Chapter 33 - Daryl

They were all asleep.

Ella, Ian, Ruby.

All of them curled into me like I was something safe. Like I deserved to be the one holding them.

Ella had her legs stretched over mine, her head tipped back against the cushions, face soft with sleep. One hand rested on Ian's back, his little body draped half across her lap. He had a death grip on her shirt like he thought she'd disappear if he let go.

I knew the feeling.

Ruby was tucked in my arms, warm and soft and dead to the world. Every now and then she'd twitch, mouth making tiny sounds against my chest, fingers reaching for something in her dreams. She settled when she touched Ella's arm. Didn't even open her eyes. Just let out a little sigh like all was right in the world.

I stared at 'em.

Didn't move. Didn't breathe too deep.

I didn't wanna break it.

Didn't wanna wake 'em.

Didn't wanna face what I knew was waiting just under the surface.

But it crept in anyway.

The guilt.

Like it always did.

I looked at Ella—bandage peeking out beneath her shirt. Her skin still too pale. Her breath steady now, but I'd heard it struggle. I'd felt her blood on my hands. I'd watched her collapse in the dirt while I couldn't do a damn thing but scream.

I almost lost her.

And it was my fault.

I was the one who went after Dwight.

I was the one who let anger lead. Who walked us straight into that trap. Who put us in that fucking lineup.

If I'd just stayed home...

Maybe Glenn would still be alive.

Maybe Ella wouldn't have taken that bullet.

Maybe Ian wouldn't have had to sit at home worrying if his mom was coming back.

Maybe Ruby wouldn't have cried herself hoarse at night.

I tightened my arms around her, breath catching in my throat.

She's just a baby.

Didn't do nothing to deserve any of this. Neither did Ian. Neither did Ella.

But I brought it on us.

I let it happen.

And I'd carry that weight 'til the end of my days.

But I wasn't gonna mess up again.

I looked at Ella, her hand still wrapped protectively around Ian. She twitched in her sleep, brow creasing, like she could feel me thinking too loud.

"I got you," I whispered, not even sure who I was saying it to—her, the kids, or myself.

Maybe all of 'em.

I'd be better.

I'd be the man she saw in me when she looked at me like I was worth loving.

I'd be the dad those kids deserved.

I'd never let 'em feel that fear again.

Whatever it took.

Because this right here?

This was everything.

And I wasn't losing it.

Not ever again.

~

I woke up to breathing. Not mine. Not Ella's.

Little breathing.

Close.

And then a tiny finger jabbed me in the ribs.

"Daaaaad."

I cracked an eye open.

Ian was crouched by the couch like he was sneaking up on a wild animal—eyes big, hair a damn mess, and his whisper way louder than it needed to be.

"I'm hungry."

I blinked. My neck hurt. My back was wrecked. Ruby was still curled on my chest like a damn baby possum, dead asleep with her mouth hanging open. Ella hadn't moved from her spot, still tucked into my side, her face peaceful for once.

Ian looked between us, like he knew he was treading dangerous waters.

"I didn't wanna wake Mom up," he whispered again. "You said she needs to rest."

I rubbed a hand over my face, trying to shake off the fog. "You're doing good, kid."

"She snores," he said, dead serious.

I smirked.

"No, she don't."

"She does. Like, tiny snore. Like a kitten. But still a snore."

I glanced at Ella—still asleep, still breathing steady.

"She's tired," I muttered. "Long few days."

"I know," Ian whispered, tugging on the blanket at my leg. "That's why I didn't jump on her. Even though I wanted to."

I huffed a laugh. "I'm proud of you."

"Can we eat now?"

Ruby stirred on my chest and gave a little baby groan, wriggling like she was trying to stretch. I adjusted her gently, careful not to jostle her too much.

"Yeah," I said, voice low. "Let's get somethin' started."

I shifted slow, lifting Ruby and easing her into the crook of Ella's arm. She didn't wake, but she curled around the baby instinctively, pressing a kiss to her forehead without even opening her eyes.

