Notes: Short chapter! Apologies! :) Happy Sunday!

Chapter Fifty-Eight

(Daryl's POV)

"Daryl!" She pads after him down the hallway.

"Not now. Just leave me be."

"No, I won't. Not until you tell me what the hell is going on."

"Aint nuthin going on with me, maybe you should go check with the damn new kids."

Carol frowns at him. Her hard stare makes his feet itch to pace. She leans against the desk, hands tucked under her watching him move around the hallway like a caged animal.

"You fight about Luke?"

"Man, I dunno." He sweeps his arm in a broad gesture. "Shits all messed up. Hell am I even talking to you for?"

Her lips quirk north, voice amused. "Cause you suck at this." He glares at her, she continues undeterred. "And you need my advice."

Shit. He stops pacing to glare at her full on, irritated and a little relieved when she just stares back at him. "Don't remember ask'n for no damn help."

"You don't have to; that's what friends do. Besides, who else you gonna ask? Rick?" She smirks. "That's the blind leading the blind right there."

He starts pacing again, stops suddenly almost throwing himself back against the wall crossing his arms tightly over his chest to stop himself from fidgeting.

The thought of telling Rick the shit he said makes him cringe just as much as the memory of saying it. He takes a few moments to stares down his shoes. She waits.

"I was an asshole."

"You were a jealous asshole." She corrects him with a knowing look.

He grunts in response, jaw clenching repeatedly.

"Daryl you need to say you're sorry. And then maybe just let her punch you a few times."

His lips twitch at that he raises his hand to rub his fingers over his tired eyes. "Yeah, Okay. Now go mind your own damn business."

"Alright, But don't wait too long to do something Daryl. That only makes it worse."

He watches her walk away before heading down the hallway to their empty bed kicking out of his boots and laying down.

As tired as he is; he lays there for hours in the darkness the guilt still clawing at his insides; twisting against his ribs…sleep is a long time coming.

:: Walking Dead ::

She's not exactly avoiding him.

He might find that less infuriating.

She's always right there. Same room, too many people.

He hangs back, chewing at a hangnail again…keeps this Shit up much longer and his hands are going to be a raw bloody mess.

Every time he wants to approach her Luke is right there. It's seriously pissing him off.

What are they attached at the fucking hip? Jesus.

She keeps looking at him, but she's not saying anything either.

Could this be any more difficult?

She's reading when he finds her again, seated on the floor book in hand. She doesn't even glance up when he approaches, eyes locked on the page in front of her. Luke stands up when he sees him moves to stand in front of her.

"Hey, Wanna Spar?" Luke is kicking at the bottom of her shoe with his, jolting her leg.

Daryl practically growls at the question.

What part of she's still recovering; supposed to be taking it easy and not being thrown around like a fucking rag doll don't they get?

She looks up at Luke, completely ignoring his scowl from a few feet away. Sets her book down against the floor without so much as glancing at him. "Hell yes."

She's trying to punish him. That must be it.

He waits pacing the floor of the library until he can see them walking together on the concrete floor of the warehouse. Luke is setting something on a pile of boxes, pauses pulling off his jacket; leaving just a tank top on over his jeans. He rolls his shoulders, squaring off with her; holds out his hand for her to take. His insides twist as he watches Luke yank her forward.

Somebody up there is punishing him even if she isn't.

His insides writhe, twist and churn burning with sour acid.

But he can't stop watching.

Watching her sends a confusing kaleidoscope of emotions through him he has no idea how to process enough to separate, let alone handle. Fascinated and awed and jealous and so fucking turned on he'll embarrass himself if anyone comes in here; and all at the same fucking time because he's seriously fucked up when it comes to her.

Shit.

When they both tumble down to the concrete, lay there almost shoulder to shoulder obviously trying to recover from their play fight he wants to scream.

Part of him is screaming. Snarling and slashing and clawing at his insides watching her touch him; even if it doesn't mean what it looks like it does…

Luke is her cousin, but he's more like a big brother.

But the other guy's not.

Fucking Chris.

His teeth grind and his jaw clenches. Something about the guy sets him on edge, makes him want to punch him in the face…especially when he's in the same room as Seraphim.

Doubly so if they're doing something as infuriating as sparing, there's a cruel glint in Chris's eyes when he looks at her that Daryl recognizes; he's seen it before. It sends anger curling through his chest, twisting in his gut.

It's calculating, and predatory.

His arms cross tighter over his chest, trying to keep his breathing controlled and even.

He swears she looks up at him. Not that he could tell from this distance…but it feels like she's watching him suddenly. He shifts subconsciously.

She probably doesn't want him around like this; he's intruding on her time with Luke: her real family.

He turns and leaves.

He couldn't stand watching any more anyway.

:: Walking Dead ::