Aftermath

Daryl sat on the edge of the bed, his elbows braced against his knees, his head bowed. He hadn’t spoken since we left the garage. Since Nicholas took his last breath.

Since he made sure of it.

His knuckles were split open, bloody and bruised. Blood – Nicholas’ blood – streaked his hands, his arms, his jaw, his hair. The stench of it clung to him, but it wasn’t just the blood that weighed him down. It was the emotion in his eyes, the raw, jagged pain that was buried beneath all the fury.

I watched him from across the room, my heartbeat slow but heavy, like each thud was trying to push through the weight pressing against my ribs. The only sound was the faint rustle of wind against the window.

I could still see the tension in his shoulders, the way his fingers curled and uncurled like they could still feel Nicholas’ throat beneath them.

Like he was still there, trapped in that moment.

I wanted to say something. To close the space between us. But I wasn’t sure what words existed for this.

I took a slow step forward, the floor creaking softly beneath my foot. His head lifted, just slightly, but he didn’t look at me. His fingers tangled together, his knuckles raw.

“Daryl,” I murmured.

His jaw tensed. “Ain’t sorry.”

I swallowed, my throat dry. “I know.”

His fingers flexed again, his whole body coiled tight like a spring wound too far. “Ain’t never felt like that before,” he admitted, voice hoarse, low. “Ain’t never wanted to hurt someone like that.” His jaw clenched, his fingers twitching again. “Felt... different.”

I moved closer. “Because it was.”

I watched his fingers twitch, like he was trying to shake off the feeling of it, but it wasn’t working.

I crouched in front of him, pressing my hands over his. “He deserved it,” I whispered.

His eyes finally lifted, meeting mine, and the storm there made my chest ache.

“That why ya stayed?” he asked. His voice was quiet, rough, like he was afraid of the answer. “So I wouldn’t stop?”

I exhaled slowly. “I stayed because....” I tightened my grip on his hands. “I knew that if it had been the other way around, if it had been you that Nicholas wanted dead,” My voice cracked, but I didn’t look away. “I couldn’t have let him walk away, either.”

Daryl’s breath was shaky. His fingers finally closed around mine, gripping tight.

“I know what it did to you,” I murmured. "Being told I was dead. Thinking you had to go out there and find my body.” I swallowed hard. “I can imagine what that felt like, because if it had been you-” I shook my head, my throat tightening. “I wouldn’t have survived it.”

His fingers tightened against mine, the desperation in them unmistakable. “Don’t ya say that.”

“It’s true.”

Suddenly, he was moving, wrapping his arms around me, crushing me against him like he was afraid I’d slip through his fingers.

I clung to him, my hands fisting in his shirt, pressing my face against his shoulder, breathing him in. His chest was rising and falling too fast, his grip tight enough to bruise, but I didn’t care.

We sat there, tangled in each other, the weight of everything pressing down on us.

“Wasn't about the group,” he whispered after a long moment, his lips brushing against my temple. “ Protectin’ ‘em.” His fingers dug into my back. “It was ‘bout you.”

I pulled back just enough to look at him, my hands cradling his face. His eyes were dark, intense, filled with something I couldn’t quite name.

“I love you,” I whispered.

His breath stuttered. His hands gripped my waist, pulling me closer against him, his forehead pressing against mine. “Ain’t never loved nothin’ like this before,” he admitted, voice barely there. “Scares the hell outta me.”

I brushed my fingers over his cheek. “Me too.”

He exhaled, a shaky breath that felt like it carried the weight of everything. “I’ll kill anyone who ever tries to take ya from me.”

“I’ll be right there beside you.” I flinched a little as the wound at my side tinged with pain. “But next time, I won’t just be watching.”

“Ya wish I’d have let ya do it? End ‘im?”

I held him a little tighter. “I know it needed to be you. I do wish I could’ve hurt him, but he wasn’t worth ripping my stitches for. I need to heal before we tackle this quarry situation.”

“Mhmh.” Daryl agreed. “He’d already hurt ya enough.”

“If he’d have left you there to die, wanted you gone to cover his own ass,” I mused. “I’d have laughed as I killed him – used his skin to make a lampshade.”

Daryl let out a low snort.

“Alright – maybe no human home decor.” I continued. “But thank you for listening to me, for speaking to Rick and Deanna before you taught him a lesson. I know how hard that was.”

“Ya asked me to.” He shrugged, his voice quiet.

