This is my first fic for the Walking Dead, and my first attempt at looking inside Daryl's head. Please don't shoot me. Just let me know what you think. I fail at jealous Daryl.

All characters belong to Robert Kirkman, Glenn Mazzarra, and all those wonderful folks at AMC. If I owned it, well, you guys know.

He had decided a while a go, during those first few brutal months, that it was his instinct that drove him to her. He couldn't quite explain it, not even to himself, but what else could it be?

At first, it was the instinct to protect, because Lord knows she had needed it.
In Atlanta, he had never spoken a word to her, or her daughter, but he knew what abuse was. He had never acted on the instinct, but he would find himself watching her. He recognized the skittish steps, the down cast eyes, the hunched shoulders,the soft spoken demeanor and the bruises, especially the bruises. They only ever showed up on her, he had noticed, never her daughter. That had meant something.

She protected her daughter, more so then she looked after herself. She put herself between that bastard and her daughter, and he admired that, though he would never, ever, say it.

And it was that silent admiration that led him to feel the instinct to help. He wanted to find that little girl when she had disappeared. He wanted to help the broken woman find the only thing in the world that she had left. There was part of him that wanted it for himself, to fight off those inner childhood demons, but it was mostly for her.

When he had failed, his instinct had turned against her. His instinct was to flee. He wanted nothing to do with the hollow eyes and the vacant expression, because, for the first time in his life, instinct had failed him.

But she was persistent. He knew her well enough now to know that it had been her own instinct to push her to help him. What instinct that had been, he couldn't say, but they were drawn together by instinct nonetheless.

And over the winter, it had been the instinct to protect, to help, but also just to belong.

He had forgotten what it was like to feel wanted by another human being, and she obviously wanted him around. She had made that very clear. So it was a childish instinct that had led him to further their relationship, whatever that was. The instinct to be wanted, admired, and trusted. She did all of those things, so in return, he helped her. He helped her grow, change, toughen up, and smile.

Instinct had always drawn him to her, but he wasn't really sure just how far those instincts would take him.

He was sore, the bruises on his body making him ache, the scrapes were burning up a storm, and a cut on his left shoulder hurt like a sumbitch.

He wanted to be outside, with his group, with his brother, and with the ragtag bunch of newcomers that had been introduced before he had made his way back.

He could hear them all yelling from the courtyard, and he fingered the string of his crossbow on the table next to him. He hoped that Rick still had enough sanity left in him to resolve the conflict before violence would become necessary.

Rick and Hershel had ordered him inside until things could be sorted out. He hated that he had been so easily cast aside when it was his brother's fate on the line, but he was on no condition to fight or to argue. He just had to let Rick take the lead. He wasn't to happy about the fact the Daryl had brought Merle back with him, so it was his compliance, or one big cluster fuck that wasn't going to get them anywhere.

The door to the cell opened, allowing a gust of wind and bright yellow light to peak through, followed by the ghost like footsteps he had come to recognize as Carol's. She padded her way to him silently and he only looked up when she stopped in front of him.

Her arms were crossed across her chest and her blue eyes studied him intently.
"You okay?" She asked tentatively, cocking her head to the side, biting the edge of her lip when he only grunted in reply.

"Rick said that he would let you come outside if you let me fix you up. If not, you'll have to wait for Hershel. So. Whats wrong?" She used that no bullshit voice that she had began to adopt around the others, asserting herself in a way that he was sure she had never done before her world had gone to hell.

"Nothin' serious. Just some bruises, a couple o' scrapes and scratches. Nothin' to worry 'bout." He grumbled, and she rolled her eyes at him.

Carol was used to his shifty behavior. One day he would be the sweetest thing a Dixon could be, and the next he would grunt and grumble, and answer her questions with a bite in his voice. This was nothing new.

"Hershel wouldn't have told Rick to keep you in here if he didn't think you needed to be patched up." She said gently, resting careful fingers on his shoulder and probing around a particularly nasty gash.

She heard him sigh, and when her eyes met his, she was almost surprised he hadn't flinched away from her touch yet. He had gotten out of the habit a long time ago, but he looked stressed, bothered, wounded. His eyes were shifting between her and the door, and she knew he probably felt trapped too.

"That ones the worst." he muttered.

"I'll have to stitch it up, bandage up some of the others," she saw his look of disdain and quickly added, " but that won't take long, and then I'll let you go."

He let her work, watching the way her fingers moved nimbly across his skin.