I stood, bones cracking, and ran a hand through Ian's curls.

"Quiet as a mouse, yeah?"

Ian nodded. "I can be ninja quiet."

He stomped into the kitchen with all the grace of a baby elephant.

I glanced back one more time—at Ella, at Ruby, still wrapped in each other, safe and warm and here.

And then I followed our boy into the kitchen, thinking maybe I'd make pancakes.

Not because I was good at it.

But because they deserved something sweet.

Ian dragged a chair across the kitchen floor with all the subtlety of a tank.

I winced. "You're gonna wake the whole damn block."

He grinned up at me. "You said I could help."

I set the bowl on the counter and grabbed a whisk. "Helpin' don't mean destroyin' the house, ninja."

"I am bein' ninja," he whispered, climbing up onto the chair. "I'm a pancake ninja."

"Right," I muttered, handing him the whisk. "Keep it down or Mom'll wake up and realize we don't actually know what we're doin'."

"I do," he said, whisking like his life depended on it. "I watched Tara do it once. You just stir it until it's gooey and awesome."

"Real scientific," I said, hiding a smirk.

I cracked the eggs. He dumped in too much milk. I caught the flour before it hit the floor. He stole a spoonful of batter and made a face like it betrayed him personally.

"This tastes awful!"

"It ain't cooked yet, genius."

He spit a little on the counter.

I wiped it with my sleeve and handed him a towel. "We don't tell your mom about that part."

He giggled and nodded solemnly. "Secret kitchen rules."

"Secret kitchen rules," I agreed, flipping the first pancake.

We kept going, slow and quiet, stack growing higher, the house still soft and warm in the morning light. I could hear Ruby cooing every now and then—little happy sounds, soft babbles—but no crying. No screams. Just peace.

When the couch creaked, I glanced over and saw Ella shift, one arm still cradling Ruby, her eyes blinking open and brows furrowed like the sunlight offended her.

I watched her stretch, her back arching a little as she groaned and blinked at us like we'd somehow betrayed her by letting her sleep.

"Mornin'," I called softly.

She looked around blearily. "Why is my child covered in drool and my house smells like scorched batter?"

"Because your men are handling things," I said.

Ian popped up from behind the counter like a groundhog. "We made pancakes!"

"God help us," she mumbled, flopping back onto the couch.

Ruby cooed and kicked, her hands flapping lazily. Ella shifted to hold her more securely, kissed her cheek, and let out a dramatic sigh.

"I want to get up," she muttered.

"You ain't," I said, walking over with a plate and kissing her temple. "Doctor's orders."

"Doctor's a fun-sucker."

"You love me," I said, setting the pancakes in her lap.

She blinked down at them, eyebrows raising. "Did you use real syrup? Or that weird homemade stuff Tara likes?"

"Real."

She gasped. "I'm married to a god."

I smirked. "Thought that was up for debate."

She looked up at me through sleep-mussed hair and a crooked smile. "Not anymore."

I stood there for a second, just looking at her. Baby in her arms, plate in her lap, the softest damn look on her face.

She wasn't moving.

And I was okay with that.

Because for the first time in what felt like forever?

Everyone I loved was here.

Fed.

Safe.

Home.

And I wasn't going anywhere.

~

Ruby was strapped to my chest in that old sling Ella rigged up outta some sheets. She was out cold, drooling down my shirt like it was her personal mission. Ian trotted beside me with a stick he'd declared was a sword, staff, and shovel—all within five minutes.

The sun was warm. The air was clean. And for a little while, it felt like we weren't in hell.

"Are we gettin' snacks?" Ian asked, squinting up at me.

"Depends."

"On what?"

"If you stop smackin' fences with that stick like you're beatin' on a walker piñata."

He grinned. "But what if there's candy inside?"

I snorted. "Then I'll admit you were right."

We were almost to the end of the street when I spotted him.

Carl. Leaning against the porch railing of one of the houses like he'd been there a while. One eye narrowed at me, the other hidden behind that damn bandage. He looked tired. Older than he should've.