I pressed my lips against his forehead, letting them rest there a while. “Clean up.” I encouraged him when I pulled away. “Wash all this away. Let it be over.”

He didn’t move, didn’t acknowledge what I’d said. His muscles stayed wound tight. I could tell he was exhausted – both physically and mentally.

I brushed my fingers over his cheek. “Daryl,” I said gently. “Come on.”

I took his hand and tugged, coaxing him up from the bed. He followed silently as I led him to the bathroom, his fingers laced loosely with mine, his grip still carrying that unspoken desperation - like he needed to feel me, needed reassurance I was here.

The bathroom was silent except for the gentle patter of water against tile. Steam curled in the air, wrapping around us, thick and warm, but it couldn’t touch the weight pressing between us. The weight of everything that had happened. The blood. The violence. The finality.

I reached for his shirt, peeling it from his skin, my fingers lingering as I pulled the fabric over his head. He didn’t resist, didn’t move to help me, just let me undress him like he was too tired to do it himself. His head hung low, his breathing slow and measured but just a little too deep - like he was trying to stay steady, like if he didn’t control it, he might shake apart.

I worked his belt loose, the leather slipping through the buckle, then unfastened his jeans. They dropped to the floor with a soft thud, the heavy fabric pooling at his feet. My fingers grazed his hips before I pulled away, watching him.

I let my own clothes fall next, one piece at a time. He watched me as I undressed, but it wasn’t the way he normally did. Usually, there was hunger in his eyes, the kind that sent heat pooling low in my stomach. Tonight, it was different - softer, raw. Less about desire, more about needing me, grounding himself in the sight of me.

I stepped into the shower first, turning into the stream, letting the heat soak into my skin. Then I reached for his hand, tugging him in after me.

The water hit his body, rolling down his shoulders, over the tense lines of his back, and I felt the smallest shift in him - like the warmth was seeping into him, loosening him.

His knuckles were a mess. The skin cracked and bleeding from what he had done to Nicholas. I reached for the soap, working it into a foam between my palms before I gently took his hands, one at a time

He didn’t flinch when I carefully worked the soap over his knuckles, though I felt his fingers twitch slightly as I moved over the deeper cuts. I pressed a soft kiss to each sore laceration when I was done.

His eyes were locked on mine as I moved up his arms, washing away the night - wiping away the blood, the violence, the anger. The muscle beneath my hands softened little by little, the tension uncoiling, piece by piece.

The bandage at my side had soaked through by now, sagging under the weight of the water, threatening to fall. Daryl noticed. He reached out, carefully pulling it away, his fingers feather-light over my skin. He didn’t say anything, just replaced the bandage with his own hand, cupping my side like he could hold me together.

He held his hand there as I continued to wash him, smoothing the soap over his chest, along the curve of his ribs, down his back. I felt him ease further, his body sinking into my touch.

When I reached his face, I slowed.

The dried blood had settled into the creases of his skin, streaking across his cheekbones, lining his jaw. I brushed my thumbs over it, tracing each ridge and hollow, my touch barely more than a whisper against his skin.

I met his eyes, falling into the storm there, and my hands stilled midair, hanging uselessly between us.

I swallowed. “How do you do it?” I murmured.

His brow furrowed slightly. “Do what?”

“Still manage to be the most beautiful man in the world even when you’ve got someone else’s blood stuck to your face?”

The corner of his mouth twitched, just slightly. A quiet scoff left him, barely there.

“Yur crazy,” he muttered.

“Yup,” I said, tilting my head. “Not blind, though.”

I reached for his hair. He let out a slow breath as I massaged my fingers into his scalp, working the coconut shampoo into thick lather. I moved slowly, deliberately, kneading the tension away, rubbing small circles into the base of his skull. His body melted further under my hands, his eyes slipping shut, his breath deep and steady.

My fingertips grazed the back of his neck as I rinsed the shampoo away, and that’s when I felt it - the shift.

His hands, which had been resting lightly at my waist, one still over my wound, tightened. A moment later, he was pulling me in.

His forehead rested against mine for a breath, maybe two. Then, without a word, he bent his head, and his lips found mine.

The kiss was slow at first, tentative. But as his hands slid over my skin, gripping tighter, holding onto me, it deepened. Hard and desperate.

Like he needed this to stay upright.

I kissed him back just as fiercely, my hands threading through his hair, pouring every unspoken thing into him. The pain. The anger. The love.

