Self Inflicted

45

We've been working at rebuilding Alexandria for weeks after everything that happened. Daryl and I have been working on things, trying to get better at communicating. But, I'm talking about Daryl Dixon here. We know how that works. 

"Where are you guys headed today?" I sit on the edge of the disheveled bed, slipping into my boots. 

"Don't know. Rick has the map," he's shrugging his leather vest over his shoulders. I stand up and close the distance between us. He's getting better with the whole affection thing, at least when we're alone. I'm not sure how many other people really know about us. Obviously Carol, Michonne, and I'm sure Rick too. 

I wrap my arms around Daryl and he returns the favor, I hold on for a little longer than normal. "What?" he can tell. He's learned me pretty quickly. 

"You don't usually go this far out," my voice is slightly muffled by his shirt. 

"So?" he scoffs.

"So, you better come back," he grabs my shoulders and lightly pushes me off of him but doesn't remove his hands. 

"I will," he nods. I can't help but smile at him and he shoots me a look with a smirk. He side-steps around me and goes to leave but I turn quickly after him.

"Nope!" I grab him by the back of his neck and kiss him deeply. I pull away and step back, "Now you can go." He scoffs at me but he obeys. 

-

I spent most of the day doing checkups and I even went out of my way to take a look after little Jude. I told Denise I would close up shop for the night after doing inventory and it got late but I finished. Closing the door behind me, I made my way out onto the street back toward our house. It's dark and the night is starting to get humid, the air is sticky. 

There's a grunting sound coming from down the street, from the direction of the front gate. Squinting, I make an attempt to recognize the scene in front of me. Two men, carrying a third, limp body. 

Not any two men, Rick and Daryl, but I can't make-out who they're carrying. They're huffing and hauling him up the stair onto Denise's porch. I jog over and stop short of the stairs. "Who the hell is this?" Denise's door swings open, she looks tired and disheveled. 

"Sorry to wake you up," Rick apologizes hoarsely to the woman. 

"Who is this?" Denise gestures to the man that Daryl is still supporting from under his arms. 

"Come on, man, he's heavy," he puffs air out. "Oh, that thing, uh, didn't work out," Daryl mumbles quietly to Denise and I shoot him a look of question that he ignores. "It's this assholes fault. Sorry." They drag him into the house and onto a bed, I crowd beside him and Denise does on the other side. I feel his pulse, strong and normal. The man wears a black trench coat, gloves without fingers, and has a dark beard cascading down his face. He looks neat and trim, long hair matching his beard. Even his clothes look quite clean, all things considered. Rick and Daryl mumble to each other behind us and Denise looks up at me, peering past her glasses. 

"Go home, I'll take care of him," she nods. 

"Are you sure?" I ask sincerely. 

"Yes, go," I tell her to let me know if she needs something but decide to leave. Daryl stands on the front porch, peering into the darkness engrossing the town. 

"Hey, ready to go?" I ask breathlessly. 

"Nah, I'm going to watch over him tonight. Til' someone can takeover in the morning," his voice sounds tired. 

"Daryl, come home. You sound exhausted," I reach out and place a hand on his bicep. 

"I'm 'ight. Go get some sleep," he leans forward and plants a whisper of a kiss on my head. Turning, he heads back into the house and I watch him leave.