A/N: A few quick notes before we get going. Carl doesn't die and Negan is villainized to the point where he is really OOC (Basically erase all his redeeming qualities). Neither of these things really play a major role in the story, but I thought it was best to point them out.

Drop me a review and let me know what you think of this installment.

Chapter 8

(Vibe: About Today by The National)

She kept her back to the water, to give him his privacy. It wasn't until she heard him clear his throat that she turned back around.

She had planned to maintain some kind of calmness. She wanted to make sure that she kept the space as peaceful as possible, for as long as she could. But when she laid her eyes on him, she found it hard to cover what she was feeling.

The dirt and dried blood that he'd been covered in, was finally gone. The dirty and ruined clothes that he had been wearing were replaced with clean ones. But the sight of him made her heart sink.

For some naive reason, one that she couldn't even remember now, she had thought this would make things better. She'd thought it would solve something. But all it did was reveal something that had been kept hidden from her.

Until now, it was almost as though he was wearing a mask and now that it had been removed, she could see all the damage that had been done to him.

But at least now she could help him. He had agreed to let her. That was all she had to hang onto right now, to keep herself from breaking down.

When her eyes found his face again, she realized that he was growing uncomfortable under her shocked expression. From what she had been able to piece together, Daryl didn't mind being starred at, he didn't mind her watching him. What he didn't like, was feeling as though something was expected of him and not knowing what that was.

She quickly worked to remove the pain from her face and forced a smile, but it didn't help him.

He stood awkwardly rubbing at his elbow with his hand and he looked as though every instinct was telling him to run. But he held his spot in front of her.

She held her smile and patted the ground next to her."You uh-… Sit-.. down… Please?" she stuttered out and quickly pulled her eyes from him again.

She started looking through the bag of supplies, giving him the time he needed to consider what he was going to do, without the pressure of her watching him.

He rolled back on his heels preparing to walk away.

She kept moving, pretending that she wasn't completely focused on what he was doing and how he looked while he was doing it.

When she glanced up quickly, she found that his face was scrunched up tightly. He shook his head and grunted, before he dropped himself down beside her. It was clear that he was frustrated with himself over the choices he was making.

She ignored the angered expression on his face and moved closer to him. He didn't seem to mind her doing that.
It wasn't until she was reaching for his face to start working that he finally moved.

He grabbed a hold of her wrist and glared at her. She didn't have a second to question what he was doing or thinking. He pulled her hand down and reached passed her to grab the first aid kit, grumbling to himself as he searched through it.

His expression never softened as he placed one of his hands firmly on her cheek, tilting her head to the side, while his other hand started cleaning her up.

Once he was finished mopping up the blood, the crease in his brow grew and his eyes narrowed.

"It's not that bad"

She didn't know why she said it. Maybe to soothe his anxiety or ease his concern. She hadn't looked at her face, she didn't really know if it was bad or not. She had a headache, her face was throbbing from the blow she had taken and the cut was stinging as he poked and prodded at it. But the pain was nothing that she hadn't suffered through before.

In the end, it didn't matter why she said it. He ignored her anyway and started tightly sealing the cut with the butterfly stitches that he'd dug from the bag.

She watched the twitches of his upper lip, focusing on how his mouth moved slightly and his eyes squinted in concentration. Until he grunted and stood up abruptly.

The moaning that was sifting through the air, was evidence that they had forgotten to do something. Only now did they realize that the man had been lying there, slowly dying and they hadn't thought to put him out of his misery before he turned. But now she wished more then anything she had.

Daryl approached the savior, the same way he would any walker that trespassed into their space. He marched at it quickly gripping with his knife in hand. He didn't hesitate before he plunged the blade into the walkers skull. But when the body fell lifelessly to the ground, it was clear that Daryl was struggling with something.

He stood over the corpse, scanning the body with wild eyes.

He looked like he was trying to work out equation. Like he was adding something up in his head, but he couldn't calculate the answer. His concentration was unsettling and she didn't want to leave him lingering in it for to long.

"Daryl?"

Her voice snapped him out of his trance and he turned back to face her.

"C'mon. Let's get this done"

The nod he gave her was robotic, it was something he'd done without any thought.

He didn't look at her when he made his way back over and he didn't react when she got close to him.

He sat almost lifelessly and allowed her to tend to the injuries that had been left far to long.

He may not have been pacing and growling to himself, but she could see that same vacant look on his face. He was drifting away and it appeared there was nothing she could do to ground him here with her.

She moved herself closer to him and he adjusted his body to allow it. He didn't seem to mind. It didn't seem to bother him that she was nearly crawling over him.

She was up on her knees, her body pressed to his as she leaned forward, trying to dig out the stitches on the side of his temple. They were buried in his skin after being left there for far to long and though she was sure that she was hurting him, he didn't so much as flinch.

