Rosie was trying hard not to think about Tara, or Mrs. Johnson, or the fact that she was sitting on a table in the medical trailer and Siddiq was more than likely about to tell her bad news. Daryl was standing by her left shoulder while Siddiq was by her right shoulder, pulling her collar down to examine the wound.
After a few moments, Siddiq sighed and released her shirt, taking a single step back. "Yeah, it's messed up pretty bad. The wound reopened," Siddiq explained. Rosie looked down at her shoes and Daryl pinched the bridge of his nose. Siddiq began pulling things out of drawers, but Rosie wasn't quite sure what they were for just yet. "I'm gonna have to stitch it up, or I don't know if it'll heal correctly," he said, placing a needle and thread on the table next to him.
Suddenly, Rosie felt like throwing up. "No, no, no, no. We can use somethin' else. Like bandages or- or- or medical tape or somethin'," she said quickly, her voice higher than she meant for it to be. She did not want to get stitches ever again in her entire life. It hurt like hell when Patricia had done it back on the farm, and that was only a cut on her leg. This was a bullet wound on her shoulder. She wasn't sure if that'd make it more painful and difficult, but she assumed it would. Plus, she didn't have her velociraptor toy with her this time. It was upstairs, probably hidden somewhere beneath the covers of the bed she had been sleeping in.
"We have to do stitches," Siddiq said regretfully. Rosie wanted to scream at him, but she didn't. She just kept shaking her head. No, no, no, no, no. She was not getting stitches.
"No. I said no, so you can't," Rosie said. She knew that wouldn't work. If she needed stitches to get better, there was no doubt they were going to give her stitches. Even if it was against her will. They'd hold her down if they had to.
"I'm sayin' yes, so you're gettin' 'em," Daryl said. He sounded very exhausted. He had every reason to be. It was the middle of the night and he'd just been running around killing walkers, and now he had to deal with the stress of Rosie freaking out over getting stitches. He'd seen that girl kill people, but she cowered in fear when faced with a needle. Back at the CDC, at the farm, and now here. She'd been held over the side of a building in Atlanta, and she still kept her composure. It seemed like she had no fear, back then. Maybe she was just more comfortable expressing it, now that more time had gone by- now that she knew it was ok to show fear.
"I don't want 'em," Rosie insisted, shaking her head once again. She made her eyes extra wide, hoping her trick would work, even if it had to do with her physical well-being.
"Nah," Daryl said, shaking his head. Rosie's trick hadn't worked this time. That was unfortunate. "Just sit still, let him do his job," he said. Rosie huffed out a sigh of complaint and anxiety, scrunching her face up. She felt Daryl's hand on her good shoulder, squeezing it for a moment before dropping his hand down to the table, next to Rosie's. "It'll be over 'fore ya know it."
Siddiq finished sterilizing his supplies. He'd been doing that the whole time, despite Rosie's protests. He must've known that he was going to give her stitches, even if she didn't want them. He gestured towards her shoulder. "I'm going to need your shirt out of the way. Just halfway, so I can get to your shoulder easily," Siddiq said.
Rosie hated this part almost as much as she hated the needle poking through her skin. Siddiq had already seen it. He'd treated her wound before she had even woken up, and she had woken up in a different shirt than the one she was wearing when she was shot. Even if he wasn't there when her shirt was switched out, he had seen it all. From the marks on her back to the circles on her collarbones, Siddiq had already seen it. Rosie knew that. So why did her stomach hurt so bad? She ignored the feeling, carefully removing her arm from her sleeve.
"Do you want me to count it down or...?" Siddiq asked, the needle and thread in his hands.
"I'll be able to tell when ya start," Rosie muttered. Of course, she'd be able to tell. Did he not know that?
"I'm sure you will," Siddiq chuckled light-heartedly. "It's just to ease your anxiety."
"Don't count her down. She'll just freak out," Daryl said.
