Hi! I'm back with a new one. I should probably mention this one contains minor descripion of effects of a beating.

XXX

I woke up to a throbbing pain in both my leg and my head, and a weird feeling in my gut, one you can get from sleeping way too long. Groaning quietly, I tried to get some general idea of my situation and whereabouts, digging in the depths of my memory. I opened my eyes only to be blinded by the daylight, so I squeezed them back shut. I rubbed on my eyelids and tried reopening my eyes, just slower. After a couple of seconds I looked around slowly, my vision adjusting, so I could make much more out of the space. I was in a small, tidy room with white walls and some flowers on the windowsill; the whole interior simple, perhaps even modest, but really nice and comfortable. The sun was only beginning to rise, and its rays fell through the window delicately. What I took for the sharp sunlight was only a delicate glow and I started wondering how early it actually was.

I touched my throbbing thigh gently, trying to assess the source of pain, and when my fingers grazed the stitches, a sudden realization hit me and I felt a cold shiver running down my spine. I knew where I was and what happened last night, and it made me sick to my stomach. I slowly removed the blanket I was covered with and propping myself up on my elbows; I looked down. There was around 4 inches long cut, covered with six stitches. Considering Daryl's lack of professional knowledge in that area, I had to admit the stitches weren't so bad.

The wound itself looked good, and I mused humorlessly that I had a lot of luck — just a couple of inches further, and the bullet would have pierced the artery and I wouldn't be here today. I sighed quietly and started getting up, gritting my teeth at the pain. Slowly, but steadily I managed to pull myself to a sitting position.

I looked at the armchair standing next to the bed as I sat down on its edge, noticing a well-known vest with wings sitting innocently on the backrest. A small smile creeped its way up to my lips, as the piece of clothing reminded me of the sweet side of Daryl Dixon.

Quiet knocking brought me back to reality, startling me a bit at the same time. I looked at the door, as if my brain half expected me to see through the wood, and I shook my head in a rather silly attempt to get a grip. I cleared my throat and said, "Come in."

My voice came out hoarse, and I coughed a couple of times, wondering how long it had been since I had last spoken. Hershel appeared in the doorway, accompanied by a barely audible sound of insufficiently oiled hinges, and he smiled at me, eyeing my bare leg. Then he cast a quick glance at the vest, but didn't comment, moving his attention back to me instead. He said, "Good morning. Maggie told me you managed to do the stitches yourself?"

"Actually, Daryl did," I explained, moving my leg to show the old man my wounded thigh, "I couldn't reach it. And it appears I'm not immune to pain, so I guess I wouldn't be able to do it anyway."

Hershel came closer to me, looking at my leg carefully, and he tsk-ed with approval, "Not bad."

"Yeah, he's a fast learner," I murmured, eyeing the stitches as well. Then, I shifted somewhat, sitting more comfortably on the bed, "What time is it anyway?"

"5:30 am." Hershel smiled, "Domain of the old to be up before the sunrise."

I smiled at him, "So how long did I sleep?"

"I'd say around 20 hours. I was here a couple of times and so were Patricia and Maggie. She also had to handle Daryl a couple of times, as he insisted on coming and checking on you on his own." The old man explained with a cheeky smile, and I felt a blush creeping on my face. He was decent enough to pretend he didn't notice, "Do you want some painkillers?"

"Yes please." I said quietly, rubbing my hands together and placing them in my lap, trying to fight the excitement I felt when Hershel mentioned Daryl's attitude. I had to remind myself again and again that it probably didn't mean a thing. Well, more than the fact that Daryl was anxious about my leg.

I probably should feel awkward sitting in front of Hershel only in my panties, but he grew to be a somewhat fatherly figure in my eyes, so I was at ease with him, even in my current state. It didn't feel odd, and the way he was looking at me without actually seeing my nakedness was making the whole experience easier. When the old man approached me with a syringe, I offered him my arm. "How's Beth?"

"Better," he said, doing the injection with a precision worthy of a surgeon, and I barely felt a small sting. His lips pursed a bit, so I wondered if he was telling me the truth, "And our new friend was placed in the barn."