She'd thought that once she could clearly see the odd marks left on him, that she could make sense of them. But now she was as close as she could be, realizing that nothing would help her understand what had happened to him or why. Unless Daryl told her.

There were collections of small burns, cuts and bruises. And they had been inflicted with precision. She could see them on his arms neck and on what she could see of his chest. It was clear that he had been tortured and her mind could conjure up what had been used to create the marks.

But the small incisions that had been stitched up on him, were even more disturbing, because she couldn't come up with any reason why they were there or what they had been made for.

By the time she had worked her way through the wounds on his face, neck and arms, Daryl was barely there with her. He complied with her requests, "Hold still" , "lift your arm", "tilt your head", but only after she used her hands to draw his attention back to her. He let her twist and turn him as she needed and didn't once appear uncomfortable by her closeness.

Over the years, Daryl had gotten comfortable with the idea that people occasionally wanted to touch him. He understood now that it wasn't an attempt to hurt him, but rather to show him affection. But just because he understood the intention of the physical contact, didn't mean that he was comfortable with receiving it.

It had become an unspoken rule among what remained of their group, that you simply didn't touch Daryl unless he invited or initiated it.

It didn't matter that he loved them or that he trusted them. Those instincts to protect himself, were still there. They were deeply rooted in him and they caused him to recoil in fear or flare into a defensive rage, whenever he was met with a touch that he hadn't been expecting.

But right now, even though he'd rather she wasn't touching him, something about it felt different. He was accepting the physical contact in completely different manner then what she was accustomed to.

Of all those small things she noticed in him, mannerisms that reminded her of how he was before this had happened to him, this was not one of them. It was another sign that something very significant had taken place within Daryl, whatever had happened to him had altered something that she had once thought was cemented into his roots. And what he did next would only prove that the change she was noticing, was more substantial then she was capable of understanding.

She carefully pulled at his collar, trying to get a better look at a burn on his chest. The tugging of his shirt drew his gaze down. The spark of recognition in his eyes lasted only long enough for him to lean away from her. Without a second of consideration, Daryl pulled his shirt over his head and settled himself back in front of her, then let his mind wonder once more.

She sat perfectly still staring at him, just as she had done earlier, only Daryl was far to caught up in his own thoughts to notice.

There was to much for her to take in. It wasn't just that he had voluntarily taken his shirt of, but the lack of emotion in doing it. And then there was the damage that had been done to his already damaged body. These new injuries would eventually heal and when they did, it would leave very few spots on him that weren't scarred.

She could tell that he had used tree sap to close the bigger cuts and maybe he had even used something on the burns. Maybe that was why nothing appeared to be infected. But she didn't bother questioning him. Really, what would be the point?

She simply cared for what needed taking care of. He kept his eyes on the ground, gnawing at his lower lip and paid no attention to her, until she spoke again.

"I think that's it, but maybe-"

Before she could finish he jumped to his feet. She dropped back onto the ground and watched him as he slipped his shirt on and walked back to the mangled body.

There was a painful feeling twisting in her stomach, that only grew as she watched him drag the savior away. But she wouldn't allow herself to dwell on it. She wouldn't let herself believe the thoughts that were appearing as she looked at him. Because they felt like a betrayal. They brought guilt with them.

As he disappeared from her sights she heard the sharp whistle hit her ear.

When she looked in the direction of the sound, she could see Michonne in the distance, waving her over.

"Are you sure about this?" Michonne asked with a raised brow.

Carol nodded and stuffed the bottles back into the bag. "Unless you got a better idea?"

"No" Michonne admitted shaking her head.

When she looked back up, she noticed Michonne starring at her face and wincing slightly as she inspected it.

"Hopefully you won't run into anymore of them. There's no reason for them to be out this far."

She shook her head at Michonne's concern. "We'll be fine. Don't worry about us" she promised, hoping to put her mind at ease.

Michonne nodded, but she didn't look convinced. The fact was that there weren't any other options and Michonne knew it. It wasn't safe to put Daryl in the middle of a fight and there was no safe haven that the war wasn't intruding on. This was the closest to safe that was on offer.

"I'll come back when it's over. Then-…And then you can both come home"

There was a lot of caution in Michonne's tone and Carol knew why she had said the words so carefully. When she'd left Alexandria, she didn't have any intentions of returning and Daryl quite obviously didn't want to be there either, or he would have returned after his escape.

But rather then point out something that Michonne surely knew, she smiled and nodded.

Michonne had left as quickly as she had arrived. She left with the promise of returning and that she was only a call away if she was needed. It was clear that the women was in a hurry. She had things to do and Carol knew there was surely a fight somewhere waiting on her arrival. But she couldn't concern herself with that, especially when she had a plan of her own to execute.