It's Mostly All Daryl @thegeorgiahuntsman - Tumblr Blog

Words: 10,880 Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Mom!Reader Reader pronouns: she/her Warnings: fear and anxiety, descriptions of minor injuries & some blood, references to implied s*xual viol*nce in reader's past (no description) Summary: Daryl and Y/N head back to her previous shelter to collect some important items and as usual there's a dangerous hiccup. Spending the night at the shelter, they grow closer as they learn about each other's pasts. A/N: This is part of a series. Read Part 2 here! This work was commissioned and partially supported by @carsonsweebabyturtles! Thank them for the existence of this fic! <3 MUAH! Thanks for the support, hun!

You’d left early the next day when the sun was just barely starting to peek over the horizon and turn the sky a pale pink. The rumble of Daryl’s bike was loud in the early morning air, even though he courteously kept his speed slow so as to not wake the neighbors. You stood at the threshold with your pack and looked at Aaron one more time.

“You’re sure you don’t mind watching Holly?” you asked. “She can be a handful.”

“The best kind of handful,” Aaron replied. “We’re sure. We’re happy to. Besides, when is the last time you had some adult alone time?” he asked.

Your mouth dropped slightly open and you felt your face burning. “Aaron!”

He went slightly wide-eyed as he realized what he’d said and then laughed heartily. “That’s not even what I meant!”

You snapped your mouth closed and shot him a look.

“But it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world, would it?” Eric said suddenly, appearing around Aaron’s shoulder and handing him a warm mug of tea with a smug look on his face.

“Bye,” you said pointedly.

They both laughed and Aaron’s hand landed on your shoulder as you turned away, already pushing out onto the porch. You glanced back at him and his expression was soft and friendly. “Be safe,” he urged you with a warm smile.

“We will,” you said, nodding. “Thanks.”

_ _ _ _ _ _ The ride toward your old shelter was thankfully uneventful and the time seemed to pass quickly, although it was already mid-afternoon when you approached the area that was most familiar to you. You began to recognize landmarks zooming past and you leaned even more into Daryl, tapping his side twice to signal for him to slow down.

The engine of his bike quieted some as he slowed. “Ya okay?” he yelled over the remaining noise.

“We’re coming up on the spot we should pull off! It’s the easiest way to get in from the highway!” you explained. “When you see the blue sign that’s missing the top half, that’s where we should stop!” Daryl nodded and the bike roared back into life, leaping over the pavement.

Soon, he was slowing again. You wrapped your arms more tightly around him as he brought the bike over to mount the curb. There was a half-hidden path there, just depressed grass and a narrow dirt track that led into the trees. Daryl slowed the bike and stopped at the entrance to it. The hum and vibration of the engine stopped and you let go of his waist. He leaned forward and held out a hand for you to use to balance as you climbed down off his bike.

“Thanks,” you murmured.

“Mhm,” he hummed. “I’ll push the bike in the brush,” he said, climbing off after you. While you were pulling off the helmet he’d insisted on your wearing, he unhooked your packs.

He held yours out. “How come I have to wear a helmet but you don’t?” you asked playfully.

He accepted the helmet from you and strapped it back down on the bike. “Cause ya got a little girl back there ya gotta get back to,” he said.

Your brow furrowed. “But you have people back there too. They would be just as devastated if you got hurt,” you pointed out.

He shrugged. “Mm,” he hummed. “Ain’t the same. I just dun wear one. I never have.”

“Well, maybe you should,” you said, giving him a small smile.

You watched as he pushed his bike into the brush, the muscles in his arm straining. You quickly broke off some leafy branches and carried them over. “Here.”

“Thanks,” he said. He spread the branches over his bike and adjusted his pack. “Lead the way,” he said.

You nodded and turned up the path, heading deeper into the trees. The rich scent of damp earth and leaves was all around you and you drew in a deep breath. You felt a thrill of exhilaration. It was so good to be out of the walls of the settlement. You glanced back at Daryl and caught him sweeping his eyes from left to right, clearly listening carefully. You smiled.

“Thanks for doing this,” you said softly. His blue eyes darted up to meet yours.

He shook his head. “S’nothin’. I just figured—wasn’t like ya stopped to pack anythin’, ya know?”

“Yeah,” you agreed. “I could have come out alone to collect some things but—I appreciate you offering.”

He nodded and then resumed his guarded surveying.

“It’s only about a twenty-minute walk from here,” you said. “Not too bad.”

The only reply was the sound of Daryl’s surprisingly soft steps in the grass behind you for a moment. “We’ll have to keep our eyes open. Somebody could’a moved in around here since ya’ve been gone.”

“Mm. Good point,” you agreed. “But I hope not... That would complicate things if someone is living in our house,” you said with a wry laugh. “We’ll know we’re getting close when we come across that pit I fell in. Remember?” You shot him a smile over your shoulder. He was chewing on his bottom lip thoughtfully.

“Do I remember ya stealin’ my pack, fallin’ into a giant pit, and holdin’ a gun on me and Aaron?” he asked, amused. “That seem somethin’ a man’s likely to forget to you?”

You laughed lightly. “I suppose not.”

You walked on in silence for another half a minute before Daryl broke it again.

“Did ya really think ‘bout shootin’ us?” he asked.

You slowed so you fell into step beside him on the narrow path and glanced over briefly. “Yes,” you admitted. “I thought about it. But I was also running dozens of scenarios in my head. And there was no way I was getting out of that pit alone. For better or worse, I knew I needed the two of you to get me out, whatever would happen to me after...” you trailed off. “I—I just thought I’d deal with it.”

Daryl caught sight of the haunted look on your face. It appeared from time to time, like a subtle shadow that moved across your eyes from the inside, obscuring your light for a brief moment. “Ya must’ve been real scared. And real worried ‘bout Holly,” he said, catching your eyes.

Your eyes flickered over his face. You nodded. “I was. I was cornered. And you two were strangers.” The rhythmic padding of both your boots was the only sound for a long moment. Both of you were pensive, thoughts turned inward, until you spoke again. “I think about that sometimes—just how many close calls there have been—or how many times I’ve survived based on sheer luck. But it could crush me if I think about it too long,” you said, offering him a sad smile.

Daryl ducked his head, nodding. “Yeah...” So many of the group, his family, were gone. And it seemed wildly unfair that he was still around sometimes. He cleared his throat. “Speakin’ of that pit, ya got any idea who dug it and when?” he asked.