"I won't freak ou- oh, fuck, fuck, fuck! Stop, stop! Stop it!" Rosie swore when Siddiq poked the needle into her skin without warning. She squirmed, her face contorted with pain. She didn't even mean to move; her body was just doing it without her control. Without meaning to, Rosie's free hand went up to push Siddiq's hand away, but before she could reach him, her hand was pushed back down onto the table and held there.
"Just don't think 'bout it," Daryl told her, cringing at the sight of the needle going through her skin. He looked at her face rather than looking at the wound.
"I'm thinkin' about it," Rosie assured him, her face all scrunched up. She wished she had her velociraptor toy. She wished she could squeeze onto it, so it would make her feel better. It almost always made her feel better, even if it was just a trick of the brain. But the pressure of Daryl's hand pressing hers onto the table was a good distraction, too.
Looking at Rosie's face rather than looking at the wound didn't help much. He still cringed at the sight of her being in pain. He knew how bad stitches hurt, especially when the open wound already hurt like hell. "Tell me 'bout that... ah, fuck," Daryl murmured, trying to recall the name he was looking for. "That dinosaur in Jurassic Park 3," he tried.
"There are a shit ton a' dinosaurs in Jurassic Park 3, Daryl," Rosie muttered out, her teeth clenched together as her entire body tensed. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck," she kept whispering to herself, under her breath, as if it would make her feel any better.
"The one that, uh.... It looks like a T. Rex, but it ain't. It's got the horn on its nose," he recalled. Back in Alexandria, Rosie had watched all of the Jurassic Park movies several times. He didn't understand how she never got bored of them, but she found them so entertaining that she couldn't tear her eyes away from the screen, even if she'd seen them a thousand times before. He remembered her pointing out the T. Rex with a horn to him. He couldn't remember what it was called or what she said about it. He probably just mumbled an uh-huh and pretended he took in the information.
"The ceratosaurus?" Rosie asked, opening her eyes again to look at Daryl. She closed them again just as quickly, because Siddiq pulled the thread tight and moved on to the next stitch. "Shit, shit, shit."
"Yeah. Tell me 'bout it," Daryl said, hoping to distract her from the pain.
"Ceratosaurus lived in- fuck- the- the Late Jurassic period. Was a- a carnivore. They were, like, a thousand- God- a thousand somethin' pounds. I think 1,500 or somethin' like that Or maybe 2,000," Rosie explained, trying to remember each thing she'd read out of books and had heard from Eugene about the ceratosaurus.
The thread pulled tight once more. "You're doing really good," Siddiq said.
"Shut up," Rosie snapped, her teeth clenched tight together. Daryl probably would've already told her to watch herself about three or four times now, if the situation were any different. She bit down on her lip. "Ceratosaurus were- fuck. It hurts real, real bad, Daryl."
"I know. Where'd they find the bones, Ro?" Daryl asked.
"They ain't the real bones. They're fossils. Ain't the same thing. The bone stuff breaks down, leaves the rock stuff," Rosie corrected him. Daryl rolled his eyes. Siddiq pulled another stitch tight and Rosie flinched, trying to move her hand to hit Siddiq's away, but Daryl wouldn't let her. "It hurts. Please, please, please stop!" she blurted out. "It hurts!"
"Almost done," Siddiq told them.
"Where'd they find the fossils?" Daryl asked again.
"C- Colorado and- and some other places," Rosie answered. She wanted to squeeze something or slam her hand on the table to try and ease the pain in her shoulder, but she couldn't because Siddiq had a hold on her right arm and Daryl had a hold on her left. She was trying to be tough, but it just hurt so fucking bad. "Eugene said ceratosaurus means horned lizard. They had long, skinny t- teeth. And- and they were- I think, um- 20 feet long. Six feet tall. Eugene also said- ow, ow, fuck! Please, please. How much longer?"
"Just about..."
"Ow!"
"Done," Siddiq said, cutting the extra thread. The second he stepped away, showing that he was completely done with the stitches, Rosie visibly relaxed. She took a deep, shaky breath before turning her head to try and see the stitches. Before she could look, Siddiq's hand blocked her way. "It's probably better if you don't look at it," he chuckled awkwardly. Rosie huffed, but looked the other way as he began to wrap bandages around her shoulder. When he was done, Rosie slipped her arm back into her sleeve and slid off of the table.
