minute ago.

Raise a little hell.

Somehow that just nailed it. He wasn't going to leave and he was sure of one thing: Ain't going down without raising a little hell first. Let them come.
If they're going to come, with the kid, then he was ready. And he would make sure the kid died first.