You shook your head. “No clue. But it wasn’t the first sign in the area that somebody had spent time there before me. I found marks cut into trees and some parts of old shelters, mostly falling down by the time I got there. I think it was old too,” you said.

Daryl nodded and looked ahead. His hand drifted absently to the strap of his crossbow and you smiled to yourself. You walked on in comfortable silence for another ten minutes or so when something drew your attention to one side and you slowed.

“What is it?” Daryl asked, watching you moving toward the edge of the path. There seemed to be a small intersecting trail, but it could have just been from the passing of game.

“I don’t know. There’s a clearing here. It looks a bit unnatural. It’s all bare... but it doesn’t look fresh I don’t think,” you said, moving closer.

Daryl followed close behind you but suddenly had an inexplicable tingling on the back of his neck. “Hey—be careful,” he cautioned you.

You looked up toward the trees, searching for an old snare that had been sprung, maybe with a dangling corpse, but you didn’t see anything. “I don’t see anything,” you said, stepping farther out into the patch of mostly bare soil.

“Y/N—” Daryl said gently. He was about to reach for your sleeve, to draw you away. He didn’t know why, but he had a bad feeling.

And then you both heard it. A metallic click.

And you felt it beneath your boot. You felt the mechanism of the pressure plate depress. You had just enough time to reflexively turn to look at Daryl, your eyes wide and full of fear. But you kept yourself completely still except for the turn of your head.

His eyes were intensely blue, burning blue, and just as panicked and wide as yours. And then there was a blur of action all at once; a cloud and rain of dark soil, and a concussive blast loud enough and close enough to knock out your vision for a brief moment.

When you came around, you had the vague sense that you were lying heavily on the ground and there was a tremendous, painful ringing in your ears. Your face felt hot, but other than that you felt vaguely disconnected from your body and your lungs seemed to be refusing to work properly. You drew in some tight breaths as best you could.

But within a few seconds, the stunned feeling started to drain away and you realized what must have happened. And you realized there was a heavy weight beside & over you.

Panic. Panic flooded in to replace the disassociation and confusion. “Daryl?” You thought you were shouting his name but it sounded only muffled to your ears. The ringing was so loud. “Daryl!?” you said again. You realized that he was the heavy weight beside and over you. “Oh, my God—Daryl! Daryl!” You grabbed his shoulder and were about to shake him, terror welling up inside you, when he suddenly stirred and then pushed himself up on the palms of his hands. He shook his head as if to clear it of a fog, his eyes still squeezed shut.

His ears were ringing too. And his entire back was burning.

“D-Daryl!” you stammered out. You wanted him to open his eyes. You were trying to gauge if he was okay, if you were okay. What the fuck?!

A grimace passed over his face but then he opened his eyes, still leaning over you, looking down at you underneath him. His wavy hair was hanging forward, some of the strands around his forehead already soaked in sweat despite the passing of what seemed only seconds since the blast.

There was a large cut across your cheek and without thinking he clasped your face, gritting his teeth against his own pain. “Are ya—are ya okay?” he asked.

“I—I—” The panic was returning. A scream was welling up inside you. “Are you—Daryl, how hurt are you? Oh my God,” you gasped.

Suddenly realizing you were still caged beneath his body, he rolled off to the side and collapsed back to sit beside you, leaning back on his palms. His eyes shut again as another radiating wave of pain seared across his back.

You sat up beside him, perhaps too quickly from the way your head swam, and when your eyes opened again you were staring at a crater in the earth where that fucking buried mine used to be.

“You just—Daryl, you just—Oh my God,” you breathed. You turned to stare at him with wide eyes again. “How hurt are you? Are you okay?!” you asked desperately, scrambling onto your knees and moving around behind him. You could see that his jacket was pockmarked with small tears and rips. “Your back—” you said. “I-I don’t see anything really bad but—it’s hard to tell. Daryl, can you feel anything serious?”

He winced again but growled out, “‘M fine.”

“Jesus fucking Christ. Jesus Christ!” The panic was returning. You pressed a hand over your mouth. Your heart was still pounding. The ringing was still loud in your ears. “We—we should get someplace safe so I can have a look at you,” you said urgently. “And any person or infected within 50 miles is bound to have heard that.” You climbed unsteadily to your feet. Your head protested with a throbbing pain.

Daryl climbed to his feet too, gingerly. “Your face,” he said.

You looked at him, perplexed. “What?”

“Your cheek is cut,” he said, unable to stand up completely straight from the searing pain across his back, like a thousand knife cuts.

“My cheek?” you repeated, incredulous. You reached up and wiped at it with the back of your hand. It stung, but you ignored it. “Your—entire back—! You could’ve—Daryl, you could’ve—You just—Can you feel anything s—?!”

“We gotta go,” he said. “Yer right.” The gravel in his voice seemed extra thick and his expression was a fixated wince. His eyes searched nearby for his pack and crossbow and he spotted them nearly ten feet away.

You suddenly grabbed onto his arm gently. “Are you seriously hurt?” you asked him again, urgently. Your expression was grim and rattled.

He shook his head. “I dun think so.”

“Are you lying?” you pressed him.

“No. C’mon. Yer right. We gotta get outta here just in case.” He hobbled over to his pack and crossbow and slung them up onto his shoulder.

“Give me that,” you said, taking his pack. “Just carry your bow and keep watch for infected, okay? This way.”

Your stomach churned as you rushed toward your old home. You stuck to the familiar path now, cursing yourself with tears blurring your vision occasionally—angry tears at yourself. How fucking stupid. You’d almost gotten both of you killed. And Daryl—what he’d done—

“Hey,” his voice cut through your thoughts and you stopped short. “Isn’t it just up there?” he asked, nodding toward a familiar clump of trees.

“Yes,” you managed, your throat tight. You blinked away the glassiness in your eyes. Your ears were still ringing.

“We should be careful, yeah?” he said. “In case somebody’s in there. We’ve gotta clear it.”

“Right,” you said, reaching for the pistol at your hip. Your hand was shaky and you clenched it into a tight fist for a moment before resting it back on your pistol again. “Right. Yes. Okay... I’m ready.”

You approached your old shelter and all was still. You couldn’t see any sign of anyone from the outside. Daryl cautiously crossed the little front porch and shoved in the door. He slipped inside, insisting on going in first with his crossbow at the ready, despite your protests. When he stepped in front of you, you noticed that the dark stains soaking the back of his jacket were worse. You bit back saying anything about it for now but again swallowed at the lump in your throat in an effort to clear it. First, you’d search the place. Then you’d see about patching him up. You had left in such a rush when Holly was ill that almost all your supplies were still inside, well stocked.