"Look who it is," he said, straightening. "Suburban Daryl Dixon. With a baby carrier."

I scowled. "Careful. I got two kids and no patience."

He walked down the steps with a smirk. "You look like a dad in a picture frame."

"You look like someone who needs their ass kicked."

"By you?" he laughed. "You'd pull a muscle."

"Least I got two eyes to aim with."

"Oof," he said, clutching his chest like I'd wounded him. "That one hurt."

I rolled my eyes and shifted Ruby up a little as she stirred. Ian wandered toward the edge of the sidewalk, whacking the grass like it insulted him.

Carl's smile faded for a second. Just a flicker.

I didn't miss it.

"You alright?" I asked, voice lower now.

He didn't answer right away. Kicked at a rock with his boot.

"I'm fine."

I raised a brow.

He looked at me. "He was gonna make my dad do it."

"Yeah," I said. "I know."

His jaw tensed. "He meant it, too. I could tell."

"I know."

We stood there in the quiet. Ruby let out a little snore. Ian started humming under his breath.

Carl glanced down. "I keep thinking about it. About how close it was. Like... one second different and I wouldn't have an arm. Or my dad would've had to..."

He didn't finish.

Didn't need to.

"You ain't gotta pretend it didn't mess you up," I said. "Hell, I saw it. Saw you standin' there like you were ready to lose it if it meant savin' your people."

He shrugged. "Didn't feel brave. Just felt like... the only thing to do."

"It was."

He nodded. Quiet again.

Then—

"Your kid just ate a bug."

I turned my head so fast my neck cracked. "Ian!"

"I thought it was a raisin!" he shouted, spitting into the grass.

Carl doubled over laughing. "God, I missed this place."

I gave him a look. "You're babysittin' next time."

He grinned, half his face still crooked from the smile. "Sure. But only if you let me dress Ruby in a cowboy hat."

I rolled my eyes. "One of these days I'm gonna make you eat a damn bug."

"I live off canned peaches and shame, dude. You're gonna have to do better than that."

And just like that, he was smirking again.

But his shoulders looked lighter.

And I'd take that as a win.

We headed back slow.

Ruby was still dozing against my chest, warm and drooly. Ian had claimed Carl's hand at some point, babbling nonstop about bugs, pancakes, and how Rosita said he wasn't allowed to name the chickens anymore after "The Great Pecker Incident."

Carl just nodded like any of that made sense.

He didn't have to come back with us.

Said he had stuff to do—whatever that meant these days—but when we reached the walkway up to the house, he stopped and looked at the door like it owed him something.

"I'm just gonna... check on her," he muttered, hands shoved in his pockets.

I raised a brow. "You sure?"

"She got shot, Daryl."

"And she's still gonna fuss over you."

"I know," he muttered, already heading up the steps. "Shut up."

I didn't.

Just smirked and followed.

Ian burst through the door ahead of us. "MOM! I found a grasshopper leg! It's in my pocket!"

"Oh God, please don't put it on me!" Ella's voice came from the couch—still sleepy, but full of life.

I stepped inside and saw her—still in her nest of blankets, Ruby's bottle on the table beside her, hair a mess, and eyes lighting up the second she saw us.

"You're back," she breathed, sitting up with effort. "Oh my god, look at you three. You're all dusty and sweaty and disgusting, come here and kiss me immediately."

I bent down and brushed a kiss over her forehead as Ruby squirmed in my arms, waking slowly with a whimper.

"There's my baby," Ella cooed, reaching out for her. "C'mere, sweet girl. Mommy needs a cuddle."

I passed Ruby over careful and sat down beside them. Ian immediately climbed onto her other side, wiggling into the crook of her arm like he'd never left.

And Carl?

He lingered in the doorway like he wasn't sure he belonged.

Ella caught sight of him and lit up like a damn sunrise.

"Carl!" she gasped. "Get over here."

