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Ahh, the sun was out, the weather was fair, and it was a fine afternoon. Beauty is not something you'd expect to find in a zombie apocalypse, but the forest surrounding Hershel's farm was a delightful exception. I mean sure, if it weren't for the fact that you had a large gash in your leg and you were bleeding out quite quickly, it would have been a lovely day.
Not ten minutes ago you were strolling through the forest, stepping on sticks and leaves under the gentle sunlight that peeked through the branches above, walking with your temporary partner for the day... Daryl Dixon. While his attitude could use some work, he was intelligent, and an absolutely brilliant tracker and survivalist. You were lucky to have someone who you knew wouldn't panic under a tough situation... unlike yourself.
The two of you had paired off to look for Sophia for the afternoon. Why weren't you back at the camp washing clothes or cooking food or just pulling your weight? Good question. You were an interesting one, and by interesting I mean bad at just about everything. You'd manage to make clothes dirtier than before, your food sucked and really the only thing you could do was stab things in the face with some (read: very little) skill. But hey, that's better than nothing.
Your search for Sophia had yet to prove successful. Quelle surprise. It had been quite a while, and you did doubt the little girl's survivability. You thought almost everyone did, but no one would outwardly say it - it would break Carol's heart. Daryl, however, displayed a curious amount of confidence when it came to finding that poor little girl. It was admirable, because he spent a lot of this time looking for her, and his disappointment was clear when he could see that others didn't have as much faith and drive as he did.
Your relationship with Daryl was not special in any way, he treated you like any other member of the group; with distance and the occasional 'git yer ass into gear bitch' type pep talk. You could tell he was a broken man, but it wasn't a subject you'd ever believe anyone would discuss with him. He was smart, you'd give him that, but someday he'll have to accept that he, nor anybody else, would not survive long in the apocalypse alone.
What got you into this rather painful situation was a battle with a large group of walkers. Nine or ten of them - at this point you didn't care because they were double dead and you were hurting - were together in a group. A little odd, seeing as they were usually in pairs and easy to handle. You weren't good at shooting, not at all, so you used a machete as your weapon of choice were caught off guard during the struggle (which Daryl single handedly dealt with while you were busy hurting yourself) and fell on a reasonably sharp and large branch that had fallen off of a tree. It made for a fair sized wound on your calf and to be frank, it was upsetting.
With your ass situated on the ground, you stared at the cut with a distressed look. You were glad the zombies were dealt with, but the amount of blood pumping out of your leg was alarming and not to mention quite painful. You tried to cover it, but damn that shit hurt! Your hands were quickly covered in red and you couldn't bring yourself to put pressure on it. Daryl quickly reacted to the situation with a level head, but that didn't stop you from panicking. He rummaged through your bag to find a bandage, and bat your hands away to fix your leg. When it finally hit you, all of the pain and just the situation you were in, you began to cry. It wasn't loud, or messy, but just tears of an upset girl who was hurt and scared.
"Quit your cryin'. Nunna that," Daryl said in a less-than-comforting manner. When you moved your hands to wipe your tears away, the blood on your hands really became apparent. You dropped them to the ground before sobbing a bit more. You might as well just die now. Not only were you crying in front of Daryl, which was embarrassing in it's own right, but you couldn't even wipe the tears off of your face. Life was hard.
You watched his hands for a few moments, before you became lightheaded. Your breathing became heavier and white spots covered your vision. The last thing you remember was the thought that ran through your head about how your legs were hairy because you hadn't shaved in weeks. How embarrassing. Your torso fell back against the ground and Daryl could tell you were out cold.
"Well, shit," he swore, finishing up the hasty first aid job on your leg. He looked around momentarily, before looking back at you. He groaned before attempting to pick you up. He threw you over his shoulders and picked up his crossbow and your bag. Fantastic, this was exactly what he needed today. It wasn't enough that you were next to useless but he had a long list of things that went wrong specifically because you were there. Another thing he had a long list of were things he could say to you that may or may not kick your ass into gear and perhaps get you to pay attention to your surroundings, or to not cry like a fuckin' pussy, or-- he decided not to linger on it, and began the journey home.
---
Dale noticed the two of you first, and brought it to the attention of everyone else. A few people ran out to meet you, ready to take you off of Daryl's shoulders, but first asking the usual questions. What happened? Were there zombies? Was anyone bit? U ok?
"Stay close, Daryl," Dale advised, as the other man was about to retreat. His job was done, but he figured he'd humour the old man.
"Why?"
"She might want to thank you when she wakes up."