There was still a slight trembling in your hand, but it steadied as you gripped your gun more tightly. You moved behind Daryl silently, ghosting his steps, a flashlight raised over the barrel of your gun. You went room by room, becoming more grateful with each that nothing seemed to be disturbed. Everything was as it had been when you’d rushed out; Daryl carrying Holly in his arms and Aaron trying to keep you from disintegrating in your panic and fear.

The archer finally stopped in front of you and you watched his shoulders relax. He let out a relieved sigh. “S’clear,” he drawled. “Doesn’t look like anybody’s been in here,” he added.

You nodded. “Everything looks the same. The dust isn’t even disturbed,” you said quietly, dropping your gun back into your holster.

“So, d’ya need help with—”

You walked around him so you were face to face. “Do I need help?!” you repeated, incredulous. “Daryl, if you think I’m just going to—go pick out clothes and things for Holly right now after what just happened, you’re insane.”

He ducked his head.

“I almost got us both blown up!” you announced. You could hear the shake in your own voice. Tears suddenly burned in your eyes. “I almost got us both killed.” It came out as a whisper the second time.

Daryl’s brow furrowed heavily. “Ya didn’t know—"

“—that there was a fucking mine there?!”

Daryl nodded, his expression still serious. “Yeah. Ya couldn’ta known,” he said again. He could see you still trying not to go to pieces.

“Seemed like somehow you knew,” you said. “You were trying to stop me from going over there.”

“Nah,” he argued. “I just—the ground looked weird. I didn’t know it was a fuckin’ mine.” He winced a bit as he sat down on the couch.

“You tried to stop me from walking over there and I—I almost—” You swore under your breath and paced the length of the room before stopping in front of him again, your mouth dropped slightly open and your eyebrows knit together. After a moment, you pulled in a shaky breath, as deep as you could and then forced it back out. “Okay. Let’s take a look at how bad you are,” you said.

“What?” He watched your setting aside the packs now and starting to dig around inside yours. “Nah, s’nothin’,” he said.

You fixed a steady gaze on him. “Your whole back is bleeding,” you said. “You’re cut up everywhere. Whatever shrapnel was in that mine, some of it has made its way into you.”

“Well, what about yer face?” he countered, trying to redirect your attention elsewhere.

You brushed a hand carelessly over your cheek again and this time it did burn, but you ignored it. “It’s just a cut. It’s nothing. Now, come on. We have to get you cleaned up. I’m not leaving you like this to get some kind of weird... soil fungal infection or something,” you said, pulling more medical supplies out of your pack and looking at him expectantly.

“Soil fungus?”

“Yeah. That’s what I said. So, sorry. But I’m not going to stop being annoying until you let me help you.”

He shifted a bit uncomfortably. “I can take care of it.”

“How exactly are you going to remove bits of metal from your own back?” you asked.

“I wasn’t. But I can dump some alcohol on it and Denise can treat me when we get back,” he said.

You stared at him. “You want me to leave you like this for maybe 16 hrs? That’s plenty of time to kickstart an infection. And then, what, Denise is going to re-open the wounds in Alexandria and take the shrapnel out?” You clicked your tongue at him.

“Uhh—"

You shook your head. “Take your jacket and your shirt off,” you said. You slipped your headlamp on and walked back toward him, your little pack of medical supplies in one hand.

Daryl gulped. “Y/N, it’s—”

“It’s not fine, Daryl. Now, please, whatever reason is stopping you from letting me help you, I don’t care. Whatever it is, doesn’t matter. Okay? What matters is that we stop you from getting an infection and we make sure there’s nothing more serious going on that’s going to surprise us.” You studied his face for a moment and he watched your expression soften. “Can I help you? Please?”

He gulped one more time, his heart hammering in his chest. “Alrigh’... s’pose yer right,” he grumbled. He sighed as he pushed his bow aside on the coffee table in front of him.

First, he tugged his leather gear off, which included his signature vest. He caught sight of the bloodstains and tears in the leather as he went to lay it over his bow. His fingertips wandered over the rips for a moment. You were busy laying out the supplies.

“I have some alcohol and things here somewhere too,” you said, turning and disappearing into the other room.

Daryl listened to your quiet shuffling through items in the other room and he let out a nervous breath. His fingers went to the top button of his shirt and froze. He waged war with himself for a moment before he sighed again. Yer bein’ fuckin’ dramatic, he swore at himself. “It don’t matter. Aint’ a fuckin’ beauty contest... Yer hurt, ya idiot,” he murmured aloud.

Your head popped around the doorway. “Sorry? Did you say something?”

“Nah,” he said quickly.

You nodded but your eyes lingered on his face a moment. “Okay. Just a second. I think I’ve nearly found the right box with the supplies.”

Daryl nodded and shifted awkwardly in his seat. You disappeared again. He chewed on his bottom lip, fiddling with the top button of his shirt absently again for another moment and then he quickly started undoing them.

“Okay,” you breathed, stepping back into the room with a small box, staring down at the contents and moving around the room without glancing at him. “This should have everything we need—yes. Tweezers... bandages,” you mused, digging around inside the box. Your fingers flitted over the contents—sterile gauze and wrap, bottles of alcohol, hydrogen peroxide, butterfly bandages...

Daryl tossed his shirt down onto the table in front of the both of you and your eyes again landed on the blood soaking the fabric, staining the black cotton an even deeper color. And then they finally made their way up to him.

Daryl was chewing on his bottom lip and determinedly keeping his eyes fixed on his hands, which were fiddling with the bandana he always kept tucked in his back pocket, turning the fabric over and over and picking at a small hole in one corner.

Meanwhile, you were trying to process what exactly you were seeing on the man’s bare skin with your concussed and aching mind; thick ribbons of scar tissue crisscrossed his chest and shoulders, punctuated by angry round scars which could only be burns. If you hadn’t already been slightly nauseous from said concussion, you would have been after seeing the results of what Daryl had endured at some point in his life. It was wrong. It was entirely horrific and wrong. Who had done this to him? What had happened and when? Your mind was a racing blur. But you came back to yourself after a moment and, sensing his tension and unease, you hurriedly rearranged your expression into an impassive one.

