Chapter 8

Daryl crept down the hall and edged open the fire doors slowly. The supply closet was on the other end of the hall, only about fifty yards from the safe zone behind the fire doors, but it was pitch black. All Daryl had was a zippo lighter and his other senses to protect him against any walkers who might have strayed up to the fifth floor. Almost everyone had noticed serious improvements in their night time senses since the dead rose, and Daryl, whose senses had always been sharp, could almost always judge the distance of a walker just from the gasping sounds it made. But that didn't stop him from feeling exposed and anxious as he shuffled down the hallway blind.

He was eight doors down when he heard the sound he'd been anticipating, the scratchy rasp and dragging gate of a walker. From his estimation it was fifteen feet away, but he couldn't be sure how high off the ground it was. The trick would be finding its brain before it got a hold of him. He waited for two seconds, then swung the knife he'd brought with him right at the source of the sound. It dropped the walker instantly but he stood still frozen in place for a moment longer to see if he could hear anything else moving towards him. After a few more moments in the silent darkness he started moving again.

It felt like an hour had passed by the time he finally got to the supply closet. Luckily there was no dead lock, and he was able to jimmy the lock by just inserting the knife tip into the door lock at the right angle after only a few tries. Mentally he added his lock picking gear to the growing list of things he wished he had from the prison.

Once inside he realized how much of a goldmine the closet was. There closet held all the restock supplies for the mini bar and after feeling his way around for a bit he found water, crackers, candy, and even half bottles of champagne. He grabbed stuffed what he found into a backpack and moved deeper into the closet, feeling his way along the shelves. After minutes of grabbing at cleaning supplies he hit the jackpot and finally laid his hand on a flashlight.

After that the run was a breeze, and he strode back confidently a few minutes later with two first aid kits and a port-a-crib slung over his shoulder in addition to the supplies Beth had sent him he'd scrounged in the dark.

Beth had been tense with the passing of every minute without Daryl. She'd begun keeping track of the inhales and exhales coming from Tara, hating herself for causing the situation but forcing herself to remain vigilant. If Tara slipped away she'd become a threat, and they couldn't have that, not with Judith in the room. She'd been so focused on fixing what she'd done that she hadn't stopped to think of what it'd mean if it weren't enough. Judith was dozing fitfully on the bed, she'd been fussy with hunger and thirst all night, but there was nothing Beth could do but wait for Daryl to return or Tara to pass.

Finally she heard his knock on the door and scurried across the room. Her relief must have shown because he looked down at her puzzled at first and then said sheepishly, "found bunch 'a stuff y'asked for…" and placed the port-a-crib down by the window.

"Thank you, so so much." Beth said breathlessly. It was amazing how much more useful she felt with things to work with. Within a few minutes she'd set up the crib and coaxed Judith into drinking some of the water and eating a bag of peanut M&Ms. Nutrition was a luxury they couldn't afford, and if Judith had something for tonight it'd be better than nothing. Daryl sat in the desk chair and watched her work. When she lay Judith back down, she walked over to him.

"Pretty good at this mom stuff," he said softly.

Beth blushed and brushed it off, "I'm not really, I'm just winging it for the most part."

"Gotta give yerself credit," he mumbled looking out the window, "you do a hell of a lot better'n lotta moms from before all this went down, 'n she ain't even yours."

His compliment meant a lot to her and she hated to ruin a moment when she was finally feeling like someone appreciated her as a useful member of the group with the cowardly thoughts that had been going around in her head. The thought of reminding Daryl he should think ill of her now brought tears back to her eyes but she swallowed them and made herself face it.

"What's up," he said noticing her wary look.

"We… can't let her stay in this room. Not when we don't know if she'll live or die. Not with Judith here. Only I know you've already done so much but I can't move her by myself. But I want to put her in the room next door," Beth whispered her eyes downcast.

"Don' feel bad, that's smart thinkin' on your part. We'll move her now."

Tara whimpered as he lifted her but was too weak to protest much, and after a few miuntes they'd put her in the adjacent room. Beth placed water, Gatorade and pain killers by her bedside and handed her a packet of peanut M&Ms but couldn't bring herself to look their patient in the eye. They did their best to secure her door and returned to their room.

The pullout had been utterly destroyed by blood, do Daryl set up on the floor leaving the king unquestionably for Beth.

"It's big enough for two people Daryl, I know you wouldn't try anything," she said softly, "I don't deserve to be treated like a princess, especially after today…"

Her voice broke on the last word and he found himself moving up to sit on the bed next to her moving to comfort her.

"He's been gone two days, and I've already let him down," she said in a small voice, staring down at her hands glumly.

"Shh. Your old man was one of the best people I ever met," he said honestly, "but even he wasn' perfect. 'N I figure, s'long as you try 'n do better after you fuck up, your headin' in the direction he'd want you ta go."

She reached for his hand where it was on his lap, a he stiffen awkwardly. She just squeezed it affectionately and replied "thanks Daryl" before ordering him to take the left side of the bed. It became clear after a few minutes that she had no intention of backing down, and he finally agreed, throwing himself down on top of the covers in his last half-ditch effort of protest.

When he woke the next morning he was still on top of the covers, but somehow he'd flung his arm out towards Beth and she was half lying on it, using his bicep as a pillow. The pressure hadn't woken him but rather a slight clicking sound, he realized a second late, and his blue eyes shot towards the door just in time to see someone open the door.

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