Disclaimer: I do not own The Walking Dead or any plotlines or characters from the TV show or graphic novels.

Summary: Daryl questions his parenting ability the night after the CDC explosion.

. . . . .

Daryl knew he wasn't a good enough father. But damn, he was doing the best he could.

The group was in the middle of the nursing home. The one Grimes had given all the guns to. The one that, as they'd discovered hours before, had been raided – every person there killed by a bullet. Not walkers. People. People had murdered them all. Cleaned the place dry.

But they'd stopped here for the night, the group. And now they were holed up in a room, all except T-Dog – stupid name – who was keeping watch outside the door. The others were scattered around the room, sleeping or at least acting like it. Daryl and Sydney had a corner to themselves. Daryl sat up against a wall, his crossbow beside him. He closed his eyes every now and then for the hell of it, but he knew he wasn't going to sleep. Sydney was curled up on the floor a foot away, using some old blanket as a pillow, and that she could sleep made him both grateful and pissed off. The kid had wanted to die a few hours before. Now she slept like a damn baby.

He studied her. Most peaceful thing was watching his daughter sleep, usually, but not tonight. Her hands were in fists and tucked under her chin, like always. In the white light from the lamp across the room, Daryl could see that her eyebrows were close together, as if she were working out a problem. Well, good luck to her. She had plenty of problems to work out.

For Christ's sake, she was ten. Ten. And she'd wanted to kill herself.

Daryl rubbed his mouth. No, she hadn't. Not really, he knew that, he knew his kid. Sydney just missed her mom. She just wanted Leah. And Daryl couldn't blame her for that. He couldn't even be insulted by it. Sydney had spent most of her life – ever since she was what, two? – with her mom. She would see Daryl every other weekend, some Christmases, some birthdays. Typical custody arrangement. And Daryl knew she adored him. Hell, she used to think she liked him more than her mom, she told him so once. But now Leah was gone and Daryl was the only parent Sydney had, and neither of them were really sure what they were doing. Especially considering the world was now screwed to shit and it was all Daryl could do to keep his daughter from getting herself killed. The obligation to be a good parent in all the moral and emotional ways had to take backseat to the constant, basic instinct to keep Sydney safe.

But as far as the emotional stuff went – was he really doing this shitty of a job? Sydney'd looked up at him back at the CDC, minutes before the place blew to hell, and asked him if he believed in heaven. Blinking those blue eyes, as innocent as anything. Not scared. Not worried.

Daryl dug his palms into his eyes. "Son of a bitch . . ."

"If there's a heaven, Mom's there."

Her mom. Leah Cartwright. Leah . . . Green eyes, brown hair. Small, but fierce and passionate and tough, like Sydney. Beautiful and smart, like Sydney. A damn good lawyer and a hell of a lover. And a hard woman to have for an ex-wife, in a lot of ways.

Daryl closed his eyes.

Leah'd been a good parent, too. Better than Daryl. She hadn't been perfect, he knew that more than anyone. She'd swear, she'd throw fits, she had bad taste in men – Daryl didn't consider himself an exception – she would smoke when she was feeling over-the-edge stressed out, and she could shoot whiskey like no other woman he'd ever met but still drank too much to hold sometimes. Leah had a temper nearly as bad as his – their daughter never had a chance in that area, her blood was against her – and Daryl'd seen her lose it plenty of times, even with Sydney.

But she'd still been a good mom. She could read their kid – glance at Sydney and know if she was hungry, or moody, or bored, or lying, or whatever. But that wasn't the amazing part, hell, Daryl could usually do that. What made Leah so impressive was that she actually knew what to do after she learned about the problem. Knew if what Sydney needed was a hug or a joke. Knew when she needed a talking-to and when she needed a snack. For Leah, it had been so easy.

It wasn't easy for Daryl. It never had been. Who would he have learned skills like that from? His old man, drunk bastard that he was? Hah. Merle? Hell no.

