She looked heartbreakingly sad when he came back in from his two-day run with Glenn, enough for him to notice while he was still sitting in the car. Tired and sore as he was after spending the night on the ground with just a blanket under him, he quickly swung his crossbow onto his back and swiftly made his way around the back of the car. Catching her eyes for a brief instant before looking down at his scuffed and dusty boots again, he gave her a quick nod across the distance still separating them, and was gratified to see her face light up ever so briefly.
He walked up to and through the inner gate while Glenn was putting the car into first again to move on. Stepping up to her side, he mumbled a greeting and received a tired sigh in return. Quirking an eyebrow, he glanced at her from the side, adjusting his crossbow strap and swinging his backpack onto his free shoulder. Concern rose in him when he noticed how tired she looked.
„‚s up? Why you lookin' so grumpy?" he asked.
„Grumpy isn't it, and anyway, it's not important", she brushed him off. „Are you and Glenn alright?"
He wasn't stupid. She was deflecting. Something had happened to upset her and she didn't want to talk to him about it. Well. He had always known it would come to an end some day. She'd seen past the surface and knew there wasn't as much to him as she had believed. Time to move on.
„Yeah, went fine. Found a lotta stuff, lots of canned food, you'll like it", he muttered, trying not to feel the ache in his chest that made it hard for him to breathe. After finding her in the Tombs, he had believed there might be something special between them, something that was unlike his friendships with everybody else in their family, but it seemed that he'd been wrong.
„That's not what I meant", she retorted, sounding annoyed. „I don't want to hear about food. I want to know if you found a safe place to stay for the night, if you were warm and dry, if you had close calls -„ He felt her eyes on him, felt her reproach. „If you are okay."
He managed to heave in a lungful of air, closing his eyes for the next few steps. His throat was seizing up and he didn't quite trust his voice for a moment. She sounded concerned for him, the way she always had, and it hurt. Once he had himself under control again he shook his head. „Slept on the ground last night, but it was okay. Coulda been worse."
She hummed quietly as they walked on. Just as they heard the inner gate clanging shut behind them, she spoke up once more. „Rick isn't doing so well", she told him, her voice betraying sadness and concern for their leader, their friend. „He hasn't been there either for Carl or for …" She faltered, hesitant to use the name he had given the little baby girl for lack of a proper name to call her.
„I'll find ‚im", he mumbled, his face going even darker. Rick needed time away from everything, but all but abandoning even his children didn't sound like him, not even in the extreme condition he was in right now. „Need to give him time, y'know?" He chanced a quick glance at her again and saw that she was eyeing the scratches and abrasions on his left hand and wrist. „‚s nothin'" he assured her before she could even ask. „Threw a walker into a wall, scraped off some skin, nothin' serious."
To his complete and utter surprise, her face crumpled at this and her eyes welled up as she met his. Her left hand, the one with the hair tie on the wrist, came up to cover her mouth and stifle a sob. He stopped, bewildered, and after taking two more steps up toward their cell block, she came to a standstill as well, turning back around to face him.
„What's wrong?" he asked softly. „What's happened?"
„Rick, and Carl", she answered in a shaky voice. „They're so heartbroken …"
He shook his head. „‚s what you'd expect, ain't it? They lost her, how long ago? Three weeks? That ain't long." Unsure of what to do, he decided to keep talking. „Hell, you know yourself how long …"
Her stricken look stopped him in midsentence. She stared at him without a word for almost a full minute, tears still running down her face. How could he have said something so cruel, so insensitive? How did he dare mention … after the night she'd had? After clawing her way toward the surface from a nightmare so hellish that she was certain she would never, ever forget it?
He was still staring at her when she stormed off, not looking back at him even once. Daryl had no clue what he'd done, how he had hurt or insulted her, and chalked it up to his complete lack in social skills which he was all too aware of. He started walking again with a deep sigh just as Carol arrived at Block C and yanked open the heavy door to flee inside.
Well, if she was going to her cell, and was still upset with him, then maybe going to his perch was not the wisest thing to do just now. So he followed her no further than the door, carefully set down his backpack, which contained not only regular canned food but also formula for Li'l Asskicker, and then turned his back on the cellblock, heading for the watchtower. Maybe the quiet and solitude up there would help him understand what he'd done wrong, what exactly it was that had upset her, so he'd know how to make it right again.
Arriving at the top of the tower, he took off his crossbow with a groan and opened his mouth to officially relieve whoever was up here and send them to … well, whoever was in charge instead of Rick right now, but then he saw that it was Michonne sharing the tower with him. „Mind if I stay?" he asked, walking up to the windows facing the yard and the gates.
