Gooey mush has oozed all over my keyboard. Everyone have their insulin?

The Walking Dead does not belong to me.

"I came back."

Daryl forced the words out past the lump in his throat. Seeing Carol lying there, battered and bloody, made a sickening wave of guilt wash over him for ever leaving her in the first place. But he couldn't afford to think about that right now. He was here now and had to take care of her – had to make sure she would be all right.

After his reassurance, she had drifted back into sleep or unconsciousness. He didn't know which, but he supposed it didn't make much difference. He decided he'd make a run out to his bike to bring in the supplies he'd brought with him. She would need to rest for several days at least, and they would need the food and water.

"I need to go get some things. I'll be right back, okay? Carol?" She didn't respond, but he hoped she heard him anyway.

He picked up his crossbow and ran out to his bike to bring in his meager supplies. He peered into her car, too, and snagged a couple gallon jugs of water and a box of Pop Tarts. Arms loaded, he hurried back inside. After reassembling his barricade, he dashed up the stairs as fast as he could when he heard her call out for him.

"Daryl?" Her voice was fearful. "Daryl?"

"I'm here, kitten." He sat on the edge of the bed and picked up her uninjured hand.

"What happened?" She tried to focus on him, but her eyes wouldn't cooperate.

"Don't worry about that right now. You got hurt, but I'm here, and we need to get you better, okay?"

"Okay." She paused, then frowned in confusion. "I'm not a kitten."

He smiled. "Sure you are. Nine lives, right?"

"Oh," she said agreeably. "okay."

"I need to get you cleaned up now. Will you help me do that?"

"Yeah."

She grimaced as he helped her sit up. He wasn't sure if it was from the headache or from her other injuries. He tried to help her pull her shirt over her head, but he gave up when she whimpered in pain. Instead, he pulled his hunting knife and cut her shirt and cargo pants right off her body. The clothes were so soaked in blood they weren't worth trying to save anyway. He hesitated briefly before deciding to remove her underthings as well – they were also blood soaked, and she clearly couldn't change out of them herself. He would just have to deal with feeling awkward. She didn't even seem to notice she was naked.

Using washcloths he discovered after a quick search of the bathroom, Daryl gently started cleaning away the blood from her face and body. She let him move her around like a rag doll as he worked, leaning heavily on him. By the time the blood was cleaned up, he'd gone through several cloths and one of the gallon jugs of water. He could see her injuries more clearly now. He felt sick with guilt when he saw the marks on her legs that were obviously from fingers grabbing at her. There were more finger marks on her cheek along with scrapes and the shiner that left one eye partly swollen shut.

He held her upright while he made her take three ibuprofen from a bottle in the bathroom that was only two months out of date. He let her drink her fill of water. Finally, he laid her back on the pillows and pressed a clean cloth to the gash on the back of her head. The rest of her scrapes and scratches had already stopped bleeding.

He eased the comforter out from under her and covered her with it, tucking her in.

"Daryl?" she asked. "What happened? My head hurts."

"It's okay. You got hurt, but you're safe now." He was getting used to her repetitive questions. She couldn't seem to remember asking the same thing five minutes ago.

She frowned. "I'm a kitten."

"That's right." He smiled at that. "I'm going to go over to the closet to see if there's something for you to wear, okay?"

"No!" She blinked furiously as she tried to bring him in focus. "Please don't leave me!"

Her hand gripped his forearm with surprising strength. He covered her hand with his and sat back down on the edge of the bed.

"I'm not leaving, I promise. But I need to find you some clothes. I'll be right over there at the closet. Will that be all right?"

She relaxed and let her hand fall away from his arm, which he took for consent. He went to the closet and rummaged around. Three quarters of the closet was stuffed with women's clothes, so he figured there should be something usable. But as he dug around, all he could find were snooty looking suits and skirts and frilly shirts made from something slippery. Apparently this woman never did anything unless she was dressed to the nines. Even the pajamas he found were slinky, silky things that made him uncomfortable. Finally he just went to the section of closet relegated to the man who'd lived there and pulled out a big T-shirt. Feeling awkward, he went back to the woman's stuff and plucked a lacy pair of underwear out of a humongous drawer full of more lacy underwear.

By the time he got back to the bedside, Carol had fallen asleep again. He knew that rest and sleep were the best things for her right now, but anxiety still crawled through his belly. At least she was alive and safe.

Not wanting to wake her, he left the T-shirt and underwear folded on the night table next to the bed. It was getting dark, so he searched around until he found more of those stinky candles she had discovered last time. These were labeled "Ocean Breeze". He'd never been to the ocean, but he was pretty damn sure it didn't smell like these candles. But he needed the light so he could check on Carol throughout the night.

He sat leaning against the side of the bed. As they both rested, he puzzled over what he'd found here. Two corpses, lots of walkers, and one very banged up Carol. Her injuries appeared to have been inflicted by live human hands. The half eaten bodies downstairs must have been the men who hurt her. Hot rage boiled in his belly at that thought. He hoped they were alive when they got eaten.

It didn't matter. They were dead and she was alive. His brave, strong, beautiful Carol.

On the bed above him, Carol shifted and moaned, mumbling in her sleep. He moved to sit at the edge of the mattress, his back resting against the headboard, so he could soothe her by running his fingers through her hair. She sighed and quieted at his touch.

He sat like that for some time, with one hand lightly resting at the top of her head, smoothing her short hair. Daryl had nearly dozed off, but he was startled awake when she thrashed and cried out in her sleep.

"Daryl? Daryl!" The fear in her voice sent ice through his stomach before he woke enough to realize she was dreaming.

He caught her injured hand to keep her from hurting it more while he put a hand to her cheek to wake her. "Carol, I'm here! You're safe – you're with me. You're just having a nightmare. I promise you're safe."

She whimpered as the dream faded. Her eyes opened and she blinked heavily in confusion. "I'm dreaming? I'm dreaming."

"Yes, you're dreaming." He stroked her cheekbone with his thumb.

She turned to him and her eyes focused clearly on his face for the first time since he'd found her. "I'm sorry."

"What for?"

"I'm sorry," she repeated. She looked confused again. "I lied to you."

It was his turn to look confused. "What do you mean?"

Her eyes turned sleepy and soft. "I need you."

Her words made his chest squeeze tight.

"Please don't go away. I need you," her words were slurring again and she slipped back toward sleep.

"I'm here," was all he could think to say.

"Mmmm," she hummed. "I love you."

His heart skipped, making it even harder to breathe. He knew she wasn't in her right mind, but her words warmed him, and he felt his face flush.

"I love you, too, kitten."