I frowned, looking up at his worried face, "Why?"

Hershel shrugged, giving me a small piece of gauze, which I accepted, "Rick and his friend — Shane, is it? Decided it was for the best."

"Rick decided or Shane forced it?" I felt my brows rising in disbelief. The old man's face told me everything, even before words left his mouth and I felt anger boiling in me. My hands gripped the edge of the bed so forcefully it actually hurt me, but I couldn't care less at that moment.

"I try to not stay involved in their matters," Hershel shrugged again, his voice blank, though I could tell what he tried to sell as a lack of interest was quite a deep concern, not one for the boy, but more for his family, "Yesterday, when you were sleeping, they tried to move the boy away from the farm, but it appeared he knows me and Maggie, so things got a lot more complicated."

"Huh," I muttered bemusedly, "Girl sleeps for a couple of hours and just look how many things change."

Hershel smiled at me, sitting down in the armchair. I looked at him, biting my lower lip, "So, how did Beth come out of the shock?"

"She tried to kill herself," the man's voice was quiet, almost pained. The simpleness of this statement was equally mortifying and surreal, and it took me a couple of seconds to actually understand the sentence. I gasped, but he waved his hand shortly to calm me down, "Nothing happened. I did some stitches on her wrists. She'll live. Somehow."

I took a long, shaky breath, fixing my gaze on the morning sun shining on the trees just behind the farm. Beth, the little Beth who was always cheerful and talkative and full of positive energy, tried to kill herself? It was beyond my reasoning, though it shouldn't — that was the way trauma works. I swallowed slowly and looked at Hershel carefully, "I don't have any extensive psychiatric training, but we've had some basic topics. Would you like me to talk with her?"

"Get better yourself first," Hershel sent me a small smile, though I could see it was forced, "I believe one of the things they tell you is that you have to be in good shape to help others, isn't it?"

I returned his smile somewhat sheepishly, "It is."

"So please, get better first and figure out everything that might hit you before-" He didn't finish the sentence, but I got his message nonetheless. I should take care of my current state before I put myself, and possibly the whole group, at risk. Hershel got up from the armchair, reached into one of his shirt's pockets and extended his hand towards me. It took me a moment to notice a small piece of paper between his fingers as I stared between his hand and face, "Those are veterinary drugs, but I think we can make them work for you."

"What do you mean?" I took the paper from him, staring at it numbly. There were several names written in a tidy handwriting.

"Those are sedatives with a lighter effect than you described to me. They are often used for pets afraid of fireworks and other loud noises. Just ask someone to take these when they are in town. You may say I need them."

With that, he moved towards the door. When he grabbed the handle, he said, "But I think you should still tell Rick, just in case."

I cleared my throat, "I know."

No response came, as he closed the door behind him quietly.

XXX

I was wearing small shorts, one that made me really uncomfortable, and I found myself pulling the material down now and then. Wearing regular jeans was out of option, as it'd irritate the stitches, so I had to withstand it for a couple of days.

As I left the house however, I noticed another disadvantage of my new outfit. Due to its length — or the lack of it thereof — and the early morning hour, I found myself shivering from the cold. I wrapped Beth's shirt tighter and for a moment, I considered putting on Daryl's vest I had slung over my arm, but gave up on the idea. I looked at his tent, standing where I last saw it just the day before yesterday at the far end of the farm and at the barn, trying to decide where to go first. Sighing quietly, I turned towards the latter, deciding it was closer.

The door squeaked quietly when I opened them and the boy who was half-sitting, half-laying on the floor woke up with a start, shielding his eyes from the morning sun. I left the entrance slightly open to have some access to the sunlight and regarded the situation in front of me. Quiet gasp left my mouth, when I noticed the state he was in. While his leg still didn't look well and that was something I expected, I couldn't recall his face being so battered the night we've met. I wondered if I was so drunk or something happened in the meanwhile, but by the look on the boy's face and the way he tried to become one with the wooden wall behind him, I guessed it was the second option and I cringed at that.

"Hi," I said quietly, wondering what I should do in such circumstances, frozen in my spot, "I wanted to check your leg, is that okay?"

