GIVEN TO FLY [Daryl Dixon]

XXV.

"Mornin'," he replies, shedding the filthy gloves on his hands and shoving them into his back pocket. "Hey, I got a lot to do today, I don't think I'm gonna make it on that run. Would you mind takin' my spot?"

"'Course not," she tells him, though when she thinks about it, she can't think of anything around the prison that might need his attention so urgently as to keep him there. And there is a strange, mischievous glint in his eye that she has never seen before. She doesn't like it. Not one bit. Still, there isn't a favour she wouldn't do for Rick. "I'll just get something to eat and get myself packed."

"Thanks, Misty." He claps her on the shoulder with a smile that she easily returns.

"Any time." They part ways, and Misty makes her way over to where Carol stands at the grill, cooking up breakfast for everybody.

The older woman gives her a warm smile as she approaches, as she does every morning. "Good morning, Misty."

"Good morning, Carol," she greets in return. Carol is quick to load up a plate with meat and hand it to her, to which she gives her friend a sincere thank you. She then takes a quick scan of the courtyard, over each table, looking for the person which she shares every meal with.

Unsurprisingly, he's nowhere to be found. Everyone in the prison loves Daryl, with him having brought most of them in, and it's a little too much for his taste. He cannot stand their constant adoration and never ending thank yous, and has stopped eating at the tables in the courtyard to avoid them. Which leaves her, every morning, searching for where he has decided to hide for the day.

With a defeated sigh she turns her gaze back to Carol. "Hey, Carol, have you seen—"

"He's around that corner," Carol interrupts, nodding over at the nearby corner that would easily shield him from the prying eyes of the others. "Got ambushed by Patrick thanking him for the deer and ran off right after." Her friend shoots her a smug, knowing grin, and adds, "go get 'im, tiger."

"Stop," she groans with a roll of her eyes and a dismissive wave of her hand as she leaves Carol and starts toward where Daryl is. Every morning, it's been the same thing. She comes down to get breakfast, Carol insinuates she might have some. . . feelings for Daryl, and she leaves to find him with an eye roll, though her cheeks heat up as she does.

Today is no different, and as she rounds the corner, she hopes he doesn't notice.

If he does, he doesn't say anything. She rounds the corner to find him standing against the wall, eating the meat off of his plate and watching the walkers at the fence. He wears a different version of the same outfit he wears everyday — jeans, a plaid shirt, and his vest — and she tries her best to be sure her gaze doesn't linger on his forearms, where his sleeves are rolled up to the elbows.

When he sees her he seems to straighten a little, and a smile nearly takes his lips entirely upward. "Morning," she greets, as she does every day, with a soft smile.

"Mornin'," he replies with a simple nod of his head. She settles in next to him, leaning her back against the wall and looking out at the field and the walkers beyond. Once she is relaxed, he allows himself to lean back into his previous position.

"You're going on that run today?" She knows for a fact that he is. There is scarcely a group that leaves for a run without Daryl at the head.

"Yep," he says, nodding, mouth full of food muffling his words. "You goin'?"

She is. She has already agreed to it. But she can't help herself and the smirk that comes from her easy smile. "You want me to?"

He only shrugs. "Who else is gonna get my back?"