You cleared your throat so your voice wouldn’t come out sounding constricted. “Let’s take a look at you,” you said, offering him a small smile when his blue eyes lifted and met yours. There was a vague look of surprise in them. You hadn’t said a thing about—about his scars. Not a thing. His heart was pounding still as you sank down beside him on the couch and directed the beam of your headlamp onto his back. You sucked in a hiss of air through your teeth. “Jesus,” you murmured, reaching for a bottle of alcohol and bag of cotton pads. “You’re cut up to hell,” you said, cursing under your breath as you doused a cotton pad in alcohol. “This will sting,” you said apologetically. Daryl was still as a statue as you began your work, dabbing gently at his wounds. Some were small nicks but others were ragged cuts which you suspected still had shrapnel and debris in them. You directed your headlamp onto one of the bigger wounds and could see a piece of something dark embedded there.

Daryl flinched as he felt your hand gently land along his bare skin.

“Sorry,” you said softly. “Can you hand me that saucer from the table?”

He leaned forward and grabbed the little plate, passing it back to you over his shoulder.

“Thanks. I can see something in this one. I’m sorry if this hurts,” you said.

“S’fine,” he said in a low voice. He held perfectly still as you carefully extracted a twisted piece of metal from his back, as large as half your pinky fingernail.

The thick bands of scarring were also on his back, and these ones were perhaps even worse than the ones you’d seen on his chest. He clearly was no stranger to pain and you felt a heavy knot form in the pit of your stomach.

You dropped the piece of metal onto the saucer and then reached for a washcloth out of the nearby box. “I’m going to pour some alcohol over your wounds,” you said. “I’m sorry but it’ll hurt.”

“S’fine,” he said again.

You paused and then raised the bottle to the level of his shoulder before pouring out a little of the clear liquid and letting it run down his back. You used the washcloth to wash his skin clean and dab at the wounds which began to bleed freely again. “Gauze, please.”

Daryl leaned forward and grabbed a little paper package of gauze from the box of supplies. He handed it back to you. “How bad is it?” he asked, raising his thumb to his lips and biting down on the corner of his nail.

“Nothing too serious. But there’s—” you paused to pluck another piece of shrapnel out from another wound, “—enough to be doing,” you said.

He nodded and his wavy hair fell forward. You gently taped some gauze over one of the larger wounds before continuing your ministrations. The silence was heavy between the two of you for several moments before you broke it again.

“I can’t just not say anything about what you did back there,” you said, grasping the edge of a tiny but jagged piece of metal and gently lifting it from the wound. You dropped it onto the small saucer and it made a tinkling sound as it joined the others.

“Mmm,” Daryl hummed. “Sure ya can.”

You couldn’t help smiling a little at his response. “Daryl—” You scooted forward again so you were beside him on the edge of the couch. He wouldn’t look at you, so you leaned down just a bit so you could look up into his face. You waited until his blue eyes met yours. “You saved my life by risking yours.”

He shrugged and pulled his bottom lip back in between his teeth and chewed on it absently. There was a beat before you sighed and turned your body in toward his again, scooting back to care for him again You were surprised when he spoke. “Whatever dumbass laid that mine dug it in too deep,” Daryl said.

You adjusted your head lamp and wiped the tweezers again with an alcohol swab. “Is that supposed to make what you did less heroic? You’ve known me for only a couple weeks and you—” You found another piece of debris and plucked it from his skin. “I honestly can’t believe you did that,” you whispered.

Daryl gulped. “Ya’ve got a little girl back in Alexandria.”

“And you have a whole family in Alexandria,” you said.

“Yeah, but half of ‘em are a pain in the ass most days,” he said dryly, drawing a light laugh from you.

“We both know you don’t mean that,” you said.

“Says you,” he growled. “Besides, they can take care of themselves,” he said, again fiddling with his bandana. “Ya almost done back there?” You were taping on another bandage over one of the larger cuts.

“Almost,” you said. He flinched as you tried to grasp another little piece of metal. “Sorry,” you said. Your hand landed flush against his skin again and it sent a chill of electricity running up his back.

He couldn’t suppress the shiver and you saw goosebumps rise on his skin. “Cold?” you asked, dabbing again at a small cut.

“Mm,” Daryl hummed.

You set aside the tweezers. “Nearly done.”

The next thing Daryl felt was your fingers combing through his hair. Another electric shiver ran up his back. He turned toward his right shoulder, trying to glance at you. “What’re ya doin’?” he managed to ask. You were focused and he was grateful because he felt like his cheeks were probably flushed pink.

“Checking your scalp,” you replied. Your fingertips brushed through his hair for another long moment and then trailed over his neck. There was a scrape there and you cleaned it gently with a little alcohol on a cotton pad. “There. I think you’re done. Unless there’s anything else?”

But he was already reaching for his pack and pulling a clean shirt out of it, hurriedly pulling it on. You sat forward on the couch again, beside him, close enough that your elbows bumped. You tugged off your headlamp and set it on the table. Daryl dug into his pack and pulled out a little camping lantern and clicked it on, setting it beside his crossbow. The warm glow illuminated the two of you in a warm pool of light at the center of the darkening room.

You began piling up the refuse from the used supplies and Daryl turned back toward you. You felt his blue eyes fixed on your face and glanced over, offering him a questioning look.

“Yer cheek,” he said. “S’a pretty big cut.”

You looked suddenly tired and shut your eyes for a moment as your head throbbed and a slight wave of nausea overtook you. Daryl watched your brows contract with tension for a moment.

“Hey—ya alrigh’?” he asked, suddenly worried.

You nodded and the nausea passed. “Fine. I just—I think I have a bit of a concussion, that’s all.” You stood slowly, trying to prevent your head from swimming and aching, and went to the mantle over the little fireplace with your headlamp. There was a mirror propped up there and you stood on your tiptoes to peer into it and inspect your cheek. Your skin was smeared with blood and the cut had an angry red outline around it.

Suddenly, Daryl was beside you. “Here,” he said, holding out an alcohol swab.

“Thanks,” you said, taking it. You dabbed at the cut, squinting from the alcohol fumes, cleaning the clotted blood away.

Daryl busied himself with the small stack of kindling and tinder set beside the fireplace. “S’pose we better just take it easy and spend the night if ya got a concussion,” he said, starting to pile wood into the fireplace.

You stepped away from the mirror and nodded. “It’s already getting toward dusk,” you commented, looking toward the dingy, vine-strewn window.

