A/N: Alright so... Firstly, I apologize that it took me so long to update this, but between my two OFC fics, and my Hobbit fics, I'm sort of running myself ragged here lately, and since this is the story I have the least inspiration on right now... I'm not going to lie, updates will probably be once every week or two on this until I either find some inspiration, or I wrap up another story. : /

"Done already?" Carol asked with a smile as Daryl entered through one of the doors, swinging the large metal door shut behind him.

He grunted as he sat down on one of the blankets, stretching his arms over his head. "Weren't that much ta do," He grumbled. "Strung some shit 'round the outer fence; hell, don't even know how much noise we'll hear from inside these metal coffins. How's ya claustrophobia holdin' up?"

She grimaced as she handed him a can of hash and a plastic fork. "I'm trying not to think about it," She admitted, leaning back against the wall of the storage container.

She felt a pang of guilt as he frowned at the can for a minute, before setting it next to him on the ground. "Sorry… That was the only thing that Rick and T brought back that I thought you might like."

"Damn. Knew I should a went with 'em. What else they bring back?"

Carol sighed as she scooted across the floor towards where she'd stacked a few of the cans. "Um… Mandarins, few Campbell's chicken noodle soups, and some vegetables… Beans, corn, and peas."

Daryl rolled his eyes. "Great. Send 'em out for food, an' they don't bring back nothin' we can actually eat. Gotta go back out tomorrow ta find some clothes. Get us some real food while we're out there. Can't eat this shit."

"Daryl… you need rest as much as the rest of us do," She said firmly. "You haven't slept more than an hour or two since…" She paused, swallowing thickly when he glared at her.

"Since what?" He growled, and she could see him resisting the urge to touch his shoulder. "Go 'head, an' say it."

"Since you came back that night. Look, Daryl… you're not superhuman. You have to sleep at some point," She pointed out softly.

"I get enough sleep. Don't need ya motherin' me," He muttered, dropping his gaze again, and Carol had to keep from sighing at the petulant look on his face.

"When was the last time you slept, hmm? Last time you ate? Rick's been running us ragged the past four days, but you've been pushing yourself non-stop. You haven't even… you're still recovering. I know your shoulder hasn't healed, and I've seen you limping. You're killing yourself, Daryl."

"M'fine."

"No. You're not fine, and I'm tired of hearing you say that you are. You're exhausted, you're not eating, you're in pain… You need to stop. I… We can send Glen out tomorrow for more food. Him and Maggie are better at getting that stuff anyways."

"I can do it!"

Carol frowned, moving over closer to him. "I'm not saying that you can't, Daryl. I'm just saying that others are perfectly capable of doing some of the heavy lifting. You're not the only person here who can do things."

"Sure I ain'. S'why we got hash an' the worst soup known ta man ta eat."

Carol rolled her eyes as she lay down on one of the many blankets they'd found in the various storage containers, wrapping herself up in another blanket.

He really could be such a child at times, she thought, rolling onto her side, facing away from him. Worse than Sophia or even Carl sometimes.

Although, when she thought about it, it made sense. While he was intelligent – really, he was probably one of the smartest, most observant people she'd ever met – he had the mindset and the emotions of a child. And on occasion, the temper to match it. He'd never had a chance to learn how to interact with others, never learned appropriate emotional responses.

At times, his child-like behavior could be endearing, even making her chuckle once in a while. But others times –like right then –it was just frustrating.

Daryl could tell that Carol was angry. Well, maybe not 'angry', she didn't ever seem to get angry with him, it was more like… annoyance.

And it was obvious. It couldn't have been more clear in the way she turned away from, giving him the cold shoulder.

Speaking of… Now that she wasn't watching, he tried to surreptitiously rub at his shoulder. Despite what he'd told Hershel back on the farm, he was starting to get worried; almost three weeks, a simple dislocation shouldn't have been giving him any more problems. But it was still swollen, sore, and stiff, sometimes so bad that he could barely move. His leg wasn't doing much better, he thought, grimacing as he stretched it out in front of him, a sharp ache shooting up the entire length, from his foot to his thigh.

"You should take off your boots. You'll sleep better."

Daryl grunted, a little surprised to find Carol had turned over, and was staring up at him.

"Thought you was goin' ta sleep," He muttered, reaching down to try and unlace his boots. He gritted his teeth as another wave of pain ripped through his shoulder, and gave up. He'd slept in his boots before –hell, he spent most of his life sleeping in his boots – and another night wasn't gonna kill him.

"You need help?"

"No."

He glared as she sat up with a sigh, moving herself around to his feet.

"You know, I think you're the most stubborn person I've ever met."

"I'll add that ta the list a things I am," He grumbled, fighting the urge to pull his feet away as she slowly untied the knots, and pulled his boots off.

"You should let Hershel look at your leg."

"I said I'm fine. Damn ol' man's got 'nough on his plate right now. What the hell are ya doin'?!"

Carol almost chuckled at the shocked look on his face. "I'm rubbing your feet," She said with a soft smile.

"Why?"

"Because you're sore, and in pain, and there's nothing I can do about that, but I can try and make you feel a little bit better."

"You ain't gotta do that. Said I'm fine. Knock it off, will ya?" He finally snapped, moving his legs away from her. "Jesus, woman. Jus' go ta sleep, will ya?"