The whole process hadn't really taken long, and she was nearing the last stitch when Axle walked in. Her eyes shifted away from his arm and up to the ex-convict, and then back quickly.

"Its gettin' kinda crazy out there. That brother o' yours really knows how ta start an argument." Axle said, plopping down in a chair.

From his seat on the edge of the table, Daryl could see Axle's eyes following Carol's movements feverishly, like a hound who just spotted his next bit of prey. That look in his eyes irritated Daryl more then the wayward comments on his brother. The look he gave the man was venomous.

"Well why don't ya go back out there then? Gotta be a hell of a lot more interesting then whats going on in here." Daryl growled, keeping his eyes trained on Carol as she gently re cleaned the wounds on his shoulder.

"Yea...interesting." He muttered. Daryl finally looked back over at him, only to see the man's eyes locked on Carol's hip, where her shirt had shifted, leaving a few inches of bare white skin exposed. Daryl huffed under his breath, his hand reaching out to fix it for her before he had even told it what to do. His fingers briefly brushed her skin before he pulled his hand away, meeting her curious gaze. He looked away, sure he was red under all the dirt on his face.

Axle looked up at Daryl, only to be met with the blue eyes of a man who meant business. Carol wasn't his, but he'd be damned before he let some washed up, strung out, convict druggie look at her like she was a damn toy. She'd had enough of that in her life.

She had began a sort of nervous teetering between one foot and the other one, and her blue eyes kept glancing over at Axle, shifting between unease and disgust. Daryl knew that she had felt his gaze on her. He fought down the urge to growl at the bastard. Carol didn't get nervous like that anymore, so Daryl wondered just what kind of exchange had passed between them while he was gone.

He swore to God, or whoever the Hell else would listen, that if he had hurt her, or even thought about hurting her, he would kill him.

"So Carol, I was wondering-" Axle started, addressing her, and avoiding Daryl's eyes all together, but she cut him off,

"No." she said, eyes narrowing, still intently focused on the task of bandaging Daryl's arm.

"But you didn't even let me finish talking!" He cooed, trying to change the town of his voice and catch her attention again.

"I don't care. Twelfth time you've asked me. Its predictable. The answer is no." There was a bite in her voice that Daryl was unfamiliar with. It was cold, and irritated. He didn't know if he liked it or not. When he looked into her face and saw the harsh narrowing of her eyes on Axle's face, he decided that he did like it, but only as long as it stayed directed at Axle.

"But-" This time it was Daryl who answered,

"She said no Axle. Whatever you gotta say, she ain't hearin it. Let it go." he glowered at Axle for what felt like hours, but it had really only been a few minutes since he walked in the door.

"All righ' then, I guess I'll just go." he muttered, entirely deflated.

When he left the room, Carol propped up on the table beside him and laughed.

"What?" He growled playfully, feelings his lips draw up in a smile at the sound of her laughter.

"Nothin." She responded, shaking her head, fluffing out the crown of silver on her head.

He wanted to just sit there and allow her laughter to fill him up, but when her arm brushed against his, he was reminded of why the situation had irritated him.

"What was that about anyway? He messin' with you or somethin?" he asked, and the air between them chilled. She shifted, cocking her head to the side and pushing out her lips, almost like a duck. It was cute.

"No. He's a horn-dog, but that's it. Eventually he'll get it." she didn't seem concerned, but he couldn't stop the sight of her nervous blue eyes from seeping into his vision. His instinct told him that she still needed protection. He was going to protect her anyway. He wasn't about to go through the pain of losing her again. He knew he could protect her from walkers, but Axle's greedy gaze was something different.

"You just let me know if he doesn't catch on k? I'll straighten him out for ya." He winked at her, and she laughed again. On the inside he felt his pride begin to rise. He didn't exactly know when it had happened, but sometime between the last night on the farm and now, her laughter had become a huge source of joy for him, and being responsible for it made him even happier.

They walked outside together, and even though he could see the circle of people in the center of the courtyard, hear the shouts rising and falling between Rick and Merle, he didn't feel as stressed about it as he should have, because somewhere between inside and out, instinct had led him to do something else he didn't expect.

He arm was wrapped lazily around Carol's waist when they joined the circle. She didn't fight it, in fact, he could swear she was smiling even more.

Axle looked sick.

Even if the world had gone to hell, Daryl felt relieved that he could still count on his instinct.

So? What did you think?