He rolled his eye. "You're the one who got shot, remember?"

"And you're the one who had a psychopath threaten to amputate you like it was a math problem, so get your ass over here so I can see your face."

He sighed, trudging in like he'd just been sentenced to a lifetime of emotional expression.

Ella reached out with one arm, yanking him in closer until he half-sat on the floor beside her, grumbling the whole way.

"You're too old for me to pick up," she muttered, running a hand through his hair. "And just small enough that I'm gonna try anyway."

Carl blinked rapidly and stared at the floor. "You're the worst."

She smiled. "You love me."

"Unfortunately."

Ruby cooed. Ian picked at a string on the blanket. Carl leaned his head against Ella's knee like he wasn't even thinking about it.

And me?

I sat there.

Soaked in it.

Every second of it.

~

The house was quiet.

Ian was passed out, curled around a stuffed rabbit Ella swore he didn't even like. Ruby was snorin' soft in the nursery.

I'd spent the last night on that damn couch, the previous three in a chair beside Ella's bed at Hilltop.

And my back?

Officially gave up the will to live.

I stretched once—heard a pop somewhere near my spine—and let out a grunt that could've come from a ninety-year-old farmer.

Ella, curled under a blanket nearby, raised her brows. "That was... impressive."

"I'm dyin'," I muttered.

"You're dramatic."

"Says the woman who got shot and still tried to clean the kitchen today."

"It was one dish."

"It was a fork."

She grinned. "And it was filthy."

I shook my head, stepping closer. "We're sleepin' upstairs."

Her brows shot up. "You're going up without me?"

I snorted. "Hell no."

"Then what, I crawl up behind you like a wounded sloth?"

"Nope."

She stared at me.

Then—"Oh my god, you're gonna carry me."

I just looked at her.

She lit up like a kid at Christmas. "You're gonna carry me. Daryl Dixon, I've dreamed of this moment."

I leaned down. "I've carried you before woman."

She held her arms out, grinning like a damn gremlin. "Take me, mountain man."

I rolled my eyes, but my hands were already under her thighs and back, lifting her up with ease.

She gasped. "Oh my god—look at you! You're strong and grumpy."

"Don't push it."

"Too late."

She nuzzled her face into my neck as I climbed the stairs, her breath warm against my skin, her arms snug around my shoulders. I could feel her relax all over, like being held was the last thing she needed to feel like herself again.

We made it to the bedroom. I set her down slow, easy onto the blankets, careful of her side.

She leaned back on her elbows and looked up at me like I was dessert.

"Well, now that I'm here..." she said slowly, eyes gleaming. "I could be convinced to say thank you. In a very special way."

I raised an eyebrow. "You're still healing."

"Exactly," she purred. "I should get extra attention."

I leaned down and kissed her—slow, deep, with just enough bite to make her hum into my mouth.

Then I pulled back and whispered, "Nice try."

She pouted. "Ugh, you're such a rule follower all of a sudden."

"You'll thank me when your stitches don't pop."

She groaned. "They feel fine."

"You said that after Ruby was born and tried to ride me like a mechanical bull two days later."

"And? You didn't die."

"I almost did."

She laughed, tugging me down beside her. "Fine. No funny business. Just cuddles."

I wrapped my arm around her and pulled her close.

"Cuddles I can do."

She nestled against my chest, breath warm against my skin, one hand fisting gently in my shirt.

And in that moment—her heart steady against mine, the house quiet, the world outside still on fire but our little corner finally calm—

I knew.

This was everything.

She was quiet for a while.

Curled into me, soft and warm, breath evening out like she was finally settling.

I'd just started to drift when I felt her shift.

Not just a stretch. Not just a wiggle.

A slow slide of her leg over mine. Her hand flattening against my chest. Her lips ghosting up my throat.

My eyes opened.

"Ella."

"Mhm?" she whispered, all sweet and innocent-like—liar.

Her palm slid lower.

"Don't."

"Don't what?" Her voice dropped to a dangerous purr. "I'm not doing anything."