„What did you do this time?" she asked by way of an answer. She still didn't trust these people all the way, but she knew that she vastly preferred Daryl to Merle and found that she was getting along well with him, unlike his brother who had always annoyed her. „You must have said something pretty offensive for her to just leave you standing there."
He glared at her silently, then looked out over the empty space toward the edge of the forest in an attempt to actually be useful up here. However, he could feel her eyes on him and was unable to relax and allow his mind to drift back to the scene in the yard, the way he would have needed to in order to make any sense of it. Finally, he'd had enough.
„Said something stupid and upset her. Ain't got no idea what it was, though, she never said. She just … left." He realized that he sounded pretty upset himself by now, but couldn't help it. She didn't normally just abandon him without at least telling him what he'd done wrong. Riled up by Michonne's continued staring, he whirled around to face her and was stunned into silence.
Michonne seemed to be biting the inside of her cheek, deeply in thought, and there was a sorrowful look on her face. Very briefly, her eyes flicked from his face to the cellblock, then back to him. „What was it that you said?" she asked quietly.
„We were talkin' ‚bout Rick and Carl, ‚bout how it ain't been long since Lori died", he mumbled. „All I said was that she knew how long it took to get over …" He couldn't say it. By not finding Sophia, he had failed Carol so catastrophically that it was still weighing on his conscience more than a year later, and he was still unable to talk about it. „… somethin' like that. She lost someone herself." He was unable to look Michonne in the eye, and started fiddling with his crossbow instead.
To his complete surprise, this seemed to explain everything to her. He saw her nodding in his peripheral vision. Then, very quietly, very carefully, she asked: „The one she lost - was she called Sophia?"
He flinched as if her words had been physical blows, staring up at her with wide eyes. „How do you know?" he panted, his voice hoarse, and was horrified to see pity in her eyes. Surely she didn't pity him? Surely, the only ones to pity in this tragedy were Sophia herself and Carol?
„She had a nightmare last night", Michonne said quietly. „She woke up screaming and crying, and when I went over to her cell to comfort her, she kept whispering this name to herself - Sophia."
He closed is eyes. This was getting worse by the moment. He had reminded her both of the horrible, heartwrenching events of last year and of whatever nightmare it was that had woken her the night before. She would never tolerate his presence again, and rightly so.
Forcing himself to look at Michonne, he carefully placed his crossbow onto his back again with stiff, wooden movements. „Need to go", he mumbled. „Thanks for tellin' me." He fled.
.-.
The next morning, just as Carol was getting very worried about Daryl because nobody except Michonne had seen him since he had stalked off toward the watchtower the day before, and nobody knew where he was hiding just now, she saw him emerging into the sunlight from behind another of the towers - the one closest to the gates. Apparently, from the stiff way he was moving and the way he kept rubbing his arms, he had slept out in the open. He had his empty backpack in one hand and his bow on his back.
Shaking her head about the stubbornness of men, she was just about to turn toward the door and head inside to get him a bowl of the warm oatmeal they were having for breakfast - with a splotch of honey she had been holding back for him - when she saw him stop at his bike, take his bow off his back and lash it in place above the front wheel.
Her eyes widened, but before she could react in any way, let alone even attempt to stop him, he had started his bike, revving the engine several times to get it to run more smoothly, kicked up the stand and set out for the gates. Glenn and Maggie were on gate duty this morning and made no effort to stop him. She watched, aghast, as he left on some errand again after not quite ten hours at the prison, and a night spent on the naked ground out in the open.
What was wrong with him?
She was worried for him all morning while doing her chores - cleaning up after breakfast and putting the last of the supplies that Glenn and Daryl had brought back from their run first on their inventory list and then into storage. One can of formula went straight to the kitchen - they had been running short, and she would need to thank the two men especially for thinking of Lori and Rick's little girl during their run.
She was just getting fresh water from the pump in the yard when she heard the bike's engine roaring in the distance, getting louder by the minute. Relief flooded her as she closed her eyes in gratitude for a moment. She had been afraid that he would stay out longer, maybe go on a hunt for several days. Thinking about the day before, she had realized that he was probably feeling intensely guilty for setting her off without even knowing what he'd done wrong. After all, he hadn't had the first idea about her nightmare. To him, her reaction had come completely out of the blue, but he would be blaming himself for it nevertheless.
Drying her hands on her pants, she made her way to the gate, hoping that he'd be okay.
By the time she arrived at the fence, he had already passed both gates, his feet on the ground, balancing the bike, as he carefully coasted it into its parking spot. She saw him briefly glance up in her direction and acknowledge her with a nod, and she was happy to see that he seemed to be unharmed.