Daryl lit the scraps of paper he’d crumpled under the wood and the fireplace blazed to life. You turned to look at him as he straightened up.

You offered him a small smile again, the cut on your face glaring back at him. “Are you hungry?” _ _ _ _ _ _

You were happy to share a scraped together meal from supplies you’d left behind and Daryl ate the venison chili with abandon. “More?” you asked, grabbing his empty bowl. He dragged his sleeve across his mouth and shook his head.

“Mmm. Nah. ‘M good, thanks,” he said.

You disappeared into the kitchen with the dishes and he heard the splashing of water and clinking of the plates. He appeared in the doorway after a moment. You marked that he was still moving gingerly and wondered how bruised he would be the next day from your near-death experience. “Uhh—I can do that,” he drawled. “Ya cooked,” he said.

You grinned at him and his heart jumped in his chest. “I dumped previously canned chili into a pot and heated it on the fire. It’s not exactly cooking. Besides, you’ve done enough today.”

He ducked his head and shifted a little nervously.

“But you can go into the cupboard and get the bottle of whiskey out and pour me a glass,” you said.

His eyes shot up to meet yours.

“And one for yourself if you’d like,” you said, dumping clean water from the bucket over the last of the dishes.

Daryl paced over to the pantry cupboard and pulled it open. There, behind the rows of preserved foods, was a tall bottle of amber liquid. He nudged a glass jar aside and pulled it out. “Ya sure tha’s a good idea? With a concussion and all?” he asked you.

You dried your hands and turned to face him, leaning back against the sink. “Just one glass won’t hurt,” you said. “And I need it to settle my nerves to be honest,” you said with an abashed smile. “It’s not every day someone survives stepping on a landmine.”

He considered the bottle for a moment and then pulled two glasses down off the shelf. He poured a small amount in each and set the bottle down before handing you a glass.

“Thanks,” you said, accepting it and heading back into the living area, passing so close against him in the doorway your bodies almost brushed together.

Daryl swallowed hard at the nervous lump in his throat before following you back out.

You sank down on the couch and took a sip of your drink, letting the whiskey sit on your tongue for a moment. The alcohol was sharp and smoky and you closed your eyes as the burn made its way down into your stomach.

“So, this was yer place for a while before Holly got sick, huh?” Daryl asked. “How long were ya here for?”

“I don’t know exactly. I think about eight months,” you said.

Daryl took a big gulp of his whiskey and spun the glass in his hands. “And—before that? Did ya—were ya with people? A settlement somewhere?” he asked.

You considered the shades of amber illuminated by the fire in the grate for a moment. “There was a settlement a long time ago,” you said. “People we cared about. But then—we were alone a long time too.”

Daryl nodded and watched you take a deep drink.

You smiled and got up suddenly, disappearing into the bedroom Holly had been in when he and Aaron had first arrived. You returned with a small book and handed it to him. You sunk down close beside him on the couch as he opened it.

Inside were photos tucked away carefully behind plastic sheets. There was delicate handwriting with the dates on them and a smiling baby girl was prominently featured. She was clearly a newborn on the first few pages. Daryl set his whiskey aside and flipped farther into the album. A great many of the pictures were from before the outbreak and you were there with baby Holly, smiling from behind sunglasses or pushing her on a swing at a park.

“This is mainly what I wanted to come back for,” you said, looking down at the memories laid out before you. “Some things can’t be replaced,” you said with a soft smile.

Daryl kept turning the pages of the album and watched Holly grow before his eyes. He chuckled a little at how she seemed to have her mouth wide open in a squeal of joy or a laugh in every picture.

Daryl’s eyes crinkled at the corners and you felt your heart skip a beat in your chest. You finished your drink and set the empty glass aside.

Daryl looked over at you. His eyes caught on the cut across your cheek and for a moment he was seized again with the same fear which had overcome him when he realized what had happened back at that strange patch of earth, the moment before he’d thrown himself into you, desperately hoping it’d be enough. He paused and downed the rest of his whiskey and you watched him curiously as he did so.

He caught your eyes again. “Can I ask, uhh—what—what happened to her dad?”

You fixed your bright eyes on him and Daryl felt somewhat nervous under their gaze. “He’s been gone a long time. I don’t really know where or what happened to him. I mean, he left not that long after she was born.” You sighed heavily and Daryl could see that even now it still weighed on you. “He tried,” you said with a shrug, “for a little while but—some people aren’t meant to be parents.”

Your words struck a chord and Daryl wished he hadn’t just finished his drink. Instead, he just nodded. “‘M sorry,” he said.

You offered him a small smile. “Yeah. Me too. Mostly for her. Every kiddo deserves to have a caring father figure. But we’ve done alright on our own.”

Daryl nodded. “Makin’ it this long? Keepin’ a little one safe? I can’t imagine what ya’ve—I’d say ya’ve done better than alrigh’,” he drawled. He turned another page in the album and missed the warm look you were giving him.

There was a slightly darkening look passing over your face and the light in your eyes seemed to dim for a moment. You gulped and then nodded. “Right after the outbreak, we got put into one of those—those refugee camps that the army had set up everywhere.”

Daryl’s heart sank. He knew well that most of the camps were quickly overrun, ran out of supplies, or worse.

“Even at the beginning, I never felt safe in there,” you said, ducking your eyes and picking at the side of your thumbnail with your pointer finger. “I think somehow I knew that it wasn’t—it wasn’t going to last.”

Daryl didn’t press you. He just let you talk if you wanted to.

“The commanding officer of the army unit running the camp—he—he—” you broke off and your eyes squeezed shut for a moment. You let out a heavy sigh. “He... extorted us for—for whatever we needed—food, water, safety, sleep... And he knew all he had to do was threaten Holly to get what he wanted from me.” Daryl could still hear the deep sense of shame in your voice and it filled him with rage. When your eyes lifted again, they were full of tears. “It was a prison, in more ways than one. I would have left. I tried to leave but—” you shook your head. “There was no way out unless they wanted you out... And as the supplies started to run short things just got worse and worse.” A tear broke out onto your cheek and you hastily wiped it away and sniffled. “But I survived. And not a single one of those bastards ever touched her.” Now there was a low, rolling rage in your voice.

Daryl’s chest ached desperately. “‘M so sorry,” he drawled. “Fuck, ‘m so sorry that happened to ya.”

