Daryl's Angel: Saviour (Book Two)

Chapter 8: Negotiation

Tyreese and Sasha go back outside to search the grounded escape vehicle while Daryl, Rick, Noah, and I separate the cops, tying each of them to separate posts around the warehouse floor. Rick talks to Lamson about Dawn, about the plan for getting Beth and Carol back.

The other two are quiet, albeit the big guy (Noah tells us his name is Licari) still seems agitated from his arm wound. The woman, Shepherd, just sits quietly with a defeated look on her face.

"Hope," Daryl murmurs.

We're far enough from the cops that they shouldn't overhear, but I'm determined to keep my tough-bitch facade going for as long as possible. Daryl touches my arm, searches my face, and I purse my lips.

"I'm fine," I say, keeping my voice low. "You didn't get bit, right?"

"Course not," he says. His voice sounds rougher than usual and I lean closer, reaching to check his throat for bruising. He tilts his chin up, letting me look. "I'm fine, too." I bite the inside of my cheek, still examining him, but it's hard to see bruising through the dirt and soot marking his skin. "You keep surprising me, angel face."

I exhale, darting a glance at our hostages. They aren't looking at us, aren't paying attention, and I blink hard as some of the mask breaks. "I thought I was gonna be sick," I whisper.

He squeezes my arm and I let my hands drop to his chest, lightly brushing his shirt. I tried, and I hope he knows that. I hope he knows that it took everything in me just to fire that warning shot and that, even though tackling a Claimer to save him felt like nothing, I was more terrified by the power of the weapon in my grasp.

We look towards the door as Tyreese and Sasha return, and I pat Daryl's chest lightly before moving off to them. They have a few crates full of supplies from the van and I squat next to Sasha.

"Any bandages?" I ask.

She purses her lips in thought as she digs a bit, producing a small emergency kit. "Anything in here?"

I check it. It's your basic emergency kit: there's a needle, suture thread, gauze pads, and medical tape. I slide my backpack off my shoulder and take out my kit, claiming their supplies for my own, but some guilt returns. I know they have a hospital, a doctor, and that they can get more, but...

I sigh as I get to my feet, taking my newly-stocked kit with me as I go back across the floor to Licari. Tyreese is helping him drink water and I stop next to him as he stops drinking. Tyreese leaves.

"I can patch you up," I say, keeping my tone deadpan, disinterested, maybe a bit annoyed. "Are you okay with that?" Licari's brow furrows in distrust. I don't blame him, and my instinct is to apologize, but I force it all down. I roll my eyes. "Look, I don't want Dawn being all pissed that we hurt you, alright? I'm gonna patch you up."

"Fine."

I move to his side and set the kit down, reaching for the tear in his sleeve and checking the cut. It's shallower than I expected, just a graze. In fact, it looks like my bullet did more damage to his sleeve than his skin, but I'm glad. I hurt him as little as possible and still helped Daryl. Best case scenario.

"You won't need stitches," I tell him.

I take an alcohol pad from the kit, ripping it open and pushing the material aside again. I catch how his facial muscles flinch when it touches the cut and, again, I bite back an apology. No apologies. No niceness. No...being Hope.

I slap a gauze pad over the cut and tape it in place in a neat little square. I pack the kit up in silence, putting it back in my backpack, and I stand up as I fix him with another uninterested stare.