Zedler, M.D. // Daryl Dixon

Chapter Thirty-Eight: Laughter

•thirty-eight•

Beatrix

"How is he?" Rick asks as soon as he sees me.

"He's awake," I smile. "But he isn't feeling well, so you can't talk to him today. You'll have to wait until tomorrow."

"All right," he nods.

"I came out here to get him some food. Do you know where I can find some?" I ask, looking around the room when my eye catches the little corner with all of the items that you could have bought from here before. New toothbrushes, deodorant, soap, etc. "Never mind."

I walk over there to see that there's a fridge/freezer duo, along with a shelf of canned food, bags of chips, and candy bars. The freezer items are ruined, but the rest of the food should be good. I bring the little place to Rick's attention before I pick out a few things to take back to Daryl. There's definitely not a lot of food here, but it will help feed the rest of the group. Plus, I know we all secretly miss junk food.

"Don't bother us for the rest of the day, okay?" I whisper to Rick. "Unless you really need me, we need to be alone."

"All right," Rick says, patting me on the back as I walk away to my trailer.

I scramble through the containers until I find a bottle of Ibuprofen. I pocket it and make my way back to my room with Daryl. When I get there, he's sitting on the bed, smirking up at me with a book in his hand. I pop open the Ibuprofen and hand him one pill, motioning for him to take it.

"You still have that?" I raise my eyebrow, dumping the mound of junk food on the nightstand.

"Of course I do," he says, letting a smile tug at his lips before swallowing the pill. "Read to me?"

"I will before we go to sleep. Did you know that it's only like three o'clock?" I ask, gesturing to the sliding door that leads to the tiny balcony. "It feels a lot later than that. I would have guessed like nine or ten."

"More time for sulking," he jokes as I hold up two candy bars.

"Snickers or Tiwx?" I wiggle my eyebrows.

"Damn, tough choice," he shakes his head. "But I've gotta' go with Twix."

"Good because I wanted the Snickers anyway," I stick my tongue out as I throw him the Twix. I unwrap the Snickers, taking a bite, "It's kinda' stale though."

"Twix is too," he agrees, taking a huge bite out of both sticks at the same time.

"You're the worst kind of person," I say, sitting down on the computer chair so that I can sit right in front of him. "You eat both sides of the Twix at the same time."

"Sorry I wasn't raised to be a pristine spoiled brat," he grunts. "I ain't that fancy."

"Whoa, calm down," I hold my hands up defensively. "I was joking. We're supposed to be sulking, anyway, not being pissy."

"Sorry, Trixy," he apologizes, reaching out to put his hand on my knee. "I'm just tryin' not to take out all of my anger on you."

"I understand. It's totally fine; let it all out. For the rest of the day, you're allowed to do that," I smile at him. "It's just you and me anyway, and I'm not going to judge you or hate you."

"Somethin' ain't right," he mutters, shaking his head.

"What do you mean?" I question, genuinely curious to what he has to say.

"How did I get you?" He asks, looking up at me through his lashes. "Hear me out, Trixy. You're the definition of perfect. You're smart, kind, and you're everythin' that I'm not. I mean, I'm as fucked up as they come, and you choose me? Somethin' 'bout that just ain't right."