〰

Elodie sat down on the cold, hard floor, her back pressed against the wall. She pulled her knees to her chest, arms wrapped tightly around them as she stared blankly at the scene before her. The tears that had flowed so freely now just pooled silently in her eyes, blurring her vision as she watched the others.

Maggie carefully handed the baby over to Carl. Elodie could barely make out the soft cries of the newborn, the sound muffled by her hearing aids. She had turned the volume down earlier, trying to block out the chaos, but now it felt like she was underwater, disconnected from the world around her.

All she could see was the pain in Carl's eyes as he accepted the baby, holding it awkwardly but carefully, as if he were afraid it might break. The scene was heartbreaking, and Elodie felt her own chest tighten with the urge to cry again.

He walked over to Hershel, who carefully adjusted the flannel wrapped around the baby, checking if everything was alright. Elodie didn't hear the results.

Rick was a different kind of devastation, still on the ground, his body shaking with silent sobs. It was a sight she couldn't fully process; the man who had always seemed so strong, so unbreakable, was now crumpled, shattered by the loss of his wife.

Her mind was spinning and she barely noticed when Daryl began to move. It wasn't until he was several steps away, his back turned to her, that the realization jolted her out of her daze. Daryl was leaving.

Panicking, she scrambled to her feet, her legs shaky and unsteady. "Daryl!" she called out, her voice small and scared. She rushed toward him, her small feet nearly tripping over themselves as she caught up to him. "Where are ya goin'?"

He stopped, turning to face her. His eyes softened when he saw the fear etched on her face. "I gotta get some formula for the baby," he explained. "Can't wait. She needs it now."

Elodie shook her head harshly, her eyes welling up with fresh tears. "No, don't go," she pleaded, her voice thick with desperation. "Ya can't go. What if ya... what if ya don't come back?"

Daryl reached up, brushing a strand of hair away from her face. "Listen to me, Lo," he said, his tone firm. "Nothin's gonna happen to me. I'm comin' back, and you're gonna be right here when I do. Ya stay here, ya listen to Hershel, and I'll be back before ya know it."

She swallowed hard, trying to steady her breathing as she nodded again. "Okay," she whispered, though the word felt like it was tearing her apart.

Daryl stood up, giving her one last reassuring squeeze on the shoulder before turning to leave. Elodie watched him as he joined Maggie and Glenn, the three of them heading toward the car. Each step they took away from her made her heart pound harder in her chest.

They're gonna be okay, they're gonna be okay, they're gonna be okay.

〰

Elodie now sat on an uncomfortable chair, hugging her knees to her chest once more, her knees resting against the table she was sitting at. Her eyes were fixed on Carl as he cradled the baby, his face etched with a sadness far too heavy for someone his age. The room around them was filled with silence, the kind that presses down on you, making every breath feel like a struggle.

The room felt empty, too. Rick was somewhere else, letting off steam as Hershel had put it. Elodie knew exactly what Rick was doing, though she was too scared to fully acknowledge it. She'd seen his anger before—he had killed Shane out of rage and betrayal. He had even attacked Glenn, who attempted to bring him back, just moments ago. The thought of Rick being lost to his grief and fury only added to her sense of dread.

She didn't know what to do, didn't know how to make things better. Everyone was gone, and the few that were left were barely hanging on.

She bit down on her bottom lip, her eyes welling up again, but she refused to let the tears fall. She didn't want to cry anymore, didn't want to add to the sadness that already filled the cell block.

Carl shifted slightly, adjusting his hold on the baby, and Elodie's eyes flickered back to him. She wanted to say something, to tell him it was going to be okay, but the words caught in her throat.

Because what if she was wrong? What if nothing was ever okay again?

She glanced down at her hands, realizing that she had been absentmindedly picking at the skin around her fingers. Her nails had already torn into the delicate skin, leaving small red marks that stung slightly. She winced, but couldn't bring herself to stop. 

Her thoughts turned to Daryl and Maggie. They were out there, risking their lives for something as important as formula for the baby. The thought of something happening to Daryl twisted her stomach into knots. 

She had always felt safe with him around. He was gruff and tough, but he had a way of making her feel like everything was going to be okay, even when it wasn't. She remembered the way he had looked at her before he left, the way he had told her he would come back. He had to come back.

