Daryl Dixon takes care of his girlfriend after an attack at Alexandria leaves her recovering from an injury.
Word Count: 1.2k
Warnings: Fluff, angst, PTSD, brief mention of injury.
“I’m fine, okay? I just want to sit outside,” I protested. Daryl was stationed by the door, making sure I didn’t leave my bed. He leaned against the frame, fidgeting with his fingers. During the wolves’ attack on Alexandria, I had been stabbed in the abdomen, and ever since then, I've been on bed rest. Daryl was my sole guard, keeping me confined in my room. “You would be kicking and screaming if I had you stuck up here for days.” I knew he understood my pain; he had orders to follow, and god forbid I got hurt again. He would blame himself more than anyone else if that happened.
“And if you rip your stitches, I gotta carry you back here,” he grumbled, reaching his hand out to stop me from leaving the cot. Now eat, you haven't touched breakfast.” The plate of fresh berries and fruit lay untouched by some cold pancakes. My fork touched the pancakes, and I scraped a piece off but didn't touch it.
A subtle eye roll went unnoticed by him, or perhaps Daryl simply didn't care about my protests any longer. He didn’t seem keen on watch duty over me right now. He shifted in his vest, pulling it up slightly, fidgeting with his pack of cigarettes between held breaths. A smile graced my lips as an idea flooded my mind.
“I’ll eat if you promise to let me go outside today,” I interrupted the tension. Daryl was about to reject my idea, but before he could I interjected again, “You’ll help me walk so I won't rip my stitches? Right?” I was going to be the death of him, he knew he couldn't say no. My eyes held his for a moment, lips sealed like it was a command more than a question. I was good at that, getting Daryl to play nice.
“Fine, you wanna go outside, we’ll go outside.” Despite the frequent complaints that escaped his lips, his grumbles never truly meant harm. That was him. He picked up my plate of pancakes and berries, supporting me with his right arm and the plate with his left. “We eat outside then,”
Daryl supported me in the backyard, letting me down on the bench beside him. A willow tree hung above us, along with a soft summer breeze. It was hard to believe it was almost fall, or that it was a week ago that everything went to shit. It still was, walkers lined the walls adding more pressure by the minutes. It was oddly peaceful despite that impending doom.
“Thank you,” The words left me as I took a bite of the sugary pancake, it was obvious Carol made them by the taste. But it wasn't bad, neither was the sun beating down or the wind chilling as clouds briefly covered the sun. Everything could be okay for once, maybe it really was.
“What was I supposed to do? Let you go by yourself?" Daryl scoffed, he was annoyed but something told me by the way he was looking at me that he couldn't be happier. His eyes held on my face as I ate, as if he looked away he’d lose me. It felt like a spotlight was held on me, like I was the only thing in his view.
“I didn't try to get stabbed,” I said, and everything hung quietly for a moment. I saw through him. “I know you don't want to lose me, I'm not going anywhere.” I briefly checked his expression before returning to watch the wall, every attack from the undead only vibrated against the wall.
“It's not your fault, I should've been there.” God, he was such an idiot, a selfless idiot. I fought the urge to yell at him.
“Do you even hear yourself?” My words had a bite to them, luckily that's all they held. “There was nothing you could have done or I could have done, Daryl I could die today or tomorrow or 20 years from now.”
“Don’t talk like that.”
“Why don’t you understand?” I exclaimed, my voice tinged with urgency. “This is going to happen whether you like it or not; there’s nothing you can do to prevent it.” My thoughts tumbled out in a frantic rush, each word fueled by mounting frustration. “I’m not someone you need to worry about or shield from harm. I’ve already dealt with it; I don’t need your protection.” As I spoke, the tremor in my voice betrayed the intensity of my irritation, the emotions threatening to overwhelm me.
“I said enough.” he raised his voice. It quieted everything else for a moment. I looked at him, my body shaking in annoyance. My eyes were welling with tears from my frustration, I let them free momentarily, a few falling in anger. We both stared forward, holding it together.
Daryl's eyes would steal glances at me from the side. I couldn't tell if he was waiting for me to break down or if he was just distracted. He seemed so lost in thought.
“Don’t blame yourself please.” I finally spoke, my voice softer now. “I don't want that, especially not from you.” I wiped my tears. I felt a warm hand on my back, rubbing up and down softly. It was comforting, gentle for the man I knew to pick fights with me and yell when he got frustrated.
I studied his face, unable to hide the effects of my psyche. My eyes were swollen and bloodshot, the skin beneath them tinged a painful shade of purple, while my pallid complexion suggested weeks of fatigue and worry. I felt drained, as if the very energy had been siphoned from me. He met my gaze calmly, his expression steady, and in that moment, his presence felt less intense than it had in the past. Instead of feeling overwhelmed by the weight of our shared silence, I found an unexpected stillness in his eyes that allowed me to breathe a little easier.
“It’s so stressful, all the time.” Honesty, was that what he was waiting for? My voice was rough as I sipped water. Despite finding Alexandria and moving here, where it was ‘safe’, getting used to things, the attack never left my mind. It was buried in my subconscious like a disease making me anxious every second.
He softly brushed my bangs from my face, “You’re still here.” Three words that made me crumble. Daryl’s arms pulled me in for a hug, his hand moving my plate from my lap to hold me tighter. “I don't want to ever lose you.” His words were like another knife in my abdomen.
“You can't just say things like that,” I mumbled softly into his shoulder. Daryl smelled like gasoline and cigarettes, two addictive scents I could breathe forever. “Not when I feel like this.” Not when I loved him like this. Not when I couldn't bear the thought of losing him either. The feeling was more than mutual.
He broke away to study my face again, fingers tracing my cheek, brushing my hair, eyes taking me in. “You’re here, you’re mine, I don't lose what’s mine.” The possession in his words felt warm, warmer than the hue building in my cheeks. “I love you, I'm not letting anything take you from me.” He brushed my bangs away from my forehead, planting a soft kiss on my thoughts, ushering them away.
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