He repositioned slightly, slowly moving his hand down, blinking a couple of times. He still looked as if he wanted to disappear, but some tension left his body when he heard my voice; he certainly wasn't expecting me and I felt my heart falling with the realization. He cleared his throat and murmured with effort, "Yeah."

His voice was rasp, as if he wasn't using it for a while or as if he had been crying out in pain for a long time. I wanted to hope for the first, but deep down I knew it was the latter and I wasn't sure what to make of it. Something inside me yelled it was all shades of fucked up and civilized people shouldn't be doing shit like that, but were we even civilized anymore? Quiet sigh left my mouth as I shook my head, trying to get rid of the unwanted thoughts.

"Would you like some water?" I looked at him carefully, trying to inspect him without touching. I noticed a lot of bruises and scratches all over his face and slight swelling under his left eye. He nodded his head quickly, almost desperately, licking his chapped lips in the process. My breath hitched for a moment and I felt really fucking hesitant, "Did they- feed you?"

"Yes," the boy murmured, and I nodded with relief, releasing a breath I didn't realize I was holding. I tried to smile or at least give my face a sort of comforting expression, but in all honesty, he didn't seem to care, as he stared everywhere but at my face.

"Give me a minute, I'll get some water." I managed hastily, though I could hear my own voice shaking. Not waiting for his answer, I left the barn, locking the door behind me just in case. Limping a bit, I jogged towards the house, all too aware that my shoes were getting more and more damp with each step, morning sew settled on their tips. With relief, I noticed the kitchen was empty, so I quickly grabbed a glass and filled it with cold water, leaving the room as fast as I came in. I stopped at the porch for a short moment, weighing my options. Swaying slightly on my legs, I made up my mind and went back in, grabbing a small first aid kit from the cabinet in the kitchen.

I couldn't quite decide how I felt about all this. While the state that the boy was in had me breathless and full of sympathy for him, I wanted to believe Rick and the group had a valid reason to beat him like this. So far, they didn't really strike me as violent or unreasonable, Rick even insisted on saving the boy, for crying out loud.

When I left the house, I noticed some group members were waking up, so I quickened my pace. Carol was cooking something and Dale was staring in the distance, but luckily, they didn't seem to notice me. I wasn't sure if they'd like me patching up that guy, so I tried to avoid them seeing me at all. Besides, an idea popped in my head, a bit cocky, yeah, but I just wanted to prove them wrong. To show them there was another way.

As I entered the barn again, I've set Daryl's vest and all the supplies on a wooden table standing in the far corner, and I looked at the boy again, placing my hands at my hips. I nodded, either trying to muster some courage or to convince myself I was doing the right thing, and I said in what I hoped was a firm voice,"Look, I want to patch you up. Can I have your word that you won't try anything?"

He shook his head, staring at me with one eye wide open and the other barely seeing from the swelling. I had to swallow to actually get a grip and avoid any uncertainty in my voice. I tsk-ed, hoping so fucking bad my tough act would keep him from noticing how nervous I had actually been, "No, loud and clear."

"I won't try anything," he forced through gritted teeth.

I nodded in approval and slowly approached him, holding some gaze and a bottle of alcohol in my hand. I kneeled in front of him, hissing when the skin on my thigh stretched uncomfortably. I noticed his eyes fell on my leg, the very effect I was going for; I wanted him to feel complicit, which should significantly lower the chances of him actually attacking me. I gave him two more seconds to stare and as I opened the alcohol bottle, focusing my gaze on the cork, I said quietly, "Your friends did that."

He didn't react, and I figured that was understandable. He got beaten for what had happened even though his people left him behind, so his reaction seemed natural to me. Even if he felt any pang of guilt, remorse, anything I could work with, he wouldn't tell me right away. I allowed the short silence to fall on us and as I carefully cleaned the cuts on his face and after a moment, I said, "And your friends at the bar looked me up and down, like a fresh piece of meat."

Again, he didn't respond. I moved to his leg and almost jumped, hearing his voice after what felt like eternity, "That's hardly the worst thing they'd done."

I looked him in the eyes, and he stared back at me, which made me feel kind of insecure. I turned my gaze back to his leg to steady myself before I said, "What do you mean?"

