Last One Standing ~ TWD Daryl Dixon

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Jo

That night I was in the cell block. It was late and cold and I knew I needed to get cleaned up and go out to the guard tower. But I was tired and feeling raw and I didn't want to be alone. I sat out on the steps while everyone was getting ready for bed. Daryl gave me a sad smile and made his way to Beth's cell. I had asked him if he wanted me to tell her, but he only shook his head.

I could see them talking from here, though they were speaking in hushed voices. Beth looked at him impassively as he told her. She nodded her head and looked down at her journal, carefully setting her pen down. Her movements took on a jerky tension as she moved deeper into her cell. Than she gave him a sad smile and returned to her bed, rolling onto her side to face the wall. I felt bad. She had really cared about Zack.

Daryl stepped out into the dimly lit cell block. Seeing me on the stairs he made his way over.

"Hey," I said in a gentle voice, though I didn't look up from my bloody hands. They burned something awful and I was sure I had shards of glass in them from when I went down. I let out a shaky breath as that memory went over me. I really thought my luck had run out today.I looked up at him.

"Hey." He replied. He frowned down at me then and very gently took my wrist in his hand, lifting my hand closer for inspection. I tensed, it already hurt. He glanced once at my face but I couldn't read his expression. Then he tugged lightly on my wrist pulling me to my feet. I stood hesitantly, I was sore and didn't want to move. But when Daryl pulled me up the stairs I followed willingly. He brought me into his cell.

He reached over and lit a small lantern. I hadn't been back up in Daryl's cell in months. It was the same it always was. Neat, but not necessary tidy. There were extra weapons piled up here and there, and arrows tucked into a homemade quiver hanging off the top of the bed. He motioned for me to sit on his bed. Then he turned back to the door and fumbled with a bit of rope before the sheet that covered the cell doors dropped into place, giving us privacy. Then he turned back to his shelves across from the bed and pulled out a familiar flannel shirt and some shorts. He tossed them on the bed beside me.

"Put those on, you smell like a liquor store. I'm gonna get some stuff to clean your hands." And he left me alone in his cell.

I gingerly unzipped my jacket and pulled it off. The leather had protected most of my hide from the broken glass and had absorbed most of the wine. I began the slow process of unbuckling my shoulder rig and taking it and my belt off. I set my knives and gun in a pile beside his old ones. My t-shit was still alright but I had sweat in it. Honestly, once I saw the flannel shirt, my flannel shirt, I just wanted to curl up in it. I pulled off my boots, dropping them on the floor and shimmied out of my soaking, sticky jeans.

I sucked in a breath as the fabric grazed my thigh. Kicking them aside I looked down to see a small gash on the outside of my thigh. I hadn't noticed though thinking back I was pretty sure it was where I landed when I hit the ground. I tried to get a good look at it but couldn't. I was going to have to have someone check it to make sure there wasn't any broken glass. I heard Daryl's nearly silent tread on the steps and quickly snatched up the flannel pulling it on over my bra and underwear. I was just buttoning the last button when Daryl stepped back in. He quickly looked away, a blush climbing its way up his neck.

"Sorry," he said quickly.

"It's fine," I promised him. "You can look."

He turned back to me, still looking uncomfortable. I stood in the middle of his cell wearing nothing but his flannel shirt which came down to mid-thigh. He motioned to his bed and I arched a brow, smirking at him.