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Salvation	By : madnad Category: S through Z > The Walking Dead Views: 8392 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: The Walking Dead universe & Daryl Dixon belongs wholly to Kirkman/AMC. Original character Lilith belongs to me. I make no money from writing of this story and it is strictly for entertainment purposes only. Do Not Repost elsewhere without permission

Chapter List
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Daryl sat quietly, not sure what to say. He was pleased to finally know a little bit more about her. He watched as she picked up her coffee mug, and peered briefly into the empty vessel. He wished he could offer her a refill, suddenly not wanting her to leave just yet, he wanted to know more. She gave him a sad smile, wished him a goodnight, then left for the cell blocks, leaving him alone with his thoughts.
Lilith was still in his thoughts the next morning when he met Carol on his way to the shower.
"I haven't seen much of you for a while," she chastised him gently.
"I've been around," he answered. "You know where I am most of the time," he indicated towards the tower with his head.
"Well, yes but… I thought perhaps you had company, and wanted some privacy."
Daryl's jaw clenched in annoyance as his eye's narrowed. Carol was unsubtly fishing for information about his friendship with Lilith. If she's that interested, why doesn’t she just come out and ask me?
"If you mean Lilith, we're just friends," he snapped at her. He made a move to walk away.
"Daryl, please. Look, I… I think she's lovely," Carol added. "But, I just worry she's coming on a bit strong."
Daryl sighed. She was being nosey, but he knew that it was born out of concern for him. "It's not like that," he answered much softer. "You jealous?" he teased.
Carol blushed. "No! It's just… well, Sasha doesn't like her. She says she is 'one cold tough bitch', and I just don't want to see you getting hurt."
He was surprised to hear someone describe Lilith as cold. He found her quite warm. She was a little nervous around people, a loner, but he had seen her behave nothing but considerately towards others.
"She may appear tough but she's just as broken as I am. As we are," he corrected. "She's just good at hiding it is all."
"Like you," she smiled.
***
Lilith spent most of the afternoon employing her archery skills as part of a team working to clear out the walkers from the rest of the prison. It wasn't until during supper she noticed a few of the children staring at her blood-stained clothes that she realised what a mess she was in.
As soon as she had eaten, she fetched some clean clothes and headed to the showers. After scrubbing herself almost raw, she washed the gore-ridden clothes getting out most of the stains.
She debated whether to take over a coffee to Daryl, as it was now much later than she would normally go over. As she stood in the doorway of her cell towelling her long hair, she could see a faint light in the guard tower through the window.
Why the hell not, she thought. Worst thing he can do is tell me to fuck off.

When she got to the top of the tower steps, he wasn't sat on the floor of the platform as she was expecting, but she noticed the door to the small office was open slightly.
With her hands full, she hooked the toes of her right foot and pulled it open. "Knock knock," she announced sheepishly.
To her surprise, Daryl was stood just the other side of the door shirtless. She gaped open-mouthed as her eyes scanned down his slim but muscular frame. His tanned shoulders were broad in comparison to his narrow waist. A light dusting of reddish brown hair grew across his pectorals, and another patch trailed from his navel down into the waist band of his pants. Her grip loosened a little on one of the cups, and hot coffee spilled on to her hands. It was enough to cause her to regain her wits.
"Oh God, I'm sorry!" she exclaimed, flustered.
Daryl pulled the sleeveless t-shirt he had in his hand over his head. "It's okay," he said quietly, as he pulled the garment down. "I was just about to turn in."
"Oh. Right." Lilith could feel her cheeks burning as she looked around and spotted the mattress on the floor. It looked identical to the ones in the cells. "I er.. I will just leave this here then," she mumbled leaning past him to place one of the coffee cups on a small desk under the window.
She looked at him, trying to gauge his reaction to her obvious intrusion, but he was unreadable as always. "Thanks," he said gratefully, and she relaxed a little.
She stepped backwards over the threshold of the small office, and hovered there, hesitant to be back within the stark walls of the cell blocks.
"Would you mind if I stayed here a little while… just until I have drank my coffee?" She chewed her lip awaiting his response.
Daryl stared back at her, his eyes almost navy in the dim light. "Suit yourself," he replied with a shrug. Using his right foot, he pushed off his left boot, and did the same for the other. As Lilith sat in her usual spot opposite the door, he lay down on the mattress, but left the door open.
***
Despite the scorching temperatures of the day, the cloudless sky above did nothing to prevent the day's heat from fading. The night air was cool, so Daryl grabbed an unzipped sleeping bag and pulled it over him as a quilt.
His body was exhausted from another long day and he found it difficult to remain awake, yet was extremely conscious that Lilith was still sat only a few feet away. He lifted his head slightly and he could see her sat staring out over the trees.
He was slowly beginning to accept that the group relied on him. It made him feel good knowing he was needed, but Lilith was the only one that ever came to see him just for company, or conversation. Rick, Glenn and the others would regularly seek him out, but they always wanted something.
Carol would ask how he was when she saw him, but she had others to care for now. She had spent so long caring for her husband and daughter, now both were gone, she directed that maternal instinct towards the group and the refugees from Woodbury.
Lilith was like him; alone. She was a strong, brave woman. Someone people could depend on if they needed something done, but did anyone take the time to just ask her how she is? It occurred to him he had never asked her that either.
Despite her revelations yesterday, there was still something she was holding back. Some part of her life she was unwilling to share. Being trapped in a house with her dead husband would have been unpleasant, but he didn't think it fully explained the haunted look she had sometimes, the way she flinched if anyone touched her, the tension in her shoulders when she was in a crowd.
He lifted his head to look at her again. She had her arms folded on one of the railing rungs, her chin rested on her hands. She was wearing a sleeveless vest, and even from this distance, he could see the goose bumps on her arms in the moonlight.
"You're gonna catch your death out there," he shouted over. "Either go back to your room or come inside. Either way, just shut the damn door."
He watched her stand, then quickly laid his head back down and closed his eyes trying to look nonchalant. He heard the door click closed and held his breath as he wondered what side of it she was on. After a second, he heard the sound of her sliding down the door to sit in the dark.
The room started to warm a little now the door was closed. His mind's eye replayed the image of her standing. She had moved gracefully, like he imagined a dancer would. He replayed the image of the muscles in her lithe thighs moving under the soft denim of her Levi's, and the ripple of her triceps beneath the fair skin of her British complexion.
He lifted his head once more. As his sight became adjusted to the muted light from the little moonlight that made it through the dirty windows, he could just make out her outline. Was she going to sit there all night?
He couldn't relax. With a resigned sigh, he lifted the cover. "Come on," he offered. "Get in."
Before he had a chance to change his mind, she crawled onto the mattress and laid next to him, pulling the cover over her cool skin, her back towards him. When she was settled, she murmured a quiet thank you. He didn't respond. He just closed his eyes and went to sleep.
When he woke the next morning, she was gone.
"Coulda made me breakfast," he complained to the empty room.
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Salvation