"Now what?" Rosie asked, looking up at Daryl.
"Now you go back to bed," Daryl responded, as if it were obvious. Rosie didn't want to go to bed. She wanted to stay up and help with cleaning up. She didn't want to be useless. But there was no point in arguing, because she never got what she wanted, anyway. So, she sighed and made her way out of the medical trailer.
Daryl didn't want her to run into any sick person they might've missed without a weapon, so he escorted her up to the bedroom she'd been sleeping in. It wasn't only because she was weaponless and alone, but also because he was procrastinating. He was procrastinating dealing with the dead bodies, Liam and his mom, Tara, the escaped Saviors, the Saviors who decided to stay, and every other thing he knew he or someone else was going to have to take care of.
"Can I ask ya somethin' without ya gettin' all pissy, Ro?" Daryl spoke up as they walked up the big staircase in Barrington House. Rosie nodded. Usually, if he had a question, he'd just ask it, and then get annoyed if she got pissy. Not this time, apparently. This time there was a warning, so Rosie knew that she might not like this question from the beginning. It didn't have to be a surprise or shock. "In the beginnin', in Atlanta, how come you followed me around? Ya hated everyone else's guts, 'cept for mine. Why?" Daryl asked. This was a question he'd always had, but it wasn't one that he dwelled on. It was more out of curiosity than anything else. He had always just assumed it was because he reminded her of David, but now, knowing just how much of a piece of shit David was, he sort of hoped that it was something else.
Rosie shrugged, but only with her good shoulder. She'd already learned her lesson on shrugging with her bad shoulder. "I think I hated you, too, but less, 'cause ya taught me the difference between bolts and arrows," she reasoned, trying to remember more specifically. Daryl scoffed. Was it that easy? Teaching her one thing made her not hate him as much as other people? "Plus, Guillermo said ya said you'd cut off that man boy's feet to get me back," Rosie remembered.
"Who's Guillermo?" Daryl asked, struggling to remember who she was talking about.
"The guy from the Vatos. He was nice," Rosie said. Daryl hummed in acknowledgment. Yes, he sort of remembered Guillermo. Not well, and not personally, but he remembered that Guillermo had existed, and that he lied about feeding Rosie to his dogs. "Can I ask you somethin' without ya getting all pissy?" Rosie asked.
"Sure," Daryl responded.
"Before my dad died, I ate food once with you and Merle. Ya said Daddy cooked it, left it out for me. But he ain't ever done that before in my entire life. You and Merle cooked it, didn't you?" Rosie asked, raising her eyebrows a little bit. After a moment of rethinking her words, she silently scolded herself. Daryl never liked it when she called David Dad or Daddy. He never specifically said it out loud, but Rosie could tell. Because David was her father, biologically, but he didn't parent her. He was her father, but not her parent. He just scared her.
Whether or not he liked David being called Dad, Daryl scoffed out a laugh. "Yeah, I cooked it," he said.
"I knew it!" Rosie exclaimed, her smile wide.
•
The next morning, Rosie's arm was very, very sore. That didn't seem to matter so much when she found out that Henry was missing, though. She wanted to go out there and find him herself. She barely even knew him, but she had left him out there last night. She ran and he was still stuck in that pen with the Saviors all running past him. Now he was lost, alone, and he didn't even have his stick or a gun or anything.
"We have people going out and looking for him. You don't have to," Rick said, his eyebrows raised as he looked down at Rosie. Rosie's eyebrows pinched together and she tilted her head to the side. She wanted to help. That was her whole reason for going out there last night in the first place. Henry needed help and she was going to help him, but then she got scared and just abandoned him. "You just got your stitches in. You don't need to be out there," Rick told her.
