broken claims

Part 29

"We don't know what the situation is yet."

"How the hell don't you know the situation?" Daryl snapped. "I left and she was fine. Where is my daughter?"

"In her room. Leigh won't come out. I tried getting the story but she won't say anything. All I know is some kid went after her first and she nearly killed him."

He took the stairs two at a time. Leigh wasn't violent for the sake of violence. A closed door blocked his path and he nearly broke it by knocking. "Open up," he ordered roughly. "Now."

Nothing. For an awful moment he worried she had used her reclusive nature to run away, that Rick wouldn't be watching for the signs of a girl used to taking off to keep her from going. But Leigh's voice finally came, coloured in defiance, unwilling to comply. "No."

He almost snapped and called her Rosalie. Using her full name in reprimand was instinctive. But he held back on the impulse and rattled the doorknob. "Swear to Jesus Christ, Leigh. I'm giving you five seconds and you best be opening up this goddamned door. You think I'm playing games out here?"

Beth's softer voice said something but Daryl couldn't make out the exact words. His mind was full of the awful memory of finding her in the hospital, hurt and hurting, small enough that the blood looked so much worse.

It was foolish luck to try twisting the knob again. The lock still held it's place. "Leigh," He snarled at nothing at all.

"You're gonna be fucking pissed."

"I'm already fucking pissed."

More silence.

His patience was brittle. It was on the verge of snapping, on the verge of twisting on his heel and stalking back down the stairs and onto the streets and finding the other component of the situation. "Leigh Dixon."

"I don't want you mad at me," Leigh finally admitted from the other side, voice cracking.

"Just open up before I take this door off the hinges. Do not keep testing me, kid."

A minute passed. The lock clicked as it was forced back. He opened the door and saw his daughter standing there with her face half turned away in a weak attempt of deception. Daryl took her chin carefully and forced her to look him in the eyes, dark marks forming along the side of her face. "I don't want you mad," she repeated again, managing maintaining his stare.

But the phrase had shifted. She didn't want him mad at her, and she didn't want him mad at all.

Unfortunately his rage came up all the same.

"Who did this?"

She tried pulling out of his reach but Daryl fastened a grip onto her arm, holding her so he could map out the bruises. "It doesn't matter. It's over."

Someone hurt something that was his. Daryl still remembered holding Leigh for the first time after she was born, small enough to barely weigh more than a wish in his arms, his blood to keep safe. "You're gonna give me a name, Leigh. And I'm gonna go deal with this."

Leigh wavered. He could see the indecision in her gaze. "You can't. I don't want you to."

"Do I look like I give a shit?"

"Please, I'm asking you let it go."

Daryl let her go. He turned on his heel and stormed down the stairs, intent on hitting the street and tracking down the guilty party. If Leigh nearly killed whoever hurt her, he could only assume the person was recovering at the clinic. He would start there first and follow the trail of blood to the name he needed.