You gave him a sad smile and nodded. “Me too. Luckily, Holly was so little I don’t think she remembers much of being in that camp. Thank God... But I—I remember it like it was yesterday.” That faraway look grew in your eyes again and the only sound for a moment was the crackling and popping of the wood in the fireplace.

Daryl gulped, still feeling slightly sick to his stomach.

“Eventually the camp did get overrun. I still don’t know how we managed to make it out alive when the barricades came down. There was a big army truck they used to haul the—the bodies of the infected away from the camp to be burned or buried. And—and the people who died inside. Two of the soldiers managed to get to the truck and I took Holly and climbed in the back. We hid in the back of that truck full of death for I don’t know how long as the soldiers fled the city. It felt like half a day, but I don’t know... As soon as they slowed down enough, I slipped out. No way I was staying with those fucking monsters. It was better to be alone with Holly than with any of them. All we had was a pillowcase with our photo album, a half full plastic water bottle and a smashed up MRE.”

That deep ache was still in the middle of Daryl’s chest, but it felt like it was now expanding, pushing outward on his lungs. He ducked his head. “I can see why ya thought ‘bout shootin’ me and Aaron,” he said.

You let out a humorless laugh and sighed. “Yes. But you want to know something? By the next morning when I saw you both again, I knew you were safe. I just knew somehow. In the same way I knew that camp wasn’t.”

Daryl nodded and scratched absently at a non-existent itch on the back of his head. “Aaron and Eric are good people,” he said. “Most everybody in Alexandria are.”

Your brow furrowed deeply as you looked at him. “So are you, Daryl.”

Shit, he was starting to love the way his name sounded when you said it.

The two of you returned to the photo album for a time. He saw Holly’s first steps, first Christmas, first Easter basket... But then he soon found that all the photos had changed to Polaroids, though there was a significant gap in time, explained by what you’d just told him about being in the camp. The timeline had clearly shifted to after the outbreak. He suddenly hesitated and you studied his face. His mind seemed elsewhere. “Hmm?” you hummed in a question.

“Ya didn’t ask me,” he said.

“Ask you what?”

“About—my scars.” His blue eyes lifted to hold yours and you saw an overwhelming amount of vulnerability in them.

“If you had wanted to tell me, you would have,” you said simply, your eyes flickering between his. “You can tell me if you want to sometime,” you added. “But I don’t need to know what exactly happened to know that it was very wrong and that—that I’m very sorry it happened to you. And whatever it was, you didn’t deserve it.”

Daryl felt his throat grow tight again, but he didn’t look away. There seemed to be something magnetic keeping his eyes connected to yours for another long moment.

But finally, your eyes went back to the album and the spell seemed to break. You gently took it from his hands and closed it, setting it aside on the coffee table beside Daryl’s crossbow. “I think I’ve subjected you enough to my Mom bragging,” you said. “We should probably get some rest. It was an... eventful day,” you said. “My head is still aching.” You pressed a hand to it.

Daryl nodded and rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “Yeah,” he drawled. “You go on and get some sleep. I’ll stay on watch.”

You gave him a quizzical look and then crossed to the front door, bolting it and securing it with another latch and chain. You looked back at him over your shoulder. “We’re safe here, Daryl. We can both get some rest.”

He just stared back at you, his blue eyes unsure.

“Come on,” you said, tipping your head in the direction of the little bedroom. “You won’t even fit on that couch and there’s plenty of room. Besides, it’ll help me sleep if you’re nearby.”

He still hesitated.

You smiled warmly at him. “Please? Do me this favor? If anything happens in the night, it’ll be better to be close together, don’t you think?”

He couldn’t refuse that. He swallowed nervously and then stood, moving a little tentatively still from his injuries. He grabbed his crossbow and the little lantern off the coffee table and your smile widened.

“Thanks,” you breathed, leading the way into the bedroom.

You straightened the ruffled blankets on the bed and sat on the edge to start pulling off your boots. Daryl stood awkwardly just inside the doorway for a moment. The bed seemed suddenly very... prominent in the room and his mind started to drift.

“Do you have a preference?” you asked suddenly.

When Daryl looked up, you were unbuttoning your flannel shirt. “...huh?” he asked, his heart suddenly racing.

“On the bed. Do you have a preference?” you asked again, tugging your shirt off. He was staring at you, perplexed. You smiled and laughed a little. “Which side you’d prefer to sleep on, Daryl.”

“O—oh,” he said, ducking his head to hide the flush of heat to his face. “I’ll take this side, closer to the door.”

You smiled at him, no clue what had been going on inside his head. “How did I know you were going to say that?” you remarked. You moved around to the other side of the bed and tugged the blankets down, slipping underneath with a big sigh and adjusting the pillow. Daryl set the lantern on the side table, which was still littered with the evidence of your care for Holly when she was sick. He leaned his crossbow up against the side of the bed and then sat to pull his dirty boots off the way you had.

He could hear you shifting around slightly behind him. His heart was still hammering away in his chest. Get a grip, man. You’re just going to sleep. His heart didn’t seem to care. Finally, he settled down on the mattress, but laid on top of the blankets. He adjusted the pillow up behind his head against the bottom of the headboard so he was still slightly propped up. But he had to admit, that as soon as he laid down, he realized how tired he was and how much his body was aching from that explosion.

You had been lying on your back, but as soon as Daryl settled beside you, you rolled onto your side to face him. He reached over and adjusted the lantern light until it was barely a dim glow.

“I didn’t ask you about your family, before the outbreak,” you whispered.

Daryl shrugged. “I had a brother. He died not too long after,” he said simply.

You reached out and Daryl felt your hand landed gently along his forearm. His heart jumped. “I’m sorry, Daryl,” you said. Your eyes were sad when he glanced over at you. “What was his name?”

“Merle,” Daryl said. “He wasn’t a great brother all the time. In fact, he got me into a lotta shit and he could be kind of an asshole. But—he was still my brother, ya know?”

“Yes. Of course.” You hand slipped from his bare skin and he was surprised by how he mourned the loss of your touch. “You must have gone through some really difficult things together when everything fell apart.”

Daryl chewed on his bottom lip and shrugged. “I guess,” he drawled.

“I’m sure you did. We all did,” you said softly. The next moment you sighed and closed your eyes. “Goodnight, Daryl.”

He dared to glance at you again. The cut on your cheek was still glaring, but you looked peaceful there beside him. “Night.” _ _ _ _ _ _

It was early the next morning when Daryl awoke due to the incessant chirping and singing of birds outside. He was surprised that he had slept deeply through the whole night and for a moment he forgot that you were lying beside him.