The cell block felt too big, too empty without them. Even with the others around, she felt alone, like she was the only one who couldn't make sense of any of it. Carol, T-Dog, Lori—they were all gone. She hadn't even had time to process it, to understand that she'd never see them again. It was too much, all of it, and she felt like she was drowning in a sea of emotions she didn't know how to handle.

She couldn't sit there any longer, couldn't stand the sight of Carl's sad face or the feel of her own tears threatening to spill over again. Slowly, she unwrapped her arms from around her knees and got to her feet, the cold floor sending a shiver up her spine.

Her legs felt unsteady as she made her way toward the small cell that had been hers since they arrived at the prison. She wasn't sure if anyone was calling after her, telling her to stay seated, because her world was on mute. Her hearing aids were safely in her bag, where she'd put them when everyone had headed back inside.

The walk felt endless, each step a struggle as if she were carrying a sack of sand. When she finally reached her cell, she closed the door behind her with a soft click. 

She brought her hands up to her head. Her fingers clenched into loose fists as she gave herself a few slow, deliberate taps on the forehead. It wasn't meant to hurt, just to snap herself out of the cycle of sadness or either knock the tears out of her. But it wasn't working. It's not workin', it's not workin'.

She hated the weakness she felt, hated how every small thing seemed to unravel her. It was as if she were a thread slowly coming apart, and she didn't know how to stop it.

"Stop, stop it," she muttered to herself, hitting the sides of her head, each hit a little harder than the last. "Stop, ow—" 

Her hand recoiled from her head, the sharp sting in her fingers bringing her back to reality. She looked at her fingers, raw and tender. They throbbed from the constant picking, the small wounds burning as they were exposed to the cool air. She stared at them, her eyes welling up again.

She scolded herself for picking at her fingers, again and again and again. It felt comforting to do in the moment, but the aftermath was way less comforting. It stung and burned, itched and hurt. 

It was only then that she remembered Daryl's words from months ago—the advice he'd given her when she couldn't stop picking at her skin. "Find somethin' else to do when ya feel like that," he'd told her. "Keep your hands busy with somethin' else."

She looked back up, rubbing her sore fingers, and glanced around the small cell. Her eyes landed on her bag, tucked away in the corner. She remembered that she had a few rocks stashed inside.

She retrieved her bag and unzipped it, pulling out the small cloth pouch that held the rocks. She emptied them onto the floor, the stones making a harsh clattering sound as they tumbled out.

There were a few smooth, round ones, some with jagged, rough edges, and others with little drawn-on faces—reminders of when she and Carl had spent hours locked up in an art classroom when they went along on a run with Glenn and Maggie. They had only escaped when Glenn managed to pick the lock.

She had only about fifteen rocks now—Daryl had insisted she leave half of her collection behind. She had been upset in the moment, but now she did understand. Carrying so many rocks had been impractical and tiring.

One by one, Elodie placed the rocks around her cell. Most of them went on the table against the wall, which had the most space, while others were placed on the frame of the lower bunk, seeing as no one was currently sleeping there anyway. There wasn't even a mattress, because Daryl had taken it.

She then glanced at her tipped-over doll, grumbling in annoyance. Daryl kept placing it face down so he wouldn't have to see its face, only for him to find it sitting upright again the next morning. At first, he had thought the prison was genuinely haunted—not that he actually believed in ghosts or anything, but the doll was making him question all his beliefs—until he caught Elodie putting it back up.

She adjusted its dress, smoothing out the wrinkles in the fabric, and made sure it was sitting upright, its eyes facing the door

"There," she muttered to herself, ruffling the doll's hair. Since other people always did that to her, she figured the doll might like it as well. "Now ya can keep watch."

〰

The cold touch of the metal bars sent a shiver down Elodie's spine as she gripped them tightly. She had found a stool to stand on, positioning herself just right so she could 'keep watch', so to say. Her gaze was fixed on the darkness outside, waiting for the familiar headlights of Daryl's motorcycle.

She was sure she'd be able to see them, because it was pitch black outside. It felt almost opressive, pressing against the glass as if it wanted to seep inside. She could barely make out the silhouettes of the trees swaying in the breeze.

The sky was a blanket of clouds, hiding the stars she had hoped to see. She squinted at the dark mass, wishing for a glimpse of the shimmering points of light that usually decorated the night sky, but there was nothing.

Stupid sky.

Leaning closer, she noticed her breath beginning to fog up the window. The warm, damp air from her lungs met the cold glass, creating misty patterns that spread across the surface.