But Merle . . . Merle, to his credit, had tried with Sydney. Maybe because he'd wanted to make up for not being there enough when Daryl was a kid. Least, that's what Daryl liked to think. Merle'd been around most of the time for Syd. Most weekends. And he'd been good with her. Good enough that she loved him. But as far as parenting advice went, Daryl learned fast not to ask for it from his brother. Merle never looked too far past the surface of things having to do with Sydney. She didn't want to bait a hook? "Little brother, you make her stick that worm. Kid needs to toughen up if she's gonna make it in this world." Sydney's dog got ran over? "Tell her the pooch took off. Or tell her ya shot its brains out. Either way, Little Bit's gonna cry over it." Sydney did something, anything out of line? "I tell you what, Daryl, what that girl needs is for her daddy to wear her out good. She's gotta learn, don't she? You're too soft, baby brother, that's what your problem is."

Merle'd stepped up after the walkers, after Leah. A little, at least. Even tucked Sydney in once or twice. But he was gone now. Merle, Leah, Leah's parents, everyone. Daryl was all Sydney had left. The last adult standing. With no idea what to do half the time –

"Dad?"

She was awake. She was watching him.

Daryl shifted and touched her head. "Hey, baby girl, go back to sleep. You're alright."

She blinked at him, eyelids slow and heavy, before pulling herself closer and resting her head on his leg. Daryl stroked her hair a few times – dark, thick, identical in every way to Leah's – and then rubbed her back for a while. He thought she was asleep by the time she turned over and gazed up at him. "I never said I was sorry."

Daryl looked around, made sure everyone else was still asleep. "For what?"

"For today."

He brushed some hair off of her face. "Thought I told you to forget about all that?" No reason for them both to lose sleep over it.

Sydney put her knuckle into her mouth. She'd been doing that a lot lately, chewing on her fingers. Daryl wondered if he was supposed to make her stop. Leah probably would. Sydney nibbled for a second and then asked, barely audible, "Will you forget about it?"

Forget about it? Forget about his daughter being perfectly fine with getting blown up, hoping that she could see her mother in heaven, even though she had her dad right there and he was trying like hell to make things okay?

Sure.

But Daryl just took her hand, the one being gnawed at, and replaced it on her chest. "Sydney, I told you, I get it. Now I want you to go to sleep, and I don't wanna hear anymore 'bout it."

She took her lip in between her teeth, then said, "One more thing?"

He nodded.

She took a deep breath. "I wouldn't have stayed. Even if you hadn't talked to me before Dr. Jenner opened the door. I swear."

Daryl ground his teeth together, staring at her. "I know."

"But, no, listen . . ." She sat up. Daryl didn't stop her. She shook her hair out of her eyes and shot him an almost desperate expression. It made him hurt. She whispered, "I mean, it's like you said back there . . . I got you." She looked down, playing with her fingers. She was shy about these kinds of conversations. Probably got that from Daryl. "And I know that's more'n a lotta people got. And I miss Mom, like I said. But you're my dad and I love you and I would've left the CDC because I got you."

Damn.

Leah used to say Sydney had Daryl wrapped around her finger. Daryl would scoff at that. But it was when Sydney said things like this, just poured her heart out with those simple, fast statements of hers - with perfect timing, too, the kid damn sure had good timing - that Daryl had to admit that maybe, sometimes, he was more or less putty in his little girl's hands.

But just sometimes. And God knows he'd never say it out loud.

He nodded at her again, even though she still wasn't looking at him. "Alright, Little Bit." He rubbed her shoulder. "I believe you. I promise. Now c'mon, be a good girl, get some shut-eye."

And so she met his eyes and gave a little smile, and Daryl knew - with relief - that he'd done alright here. His daughter lay back down on his leg and he placed a hand on her back. She fell asleep before too long, her slow breaths comforting as anything.

God, he loved her. No one could make him as angry or as scared as she could, and that was happening all too much these days. But that was because he loved her.

It was like that, with one hand on his daughter and the other on his crossbow, that Daryl managed to get some sleep after all.