The boy shrugged a bit awkwardly and winced in pain, but answered in a slow, emotionless voice, "They robbed and raped many people before, but I'm sure your friends told you everything."

I bit my lower lip, ignoring the bitterness behind the word 'friends' and asked slowly, gently touching his skin with the alcohol, "And you're just saying it like that?"

"Just stating the facts," he murmured, hissing between the words as I cleansed all the wounds with careful movements, "I know they were bad, but they took me in, fed me and gave me a roof over my head."

I almost smiled at that. It was kind of scary, but also pretty funny, how pragmatic he was, "Yeah, that's a good excuse even for the devil himself. He may be bad in general, but he was okay for me, so we're in plus."

He snorted, moving slightly to prop himself on the wall. Seeing him struggle with that, I grabbed him by the arms and helped him move as good as I could. After that, he took a deep, steadying breath and nodded to me in thanks, continuing, "Well, what would you have me do? Wander around the forest alone?"

I looked at him in bemusement, quickly moving my ministrations to the other side of his face.

"Wasn't that the better option?", I almost sneered, unintentionally — or perhaps completely consciously — pressing the pad dipped in alcohol hard against his skin. He hissed, sending me a bemused glare. I tried to calm myself down, repeating in my head that it couldn't matter what I think: I shouldn't be causing any harm to him, it was against the rules. Doctors had to tend to different kinds of patients: murderers, rapists and we were told over and over that our opinions need to stay behind the door of the medical office.

"No, it wasn't. They kept me safe." He forced through gritted teeth, but his gaze didn't falter as he eyed me impassively. I shot him another glance, taking him in a bit longer. He seemed young, at least two or three years younger than me, possibly more. He might have been considered handsome while in high school, but almost none of his charm was left. His hair looked as if it needed combing and his face was covered in tiny scars. He met my gaze for a moment, but then moved his eyes to the ground. I sighed, sitting back on my heels.

"So you decided to work for the devil himself, everything else be damned?" I tried again, the last resort of hope slowly leaving me. I wanted so badly to believe he was a good guy who lost his way and perhaps I was right, what mattered right then was whether he was too far gone or still salvageable.

He looked at me and sighed, as if defeated, "Hey, I wasn't doing all those things. I just followed their lead and thanks to that, I had a full stomach and a warm place to stay."

My brows went up in disbelief and I poured some extra alcohol on his wound, all rules from the med school be damned. I've earned myself a short hiss and I fought the smirk which was almost showing on my I took the bandage and wrapped it carefully around his calf, making sure it was tighter than needed. I got up, gathering my things with shaky hands

I felt him inhaling sharply at that, and when he noticed I was done, I heard him murmur heatedly, "Look, you could let me go. I swear I will just go- just find myself another place to live."

I turned to face him, holding all my belongings way too tight, and I couldn't help but stare at him in disbelief, "Now? You're trying that now? After you told me you have no regrets?"

I could see he swallowed, but chose not to speak, at least for that moment. I didn't wait for him to gather his thoughts, as I turned around and left the barn, making extra sure I locked the door properly.

XXX

When I left the barn, I was literally huffing in anger and I found myself going straight to Daryl's tiny camp, where the very man seemed to be getting ready for the upcoming day. I approached his tent, limping slightly; and as he got up from his sitting log, I offered him the vest without a word.

He outstretched his hand and took it from me, eyeing me cautiously, as if he almost wondered if I'd attack him with words or in a more physical way. The hand which now held his cloth was red, and his knuckles were full of cuts, which caught my attention. I stared at his skin, when his quiet, cautious voice reached my ears, "Princess?"

"I figured it was Shane." I said quietly before I could think about it, still staring at his damaged skin. Daryl's gaze moved from me to his own hands, and he turned the vest, so now both his palms were hidden under the material, as if he was ashamed.

"Nah. It was me. Had to." He murmured somewhat sheepishly, and I could see his jaw clenching at the end of the sentence. I nodded, setting all the medical equipment I had with me on the grass, feeling the stitches stretch with every movement, and I winced slightly. At that, Daryl's hand twitched uneasily and for a short moment I thought he wanted to reach for me, but nothing like that happened, so I must have been delusional.

