TWD- Little Heart Of Iron

44. Passing Time.

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It was the next day, and even more people had gotten sick. Glenn and Sasha were sick. So was Lizzie and at least a dozen other people. Even the prison's Doctor, Dr. S, had gotten sick. Their only hope of getting better now was with the help of Hershel. Daryl, Michonne, and some others went on a run to get medicine.

Since Blake wasn't sick, she still had stuff to do. Her chores usually consisted of farming, washing dishes, or keeping her cell clean depending on the day.

Before the outbreak, Blake had similar chores, aside from the farming part. George wasn't exactly the cleanest or most productive person to live with. If he couldn't take care of his daughter, he definitely couldn't take care of himself. By the time Blake was five, she was the one responsible for keeping the how clean. No, not just her room, the entire house. Good thing the house wasn't all that big.

Now, she was cleaning up her cell, which had been more dirty than she'd like to admit. There were comics sprawled across the floor, a notebook and some colored pencils laid out on her bed, and a small pile of clothes in the corner of the small space.

After she organized and tidied her space, she moved on to tending to her gun, which she also hadn't done in a while since she had no reason to use the weapon.

Aside from the spreading sickness, the prison had been the safest place for them so far. It was safer than the farmhouse, safer than the CDC, safer than anything at that moment. When Daryl first told Blake she wasn't allowed to walk around with her gun and knife anymore, she was skeptical. What if the Governor returned? What if walkers overran the place? She needed something to protect herself in case one of those things happened. That was the reason she eventually convinced Daryl to let her keep her bow and arrows on her.

As she cleaned the grim from her gun with an old cloth, she heard footsteps approaching her door. She knew it wasn't Daryl because he was on a run, and she knew it wasn't Carl because he was out farming with Rick, so it must've been Elliot. As always.

"Hey," Blake said, her tone neutral as she glanced up at him for a quick second before turning her focus back on her gun.

"Uh, hi," the boy said awkwardly as he sat down next to her on her bed. "What...what are you doing?" He asked, not knowing what else to say.

"Cleaning my gun," Blake said monotonously. "Do you just hunt me down every time you're bored?" She asked.

"What? No," Elliot said, his tone slightly defensive. He looked away, his cheeks turning red as he silently called himself stupid.

Blake glanced over at the boy, huffing out a small chuckle. "I was joking," she informed.

"I know you were," he lied. "Whatever, I came here to ask you something," he said, looking back over at the girl.

"Okay," Blake said, setting her gun to the side. She didn't know why Elliot always came to her for answers to his questions. Did she think she was the smartest kid in the world? Sometimes she didn't mind it, though.

Elliot sighed, fiddling with his fingers subconsciously. "I'm worried about Glenn," he said. "Because he's sick just like the others, and I know some of the others got so sick that they died. What if Glenn-"

"He's not gonna die," Blake interrupted, her tone certain. "Not that easy. I've been with him longer than you have. He's tough. I mean, seriously...one time he pulled a fat walker out of a well and almost fell in with it. He came out alive and the walker came out ripped in half. He ain't gonna die from a stupid flu."

"I'm glad you think so," Elliot said, looking down at his hands for a brief moment. "And I hope you're right."

"I am," Blake said. "When have I ever been wrong?" She asked.

"That time you told me that worms tasted like shrimp and then made me eat one," the boy chuckled softly, Blake echoing after him.

"Okay, that was one time," she said. "But seriously, he'll be okay. Hershel's helpin' everyone now. He's a good doctor,"

Not but a few moments later Hershel arrived at her cell door. It seemed a lot of people wanted to see Blake today.

Seeing the older man in the doorway, Elliot took that as his cue to leave. He stood up and gave Blake a small wave. "Bye Blake, Bye Mr. Hershel," he said before walking past Hershel and out of the cell.

Hershel gave his usual warm smile to Elliot before turning back to Blake. "Quite a nice young boy, isn't he," he said, walking further into the cell.

"He's somethin', alright," Blake scoffed. Hershel chuckled.

"Well, either way...I'm just here to check in. Are you feelin' sick? Any symptoms?" The old man asked, sitting next to Blake and feeling her forehead with the back of his hand.

"No. I feel fine," Blake shrugged. "Maybe I'm immortal. I wish I was."

"Don't we all," Hershel agreed. "No coughing? Sneezing? Do you feel too cold or too hot?"

"No, no, and no," Blake answered. "I do feel sorta bad, though. Watchin' everyone around me get sick while I'm still fine," she said.

"Don't feel bad. One less person being sick is quite a good thing. Just make sure to stay in this cell block, or outside where there's more fresh air," he said, raising his eyebrows as he stood up.

"My dad said the same thing."

"Well, then, your dad is a smart man," he smiled. "Now, I've got to go check on the ill people. You keep yourself outta trouble," he warned gently before leaving her cell.

•

It was late at night when Daryl stopped by Blake's cell after he'd returned from the run with Maggie and Bob. They were able to get medicine just as they planned. Blake was fast asleep, of course, bundled under her thin blanket.

Daryl had secretly prayed to whatever God he believed in that Blake wouldn't get sick, and his prayers worked. He's seen the damage the sickness caused to adults, so imagine a little girl getting that sick. She'd die for sure. But here she was, sleeping peacefully as if she had no care in the world what was happening outside of her dreams.

And there he was, grateful that he was able to kiss her goodnight again.

•

Author's note: Writing a short chapter because I have free will >~<