The way he loved me. The way he had torn through everything in his soul for me.

Water streamed between us, running down our skin.

This was ours - this moment, this feeling.

When we finally pulled away, we both stood there, breathless, his forehead resting against mine. His hands were still on my waist, keeping me steady.

“I dunno what I’d do if I lost ya,” he said, his voice barely a whisper. It was raw, breaking under the weight of everything. “I don’t wanna know.”

I ran my fingers through his hair again, soft and slow. “I’m not going anywhere.”

He tightened his grip around me, pulling me close again, but this time it was gentler, almost as though he was holding on for both of us.

Because this wasn’t just about washing away the blood.

This was something else. Something more. It was about us, how fiercely we’d vowed to protect each other, to take down anybody who tried to separate us.

Slowly, his hands started to move, skimming up my sides, his calloused fingers dragging over my damp skin with deliberate care. The warmth of his body mixed with the heat of the water surrounded me completely.

It was his hand that reached for the soap now, lathering it between his palms as I had, before he started smoothing it over my skin, tracing slow circles along the length of my arm.

His touch was different than mine had been.

I had washed him to ease him, to cleanse him of the blood, the weight, the storm that had settled inside him. But this was different. This was reverent. Careful. Like I was something breakable.

He worked in silence, his gaze steady on every inch of me that he touched. My arms, my shoulders, my collarbone. He followed the curve of my neck, tilting my chin up slightly so the water could wash away the soap. His thumb traced lightly over the spot where my pulse beat strong beneath my skin, lingering for a second.

Then he moved lower.

I barely breathed as his palms glided over my ribs, slow and patient. When he reached the wound at my side, he paused. His hands hovered, like he was afraid of hurting me.

I took his wrist and pressed his palm flush against the wound. “I’m okay,” I whispered.

His jaw tightened slightly, but he nodded. And then he continued, washing over the bruises, the cuts, the remnants of that horrific night that clung to my skin. His fingers moved lower, over the curve of my hips, down my thighs, his hands never leaving me, never breaking contact.

He dropped to one knee, and took my ankle gently, lifting my foot just enough to pass his hands over it, before setting it back down with care. He did the same to the other. Then, his hands smoothed back up my legs, stopping just below my ribs, his thumbs brushing feather-light against my sides as he stood again.

By the time he reached my face, my pulse was thrumming against my ribs, but not from desire - well, not just from that. It was the way he was looking at me. Like I was everything. Like he was trying to memorize every single inch of me, to burn me into his hands, his mind, so that nothing - not time, not pain, not blood - could take me away from him.

His fingers skimmed my cheek.

“Yur the beautiful one,” he murmured, almost like he hadn’t meant to say it aloud.

A slow breath left me. I leaned into his touch, closing my eyes as he gently tipped my chin back, guiding my face beneath the stream of water. His fingers tangled in my hair, massaging my scalp with slow, patient circles, letting the warmth wash over me, letting himself take care of me the way I had taken care of him.

He was tender in the way he worked through my locks, in the way he tipped my head forward slightly to rinse the shampoo away, in the way his hands found my back afterward, pulling me against him with quiet certainty.

I let myself fall into him, pressing my cheek against his chest, feeling the steady thump of his heart beneath damp skin.

His lips brushed the top of my head.

“I love ya,” he whispered.

I smiled. “I love you.”

He held me tighter, his fingers pressing into the small of my back. “Ain’t ever losin’ ya. Ain’t gonna happen.”

I swallowed hard, breathing him in, letting the weight of his words settle into my bones.

“I know,” I murmured. And I believed it.

He pulled back and met my eyes. I knew that look - knew the way his gaze softened when it was just us, when the world outside didn’t exist. It was the way he always looked at me when words weren’t enough.

His lips found my shoulder first, warm and soft, pressing gently against my damp skin. Then lower, along my collarbone, lingering there as if he could taste my heartbeat.

He continued his path downward, each kiss lingering more than the last. Across my chest, the swell of my breasts, lower still. His hands steadied me as he knelt, his lips ghosting over my ribs, just above my stitches, as if to silently acknowledge what had almost been taken from us.

His lips brushed over my side, right next to the still-healing wound, his breath hot against my skin. “Hate that ya got hurt,” he murmured, voice rough. His fingers splayed over my hip, his thumb rubbing slow, soothing circles. “Hate that ya were alone.”

I slid my fingers into his wet hair, tilting his head up so I could look into his eyes. “You found me,” I whispered. “That’s what matters.”