"You had that cleaned?" I asked, taking some gauze and the alcohol bottle into my hands, as I already knew the answer. The man's eyes followed my every movement and the very awareness of it made me feel warmer inside for all those stupid reasons I should stop thinking about, and yet I couldn't get rid of them.

"Washed my hands, if that's what ya' askin'." Daryl said defensively, eyeing me somewhat angrily. His jaw was tight, and he took a small step back, which made me wonder bemusedly if he would try to run.

"Figures," I muttered grumpily. I got up, wincing, "Sorry, but no sitting for you. My leg hurts like hell when I kneel."

Daryl's stormy blue eyes moved to my thigh uneasily. The intensity of his gaze made me crave for something more physical than a look, but I pushed the stupid thought aside. After our conversation, which made me go drinking with Hershel, I knew I had to do something to stop my damn hormones from working their way up to my head. I was doing a shitty job apparently, but a job nonetheless — or that's what I wanted to believe.

After what felt like an eternity, he threw the vest to the ground carelessly and outstretched both his hands towards me, palms flat. His eyes were moving from my bare thigh to my face and feeling extremely hot deep down; I opened the bottle of alcohol, pouring some of it on Daryl's skin, trying to calm myself with the well-known procedures. After a moment, he asked in his usual quiet voice, "Did I do somethin' wrong? With the stitches?"

"No, they're good. It just hurts when the skin stretches, but it's natural." I mumbled absentmindedly, blowing lightly on the back of Daryl's left hand to make it dry faster. He made a small movement, as if he wanted to take it away, but changed his mind in the process, remaining blatantly still, and only his hot gaze told me that I was affecting him somehow, anyhow, the very realization gave me some sort of comfort.

I cleaned his skin as well as I could in the current circumstances and started bandaging it carefully. The feeling of his warm skin under mine was nice, comforting, and felt so- home-y I felt my breath hitching in my throat slightly. After another minute or so, Daryl twitched somewhat nervously and said quietly, "I had to do it."

I nodded shortly, tearing the end of the bandage in two and tying it around his wrist to secure the dressing. I focused fully on the task at hand, Daryl's proximity putting me at ease and making me extremely nervous at the very same time, a weird mixture I probably would never get used to. He gave me a much-needed comfort after I made a fool of myself talking with the boy in the barn. The very thought made me grit my teeth a bit and I almost jumped when Daryl moved under my touch uneasily. I looked up at him questioningly, and he sighed, as if frustrated, and repeated insistently, "Dammit, princess, it had to be done."

I stopped my ministrations for a moment, letting go of the bandaged hand, which he left hanging awkwardly for a second before he pulled it back to his side in a quick motion, and I looked at him seriously, "I know that, Daryl."

"Then why are ya' givin' me some kind of silent treatment?" He huffed angrily, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down nervously, "Usually it's pretty hard to make ya' stop talking."

I almost smiled at that, and I moved my gaze down, now pouring the alcohol on the knuckles of his right hand. It gave me a weird sort of comfort to know I could make him nervous as well, even if the reasons were completely different in both cases. I took my time, blowing on his skin again, and only after that, I decided I'd tortured him enough and said quietly, "I'm not giving you the silent treatment. I know you had to do it. Desperate times, desperate measures and stuff."

"He jus' kept lying to me,"' Daryl muttered helplessly, as if he hadn't heard my words at all, watching my fingers as I bandaged his hand, and he continued fervently, "I had to threaten every single piece of information out of him. Rick wanted to know somethin' 'bout that guy's group, because he thinks they'd come looking for us if they knew where. But. He. Jus'. Wouldn'. Talk."

The last part was merely a hiss through his gritted teeth, and he clenched his fists so hard the knuckles would have gone white, if only they weren't so red. I touched his hand gently, ghosting my fingers over the bloody skin, and he relaxed slightly.

