Daryl noticed you rubbing your shoulder, moving it in small circles as you walked beside each other. “S’matter? Yer shoulder hurt?” “Yeah. I don’t know,” you said vaguely. “It’s fine. Nothing to worry about.” You readjusted your bow in your hands and went back to searching for game sign, but Daryl caught you rubbing it thoughtfully a few more times during your hunt. By the time you were headed back toward the makeshift camp, even you couldn’t ignore it anymore. You gritted your teeth and stopped abruptly. You glanced sideways at the handsome archer, whose brow was furrowed deeply with worry. “Can you just hold this for a second?” you asked, handing him your recurve bow. “Mhm,” he hummed, pressing his lips into a thin line, watching anxiously as you started to pull off your jacket, followed by your flannel shirt. Uhhh... “The hell ya doin’?” You were biting your lip and craning your neck, trying to look at your shoulder. “It feels like something is—ugh!” you growled in frustration having a hard time getting a good view of where you thought the problem spot was. You pulled another layer off until you were standing in the chilly fall weather in just a tshirt. Daryl watched as you slipped your hand under your shirt, stretching to move it around and down over your shoulder blade, your fingertips prodding gently. You suddenly froze. “Oh—” There was a slightly struck look of surprise on your face and Daryl gulped. “Ya alrigh’?” he asked, still puzzled at what exactly was going on. You pulled your bottom lip back in between your teeth and nodded. “Mmm. Mhm,” you hummed. “I think I need your help, though.” “Uhh—don’t ya think we should just head back and let Hershel—” “No, come on. I don’t need everyone worrying about this when it’s nothing,” you said. You slipped your shirt down over your shoulder and Daryl’s breath hitched as a wide section of your skin was bared, a triangle from the center of your back and over most of your shoulder blade. He gulped and tried to ignore the response his body seemed to have to the sight. His heart quickened and he felt inexplicably fidgety... His mind started to wander... Jesus fuckin’ Christ, man. Now ain’t the damn time... “Just—look. There,” you said, your fingertips running over the same small area of skin repeatedly. “Uhh—h—hang on,” Daryl drawled. He leaned your bow up against a nearby tree and moved closer to you. “There,” you said again, apparently oblivious to the effect this was having on him. “You see it?” “Mmm. Nah. What the hell am I lookin’ for?” You sighed. “Just—run your fingers over my shoulder blade. You’ll feel it.” He hesitated, staring at your smooth skin. You glanced back at him over your shoulder. “Daryl?” He shook himself out of it and bit the inside of his cheek. “Ya sure ya don’t—” “I’m not taking this to Hershel! Just help me,” you laughed. “Now, run your damn fingers over my shoulder blade! Hurry up, it’s fucking freezing out here!” Goosebumps rose up your back but you honestly weren’t sure if they were from the cold or from the fact that Daryl Dixon was about to run his hand over your bare skin. But your comment about the temperature finally moved him and he hesitantly pressed his fingertips to your skin, smoothing them up and down until he did feel something, and you flinched beneath his hand. “Ouch! Oh—you found it,” you said with a light laugh. “Sorry,” he said. Some of his nervousness disappeared and was replaced by curiosity and disbelief. “What the—is that—?” “A porcupine quill,” you finished, nodding. It was embedded under your skin, lying along your shoulder blade beneath the surface. “No wonder my shoulder was bothering me...” “How the—tha’ was like three days ago you killed that thing,” he drawled. You laughed. “Yep. And I have no idea how. I was wearing more layers then than I was today. Can you see where it went in?” Daryl’s eyes drifted lower down your back and the nervousness started to return. He found a small cut with his fingertips. “Yeah. All the way down here,” he managed, despite the tightness in his throat. “Shit.” “Seriously? Geez... Must have worked its way up until I felt it today. Guess that little guy had the last laugh, huh?” “Mhm.” “Alright, well I need you to get it out,” you said. You pulled your knife out of its sheath and held it up over your shoulder. Daryl stared at it. “I dun think—”
“Daryl Dixon, for the last damn time, I’m not bothering Hershel with this. Just make a little cut and grab it and pull the damn thing out!” He still hesitated and you sighed. “My knife is clean...” Finally, the weight of your knife disappeared and you heard a sigh that had the edge of a growl to it. “What if ya get an infection? These things have barbs on one end. I dun think—” “Will you stop worrying? I have a robust immune system. Just get the fucking thing out of my shoulder... Please?” you added. Daryl anxiously chewed his bottom lip. “Yer bossy when yer in pain,” he joked. “I’m fucking cold!” you laughed. “Alrigh’. Just—dun move, okay?” “I’ll try but it might be hard when you’re digging a knife into my shoulder.” Daryl sighed heavily again and you laughed. “I’m kidding. It’s not in that deep. And I trust you.” He gulped one more time and prayed that his damn hands would be steady. Luckily, it proved to be easier than he’d thought. “Ow, ow, ow!” you murmured through clenched teeth. There was a gentle tug and then... relief. “Holy shit. Oh, thank God. Thank you, thank you!” You hastily pulled your layers back on and Daryl realized he was gawking. He did his best to snap himself out of it. You spun around and grabbed your knife from him. “Thank you, thank you. Oh my God. That feels so much better,” you said, rolling your shoulder a few times. “Hey! Gimme that!” you said, just before he was about to discard the quill onto the ground. “Ya want it?” he asked, looking at you like you were nuts. “The hell? Why?” “Are you kidding? That's a keeper! How many people do you know who’ve had a porcupine quill move like 6 inches through their body?” you laughed. “Look, yer lucky it was just under the skin. Ain’t no joke. Coulda been bad. Ya need to—” “—be more careful,” you finished for him, giving him a small smile. You felt your cheeks warm with a blush. “You worry about me too much. Thanks for that.” He rubbed a hand awkwardly over the back of his neck and murmured something unintelligible which only caused you to grin at him. You weren’t sure what made you say it, perhaps the relief of a pain-free shoulder after a day of discomfort, but it spilled out. “Anyone ever tell you you’re good with your hands?” You took your bow back from him as he stared at you, seemingly frozen. “10 out of 10. Would have Daryl Dixon’s hands on me again...” You smiled at him, subconsciously biting your bottom lip before turning to resume your path back toward camp. You glanced back over your shoulder at him a second later and shot him a wide smile, the pink burning in your cheeks matching his.