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She’s been back at Hilltop, back at home, for a few days now and still has yet to feel the magic of being back in her own bed start to wear off. She isn’t even tired. But she’s full from dinner, God she missed that feeling too, and warm and curled up on her bed. Her friends are close, even if she can tell from the way the light on the other side of her eyelids changed when Kelly and Magna left her alone to rest. Everyone is safe. Everything you need nowadays to relax.
She isn’t sure how much time has passed when she sees the light change again. Easily an hour. She forces her eyes top open and her body to sit up, knowing that she’s rested long enough that they probably need her help with something.
But no, it isn’t Kelly or Magna or Yumiko. Daryl stands just in front of the now closed door to her trailer and offers her a small wave when she sees him. Though she already has since being back at Hilltop they haven’t had more than a few minutes to catch up. She deflates a little bit with relief that they finally can before she waves him over and makes room on her bed for him to sit next to her. Since the five of them all share one trailer there isn’t exactly anything to sit on other than beds.
He does and hands her a small open notebook. That’s new. Normally she has to provide the paper. She makes sure to look impressed as she takes it from him, eager to read the message. She missed his handwriting like hearing people miss voices.
You doing okay?
Connie nods and offers him a thumbs up before writing her reply. Never better. How are YOU?
It’s a question he doesn’t like to answer truthfully. And she can tell he still doesn’t want to when he brings in and lets out a deep sigh as he reads it. Better now.
Everything OK?
He hesitates again and Connie wonders how he’s going to brush off her worries. And if she’s going to let him or not. But to her surprise when he starts to write he keeps writing. Writes more than he usually does. She wishes that writing wasn’t harder than talking, she wants to hear every last word he has to offer.
Things with the Whisperers are getting tense. Keeping me busy. Kept me from looking for you as much as I wanted to.
She’s blushing. What is she, twelve? She feels like it sometimes, mostly when she catches these little glimpses of Daryl beyond the facad.
But facad doesn’t feel like the right word, and since words are her thing she must find the right one. A facad would imply that what most people see from him is some kind of lie. But it isn’t. He really is that stoic and cutthroat and hot headed and stubborn.
But he’s also a great uncle and dog dad. No one else may have but Connie’s noticed Dog getting a bigger meal than him once or twice. He’s a brute but he’s sweet and considerate and funny.
Looking for me? Please. You know I can take care of myself.
He laughs. She doesn’t often think much about hearing, but she wishes she could hear that. He spins the pen between his fingers a few times and she swears if she reached over and touched the side of his head she’d feel the gears turning. I know. Still. I was worried.
She starts to write out that he has nothing to worry about but he shakes his head and takes the notebook from her and crosses out what little she had scribbled out. I knew if you were okay you’d make it back. But I didn’t know if you were okay.
Connie surrenders the argument, nodding and putting one hand on his arm while she takes the notebook from him again. Not easy. But I wasn’t alone. You’re not getting rid of me that easy.
He smiles again, and while it’s only been a minute or so she still misses it. Especially since it had previously been much longer. Promise?
She makes no move to grab the notebook, instead looking back up and mouths the word back to him while signing it. Promise . He mimics the motion a few times until she gives him a thumbs up of approval.
Since they’re sitting side by side it’s all too easy for her head to fall on his shoulder and his arm to drape losely around her. She isn’t sure who instigated it, and maybe there isn’t an answer. Maybe it just happened. Either way she’s glad, and either way it feels right.
Once again, she isn’t sure how much time passes before Daryl starts writing something out. Surely it isn’t hours this time around. Though she hopes it will be.
I’m staying at Hilltop another day.
She looks up at him, a silent question in her expression that he nods yes to.
Spend it with me?
Her face hurts from smiling at these words on the paper, stricken with schoolgirl feelings she thought had been lost for good once the dead started walking. When she first met Daryl she thought it was just her brain getting excited at seeing a good looking guy that had the patience to communicate on terms easy for her. Before the apocalypse this would have been the bare minimum. But at the time it had felt like some kind of blessing.
It still does. Because surely, after everything she’d managed to survive in spite of her disability (ugh- it’s such a clinical feeling word), the possibility of her finding anything close to love on top of it all would rely solely on miracle.
Thought you’d never ask.