"Daryl," I let go of his hand a bit reluctantly, looking straight into his eyes, "Let me rephrase what I just told you; I know you had to do that. I'd hardly call it a method of my choosing, but if you think it was necessary, it must have been necessary, and we can call it the end of the story." I stopped for a moment, biting my lower lip, but before I could make a full pros and cons list in my mind, the words fell off my tongue hastily, "I trust your judgment."

That left him speechless, which made me bite back a small smirk. I busied myself with pushing my hair out of my face, the very movement followed by Daryl's hot gaze. I took a shaky breath to steady myself, "Besides, that dude doesn't seem to be feeling really sorry for what they did. Pure pragmatism, this one."

"You talked to him?" Daryl's voice was like steel, when the words left his mouth. He stared at me with narrowed eyes and pursed lips. Suddenly, all the undefined tension seemed to change and the man seemed to be furious with me.

Trying to stay calm even with his anger, I shrugged, biting my lower lip somewhat sheepishly, "Hershel told me you're keeping him in a barn and I wanted to check his leg. You can imagine my surprise when I saw him all battered, sleeping on a cold floor."

"He could've done something to ya!" Daryl barked at me as if he didn't hear my masked reproach, narrowing his eyes and waving his free hand in an angry motion. Then, he said slower, quieter and less angrily, "Don't go there alone." He stopped and swallowed, visibly forcing himself to add, "Jus' tell me next time, and I'll go with ya'."

I eyed him for a moment, but this time he didn't look for a way out, meeting my gaze with unwavering steadiness. I licked my lips slowly, trying to find the best words for the answer.

"I appreciate your concern, but he is hardly a threat with leg ripped open and chained to the wall." A small smile appeared on my lips almost unconsciously. When Daryl looked at me with bemusement, I tried to change the subject, "How's your side?"

He stared at me for a moment, his hands gripped into fists, and I wondered if we would end up neck deep in another fight. However, after a couple of seconds he took a deep breath and tried to relax a bit.

"Good." His quiet voice told me he chose to accept the change of topic, at least for now. He made a small movement to pull his shirt up, as if he half expected me to request a check-up. When I didn't move, equally surprised and moved by his trust, he allowed his hand to fall down a bit awkwardly, and he bit his lower lip pretty forcefully.

The situation was slightly amusing and a bit endearing, all things considered, and I had to bite my lower lip in an all too similar gesture to stop the smile which threatened its way to my face. I still had some sympathy in me, so noticing Daryl's small, nervous movement, I made a cautious step towards the man and asked, trying to keep my face straight, "Can I check?"

He seemed almost relieved at that, and he unbuttoned his shirt almost instantly. My bad mood from the encounter with the young boy had already vanished as I took another step towards Daryl, reminding myself over and over again, that it was only for medical purposes. Rubbing some alcohol on my hands, I moved his shirt to the side, checking the stitches on his stomach. I gently touched his warm skin with my fingers, and he didn't even stir, though with Daryl one can never be sure, so I asked, "Does it hurt?"

"No." his voice was barely audible, but I didn't hear any hint of restraint in it. If anything, his tone struck me as somewhat nervous, but it must have been just a fallaciousness, because what reason did he have to be nervous? I cleared my throat, feeling, fretful, as I tried to keep myself cool.

"Good. I think we can remove the seams, they are not soluble unfortunately, so they won't fall off on their own" I murmured, taking a small step to go behind Daryl and check his backside as well. I tried to be slow to make my intentions clear, and I must have succeeded, because when I moved his shirt to the side and gently touched his skin, he remained still, tensing only a little. I, on the other hand, felt as if I was trembling internally, only the medical training keeping my fingers steady, "The backside's okay as well, so if you'll let me, I can just remove all the stitches. It won't hurt, might pull a little."

Daryl snorted, "'Am not afraid of a bit of pain."

"I guess you're not," I whispered under my breath and made a move to get the kit, but Daryl was faster, as he bent and grabbed the little box, handing it to me. I looked down at the plastic container and then back at his face, surprised. I should have taken the kit, but somehow I found myself frozen to the spot, my mouth slightly agape, desperately looking for any words, at the same time trying to force my muscles to work.

"Said it hurts when ya' kneel," he muttered sheepishly, noticing my taken-aback expression. He seemed almost uncomfortable under my gaze, and he fidgeted slightly, extending the kit closer to me, as if it burned him.

