DISCLAIMER: I do not own AMC's and Robert Kirkman's "The Walking Dead" or any of its characters/places. There may be a few OCs at a later time and those will be mine. (NO MARY SUES).

WARNINGS: Rated T for language, violence, gore, and sexual situations.


First of all, I want to thank everyone for their reviews. And a thank you goes out to Candra 'wolfgal97'who was awesome enough to not only get me a follow on twitter by David Della Rocco but also took a letter to Norman Reedus for me. She's so great :) Now, I'm sorry about the crazy long delay. I went out of town and it took me a long time to get caught up with everything back home. I'll be honest, I'm not too sure where this is headed at the moment so bear with me in the next chapter. I should have it all worked out by then. Thank you for understanding.


Maggie sat with Daryl and watched him sleep until hunger drove her from the bed. Carl had said something about there being food in the kitchen and she went to check it out. She opened the cabinets and set out the various containers she found: canned meats, beans, and a few fruits and vegetables. If they rationed it all properly, they could probably get by for two weeks with it. That would be pushing it however, and Maggie feared either she or Carl would have to venture out for more.

Maggie chose one of the cans of beans and opened it. She found a spoon and returned to Daryl. She sat next to him and began to eat: she'd had worse than a can of cold beans but the food hit her stomach wrong and turned it into a knotted ball. After she finished half the can she dug the spoon down into once more and then rubbed Daryl's arm to wake him. His eyes opened slowly and Maggie smiled gently.

"You need to eat something…here," she said and brought the spoon of beans over to him.

"Not hungry…" he said and pushed her hand back.

"Yes you are; you just don't know it. We have plenty; you have to eat to keep your strength up. Now sit up," commanded Maggie.

Daryl nodded weakly and tried to raise himself. Maggie assisted him and was able to get him to lean back against the headboard. He took the can of beans from her and spoon and Maggie went off to find another bottle of water. When she came back, Daryl had polished off the remainder of the can and reclosed his eyes.

"Thirsty?" asked Maggie.

Daryl shook his head.

"No—where's Carl…haven't heard him today…"

"He's uh…" Maggie flinched. Daryl was sure to give her hell if she told him she allowed the boy to go by himself and so poorly armed. "I sent him back down to the river to get some water to boil—he'll be back in a minute. I gave him your knife so he won't have any trouble."

"Shouldnta done that…" said Daryl. "Told y'all to go on—I ain't gonna make it. Ya need to go and find Rick and the others."

Maggie sighed and pressed her hand against Daryl's forehead to see how warm he was. His fever was still raging and she hoped once it broke he'd come to his senses.

"And I've told you that we're staying here until you can walk. Once we get your leg better we will find the others. Speaking of which I think it's time for you to take some more pills," she said and dumped two more of the tablets into her hand.

Daryl heard the rattle of the bottle and turned on his side. "Save 'em," he muttered, "ya might need to use 'em on someone else."

"Stop being so damn stubborn Daryl: there's more than plenty if something happens to me or Carl."

It was a complete lie and Maggie saw that Daryl didn't buy it. He rolled his shoulder enough to show his indifference and brushed off Maggie's concern for him.

"Fine…I'll leave them here by you and you can take them when you feel like it," she said and stood. Almost immediately her stomach turned in circles and the blood drained from her head leaving her extremely dizzy. She tried to push it aside and stumbled as she was temporarily blinded by her lightheadedness. The edge of the bed tripped her up and she fell hard towards the dresser, her head striking the corner of it. She rolled off and to the floor where she told herself she was ok. Her hand went to her forehead and she pulled it back because it felt wet.

"Why is my head wet?" she wondered silently. "Did I just wash my hair?"

Maggie stared at her hand in wonder and was fairly certain someone else was speaking to her.

"I'm ok Glenn...I got some paint on me…nothing to worry about," she said and slid back against the dresser.

"That ain't paint and I ain't Glenn," said Daryl as he yanked the top sheet off the bed and wrapped it haphazardly around his waist. He knew his leg wasn't going to support his weight and he braced himself for the inevitable fall to the floor. Sure enough, as soon as the toes on his left foot touched the carpet, a flaming pain flared up in his injured leg and he collapsed. He landed near Maggie who didn't even register him falling down beside her.

"Glenn?" she asked and reached out her bloody fingertips to stroke Daryl's cheek. Daryl gently took them in his hand and pushed them back to her.

"Sure," he whispered, "just gonna look at ya for a minute…"

Maggie smiled to herself and closed her eyes.

