Arrowhead ➳ Daryl Dixon

t w e n t y f i v e

Morning light leaked through the windows. It was a beautiful morning, no humidity, only a limited amount of walkers at the fence... It was these kind of mornings that Rick actually enjoyed getting up. 

"Where's Daryl?" Carl asked, fumbling with the gun in his hand. Rick frowned, realizing that usually the man would have gone out hunting by now to get some meat for lunch or dinner. But he was no where in sight.

"Check his room." Rick ordered, watching as his son scampered off, only to come back empty handed. He frowned, running his hand along the stubble that lined his face. This was unlike Daryl. He was always up at the crack of dawn, ready to take on that forest with only what he had on him. Rick wasn't angry, simply confused and concerned.

He began peaking in the cells, looking for any sign of his friend. It wasn't until he came back to his own cell block that he realized something was up. Carol approached him, a wide smile on her face.

"If you're looking for Daryl, he's in Presley's cell." Automatically, Rick assumed the worst. He took the stairs by twos and peaked in Presley's cell. Her head was against Daryl's shoulder, her arm and leg draped over him. He had a single arm underneath her, the other falling loosely over the side of the bed. They looked too peaceful to awaken. Besides- Rick wouldn't really need either of them until it was time to continue training the people. 

He smiled, in spite of everything. He was happy for Daryl and thrilled that maybe, just maybe, Presley would have an actual reason to stay now.

- - -

The first one to awaken was Presley. The moment her eyes fluttered open, she realized that she had probably done something terrible and utterly embarrassing. She looked up, unsure of whom she had welcomed into her bed. Was it relief that overcame her when she saw that it was Daryl? Perhaps it was.

Thankfully, the both of them were fully clothed. She laid there, trying to ignore her pounding head as she processed all of last night. It was a blur, but she remembered most of it. She could only pray that she hadn't spilled too much to Daryl about her treacherous nights with the Governor. She shuddered at the thought.

Not wanting to wake him, she tried to wriggle away from him, with no prevail. His Georgia blues shot open, looking at her with an alarmed expression. She closed her eyes, awaiting a wave of curses and words filled with regret, but there were none.

"Hey." He mumbled, and she opened her eyes to look at him. One corner of her lip upturned into a small smile.

"Hello, Daryl." She said, settling back into bed, only inches away from him now. She closed her eyes. "I am sorry, I did not mean to... Pull you into bed, I guess you could say."

"S'alright." He replied gruffly, and the two sat in awkward silence. 

"Presley and Daryl, sittin' in a tree, k-i-s-s-i-n-g." Carl sang, his distinct voice taunting and teasing. Daryl swung his legs over the side of the bed, pulling on his shoes and exiting the cell, giving Carl a small playful shove. Presley watched him leave, slighty offended. She hadn't particularly wanted the entire cell block to know what she was doing, either, but that hadn't been enough for her to run out. She frowned, brushing back a tendril of black hair and standing.

Ever since she had decided that her stay would be more permanent here, she had taken it upon herself to make her cell more comfortable. She had set up a small mirror on the desk, one with a small crack in the corner, but it worked. Boxes of ammo sat in small piles on the desk, alongside a wide variety of sharpened knives. She approached the mirror, throwing her hair up in a ponytail and using her bandana as a headband. She had it folded so that it was only about two inches wide.