Survivor - TWD (Daryl Dixon)

Chapter 34 - First Time Again

Nelly

Daryl grabs my hands, his grip firm yet gentle, helping me stand from the bed in the infirmary. My leg protests immediately, a sharp ache shooting through it, but I bite back the grimace.

"I'm fine," I say for what feels like the hundredth time today. My voice is laced with impatience, but I know he's just being careful. Still, I can't help but roll my eyes.

"Yeah," he mutters, unimpressed by my insistence. He doesn't bother with a lecture, just slips his arm around my waist, steadying me as I shift my weight off my bad leg.

Together, we make our way out of the infirmary, the cool afternoon air hitting me as soon as we step outside. The fresh air feels good against my skin, even though the soreness in my muscles doesn't let me fully enjoy it. I breathe in deeply, savoring the small bit of freedom after being cooped up for so long.

"So... did I miss a lot?" I ask, breaking the silence between us. I already know some of what happened: Rick killed Pete, Pete killed Reg, and Noah... God, Noah. His face flashes in my mind, and I quickly push it aside. But it still feels like I missed so much more.

Daryl's voice breaks through my thoughts. "Brought this guy back, named Morgan. He knows Rick."

I nod, remembering that name. It takes me back to when Michonne, Carl, Rick, and I went on a run back at the prison. Morgan was out of his mind, grieving. He tried to kill both Rick and me. Thinking back on it, it feels like a lifetime ago, like another world.

Daryl guides me into the house. It feels strange, being back. The air inside is quieter, too quiet compared to the chaos I just left behind. He helps me up the stairs, his hand gripping mine firmly as I favor my leg. I'm leaning on him more than I want to admit, but the soreness has settled deep into my bones.

When we reach our room, I let out a long breath and sink onto the bed. It's like the weight of the world is finally off my shoulders, at least for now. Daryl moves to the dresser, rummaging through my clothes like he's done it a hundred times. I watch him, a small smirk forming as I take in his broad shoulders and the way his hair falls over his face.

He turns and catches me staring, raising an eyebrow. "What?"

I shrug, my smile widening. "I feel like now that I know he's gone—really gone—it's like I can finally breathe again. I can finally move on." The words feel lighter coming out than they have in years.

I stand, though it's more of a limp, and close the distance between us. His eyes flicker with concern, but I grab his hand and squeeze it. "Thank you," I whisper, my voice low and grateful.

He doesn't say anything, just watches me with that quiet intensity. I take the clothes from his hand and head to the bathroom, feeling a sense of calm wash over me. 

I quickly finish my shower and make my way downstairs, gripping the railing carefully, mindful of my leg. My shoulder aches, but the real pain comes from my leg. As I approach the kitchen, I hear murmurs of conversation. When I walk in, I spot Daryl and Morgan sitting at the kitchen island, eating. Their conversation dies the moment they see me.

Daryl stands without hesitation, giving up his seat so I can sit. He quickly grabs a bowl and starts fixing me something that looks like mac and cheese. I keep my eyes on Morgan, studying him. The last time I saw him, his eyes were wild, filled with pain and madness. Now he seems calmer, more grounded, but I don't trust it.

Morgan smiles, trying to break the tension. "Nelly, right?"

My gaze narrows slightly. He's different now—too different. I remember him as the man who tried to kill me. "Yeah," Daryl answers for me, leaning against the kitchen island next to where I'm seated.