"You're tryin' to kill me."

She laughed softly, kissed the edge of my jaw. "I'm trying to thank you. For carrying me up here like a big strong beast of a man."

"Yeah, well, your big strong man wants you alive, not ripped open at the seams."

She made a little sound—low in her throat—that hit me square in the spine.

"I feel fine," she whispered, letting her hand trail lower, just beneath the waistband of my pants.

I froze.

My jaw locked. My breath caught. Everything in me screamed do not move, like maybe if I stayed still, I'd survive this.

"You are evil," I hissed, every muscle in my body tense.

Her fingers curled just enough to make me twitch.

"But you love me," she whispered in my ear.

"I do," I ground out. "So much that I'm not about to let you pop a stitch tryin' to make me see stars."

"Just a little touch," she teased.

I reached down and caught her wrist, firm but gentle.

Her eyes glittered in the low light. "You're no fun."

"I'm five seconds from throwin' the doctor out a window for ever tellin' you bedrest for a week."

"So do it," she breathed, curling closer. "Then come back and ruin me."

I kissed her hard.

Pinned her to the mattress for a second with just my mouth, my hands braced on either side of her face. She whimpered when I pulled away.

"You better sleep," I muttered, voice hoarse. "Or I'm takin' a cold shower and sleepin' in the goddamn garden."

She giggled—full on giggled—and tugged me down beside her again.

"Killjoy," she whispered, curling into my chest.

I held her tight.

And stayed very, very still.

Because I was hanging on by a thread.

And if she so much as breathed too hard, I was gonna sin so loud the kids would need therapy.

~

I woke up hard.

Not—Okay yeah. That kind of hard.

Because she was on me.

Ella.Wife. Flirt. Destroyer of restraint.

She was curled into my side with one leg thrown over mine, her thigh just barely brushing there, her hand resting a little too low on my stomach.

And she was awake.

I knew it.

She was pretending to be asleep. I could feel the way her fingers were slowly, casually, drifting downward like this was all just part of her sleepy stretch.

"Don't," I muttered, eyes still closed.

She didn't answer.

I cracked one eye open.

She was smirking.

"You think you're cute," I said.

"I know I am."

"Ella—"

"Daryl," she whispered, sweet as sin, "I had a very relaxing night. I feel great. And you..." Her hand moved lower. "You seem tense."

I grabbed her wrist—again—holding it in place.

"Woman," I growled, "I swear to every star in the sky—"

"What?" she asked innocently, shifting just enough to press her hips into mine. "You'll sin? In your own home? With your wife?"

"You're evil."

She grinned. "I'm motivated."

"I carried you up the stairs less than twelve hours ago."

"And it was the hottest thing I've ever seen."

I rolled fast, caging her beneath me, bracing one hand beside her head while the other still pinned her wrist.

She gasped, grinning up at me like she'd won.

"Don't push me," I warned, voice low, lips brushing her jaw. "You keep teasin' and I'm gonna forget every rule, every stitch, and every reason I shouldn't take you apart right here and now."

Her breath hitched.

I smirked.

"Not so cocky now, huh?"

Her eyes sparkled. "Still very cocky. Just—trying to breathe through the part where you do that growly voice thing."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Real inconvenient for my self-control."

"Funny," I murmured, lips brushing her throat, "I was thinkin' the same thing."

She arched up into me—daring me.

I groaned, forehead dropping to hers. "You are killin' me."

"Let me."

I kissed her—deep—slow and filthy and full of all the things I wasn't lettin' myself do yet.

When I pulled back, her lips were red and her pupils blown and she looked wrecked.

And all I did was kiss her.

"You keep this up," I rasped, brushing her hair from her face, "and the second you're off bed rest, you're not walkin' for a week."

She moaned.

And that?That was when I had to roll off her.

Because if I didn't?

There'd be nothing stopping me.

~

She didn't stop.

Not after breakfast.

Not after lunch.

