So, this was a Tumblr prompt by 13sin. I doubt I did the prompt any justice, but here it goes. One-Shot.
All of this is subject to change, it may or may not stay this way.

I don't own the characters.

The night wasn't particularly cold and there wasn't much of a chill in the wind, but there was still a fire lit. It sparked dimly in the night, and many of the Atlanta survivors had gathered around it. Daryl sat on the outskirts of the circle, hardly listening to the idle chatter, preferring to focus on his crossbow and his own thoughts.

This group had been together for about three weeks. The world had gone to **, everything was turned upside down, but still this bunch sat around chatting like it was some kind of high school reunion. They had divided themselves up into their little groups – established the classes and the cliques that you would expect would have gone away at the end of the world. They hadn't.

Growing up, Daryl had always known that hyper vigilance was important; you always had to know who you were with and where you were. So he had watched them all since the beginning and knew their behavior, even if he didn't know their names. Because of that, he knew without even looking up how the circle had lain itself out.

The old man in the Hawaiian print shirt was closest to the center telling anyone who was bothering to listen about the time his RV had broken down in Fresno. The blonde girl sat beside him. The deputy sheriff, his woman, and the kid where right there next to him, laughing at his stories. That little girl would always sit with them, blue eyes uncertain of where she was, but smiling all the same.

The little girl's pa would sit just outside the circle, arms crossed over his chubby stomach like he had somewhere better to be. Most of the others stayed in that general location too, either too shy to be in the center or too dependent to be on the outside.

While Merle was in Atlanta with the china-man and the others, the outer ring of the little circle stayed pretty clear: Just Daryl, the scrawny looking guy with the baseball cap, and that woman – the woman with the pixie cut, graying hair, and the jittery steps. She reminded Daryl of a rabbit, the way she skittered around the outside of the circle, pacing in a small circle. She would always keep her eyes trained on her daughter, who was closest to the fire with the little boy and the cop. Only occasionally would her eyes trail to her ** hat of a husband.

Daryl recognized that behavior. Having grown up in a hellish home, he had seen the signs of abuse immediately. He had often found himself watching her day to day, just to see how she responded to this new hell on top of the one she had obviously lived in before.

He allowed himself to lift his gaze from the crossbow. He had been right. The circle had lain out exactly like it always had with just two exceptions. The fat man and the grey haired woman were nowhere to be seen. Their daughter was still in the center of the circle looking as nervous as always. Her mama must have put her there.

Without really realizing it, Daryl found himself searching the camp, looking in between the circle of tents down past the quarry for a sign of the pair of them. There wasn't any.

His fists clinched involuntarily, and he felt his lips curl into a snarl.

What's wrong with you? he growled at himself, refocusing on his crossbow, they-she-ain't none your problem.
He tried to tell himself that the only reason it bothered him was because he didn't want to have to put an ax through their heads when they showed back up bit. That had to be what it was. That's all it was.

But when the big bastard came lumbering up to the group, plopping down into a chair with a self-satisfied smirk on his face, he knew that it wasn't just that.

She'll be bruised to hell and back tomorrow.

The thought struck him suddenly, and he was unsure of why. Why did it matter? It was probably her fault anyway.

No it ain't stupid, don't nobody deserve that kinda thing, least of all a woman.

That thought hit him suddenly, too, along with a sudden, unexpected surge of guilt. She didn't deserve it. No one did – not him, not his brother, not his own mama, no one.

He was on his feet before he had told them to go.

He found her by the quarry, legs tucked beneath her. With only the light of the moon, he could see her trembling. Her back was to him, and he still had plenty of chances to just walk away. She was alive, she was breathing, and that was all he was worried about right? But something in him told him that he couldn't leave. Not yet.

He sat the crossbow down gently – making his way to her – and made an effort to actually snap the twigs between his spot and hers. She responded to the sudden noise as he expected. Her head snapped up and whipped around. Her body shifted, poised to run.

She was hyper vigilant, too.

As he got closer, her eyes got wider flashing between fear, surprise, and even brief recognition. She recognized him, but he doubted she knew his name either.

What did he plan on doing now that he was here? Now that he had her attention? Daryl had never been one for emotion or words. So what was he going to say to this woman? His mouth figured it out faster then he thought possible.

"You shouldn't wander off on your own. 'S not safe," he growled, kneeling beside her, holding his hands out in front of him, in a childish show of docility.

"I think I can manage. Thank you." Her voice was quiet, cracked by pain, and slurred slightly be tears. She didn't look at him, but he could see the cut on the side of her lip. It was already a dark bruise, swollen up and cracked. She'd been hit hard. The thin little cover up she was wearing failed to hide the bruises on her arm that had been put there by hands a hell of a lot stronger than her own.

He fought the urge to growl and swallowed back the angry bile that was rising in his throat.

"I can help you with that," he muttered gruffly, to his surprise and hers. He didn't know why he offered, why he even said anything at all. Hell, he still didn't even know why he was here. She probably didn't even need his help. He was sure that this wasn't her first rodeo, but he took the small scrap of cloth from her hands anyway. It had been a clean cloth, but he could see the spots where she had already dabbed at the blood. It hadn't even stopped bleeding.

With one hand he reached out carefully, lifting her face to his, barely making contact with her skin. She flinched a little but didn't pull away, either to docile to fight or just too shocked to really think. It was probably both.

With his free hand, he used the cloth to dab at the blood on her lip. He didn't look at her eyes and did his best to ignore her trembling hands fidgeting in her lap.

What the hell was he doing? He didn't even know this woman! Why the hell should it matter to him what her face looked like?

Even with those thoughts in his head, he didn't move either one of his hands until he was satisfied that her lip had stopped bleeding.

"Thank you," she murmured uncertainly. Her eyes followed him curiously. She wanted to say something, ask why he had helped, how he had even known she was here, but she didn't.

She had watched the Dixon brothers for a while. Though the oldest one was loud, aggressive, and vulgar at the best of times, the youngest was different. He watched her now with a stony expression, but she felt as if she could see through that now. She had seen something in his eyes while he knelt beside her even though he hadn't made eye contact.

She had seen intelligence, kindness, patience, as well as a child-like persistence.

She was sure he was different.

"S' Nothin," he muttered, putting the rag back in her hands and rocking back to his feet. He shifted nervously, and from the ground Carol could see that a dark blush was lighting up under his eyes.

"You should get back to camp though. It's dangerous out here at night." He repeated his earlier statement, but he was sure she already knew that.

She nodded kindly, but didn't make a move to leave. He knew she would follow soon.

He didn't know what the hell he was thinking, but he knew he didn't regret coming down here.

He still didn't know her name.

Royal Fail, but I tried. What do you like? What do you hate?