He held my gaze a moment longer before he pressed his lips just below my navel. Then lower.

A gasp escaped me as his mouth moved, his grip on my thighs tightening just enough to ground me. Heat grew in my stomach, my breath catching as he worked me over with slow, unhurried movements, like he had all the time in the world.

I clung to him, my hands gripping his shoulders, my head falling back in pleasure against the tiled wall. The water streamed over us, but I barely felt it. All I could feel was him. His tongue, the way he worshipped every inch of me with his mouth.

I whispered his name, my voice shaky, breathless, and that was all it took.

He rose, his mouth capturing mine again, his body pressing flush against me. I could taste the hunger in his kiss, the desperation, the love. His hands gripped my hips, his touch firmer now, possessive in a way that sent another shiver through me.

He didn’t rush. Even now, when the urgency burned between us, he was careful, mindful of my wound. He guided my leg around his waist, his hands firm beneath my thigh, holding me steady as he pushed into me with aching slowness.

A sharp gasp left my lips, swallowed by his mouth as he kissed me through it, his forehead pressing against mine. “Ya okay?” he breathed, his voice thick, strained.

I nodded, tightening my hold on him. “Yes,” I whispered, “Fuck, yes.”

His grip tightened, his hips rolling forward, and the sensation stole the air from my lungs.

We moved together, slow at first, then deeper. His hands traced over me like he couldn’t get close enough, his lips finding every part of me they could reach - my jaw, my throat, my shoulder.

I held onto him, my fingers tangled in his hair, my breath mixing with his as we lost ourselves in each other.

This was what we needed. Not just the release, not just the closeness - but the reminder. That we were still here. That after everything - after the blood, the rage, the violence - we still had this. Each other.

Immediately afterwards - as we climbed out of the shower – we realized.

We’d been so caught up in the heat of the moment, we hadn’t used protection.

We didn’t say it – but I knew he was thinking the same. I could tell by the look in his eyes as we dried ourselves.

“Whoops.” I mumbled, trying to make light of our error.

“Mhmh.” Was all he offered in response.

“It'll be okay. My period’s due any day now.” I reassured him.

He looked confused.

I chuckled. “Women mainly only need to worry at a certain point in their cycle. It’s not fool proof, but I’m not worried.”

“M’kay. He nodded.”

As we lay together in bed, I could still feel the heat of the shower on my body. He seemed much more relaxed now, but I could tell there was something still unsettled in him.

I moved slightly, pressing a soft kiss to his collarbone before my looking up at him. His face was shadowed in the moonlight, but I knew his expression well enough. His eyes were open, staring at the ceiling, his jaw tight.

“What is it?” I murmured.

His fingers stilled against my skin. “Nothin’.”

I huffed softly. “Daryl. I told you it’d be fine. The cycle thing.

“Ain’t worried ‘bout that.” His grip on me tightened for a fraction of a second before he exhaled slowly. “Jus’… can’t stop thinkin’.”

I ran my hand up his chest, feeling the way his heart still beat a little faster than usual. “About what?”

There was a moment of silence before he finally spoke.

“The day of the explosion.”

I stayed quiet, waiting.

He swallowed, like the words were harder to say than he wanted them to be. “Made Aaron come back early.”

His fingers flexed against my hip. “I dunno... Somethin’ in me felt… twisted. Stomach started hurtin’, got this feelin’ like somethin’ was wrong.” He shifted beneath me, his voice rougher now. “I didn’t know what it was, just knew I had to get back. Told Aaron we were done, no arguments. I was thinkin’ ‘bout ya the whole drive.”

I recognised that feeling.

He ran a hand over his face, exhaling sharply. “Just had this… fuckin’ weight on me.” He turned his head toward me, his blue eyes darker in the low light. “Then I got back...”

I swallowed hard, my fingers tightening against his chest.

He looked away again, jaw clenching. “Ain’t ever felt somethin’ like that before. Like I just… knew.”

I reached up, brushing my fingers along his jaw until he turned back to me. “I had the same feeling,” I whispered. “At the farm. When you were in the ravine, then got shot.”

I couldn’t help but chuckle lightly at the ridiculousness of him having clawed his way up the edge of the steel ravine with a bolt impaled in his side, only to be shot by Andrea as he made it back to camp.

His brows pulled together slightly.