---
When you woke up, your head hurt almost as much as your leg. You could remember what happened with little difficulty, but maybe it would have been better if you just forgot. Lori popped her head in to check and see if you were okay, to which you replied with a quick nod before asking where Daryl was. She said he was outside, waiting for you.
Woah okay there wait a sec. Daryl was waiting for you? Daryl don't wait for nobody. Was something up? Did something happen? You sat up and slowly made your way out. Lori said your leg wasn't that bad, there was just a lot of blood at first. When you tried to walk, she was right when she said it wasn't that bad. Sure you've got a bit of limp and running might prove difficult but it's nothing you, a strong, undramatic woman, couldn't handle. You thought of crying in front of Daryl and almost started up again. No more thinking.
Sure enough, he was outside and waiting. But it's not like he was right there, he was a decent distance away from the tents and people in general. Even so, you hobbled over to him at a leisurely pace. You called his name when you got closer to where he was sitting, and he looked up at you with his usual look of neutrality. He stood up as you got closer.
"When they said you were outside waiting for me, I didn't expect you to be half a mile away," you said as an offhanded complaint about how he made you walk quite a ways to reach him with an injured leg.
"How's... how's your leg," he asked, looking at the bandage that was considerably less messy than the one he put on you.
"It's fine, I guess. Not that bad," you smiled a bit, "Um, Daryl, I just wanted to," you paused. Talking was hard work, especially when it was with someone who wasn't notorious for his people skills, "thank you, I guess. I wouldn't be alive if it weren't for you."
"I did what anyone else would've," he answered, looking anywhere but at you. You stopped once again, before gently touching his arm. He pulled away quickly, but you began to speak before he could abscond.
"That's where I think you're wrong. There are people here who might have left me. You know how damn useless I am, Daryl. If you left me there, it might have been better for the group. I can't clean, I can't cook, I can't shoot, and I can't kill walkers without getting myself hurt," you gestured to your leg, "point and case. The fact that... the fact that you helped me without thinking," you had to fight back your tears. It was hard not to weep, but you continued, "I think you deserve some recognition. I needed you and you were there. I think we all need you and it is comforting to know that you can be counted on."
He could only look at you for seconds at a time before his eyes darted elsewhere. Then back, then away. Your heart began to beat fast, the exciting feeling you got when you were about to do something stupid was imminent and you weren't thinking straight. There was a long period of silence, somewhat awkward, before you grabbed him and gave him a hug. It was light and gentle and you didn't want him to think you were keeping him there. You expected him to push you over and scream at you right away, and you knew if you asked beforehand he'd say no. Instead of tearing you a new one, he just froze. His muscles went rigid and tense, and it sounded like his breathing stopped. You could feel his heart pulse with your face pressed up against his chest, and your arms thrown around his torso. There was yet another gap of noiselessness. You didn't want to like, do that thing where you held on for too long and that made it weird, so you were about to pull away and apologise when you were trapped in the tightest most painful hug you had ever experienced.
You let out an ugly noise as your lungs were compressed and all you could do was pat his back lightly. This was a weird situation where you didn't want to let go because holy fucking hell you were hugging Daryl without the death penalty but you didn't think you could keep this up for much longer without fainting again. Your brain was assaulted by thoughts, as all of this was bewildering and you really didn't expect any of this to happen in the first place because it was all a heat-of-the-moment type thing. You were pulled from your mind when you felt his forehead on your shoulder and the wetness of what seemed to be-
You pulled back with a little force. You looked him right in the eyes and gave him the warmest smile you could make. You began to tear up as well, grinning as he tried to hide his face, his feelings, with little success.
"Look, you've got me goin' too," you said softly as you wiped your cheeks off.
"Don't you tell anyone, damnit, don't you dare," he tried to sound as threatening as possible but it really wasn't working for him. You laughed, "Of course not. Can't have that on your record. You've got a reputation to uphold, what with all these people carin' about you."
With one last display of affection before you left him to stew in his emotions for the day, you gave him a soft little peck on the cheek, and it took all of his might not to pull away. You felt that was a good note to part on, and you limped away with a smile on your face.
You knew that it wasn't about you and him. It was about how he needed that hug and he would remember you for it. Maybe someday he wouldn't flinch at your touch, or speak so harshly, and maybe, just maybe, you'd get to dote upon him again.
He felt bad for thinking ill of you when he carried you home. Other than that though, he was left with a jumble of feelings that ranged from sentimental to confusion. He didn't know whether or not to hate you or thank you, but let's hope for the latter.