Not even when she was helping Ian sort socks on the couch like a picture-perfect housewife—a smug, evil, seductive housewife.

She wore one of my shirts.

On purpose.

No pants. Just bare legs and bandages and that damn look in her eye.

Every time she bent forward, she made a noise.

Every time she reached for something, she stretched.

She "accidentally" brushed her fingers over my hand, my back, my thigh.

Every. Single. Time. I walked past.

She was killing me.

And she knew it.

I sat at the table pretending to read inventory logs. Trying real hard to focus on how many damn cans of corn we had left and not on the way her hips swayed when she walked by with Ruby on her hip.

Ruby.

Who she kissed and cooed at with the same mouth she'd used this morning to whisper all kinds of sin into my ear.

Ian ran through the living room with one sock on his head like a hat. I blinked. Forgot what day it was.

Ella leaned over the couch and looked at me upside down.

"You okay over there, sweetheart?" she said, voice dipped in honey and wickedness.

"Peachy," I grunted, shifting in my seat.

Her smile turned dangerous. "You look warm. You sure you're not overheating? I could... help you cool off."

"Ella."

"Yes, darling?"

"I will strap you to the couch and lock the door."

She raised a brow. "Oh no. What a threat."

I slammed the logbook shut. "I'm gonna go fix somethin'."

"In the bedroom?" she purred.

"Outside."

"In the shade?"

"In hell, Ella."

She cackled.

Actually cackled.

Carl, walking by with a sandwich, just muttered, "I'm traumatized."

"I'll add it to your therapy file," Ella called sweetly after him.

I went outside.

Sat on the porch.

Tried to count the number of trees in our yard like a monk in exile.

She came out twenty minutes later. Leaned against the doorway, legs bare, eyes gleaming.

"You know," she said, "we could just check the stitches. See how they're doing. Real thorough-like. Hands-on approach."

I groaned.

Stood up.

Marched over.

She blinked, startled for the first time all day.

"Daryl—?"

I crowded into her space, hands braced on the doorframe, mouth a breath from hers.

"You got two more days, woman," I growled. "Two. More. Days."

Her breath hitched.

I pulled back, kissed her forehead, and went inside like I hadn't just come this close to throwing the doctor's orders out the window.

Behind me, she whispered, "That's so hot."

And I was gonna die.

I was gonna die right here, in my own house, of sexual frustration, and it was gonna be her fault.

And the worst part?

She'd laugh at my funeral.

~

Day six.

I woke up with her wrapped around me.

Again.

Leg hitched over my hip, hand resting dangerously low, her mouth slightly open against my neck. I tried to shift without grindin' up into her like a teenager, but she made this little noise in her sleep that nearly broke me.

She stirred. Kissed my collarbone. Groaned.

"I feel amazing."

"Great," I muttered, voice raw. "Glad you're havin' a good time."

She slid her leg higher.

"Ella," I growled.

"Mmm?"

"You're healing."

"And you're glowing," she whispered.

"I'm gonna explode."

She kissed my throat. "Then explode on me."

I rolled out of bed like the mattress was on fire. "I'm goin' for a walk."

"You'll come back."

"That's what I'm afraid of."

She laughed.

Later that day

She dropped a spoon on the floor while cookin' lunch.

Bent over slow.

Real slow.

"Oops."

I bit my hand.

Afternoon

She laid on the couch, pretending to nap.

In nothing but my shirt.

Ruby cooed in her arms.

"You okay over there, handsome?" she mumbled, eyes still closed.

"I hate you."

"I know."

That Night

She brushed her teeth in front of me.

Naked under her robe.

Didn't even tie it.

"Oops," she said again.

"Ella," I said through gritted teeth, "if you don't stop tryin' to get me arrested by the ghost of your doctor—"

"I'm just getting ready for tomorrow," she said sweetly, crawling into bed and patting the spot beside her. "You do know what tomorrow is, right?"

"I know what it is."

She winked. "Then get some sleep, lover. You're gonna need all your strength."

I stared at the ceiling for hours.