A small grin tugged at her lips. Sticking out her tongue in concentration, she extended her arm through the bars, just managing to reach the glass, and drew a shaky smiley face.

As she was about to add another doodle, a flash of light caught her eye. Her heart skipped a beat as she looked up, squinting through the fogged-up window. Struggling to see through the haze, she used the tip of her finger to hurriedly wipe it away, getting rid of the smiley face she'd drawn.

There, in the distance, she saw it—a pair of headlights standing out in darkness. The headlights grew brighter, and she could see the familiar shape of Daryl's motorcycle coming into view. Relief washed over her, and her grin widened.

She waited until the headlights disappeared from view, likely as Daryl parked the motorcycle. And after that, it didn't take long before the prison doors creaked open.

Elodie jumped down from the stool with a jolt, nearly stumbling over herself in her eagerness as she watched Maggie and Daryl rushing inside, the latter removing the cloak he had been wearing as Maggie rushed toward the nearest table.

A wide grin spread across Elodie's face, her tension melting away. They were unharmed, not a scratch or smudge of blood in sight.

Without missing a beat, they zeroed in on the baby. Daryl, with a tender smile, carefully lifted the tiny bundle from Carl's arms. His lips formed a silent shush, while Beth and Maggie dove into Maggie's bag, rummaging out diapers, formula, and wipes.

Soon, Daryl was cradling the baby with one arm and holding a bottle of formula in the other. Carl stepped back a few paces, but his eyes remained glued to his baby sister, as if afraid that if he looked away, she might vanish, and he'd lose all he has left of Lori. It was clear he needed to keep his sister in sight, to ensure she was okay.

The baby's cries started to fade as Daryl brought the bottle to her lips. After a few tries, the baby finally latched onto it, her hunger quickly diminishing.

Daryl let out a soft chuckle, his eyes crinkling with a hint of relief as he rocked the baby gently. "She got a name yet?" he asked Carl.

Carl shook his head, his expression somber. "Not yet. But... I was thinking maybe Sophia. Then there's Carol, too. And... Andrea, Amy, Jamie, Catherine, Jacqui, Patricia, or... Lori—I don't know."

The moment Carl mentioned Jamie's and her mother's names, Elodie's heart plummeted. It hit her like a punch to the gut, a sudden rush of emotions she hadn't been prepared for. It had been ages since she'd heard their names spoken aloud from anyone's mouth but her own. It was as though they had been pulled from the silence and thrust back into her reality.

She bit her lip hard, trying to push the feelings down, to shove them back into the box where she kept all the things she couldn't deal with right now. But it was so hard.

Without a word, Elodie turned and quietly left the room, again. She knew it was a pathetic escape, like a child running from their own shadow. But staying was stupid when all it did was make her feel sick.

She reached up, turning off her hearing aids as she made her way up the stairs to the second floor. The world became a muted hum, the sounds of the others fading into a distant blur as she focused on just making it to her cell.

Once inside, she placed the hearing aids carefully on the table against the wall, her hands trembling as she did. She felt like she was on the verge of crumbling, like if she let herself think too much about Jamie, about her mom, about all the people she had lost, she would break into pieces.

Maybe she already had. It felt like she had, because every part of her was aching and full of pain. It wasn't just about her family, it was about Lori, too. About Carol, T-Dog, Dale, Shane—everyone.

She climbed up into her top bunk, the mattress sagging slightly under her weight—even though it wasn't much. She curled up on her side, pulling her knees close to her chest as she stared at the cold, gray wall in front of her.

She hated herself for missing them, hated that despite everything, the loss still hurt so much. Tears welled up in her eyes, but she forced them back, refusing to let them fall. She was tired of crying, tired of feeling weak.

Tired, tired, so tired.

She told herself she shouldn't miss her mom and Jamie. That there was nothing to miss. The brief period before she turned five, when her mother was still kind to her, didn't count for Elodie. For as long as she could remember, she had been treated awfully by them. All she'd ever received was the bare minimum: food and a roof. Help with school was nonexistent, her mom always shooing her away when she asked for help, and Jamie only watching as she was pushed around in the halls.

She felt stupid, weird, annoying, and whiny for missing them, but they were her family. They were all she had ever known. When they disappeared, she didn't know what to know anymore.

