ELEANOR . NEGAN

107.

She didn't know why, or how, or what the fuck was going on, but her mind fogged as soon as she saw Daryl. Maybe there was a moment of remorse and sadness... I mean, she just killed his apocalyptic love. But there was none of that.

Daryl's eyes softened, then widened, then they blurred over in pure anger and narrowed at Leah's dead body. A second — a single second was all he spent running his eyes along her lifeless body before focusing back on Eleanor.

"Where the fuck yur shirt?"

Elle gasped, "What the fuck?" She got up carefully (although her legs felt like jelly and she still didn't have enough oxygen reaching her brain) before failing her arms about. "That's your first fucking question?!"

Daryl silenced himself and forced a gulp. He looked staggered and perplexed and she wondered for a moment if she looked as bad as she felt.

"Ya look like shit."

That answers it.

"Thanks, Captain Fucking Obvious." Eleanor stumbled towards the nearest wall to rest her head against, breathing in harsh air. "I feel like it."

Daryl quickly rested his AR against his shoulder and walked over to her. He was urgent but careful. "What happened?"

"You didn't see it?" He shook his head. "Probably- probably for the best."

Daryl scoffed at that and then she felt uneasy. It was weird. Daryl looked clean and sharp, his hair wasn't tangled and he was wearing clothes that wasn't ripped or deteriorating. Healthy, if anything... he looked healthy.

Yet, he stared back at her and saw the complete opposite. Drying blood was all over her from the top of her head (where it matted into her hairline) and down her neck (where the bruises that soon formed would be hidden) with blood along her bare knees and shins. Her face was cut open — a busted lip and a bruised jaw mixing with Leah's blood.

And then when he looked back at her eyes, they were drawn stuck at Leah's body. There wasn't a drop of remorse but Daryl didn't blame her for that. If anything, she looked rather sad.

"Ellie."

That was a name she hasn't heard from him in too long. She gingerly looked up and let out a ragged breath.

"I thought I got out of it." She whispered, her knuckles hurting and her wrist uncomfortable. "I- I didn't fight or kill anyone in seven months." Then she scoffed. "Should be a world record for me."

Daryl didn't respond but he shrugged off his jacket and carefully rested it along her shoulders. Then he took a step back and scanned her for any life threatening injuries.

"Yur wrist." He nimbly bit at the corner of his lip. "Is it bad?"

"No." That could be a lie, she didn't know. It was hard to tell if her dizziness was from loss of blood or from being choked within an inch of her life. "If it doesn't stop bleeding in ten minutes then I'm doomed."

"She got ya artery?" He sounded fumed.

"Cheap shot." Elle coughed.

Daryl stood still and wondered what to do. It wasn't like he could do much. She had her bleeding under control and she was regaining her oxygen but it was horrifying. The cave was one thing, the Whisperer's another, the Reapers was mental... but this?