My astonishment quickly turned into a huge grin and I took the box out of his hand, but I was so hasty, our fingers brushed in the process accidentally, and I noticed Daryl's nervous movement. My heart was racing, and I felt idiotically happy, another token of my endless hopelessness. Trying to get a grip over myself, I opened the kit, fumbling a bit with that, and I inspected its contents. After looking at the things stored in the small box, I sighed, "Unfortunately, I only have regular scissors, not the ones usually used for taking off the seams."

"Can ya make it work?" he asked shortly, without emotion, as if I had told him we lacked butter. I eyed him, finding it hard to decide whether I admired him or felt worried about his mental state.

"I think I can, but I don't know if I won't hurt you a bit," I murmured, biting my lower lip. I stared at his stitches-covered skin and at the small scissors indecisively, turning the small thing around between my fingers.

"'s fine." Daryl said quietly, and even though it was such a short statement, it told me a lot more: that he trusted me enough to let me do it, the very knowledge sending my pulse skyrocket. I nodded slowly, feeling my damn heart thumping in my ears, and for a short moment I wondered if I could suffer any actual damage to my ears.

I moved to Daryl's front, deciding it would be easier for him to accept my ministrations on his back if he knew the action already. He grabbed his shirt and pulled it up, his muscles deliciously tense, and I had to bite my cheek from the inside to focus on the task at hand.

I took a deep, steadying breath, trying to calm myself, as I cut through the first stitch, doing my best to make the way too big scissors work through the small seams without additional damage. I almost jumped at the sound of Daryl's voice, "What did he tell ya?"

"Don't move," I barked, staring at the man threateningly. He nodded slowly, his lips pursing oh-so-slightly, which made me smirk for a second. As I moved to the second seam with steady hands, I muttered, "Nothing worth mentioning, honestly. I just tried to make him say he regretted being with that group, but he wasn't willing to do that."

"He told me-" Daryl started, but stopped as I hissed a short shut up, trying to remove the remaining stitches. After I finished that, I sighed with relief and set the scissors back into the kit, making a mental note to sterilize them later. I could see Daryl's gaze following my movements and after a moment, he finished slowly, "He told me he was only with'em for security."

I snorted, nodding, "Yeah, I figured as much. I went there pitying him, but he was a one cocky bastard."

Daryl inspected his side carefully, and then allowed his shirt to fall back down. His gaze then moved to me, "So, what happened?"

I cleared my throat, suddenly uncomfortable, as I turned the small first aid kit in my hands just to keep them occupied. I wanted to look at him, to tell him everything, but at the same time, I was scared shitless it would just turn me into a writhing mess. Biting my lower lip, I stared at the grass, thankful for the time Daryl was giving me to collect myself. I opened my mouth three fucking times before I managed a weak, "Didn't you ask the guys?"

"I did," I could feel him shrugging even with my eyes staring intently at the ground, and I dared a quick glance at Daryl's face. His eyes were focused on me and I felt even hotter under his gaze, casting my eyes back down instantly, "Now I'm askin' ya."

I sighed, nodding. I felt my heart speeding its pace in my chest yet again, as my discomfort grew. I was perfectly content being busy and pretending nothing happened, so I tried again weakly, "I don't have anything else to say."

"Princess, look at me." Daryl's voice was quiet and gentle, yet demanding and forceful, a combination I never thought possible. I had half a mind to look up, but my muscles didn't want to obey, as I stared at the ground, swallowing nervously. When I didn't budge, I heard the man's voice again, just a tiny bit louder this time and even gentler at the same time, "Victoria."

At that, my head snapped up. It was a rare occasion when he didn't use the nickname he gave me, and the way my name reverbated in his chest wasn't something I could simply ignore. Before I could find anything worth saying in my mind, he licked his lips and said slowly, as if he was carefully choosing his words, "Look, I know what happened. The ol' man also told me you'll try to act as if everythin' was okay and that it's not healthy for ya,'' Daryl stopped, cocking his head to the side, and adding quickly, as if to himself, "I don' know how he knows though, he's a vet and yer not a cow-"

I snorted at that, and Daryk smiled gently, seemingly content with the reaction he managed to get. It was one of the rare occasions when I could see his actual smile and it made something inside me melt. After a moment he continued, every trace of humor gone, "Anyway, I jus' wanted ya to know ya did what ya had to do. And if ya ever want to talk-'' he swallowed, sheepishly pushing his hands to the pockets of his pants a little too forcefully, "Ya can talk to me. Or to anyone else."