"I have to help look for him. If he dies, it's my fault. I left him out there," Rosie argued, her frustration evident in her voice. Tara was ok. That was good. She was shot with a clean arrow. But Mrs. Johnson was dead and Liam was angry because now his momma was dead and now Henry was missing, and all those things were bad. And the bad things seemed to be the only things Rosie could think about at all. And Henry being missing for sure felt like her fault. If he was dead, that made her no better than Siddiq. And even if she could keep her cool around Siddiq now, she still hated him. "I can go look. I don't gotta be by myself. I could go with someone. With Carol or- or Morgan. I could go with you. Please," Rosie said.
"Carol and Morgan are already out there looking for him. And that's not what I came in here to talk to you about, Rosie," Rick said, his pointer finger and thumb pressing into his closed eyes. He had come in there to talk to her, yes, but not about Henry and not about leaving. But Rosie had brought up leaving to look for Henry as soon as he came into the room. Daryl had told her no, and then Maggie had told her no, so now she was trying to convince Rick to let her go with him.
"I don't care! I want to help!" Rosie said, trying to keep her voice more tough and confident than high-pitched and anxious. She really, really didn't want Henry to die and for it to be her own fault. She'd killed people. She'd killed grown men. But never a kid. Never someone her own age.
"The answer is no, Rosie. Now let me talk to you," Rick said, his voice tense and his eyes watery. His morning had already been hard enough. He didn't need this. He didn't need this addition of extra stress, extra guilt, extra pain.
"But, Rick, I gotta-"
"Rosie," Rick said, his tone stern like it was when he would scold Carl. Rosie's stomach started to hurt.
For the first time since he had entered the room, Rosie made eye contact with him. She didn't usually look at people's eyes, except for when she was trying to figure out their eye words. But now she was looking at Rick's, and his eyes were blue, desperate, and glazed over with tears. His eyes were saying please, please just let me do this. So, Rosie took a deep breath and shut her mouth.
After a moment, Rick swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded. "Thank you," he said. Rosie nodded. Rick reached his arm back and pulled something out of his pocket. It was a folded-up piece of paper. It looked familiar to Rosie, like she'd seen it before. She wasn't sure where, but she was sure she'd seen the papers. Rick looked at the folded-up paper for a moment, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down. His eyes got more teary when he held the paper out to Rosie. Hesitantly, she took it, still looking up at Rick with wide eyes. "Carl-" Rick stopped, his voice breaking. He took a deep breath. "Carl wrote this for you. He wanted you to read it. I'm sorry I didn't give it to you sooner," Rick said.
Rosie stared down at the letter in her hand. On the cover, scrawled out in small, messy handwriting, was Rosie's name. Rosie. Rosie, like the name on the bracelet Carl made for her. She glanced over at the bracelet, tied around her wrist in thread, remembering when Carl had given it to her.
Carl reached into his pocket before walking over to where Rosie was sitting, something small in his hand. He stopped in front of her and held his palm out flat. In it was a beaded bracelet with the name Rosie spelled out, along with other green and black beads. "Happy late birthday," Carl said. Rosie's eyes widened a little and she quickly took the bracelet and slid it onto her wrist, a small smile spreading across her lips. "I found the beads at one of the houses on the road. I wanted to wait until your birthday to give it to you, but I guess we don't really know what day it is anymore, so..." Carl went on.
"You don't have to read it now. You don't have to read it ever, if you don't want to. But he wrote it for you because he wanted you to read it," Rick said, gesturing to the letter in Rosie's hands.
Rosie looked up at Rick, her blue eyes now just as watery as his. "Thank you," she said, her voice quiet.
Rick nodded. "Stay here and stay safe. Please," Rick said. This time, Rosie nodded. She didn't want to say no to the man who had lost his son. Was there a word for a father without his son? Maggie was the Widow. She's lost her husband, so she was a widow. Henry was an orphan. He'd lost his parents, so he was an orphan. But was there a name for a father who lost his child? Not as far as Rosie knew. Probably because parents aren't supposed to live longer than their children.
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This chapter is more slow moving than I intended but whatever
OH also i made a discord server !! If you have any suggestions for me to make it better please share LMAO
https://discord.gg/tAS8KDPv