Chasing Amy (Daryl Dixon/The Walking Dead)

Chapter 57 - Breakdown

Amy was looking between the two, her cheeks red. He exhaled softly, his lip twitching as she squinted up at him tiredly.

"We should let her rest," Hershel said slowly, as Carol pulled her hand away. "And Carol, you could use some rest, too..."

Daryl nodded, and stood from the wall.

"You'll watch her?" He asked as he grabbed for his second crutch.

Daryl didn't answer, moving to push Hershel's chair out of his way, before slowly lowering himself down onto the mattress beside her legs.

He watched the way she followed him with her eyes, before looking back up to where Hershel hesitated by the door.

"Give me a holler when she wakes again..." Hershel smiled shortly, before turning out of the cell on his crutches.

Carol lingered, her eyes scanning Daryl's from where she stood by the cell door. With one short, thankful, nod, she left too.

As soon as the two were gone, Daryl turned his head back to Amy.

Her legs moved under the blanket as she looked up at him. Her hair had been let loose, and he just now realised how long it was, in all of its messy glory.

Daryl noticed the way it clung to her clammy cheeks, tangled against the porcelain pale colour of her skin.

He hesitated for a moment, before leaning forward to brush her sweaty hair from her face.

"Close your eyes," He said under his breath, her hooded eyes tiredly blinking up at him.

Amy didn't have the strength to reply, but her expression immediately changed from her groggy state, to a timid recoil.

She moved her head to the side, deciding to look at the wall opposite her bed, eyes unblinking.

Daryl silently looked towards the open barred door, wondering if he should call Hershel back, who was better suited to deal with the situation at hand.

He felt as though someone else should've been watching her, as the man clearly had no idea what to say to the clearly unnerved woman.

Amy looked back at him, and immediately the thought left his mind, when he saw the apprehension in her eyes.

"You ain't got nothin' to be afraid of," He said slowly, his voice a quiet rasp.

Her tongue swiped down to lick her lower lip, her eyebrows furrowed as she closed her eyes for a moment.

"Amy." Daryl murmured, "You don't have t' be afraid anymore."

He inhaled slowly, eyes narrowing as she reopened her eyes and stared up at him.

And Daryl sat at that bed, his elbows resting on his thighs, his face buried in his hands.

He sat there long after Amy fell into a reluctant sleep, listening to the sounds of her slight breaths, the sounds of the blanket shifting as she tossed in her place.

His eyes clenched shut as he yawned into his palms, having barely slept at all for the past four nights himself. 

There was just no way for him to describe the sense of relief that had coursed his body when he saw her in Rick's arms... Exhausted and feverish but alive all the same.

And for an hour or two, he sat on the end of her bed, his breathing slow and his head heavy.

He sat there, mind blank, lips tight, until was a movement from behind him, the shuffling of the blanket as Amy's leg brushed his back.