Shutting down his engine and kicking down the stand, he rose from the saddle and swung one leg over it, getting off. His backpack was on his back and when he leaned forward to take his bow down, he made no attempt to substitute it for the backpack, holding it in his left hand instead, tip down.
She could see from his posture and from the way he was walking and from the way he avoided looking at her that he was still feeling bad for upsetting her so badly the day before, even though he probably still didn't have any idea what he'd said. After all, she had never attempted to tell him. Surprisingly, he slowly came walking up to her, his head still down.
Realizing that she would need to reassure him that he hadn't done anything wrong, she slowed down to wait for him. He stopped an arm's length away from her, cheeks and ears burning, and scuffed the ground with the tip of his right boot. Her eyes went to the angry red scratches on his left wrist and hand and she sighed. Of course, he hadn't taken the time to clean them properly.
She took a leap. „Daryl", she began, just as Daryl also started to talk.
„Look -„ He glanced up, surprised, and met her eyes for a heartbeat. She spotted blood on his lower lip before he hung his head again. „You first", he mumbled, tensing up as if he was expecting her to scold him.
„Daryl", she began again. „I'm sorry for making you feel so bad since yesterday - you didn't do anything wrong, it wasn't your fault." She knew not to expect him to answer, but she was completely not prepared for him shaking his head at her, still without looking at her.
His right thumb briefly came up to his mouth before he changed his mind and gnawed on his bleeding lip again. „I know what happened", he stated without preamble, determined not to let her take any blame on herself for this mess. „Michonne told me yesterday, when I was up in the tower."
Of course. Michonne had been on watch up there when he had come back the day before. Several people had seen him entering it, and apparently she had told him about her nightmare while he had shared watch with her. She would so much have wanted to make this easier on him - Michonne wouldn't have known to soften the blow as she didn't know that he had been the one looking for her daughter in vain.
Strangely enough, though, he didn't seem to be too upset about this. Reaching for his right shoulder, he pulled the backpack off and set it on the ground carefully. „Brought somethin' back for ya", he announced.
Bemused, she raised her eyebrows with a slight smile crossing her face, curious to see what he'd found for her.
He squatted over his backpack, gently placing his crossbow down on the grass to have both hands free. Opening the backpack's flap and drawstring, he carefully pulled out a large hoop, wound with black leather straps, whitish netting stretched inside it that had a small blue bead in the center, and black leather strings with black feathers and blue beads hanging down from the hoop itself. It was beautiful.
Holding it out to her, he finally managed to meet her eyes. „Got you this", he said hesitantly. „It's called a dream catcher. There is this Chippewa legend - you put it up in your window, which is where all your dreams for the night try to enter your room." His eyes drifted to the object - the dream catcher - in his hand again, and he continued after a brief pause. „The thing is - there are good dreams and bad, but the bad ones get caught in the netting. Only the good ones arrive at the bead next to the small hole in the center and get to reach you, sliding down the strings with the feathers. The bad ones remain stuck in the netting, and when the sun hits them in the morning, they burn up and can't bother you no more."
Reaching out with a trembling hand, she carefully took the dream catcher by the leather hanger attatched to the top for mounting it. She held it up to admire it - the black feathers and the smoothly polished beads were gleaming in the sun, and the legend that went with it reminded her of the lovely story he had told her about the Cherokee Roses to give her hope for finding Sophia.
Her throat constricted. Clearly he had gone out specifically to find this and bring it back for her, just like he had purposely brought the rose to the RV back at the Greene farm. Her heart swelled with emotion. Never since her parents had died had anyone given her such meaningful gifts, and there were no words to adequately tell him how much she appreciated this, how grateful she was to him for going to such lengths to comfort her.
She gently caressed the feathers with her fingertips, then looked up at him, her eyes brimming with tears of gratitude. „This … This is lovely beyond words, Daryl. I can't begin to tell you …" Her voice broke.
Hope was flickering in his eyes as he looked into her face. His chest tightened when a single tear slowly oozed over her eyelid and started rolling down her cheek. He debated catching it with his thumb, but his hands were dirty and dusty, and the sides of both his tumbs were bitten raw, so he held himself back.
„If you want, I'll put if up at your window right away", he offered, picking up his crossbow and slinging it onto his back, the empty backpack dangling in his free hand. It had served its purpose for the day - he hadn't brought back anything else.
„That would be nice", she whispered, brushing one hand down over the shining black feathers once more. „And I'll take care of your scratches. Deal?" She smiled at him through her tears.
„Deal", he mumbled, one corner of his mouth curving up ever so slightly, relief flooding him.
They were good.