A/N: I hope none of you are doctors, because my medical knowledge is slim to none. I did what I could! :) Only one more chapter after this, thank you so much for reading!
xxx
"No . . . "
Sophia's mumbled cry broke the silence as she rushed to the bed, grasping Daryl's limp hand and holding it to her cheek. "You have to do something," she pleaded, looking to Herschel, her eyes teary and desperate. "Please!" She looked back down, her hands clenched tighter around Daryl, her thumb rubbing circles against the back of his hand. "He saved me."
Rick climbed into the bed next to Daryl, placed his hand on the man's chest . . . "He's barely breathing," he said.
Carol grabbed Herschel's arm, her hands shaking as she spoke: "Help him. Please. Do whatever you can."
Herschel sighed, his eyes darting from Rick to Sophia, then back to Carol. "We still have the oxygen tank from Carl's surgery . . . " he thought aloud, "but more than that I need to open his lungway. Drain the fluid."
"How?" Carol demanded.
"I need a tube," Herschel replied, "flexible but strong. Anything you can find."
Carol nodded and took off, already calling out for Dale, praying he had something hidden in that RV that could help; somehow she wasn't surprised when he dug through one of the closets and produced a long plastic tube. Looked like something you might by in the crafts section of WalMart. "Just leftover crap," he said, shrugging, "I can be a bit of a packrat."
"Your bad habit may have just saved Daryl's life." Carol smiled bravely, snatching the tube and racing back outside; she ran right into Shane as she entered the bedroom, muttered a quick apology, and took her place at Daryl's side again. His coloring was even worse than before, chest just barely rising with every agonizing breath.
Glenn swung into the doorway, face red. "Patricia's on her way," he said, between his panting.
"Good." Herschel's voice was clipped, tight; he glanced at his watch, his mouth set in a thin line. "We don't have much time."
"Glenn," Carol said, "would you, please, take Sophia? She shouldn't be in here . . . " she ached to keep her daughter in front of her, but caring for Daryl had to come first, at least for the time being. Glenn put his arm around Sophia's frail shoulders, saying something about "getting something to eat" as he walked her out of the room.
Then Patricia arrived.
"Okay," Herschel said, "here's what I need you to do . . . "
xxx
Carol never wanted to be a doctor. Some children dreamed of that in 3rd grade, it was their aspiration when the teacher asked; an astronaut, a ballerina, a soldier. A doctor. But not Carol. All she ever wanted was to be a wife and mother, whether that was because she was raised to believe that's all she ever could be or not, she didn't know . . . but she did know, she never wanted to be in an operating room again.
The procedure didn't really take that long, she guessed, but it felt like that. The sounds around her were muted, Rick announcing that Daryl had stopped breathing, Herschel giving Patricia instructions. They got the oxygen hooked up. They cut into Daryl's side and inserted the tube, drained out the clear liquid into a pan, making Carol turn away and gag before Herschel told her he needed her to keep wiping at the incision. She did, her hands trembling violently as she tried to get rid of the blood, mostly just smearing it over his pale skin.
For one horrible moment, after they had finished, she thought it was all in vain. They removed the oxygen and Daryl's chest deflated, but didn't rise again; he was motionless, mouth hanging slightly open, eyes remaining stubbornly closed. Until finally, he took in a painful breath . . . and they all exhaled the breaths they hadn't realized they were holding.
That was hours ago. Now Carol sat in the wooden rocking chair by his bed, his hand clasped between hers, still too warm with the fever that he was still trying to battle; as she watched, he flinched, his head moving to one side of the pillow and face contorting with pain.
"Mama?"
Sophia was in the doorway, her hair still wet from the bath Carol had given her earlier; she wore a long nightgown, one of Maggie's old ones, and looked just like an angel, in Carol's eyes. "What're you doin' up, honey?" she asked, softly, "put you to bed an hour ago."
"I couldn't sleep."
