Red ~ TWD (Daryl Dixon)

Days Like This

It'd been one day since the endotracheal tube was removed from my esophagus, or in layman's terms Hershel yanked the plastic tube out of my throat.

It'd been two days since my life-threatening fever receded warranting the removal of my IV, or in layman's terms Hershel yanked the needle out of my vein.

It'd been three days since I nearly drowned in my own blood, or in layman' terms almost died, no Hershel required, thank god.

"Should be restin'." I glared at my brother-in-law, drumming my fingers against my leg and tapping my foot in a nonsensical pattern. "Just sayin'."

The sick were still being held hostage in A block as a precautionary measure. The medication Daryl brought back did wonders to beat back the majority of the symptoms from the virus, but everyone recovered at different speeds. Unfortunately for me my body moved at a rate that impressed Hershel and Bob, but also made them skeptical I could fall victim to a relapse.

After only 24 hours of antibiotics, fluids, and pain relievers flowing through my veins I felt like a new woman. Now, 72 hours later, I was liable to claw my way through the concrete walls with my bare hands. If I was forced to stay locked in the cellblock for another 24 hours I was using the leftover Drano in the next cell to make a bomb and blast my way out. For the sake of our already paltry defenses Hershel and Bob's better remove the isolation protocols.

"How did you get in here anyway?" I asked.

Daryl and Maggie had risked exposure before anyone could stop them three days ago. However, after the initial walker infestation in A block was dealt with, and Glenn and I were stabilized, the first order of business was setting up a nearly impenetrable roadblock barring anyone from entering. Yet here was Merle, lounging on a cot, fiddling with his stub like he wasn't sitting in a deadly petri dish.

"Please," he scoffed, crossing his ankles and getting comfy. "I ain't nobody's bitch."

I rolled my eyes at the all too familiar retort even though it wasn't surprising. Only a Dixon would think you could avoid microscopic germs with nothing but sheer willpower. The power of positivity I guess. I stood up, pacing back-and-forth in agitation.

"Where did Neytiri go?"

In the three days since I refused the call to go towards the light my husband hadn't left my side. For the first 12 hours it was because he was the only thing standing between me and the light. He squeezed the plastic bag attached to the tube in my throat like clockwork every five seconds. He staunchly refused to relinquish the task for even a second, not even to Hershel. I worried he might pass out from pure exhaustion and kill me inadvertently, but he never wavered. As seconds morphed into minutes then transformed into hours he held vigil, eyes locked on my face like I might suddenly disappear out from under him, pumping precious oxygen into my lungs. It wasn't until Hershel deemed me well enough to breathe on my own that he slept for a few hours, right beside me.

Merle's eyes flicked to me briefly then immediately away making the hair on my arms stand up like the room was suddenly charged full of static electricity. My pacing halted and I turned around to face him. I raised my eyebrows slowly and he coughed awkwardly, shifting uncomfortably under the scrutiny. His eyes bounced around the cell like a hyper toddler as he tried and failed to appear nonchalant. He was hiding something.

"Merle," I warned. The elder redneck sat up, running an exhausted hand through his almost non-existent hair, and my gut clenched in unease. Whatever it was, it wasn't good. "Tell me."

"Rick asked me to find him."

He kept his voice light, a pathetic last ditch attempt to keep me calm, but it was too late. There was only one reason Rick would want to talk to Daryl and we both knew it.