The last sentence left his mouth so quickly I barely managed to make out the words, but after he said them, I felt a small smile forming on my lips, as if they had a will of their own. I took a deep breath as an almost unbearable warmness spread over my body.

"Thank you," I muttered softly, fidgeting with the first aid kit yet again. My voice was husky, so I cleared my throat before I trusted it enough to continue, "I really appreciate it. And I want to talk to you. Just- give me time." I stopped for a moment, fixing my gaze on Daryl's left cheek, unable to bring it to his eyes just yet, "I might not be a cow," I smiled sheepishly and by the movement of his face muscles I could tell he smirked, even though I didn't have it in me to look, "But Hershel was right. I have a weird way of dealing with stress," I closed my eyes before continuing quietly, "For now, I just have to pretend nothing happened, okay? I'll talk with you, that's a promise."

Finding the courage to finally do so, I opened my eyes and looked straight into Daryl's stormy ones. He opened his mouth, but closed it after a second, as if he changed his mind about saying something. Instead, he just nodded, murmuring, "Fair enough."

I cleared my throat yet again, not really out of need this time, but simply to do something, as I swayed on my unsteady legs. Daryl's eyes were searching mine intently and I felt a blush creeping its way up to my cheeks. He took a careful step towards me and I found myself mimicking his movement, so now we were inches apart. I could feel my pulse start to quicken and I licked my lips nervously, the very movement bringing Daryl's attention to them and his throat bobbed as he swallowed. His one hand gently took the first aid kit from my stiff fingers and the other found its way to my hips, which was almost a habit for him at this point, and I moved my now free hands to his chest slowly in an all too familiar manner.

Through the fabric of his shirt I could feel his heart beating quickly as well as his lean, hard muscles contracting slightly, and I allowed my palms to spread over them. Somewhere in the background I'd heard the small box hitting the ground with a soft thud, and Daryl's other hand also sneaked around my hips, his fingertips almost reaching the small of my back. If that was even possible, his hold on my body tightened and I could see his hesitant gaze moving from my eyes to my lips, as I licked them unconsciously. His warm, calloused hands moved inches up, reaching under my t-shirt, a gesture I was also familiar with, and the very touch of his rough skin on my own sent a delicious shiver down my spine, making me purr ever so slightly and my eyes flew shut, savoring the feeling. His reaction to that was immediate as he dug his fingers into my bare waist and I had to grip his shirt forcefully so as not to fall. I growled impatiently and stood on my tiptoes, bringing my lips closer to him, and at the very moment, two things happened simultaneously: a loud crack could be heard behind us and Daryl jumped a step back, grabbing his crossbow from the grass with a movement so quick I barely noticed him doing so.

Panting slightly, I took a cautious step back, closer to Daryl, when Dale emerged from behind the trees, his gaze slowly moving from the man to me, "Hello."

I fought the urge to groan with frustration and instead, I nodded, unable to voice my greeting and looked at the old man, waiting for him to say something. My hands were clenched into fists at my sides and it took all my self-control to relax them. The old man cast one last look between me and Daryl and finally fixing his gaze on the latter, he said, making it obvious he meant the hunter and the hunter only, "I came to talk to you about the young lad."

Taking that as my cue to go, I took a cautious step back on my wobbly legs, testing their strength. My head was still spinning slightly after my almost-encounter with Daryl and I counted to five in my head before saying, "I'll be going then."

My voice sounded so husky I cringed internally at that. Thankfully, neither Dale nor Daryl seemed to notice that or tried to stop me, and I couldn't be more relieved, as I stalked away slowly, not looking back.

XXX

That'd be it for today. Any thoughts? :)

Until the next one!