No shock there, Carol thought grimly, trying to imagine the horrors her baby girl had lived through in just a few days. "Wanna sit in here for a bit?" she offered.
Sophia tiptoed in, her barefeet soft on the hardwood floor; she looked at Daryl nervously, hands fiddling at her stomach. "Is he gonna be okay?" she asked, her voice unsteady, eyes watering.
Carol hesitated. "We don't know," she answered, "but he's doing better . . . he can breathe easier now. And he's a strong man." She tried to smile. "I think he'll get better."
Sophia stopped at the foot of Daryl's bed, then climbed up and crawled ovebr so she was at his side, stretching out next to him, keeping her eyes locked on his face. Her hand crept over the sheet and fell on his chest, stroking it gently even as her eyes began to close, sleep finally about to claim its victory. Carol squeezed Daryl's hand tighter, fighting back tears as she watched her daughter offer what comfort she could. Ed had never shown Sophia an ounce of kindness in his entire life, but somehow she had made it through in spite of that, and now . . .
"I'm so proud of you," Carol choked out.
Sophia smiled sleepily, her head resting on Daryl's good shoulder. "I love you, Mama," she whispered; then turned her eyes to Daryl's sleeping face. She didn't say it, but she didn't have to, the love and adoration shone through her eyes with more intensity than any words could express.
They fell asleep that way, Carol slumped in the rocking chair, her hand firmly wrapped around Daryl's; Sophia curled up on her side next to her hero, the sound of his heartbeat her lullaby. In the middle of the night, when Daryl's eyes cracked open briefly, he found them in those positions . . . he fell back to sleep with a subtle smile on his face.
xxx
Daryl awoke to the sound of a loud groan, and judging by the frantic expression on Carol's face as she hovered over him, the awful sound came from him. He blinked up at her, trying to control the shivers that were going through his body, and the tiny whimper that was desperate to come from his lips. How was it possible to be so hot and so cold at the same time?
Carol's hand pressed to his forehead, and he instinctively jerked away; she shot him an apologetic look, before speaking in a voice he could just barely hear over the roaring in his ears: "Sophia, go get Herschel."
Sophia. Daryl felt movement at his side, the bed bounced and he bit back a cry as all the injuries he'd sustained in the past few days took the opportunity to make their presence known; he twisted his head to look, and sure enough, there was Sophia crawling off the bed and hurrying away. He wanted to tell her to stay, wanted to make sure, but all he managed was a pitiful croak.
"Here," Carol said, gently, "try some water." She lifted his head a bit, poured some of the glass of lukewarm water in his mouth, stopping when he gagged and tried to pull away. Her forehead wrinkled, her eyes narrowing. "How are you feeling?"
Really, woman? If that wasn't the dumbest question he'd ever heard . . . Daryl thought he was rolling his eyes, but Carol didn't seem to notice. Then Herschel was there, and there were more hands touching him, ignoring his not-so-polite requests to knock it off; he grunted and groaned under their merciless touches, until finally they stopped and he was able to breathe again. He panted, shooting icy glares in their direction that would normally send people running away in fear . . .
Guess that fear would be silly now, considering he was half-naked in a bed, drenched in sweat with no weapon in sight.
"The fever broke," Herschel announced, "those antibiotics we pumped into him all night must be working." He looked down at Daryl, and was that admiration in the old man's face? "You're one tough son of a gun."
Daryl closed his eyes, took a breath that he had to release before he could fill his lungs. "Wha' the fuck happened?" he muttered.
Carol blushed, and Sophia giggled. Daryl turned in the direction of her voice, his blurry vision focusing on the nightgown-clad girl who stood by his bedpost; memories were coming to him now, finding Sophia, the Walkers he'd fought off, collapsing just before reaching the farm. Sophia's tears. "You okay?" he managed, voice still cracking.
"I'm not the sick one, silly." Sophia grinned at him.
Daryl smirked back. " . . . been called a lot of things," he said, fighting the need to go back to sleep. How long was he out anyway? And why was his side burning something fierce? He tried to press his hand against it, but was stopped by Carol's hands.