"Don't be goin' to sleep or nothin' like that," said Daryl. He brushed some of her brown hair away from her forehead to find the source of the blood that was trickling over her right eye. He pried some of the soaked hair back to reveal a short but deep cut woven into her hairline. "Shit," he swore and reached for the sheet at his waist. He gripped the end and tore a long strip off. Daryl then split it in half and folded one of the pieces over in order to make the cloth thicker. He pressed it against Maggie's head then took the other piece and tied it over the first to secure the bandage in place.

"What's that for?" asked Maggie, reaching up to feel the cloth.

"Ya bumped yer head…ya think ya can stand?" asked Daryl.

"I don't see why not," said Maggie. She stood quickly and fumbled around on her feet. She seemed to aim herself towards the door and Daryl regretted his decision to get her up so fast.

Maggie found her way to the door and then out into the kitchen and living area. Daryl heard her bump into something and sighed.

"Maggie! Just sit down or somethin'…I'm gonna come get ya," he called.

Maggie didn't answer him and he realized she might have fallen down again. He flinched as he moved his bad leg under him and gripped onto the dresser to help pull him up. He made it to his feet, or foot, with his left leg dragging uselessly behind him. Daryl tried to move away from the dresser but couldn't bring himself to test his leg again.

"Ya still there Maggie?" he asked.

Daryl waited but again there was no answer.

"Ya got this," Daryl encouraged himself. He dropped the sheet as to have both hands available to support him if necessary. He looked down on himself and a tiny piece of him said that Glenn would kill him if he saw him tending to Maggie while he was completely undressed. He figured there was something in the dresser he could wear and pulled the top drawer open. In it he found a pair of boxers and somehow was able to maneuver himself into them. He didn't want to put a shirt on because he was miserably hot already but modesty got the best of him.

Once Daryl was decent, he let go of the dresser and balanced as best he could on one leg. He leaned against the wall and braced himself against it as he headed after Maggie. The pain in his leg was off the chart and more than once he considered just giving into it. When he made it to the door frame, he looked out and tried to see Maggie.

"Maggie—where the hell did ya go?" he asked the empty kitchen. Daryl struggled forward all the while sweat slicked his overheated body. The pain in his leg was so severe he thought a walker's bite would probably hurt less. He was half tempted to find one of those and allow it to finish him off. He remembered being given some pills earlier in the day but not what they were for. If they were to help with the pain, well, they weren't. If they were supposed to make his leg better, they weren't doing that either.

"Maggie, I really don't wanna come after ya…ya gotta tell me yer alright," said Daryl. He glanced around the kitchen and peered into the living room but there was no sign of her. "Damn it woman," he hissed and threw himself forward. The girl had vanished; the front door swinging in the afternoon breeze.

Daryl took a few more shaky steps for the door, his breath becoming harder and faster. He swore someone was digging red-hot nails into his leg but he had to find Maggie. He couldn't let her wander around out there if she wasn't able tell the difference between him and Glenn.

Every step was pure agony to Daryl after he had to abandon the wall. He only looked down at his leg once and that was more than enough. Not only was the whole gash swollen and red, but a deeper maroon color had emerged wherever a stitch entered his skin. They pulled whenever he put his foot down and he ignored the urge to rip the threads out. He had patched himself up enough to know when something was wrong and that something was screaming at Daryl that his leg was a lost cause.

"Ya can quit once ya get Maggie back," Daryl said to himself. "Get Maggie and Carl back then ya can stop."

Daryl made it to the door with sweat pouring off every possible inch of his body. He pushed against it and threw himself out into the fresh air. The breeze nipped at his leg and dug his fingers into his thigh to distract himself. The pain that caused was only secondary and Daryl sagged against the flimsy porch railing. He tried to catch his breath but a pressing tightness took hold of his chest and he couldn't get enough air. He gripped the railing as his heart rate shot up until it was fluttering unevenly under his ribs. Blood pulsed around his head making him dizzy and lose focus. His heart skipped and he no longer noticed the pain in his leg. Everything was fading. The rush in his ears was gone but so were the sounds from nature. He was vaguely aware of the wooden rail he was clinging to and then that feeling was gone too.

The weak handrail collapsed on Daryl and he tumbled off the side of the small porch and down to the muddy ground. In his last remaining bit of consciousness, Daryl groaned and rolled onto his back. He spit a glob of mud out of his mouth and couldn't quite wipe his mouth off before he passed out.