Daryl Dixon knew something was wrong the moment he arrived at the gates to Alexandria.
For they opened with ease and precision as the people behind them rushed to get them open quickly for his return.
The sun had begun to set along the horizon behind him, and the last of the sunlight shown across the pavement in warm rays of gold. And the sunlight hit the feet of all those waiting for Daryl as the gates closed behind him.
Rick stepped forward, his face ashen as he approached the redneck hesitantly. The others stood behind him, silent and still as they waited for Daryl to hear the news.
"Daryl," Rick begins with a sigh, and Daryl tensed at his tone.
"How bad is she?"
Rick doesn't even need to say her name. He doesn't need to tell him she's been hurt, Daryl already knows. For he feels it... Like a punch to the gut. The part of himself that Daryl had given to her suddenly feels less somehow, and with that growing ache he knows without question or validation from Rick that something is wrong.
Daryl tightens his grip on his crossbow that is slung over his shoulder, as he waits for the answer. His knuckles turning white from the pressure and his feet shift his weight back and forth as he waits uncomfortably.
Rick's eyes lift to meet Daryl's awaiting blues, and with a shake of his head, he responds. "It's bad."
And that's all Rick can say before Daryl takes off down the street. His heavy footsteps carrying him further away from the group gathered and closer to the house she had begun to call home. And as his heart begins to beat with a rhythm that threatens to destroy him, he can only hope he isn't too late.
* * * *
Darkness surrounds you. Only a dim candle lit sits on the bedside dresser, it's flame flickering. Thin lines of orange illuminate the walls around you in the bedroom that once held such light. But the darkness is all you can handle right now, the light hurting your eyes as weakness takes over your body.
A loud thud sounds from the floor below, and listening to the stomps of footsteps on the steps, you close your eyes. Daryl... He was home.
And with a rush of air, the bedroom door bursts opens. The pale wood door almost hitting the wall he swings it open so harshly. The light from the hallway pools into the room as your eyes open to see Daryl standing in the doorway.
He doesn't have his crossbow with him; a rarity these days. But you suspect the weapon lays tossed somewhere on the couch downstairs as he stormed into the house and up the staircase. His hair is sweaty and strands stick to his skin, but its nothing new. And nothing that you haven't learned to love about his appreance. But the fear, clear as day in his eyes, that is something that shakes you about his sudden presence.
Squinting at Daryl as the pale light of the hallway grows too harsh, he soon picks up on your struggle. For his back turns and you hear the clasp of the door. Darkness engulfing the both of you in a tense hold as candlelight bathes over the redneck and the bed you lay in.
Daryl doesn't move once he turns around to face you again, his blue eyes still bright in the shadows. He stands there, his feet planted in the hardwood floors as his eyes burn holes up and down your body.
Swallowing a lump that had grown in your throat, you speak up and make the first move in the silence. "I hate that you had to come home to me looking like this."