"Herschel had to do a operation," she explained, "you couldn't breathe on your own." To his horror, the woman looked to be on the verge of bursting into tears. "We thought we'd lost you."
Daryl squinted at her, confusion clouding his mind. The hell is she cryin' for . . . and why is Sophia snifflin' all over the place? She's back with her Mama now, she should be happy. He studied the faces around him, those pinched expressions, some teary eyes, Herschel's grim frown . . . "What're y'all starin' at?" he mumbled.
Rick smiled slightly. "Just glad to see you doin' better," he replied, "we'll leave you alone now."
"Get some rest," Herschel advised, "you're not out of the woods yet." Daryl shrank away as the old man reached down to pat his shoulder lightly, then he and Rick left the room again; Carol rose as well, turning her back and fiddling with something on the nightstand. Sophia resumed her position on the bed next to him, boldly interlocking her fingers with his as she lay on her side, facing him.
"Sophia," Carol said, when she turned around again, her voice sounding distant to Daryl's ears. "Go get dressed now, ask Lori to fix you somethin' to eat. I'm gonna stay with Daryl just a little longer but I'll be out soon."
Sophia made some kind of disappointed noise, but obeyed her mama, and then it was just the two of them. Carol hummed softly as she pulled her chair closer, pressing a damp cloth to his forehead; he flinched away, but forced himself to relax under her touch, as she ran the cool washcloth along his face and down his neck. She stopped where the sheet rested across his chest, her eyes searching for and finding his gaze, waiting for permission. Everything in him wanted to pull the sheets even higher and turn away from her, but goddamn, it did feel so good . . .
"It's okay, Daryl," Carol murmured, "you don't have to hide." Tentatively, she gripped the edge of the sheet and pulled it down, revealing the battered and scarred chest beneath; Daryl winced at his own body, the burns that had long ago healed, whip scars left over from another life. Carol didn't seem to notice, keeping her expression neutral as she continued to bathe him; Daryl wanted to stay awake, hated to think of sleeping while someone was next to him, watching him. He would be vulnerable . . . it's just Carol, for Christ's sake, Dixon.
She hit a tender spot and he whimpered quietly, causing her to stop. "I'm sorry," she said, "are you okay?"
"Yeah," he gasped, longing to grab his throbbing side, try to ease some of the pain. "Herschel really . . . did a number on me, huh?"
"You must be in so much pain." Carol frowned, studying his side thoughtfully.
He wanted to deny that, he really did. But there wasn't much point. Daryl just grunted confirmation and Carol shot him another one of those sympathetic, concerned looks as she asked: "Merle had painkillers, didn't he? Are there any left . . . "
"Think they used . . . 'em all on Carl," Daryl forced out, through gritted teeth. "And T-Dog." He shook his head, regretted it when the room spun wildly, and closed his eyes as his stomach tossed dangerously. "I'm fine."
"You're still too warm," Carol said, disapprovingly, "not burnin' up like before but . . . " she dipped the cloth back into the basin on the nightstand, wringing it out before returning it to his skin. "Sophia told me about bein' out there. With you."
Daryl watched her through heavy-lidded eyes, but gave no response.
"She said you saved her . . . there was a Walker chasin' her." Carol's voice was controlled, as if she was holding back tears. "But she wasn't scared once you were there . . . she knew you'd protect her."Carol put the cloth to his forehead again, let it sit there momentarily. "You saved my lil' girl, Daryl."
"Told ya' I would," Daryl said, so soft Carol almost didn't hear him.
"We can't ever thank you enough. Me or Sophia." Carol removed the cloth, then startled him by standing and bending over him, placing a soft kiss on his forehead; her lips were dry and cracked, but as good as any he'd ever felt. He gave in and let sleep claim him, closing his eyes, drifting off with Carol's lips still on his skin and the words she spoke just before he was gone, echoing in his mind:
"Thank you, Daryl."