He quickly remembered when he felt the weight of you very close beside him. You seemed to have shifted closer in your sleep. There was barely a few inches between your body and his. You were still sleeping peacefully and Daryl tried hard not to move and disturb you. He found himself studying your face closely, tracing the shape of your lips and the slope of your nose all while a glow of heat started in his chest. He still marveled at the fact that you trusted him enough to sleep beside him, despite knowing him for only a short time. Especially after what you’d told him the night before. The same wash of rage surged upwards as he thought of what you’d endured just to keep your child safe and to stay alive. This world was sick... Then he thought back to how you’d patched him up, how you hadn’t said a word about the marks on his skin and that glow of heat in his chest grew hotter.

You shifted and stretched a bit in your sleep, pulling in a deep breath and then sighing it out slowly. Another moment later, and your eyes blinked open. You pushed yourself slightly up on the palm of your hand when you noticed Daryl was awake. “Hi. Good morning,” you breathed. Your hair was slightly tousled from the pillow and Daryl found the effect unreasonably charming. “Have you been awake long?” you asked.

He shook his head. “Nah. Only a couple minutes,” he drawled.

You nodded. “How did you sleep?” you asked.

“Good. Pretty good actually,” Daryl said.

“Me too.” One of your hands came to press into the side of your head though and a slight wince crossed your face.

“Ya alrigh’?” he asked.

You nodded. “Yeah. Just—bit of a headache. How are you?”

“Fine,” he drawled. “Though I ain’t been outta bed yet, so we’ll see,” he added with a small laugh. You liked the sound of it and smiled back at him.

You sat up and swung your legs over the edge of the bed, stretching a little. “I suppose I should get the supplies together so we can head back. Hopefully Aaron and Eric aren’t too worried.”

“Nah. We told ‘em we didn’t know if we’d be back in a day or not,” Daryl said, copying your action and starting to pull his boots back on. When he bent over to grab the first one, his back lit up with pain and aches. He froze. You noticed.

“Daryl? Are you alright? Is it your back?” you asked, worry obvious in your voice.

“Just a bit sore,” he said, moving again as his muscle protested.

You sighed heavily. “Fuck, I’m so sorry,” you said, coming around the bed to stand in front of him. “Let me do that.”

“I can put my damn boots on,” he argued, but you pushed his hands away and knelt down in front of him, your expression troubled.

“Just let me, okay?”

Daryl bit the inside of his cheek. “Ya should quit apologizin’. It ain’t yer fault.”

“I’m the one who stepped on the damn thing because I can’t ever just let my curiosity rest,” you countered, tying the laces of his second boot.

“Ya didn’t know.”

“I’m still sorry,” you said again, looking up at him.

“Don’t be,” he said. There was plain regret in your bright eyes and he wanted more than anything for it to be gone. “I’d do the same thing again,” he said. “Ain’t even a thought.”

You shook your head, standing in front of him again. “Daryl—you’re—” The air felt thick with electricity all of a sudden. You searched for the right word.

“Reckless?” he joked. “Tha’s what Denise is always tellin’ me.”

You sighed. “That’s not what I was going to say.”

Daryl’s courage failed and he ducked his head. “Let’s get what ya need together so we can get home, yeah?” he murmured.

You nodded. “Yeah. Okay.” The electricity seemed to evaporate as you turned to the task at hand.

Daryl stood, moving hesitantly as his body protested again with deep aches and the occasional sharp jab of pain. “Why dun you pack up what ya need in here and I’ll heat up some of that instant coffee and something to eat?”

“Okay,” you agreed. You watched him disappear into the other room, wondering at how you felt each bit of distance between you as it increased. Uh oh. This was all quite... new. You hadn’t felt this spark of something since perhaps before the outbreak.

A short time later, you were folding the last of Holly’s clothes and tucking them into your bag when Daryl returned with a steaming mug of coffee and a bowl of oatmeal for you, topped with apple butter. “Thanks,” you said, greeting him with a wide smile that had heat flushing into his face again.

“I ain’t gonna lie to ya... I may have eaten half the jar of that apple stuff before it even made it onto the oatmeal,” he admitted, sinking down to sit on the edge of the bed.

You laughed. “It’s really good, right? Holly and I made it last fall. We collected as many apples as we could.”

“Yeah. It’s fuckin’ delicious. I dun think I’ve tasted somethin’ like that since before the fall,” he said.

“I’m glad you like it,” you said, wrapping your hands around the warmth of your mug. “Take as many jars as you’d like back with us.”

Daryl rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “Thanks,” he said. “I wonder if Aaron eats apple butter. He hates applesauce.”

You laughed. “I know. He told me that! Who hates applesauce?”

You both ate together in comfortable silence and sipped the warmth of the earthy coffee before you continued packing some items, for yourself now. Daryl sat on the bed, waiting to see if there was anything he could do to be useful... but he certainly wasn’t going to start digging around in your clothing drawers. His face flushed again at the thought.

“Oh—I forgot I had this,” you said suddenly. Daryl looked up to see you holding up a bright sundress. “It’s silly, isn’t it? Having a sundress in the apocalypse.”

Daryl was realizing at that moment how fucking much he’d like to see you in that... It seemed to signify safety and comfort. If you were wearing a dress, it was because you were safe, and he wanted that for you, perhaps wanted to be that for you and Holly. “I dun think it’s silly,” he drawled in a low voice. You looked over at him.

“No? It’s not exactly practical.”

“Maybe not outside of the walls. But inside?” He shrugged. “Why not?”

You smiled at him. “Are you telling me you have a tuxedo back in Alexandria?” you teased him.

“Pffft. Ya couldn’t pay me in enough apple butter to wear a goddamn tuxedo,” he murmured, causing you to laugh.”

You looked back at the sundress. “So, you think I should pack it? It’s not a waste of space?”

He shook his head. “No. But ya should do what ya think is best,” he said, standing up and collecting the empty dishes before disappearing through the doorway again.

You held the dress up in front of you again and your eyes wandered over its bright and cheerful pattern. It looked like hope. So, you folded it carefully, and tucked it into your bag.

_ _ _ _ _ _

Excluding a burst of rain, the ride back to Alexandria was blessedly uneventful. Your arms stayed snugly around Daryl the whole way and he could tell you were trying hard not to lean against his injured back. The stains on his jacket and the little rips from the shrapnel tearing through the leather and into him glared at you the whole way back.