And here she was, still standing, still breathing, when they weren't. It didn't make sense, wasn't fair.

Then, she felt the lightest touch on her back, a gentle graze that pulled her out of her spiraling thoughts. It was so gentle, almost like a feather brushing against her skin.

She opened her eyes and slowly turned her head to see Daryl leaning over the top bunk, his expression soft, concerned. He was standing on the ground, his tall frame easily allowing him to reach her.

"Are you okay?" he signed, his eyes slighty narrowing in worry. He'd seen her hearing aids on the table, so he didn't bother to talk to her verbally.

Of course, he knew she wasn't okay. He had noticed how quickly she had left after Carl mentioned Jamie and her mom, and it hadn't escaped the notice of the others either.

Daryl was well aware that she wasn't yet over the loss of her family. He knew that even a fleeting mention of them could crack her heart open, even if just a little.

For her, it felt as though someone was constantly tracing the edge of a knife along her heart, pressing a little harder with every mention of her deceased family, just enough to make her feel that pain of the blade cutting her heart.

The worst part was that he didn't know how to fix it. Talking was good, he knew, but every time Elodie tried to, she would shut down once the conversation grew too intense. She would lower her head and change the subject. Maybe she thought she was being subtle, but she wasn't. She seemed like she wanted to talk about Jamie and Catherine, but seemed unable to.

He just didn't know how to help her. If he could, Daryl would dig deep into her heart and extract every shred of pain. He'd bear it himself if it meant easing her suffering, if it meant making her a bit happier, a bit more like the cheerful, shy girl she was in Atlanta. He'd do it in a heartbeat.

But the truth was, that cheerful, shy girl was not likely to come back at all. Each day, as walkers roamed the earth and people continued to die around them, another piece of the old Elodie seemed to chip away.

Daryl's gaze dropped to Elodie's fingers, noticing the angry red and swollen knuckles. It was clear she'd been picking at them. Without a word, he reached out, gently clasping her hand in his rough, calloused one.

Elodie flinched slightly at the touch, her eyes darting up to meet his, but quickly falling away as she felt the warmth of his hand envelop hers. Her breath hitched, both vulnerability and discomfort etched on her face.

"I can't stop," she stammered then, her voice breaking. "I don't know how to make it stop."

Bringing his other hand up to stroke the hair out of her face, his thumb caught a tear before it had the chance to fall. "I know," he murmured.

Daryl gently tugged at Elodie's hand, guiding her to sit up on the edge of the bunk. As she shifted into a sitting position, her face crumpled into a deep frown, the tears she'd been holding back spilling over in a steady stream.

He didn't say a word as he reached out, wrapping his arms around her. Elodie's head fell against his shoulder, her body trembling with each sob that escaped her.

She clung to him, her arms wrapping around his torso as if she could hold on to him tightly enough to chase away the pain. His hands traced circles on her back, trying his best to soothe her.

"What if—what if ya—" Her voice wavered as she spoke, her words coming out in a choked, childlike manner. "What if ya go away someday, too? What if everyone goes away and... and I'm all alone again?"

Daryl's arms tightened around her, and a deep sigh escaped him. He knew she was struggling to make sense of everything that had happened and everything she feared could still happen.

"I ain't goin' nowhere," he assured her, his fingers tracing gentle lines up and down her back.

She pulled back slightly, scrunching up her nose. "I can't hear ya," she grumbled.

A small, almost amused smile played on Daryl's lips as he let out a light chuckle, shaking his head. He released her from his hug and leaned back. 

"I'm not leaving," he signed.

"Promise?" she asked, her voice a small, vulnerable plea.

Daryl's eyes softened in sadness as he considered her request. He knew how fragile promises could be in their world. The truth was, he couldn't guarantee the future. He couldn't promise that he wouldn't fall victim to the unpredictable dangers that lurked around every corner, that he wouldn't be taken from her just like so many others had been. To promise he'd never leave was to promise something he might not be able to keep.

Yet, another part of him, the part that saw how desperately she needed reassurance, urged him to do just that. She was hurting so much, and she needed something to hold on to, even if it was just a promise that he would do his best to stay by her side for as long as he could.

So, he reached up and gently wiped away the last of her tears with his thumb, his gaze softening. "Promise." 

When his palm touched his fist in the sign for 'Promise', Elodie's tears began to slow. She nodded, her tiny, trembling lips forming a small, fragile smile.