“I remember it so clearly,” I continued, voice steady but quiet. “I was on a run with Shane. Everything was fine, and then suddenly… it wasn’t. My stomach hurt. My hands wouldn’t stop shaking. I couldn’t focus on what he was saying. I punched him, stole the car keys when he tried to say I couldn’t leave. I knew I had to get back.”

He was looking at me like he couldn’t believe what I was saying.

“When I got back and Rick told me you were hurt, bad.” I said softly. “It all made sense.”

A long silence stretched between us.

Daryl’s fingers traced absently along my spine, his breathing slow and even, but I could feel the weight of his thoughts pressing down.

“We always find our way back to each other,” I murmured, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Even when we don’t know why. We just do... Carol was spot on with our wedding gift.”

He turned his head slightly, his lips grazing against mine.

“I fuckin’ love ya,” he muttered, voice hoarse.

I smiled, resting my forehead against his. “I know. I love you.”

~

I woke up to the first hint of daylight creeping through the curtains, the soft glow warming the room. Daryl was still asleep beside me, his arm heavy across my waist, his breath slow and steady against the back of my neck.

Nicholas crossed my mind for all of one second. I felt no guilt for what had been done, that he had been dealt with.

I pressed a quick kiss to Daryl’s forearm before carefully slipping out from under it. He mumbled something unintelligible but didn’t wake.

I stretched, feeling the ache that still lingered in my muscles as I padded to the bathroom. It wasn’t until I sat down that I noticed - relief washing over me at the sight of red.

I was right that we didn’t need to worry about our oversight.

I cleaned up before heading back out into the bedroom. Daryl had rolled onto his back, one arm draped over his forehead, the other resting against his stomach. He looked relaxed for once, not twisted up in tension like he so often was.

I crawled back onto the bed beside him, bracing my hands on either side of him as I leaned down, my face hovering just over his.

“Hey.” I brushed my lips over his jaw, grinning when he stirred. “Guess what?”

He grumbled, shifting slightly, but his eyes stayed closed. “Mmm?”

I smirked. “I was right about my period being due.”

That got his attention. His eyes cracked open, brows furrowing in confusion for half a second before understanding dawned. He exhaled, rubbing a hand over his face.

“No need to worry about a baby Dixon setting up shop.” I teased.

He gave me a look, but I caught the way his lips twitched slightly. “Guess we ain’t gotta worry ‘bout last night, then.”

“Yeah, but let’s not be stupid again.” I flopped onto my side, facing him. “I mean, last night was heavy, but I don’t think that’s an excuse for bad decisions.”

Daryl let out a small huff, nodding. “Yeah.”

But something in the way he said it made me pause.

I studied him for a moment. He wasn’t tense, exactly, but there was something held back, something just behind his eyes.

I side-eyed him. “What?”

“Nothin’.”

“There’s something...”

His jaw ticked slightly as he stared at the ceiling.

“We ain’t never talked ‘bout...” His voice was quiet, almost careful. “...that stuff.”

I blinked. It was true - we hadn’t. Not once.

I propped myself up on my elbow, thinking about it.

“No, we haven’t,” I admitted. “Guess I never really saw a reason to.”

He turned his head toward me, waiting.

I sighed, running a hand through my hair. “It’d be reckless, don’t you think? In a world like this?”

He nodded slightly. “Yeah.”

I hesitated before continuing, feeling the words settle on my tongue before I spoke them. “Even before all this, I never really thought about it much. I shrugged. “Just wasn’t something I ever pictured for myself.”

Daryl didn’t say anything at first, just gave a small nod.

“Besides,” I added, nudging his arm. “You like the quiet. A small person that screams half the time would probably push you over the edge.”

That got a smirk out of him, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“I ain’t that bad,” he muttered.

I laughed softly, leaning in to press a quick kiss to his shoulder. “Mmm, debatable.”

He huffed again, but the warmth in his expression was still shadowed by something I couldn’t quite place.

I didn’t push, though.

Instead, I stretched, shifting to sit up. “Come on,” I said, throwing the covers off. “Today’s the trial run for the quarry mission.”

Daryl grunted, rubbing a hand over his face before sitting up slowly.

“Ya gonna be okay?” he asked.

“Yup. I feel fine. Stitches can come out soon.” I stood, grabbing some clothes. “So, you better get your ass up and moving.”

I felt his eyes on me as I dressed, but when I glanced back at him, he finally climbed out of bed and pulled on his clothes.

A/N: Thank so much for your votes and comments! ❤️