His bike was loaded up with a bag of items for you and one for Holly, along with a third full of miscellaneous supplies. It felt strange taking items out of that little house. You had spent almost more time there than anywhere else since the outbreak. But when you looked at Daryl waiting for you on the little porch as you stepped outside, you felt in your gut that you were making the right decision planning to stay in Alexandria for a while.

Soon he was slowing and you could see the high walls of the Alexandria Safe Zone rising ahead. Rosita waved him in after she pulled the gate open and Daryl offered her a nod before turning the bike toward Aaron and Eric’s place.

Stopping in the driveway, neither of you were even off yet when the front door opened and there were Aaron and Holly. You grinned at them as Holly burst outside, running down the sidewalk in her bare feet. “Momma!” she called happily. Aaron stepped out after her, a wide smile on his face.

Daryl helped your climb off the bike and you quickly undid the chin strap of the helmet and handed it to him just in time to intercept Holly’s running hug. “Hi my love,” you cooed, wrapping her up tightly in your arms.

“Momma, I missed you! Uncle Aaron and Uncle Eric helped me build a fort!” she announced proudly as she hugged you.

“They did? Is it the best one ever?” you asked her, pulling back so you could look into her face. She nodded eagerly and then her eyes went to your cheek.

“Momma, you have a big ouchie,” she said, her expression colored with concern. “What happened?”

“Just a little accident. I’m totally fine,” you said. You glanced up and caught Aaron’s eyes and the smile on his face had faded to concern.

“Want a kiss to make it all better?” Holly asked.

“Oh, yes, please,” you said, beaming at her. She leaned in and very gently kissed your cheek. You tugged her into a tight hug again. “Thank you, my love. It feels all better,” you said, straightening up. She grinned at you. Daryl was busying himself with unloading the supplies off his bike. His back was stiff and sore after the ride and you scolded him. “Daryl—stop! Let me!”

“‘M fine. I got it,” he countered.

“What did you bring from our old house?” Holly asked.

“Some of your favorite clothes and books,” you told her. “And some of clothes and things for me. Some food to share. Maybe you can take your bag in and unpack it into our room?” you suggested. “It’s not too heavy,” you said, handing it to her. “I’ll be right inside. Maybe Uncle Eric can help you?”

“And then can I show Daryl my fort?” she asked.

“Is it big enough for me?” Daryl asked, his blue eyes crinkled at the corners in a smile.

“Mmm,” Holly hummed, thinking about it as she sized him up. “I dunno, but if it’s not we can build a bigger one!”

“Sounds like a plan,” Daryl drawled.

Holly grinned and happily grabbed the little bag of her items and ran back into the house, shouting for Eric when she reached the threshold. You smiled.

“How’d it go?” you asked Aaron. “I hope she wasn’t too much of a handful.”

He shook his head. “Not at all. Although... we may have let her stay up a little later than normal,” he admitted with a sheepish smile.

You laughed. “That’s what uncles are for,” you said.

Aaron’s expression grew serious again. “I can see you’re both a bit hurt. Should I get Denise?”

“Maybe for Daryl, to check him over,” you said, glancing at him as he stopped beside you, your bag of items slung over his shoulder.

“Nah,” he said quickly, shaking his head. “Y/N patched me up yesterday.”

“That’s a pretty good cut on your cheek. What happened?”

You and Daryl reflexively exchanged a glance. “Well... Daryl saved my life,” you said quickly.

Aaron’s brow furrowed more deeply. “Yeah. He does that,” he said, shooting a look at the archer again. “What was it this time?”

“Oh, I just stepped on a landmine,” you said casually, picking up the remaining bag of supplies.

“What?” Aaron asked, his eyes widening. “Where? Who—”

“Pro’bly the same person who dug that pit. It wasn’t too far from there,” Daryl drawled.

“Oh my God!” Aaron rushed to hug you first and then grabbed Daryl into a hug too before he could protest. “How are you standing here?!”

“Like I said, Daryl saved my life.”

Aaron shook his head, his eyes still wide and at a complete loss of what to say. “You two must be exhausted. Come on inside,” he said. You both followed him up the walkway. “Eric will want to hear all about it.”

You recounted the trip as Holly played in the blanket fort happily, paging through the books she had missed. Daryl was reserved as you explained how he’d thrown himself into you to get you out of harm’s way and how he’d shielded you from the worst of the blast.

“It should’a been worse,” he said at the end. “Whoever set that mine there didn’t know what they were doin’. They dug it in too deep,” he drawled.

“It’s—it’s unbelievable,” Eric said. “Who was putting mines out there in the woods?”

“Dunno,” Daryl drawled. “Dun care to be honest.”

Aaron sighed heavily and tried to release the tension he’d been holding. “Thank God you’re both okay.”

You nodded and looked at Daryl one more time. Your expression was unmistakably soft and Eric and Aaron exchanged a covert glance.

“Want to stay for dinner?” Eric asked the archer.

Daryl stood. “Nah, I should get back and check in with ev’rybody. Get cleaned up.”

You nodded. “Yeah. I can hear a hot shower calling my name too,” you commented. You caught Daryl’s eyes again. “I’ll walk you out,” you said.

Daryl gave Eric and Aaron a final wave and started back up the hallway to the front entrance. You trailed behind him and caught him by the sleeve as he pushed out the glass door onto the front step. He turned back with a questioning expression on his face.

“Gimme your jacket,” you said.

“Huh?”

“It’s stained and needs to be repaired from, you know, the explosion...”

“Oh, s’fine,” he said glancing down. “Ain’t a big deal.”

“Daryl. Gimme the jacket,” you laughed. “It’s literally the least I can do.” He nodded and pulled it off, placing it in your outstretched hand. “Besides, this way you have to come back and see me soon,” you said with a satisfied smile. His ears and cheeks flushed slightly pink. “Thank you. For everything,” you said.

He nodded shyly and was about to turn away again to head home, but you suddenly stepped close and threw your arms around his neck, hugging him tightly, your body flush against his. He was so surprised that he stood there frozen for a moment, but then nervously looped his arms around you and hugged you back, his heart pounding. “Thank you,” you said again. “You’ve gotten me home safe to Holly twice now.”

He was too nervous to find his voice and when you let go a moment later it felt too soon.

“I’ll see you soon, Daryl,” you said, giving him a warm look.