my tears ricochet

Chapter Sixty Six

Pete, Daryl thought to himself, was absolutely useless.

It took work settling her down without Ivy trying to reenact a horror movie by mumbling about Phillip standing by the window and the just doctor kept circling the bed with his clipboard, scribbling notes and getting in his way. Every move of the pen had Daryl's agitation spiking higher.

When Maggie tried to keep a damp washcloth across Ivy's forehead, he noticed the way Ivy's hand instinctively shifted closer to her belt where a blade was sheathed. "Watch your knife. Kid has some sticky fingers," Daryl warned.

"There are restraints we can use if necessary," Pete said casually, tossing the offer into the air, "if your daughter continues to be aggressive."

"Pull 'em out and I'll show you something about aggression," Daryl muttered, catching Ivy's hands neatly in his own. "This? Doesn't concern you any."

"Is your daughter always so combative?"

Possibly, Daryl thought to himself. She was a Dixon. That meant she was prone to throw a few hits around if she was going to be walking away with bruises anyways. "Only when she thinks you're a prick," he said, gently squeezing her hands to bring her focus to his face.

He suddenly missed watching Ivy climb down the side of the building in the middle of the night. That stress had been tolerable; his daughter testing boundaries and figuring out how far she could push at once. This version of Ivy was dying if Glenn didn't come back and Daryl didn't know how to fix anything. He couldn't beat this problem into submission, couldn't shout or scream, force the fever away by pure rage.

And he was angry.

He bristled with rage even as he gently rubbed his thumb against her wrist and adjusted the blanket so it covered her properly.

Pete looked up from his paperwork. "How long did it take before you were aware of her symptoms?"

"Found out this morning," he forced out. It was the third time he had been asked the question, as if the man was hoping the story would switch.

"Were you with her mother at the time of the fall?"

The question caught him off guard. They had gone back and forth over symptoms and thinly veiled commentary about whether Daryl was a decent parental figure or not, but that particular prod into history was startling. "What's that got to do with this?"

"Just trying to get a full understanding about the patient's background. Little things like upbringing can say a lot about a person. For instance, broken homes sometimes raise broken children."

It was suddenly perfectly clear why Ivy had adamantly refused to go to the clinic earlier.

Pete was an asshole.

And Daryl somehow needed the man.

Maggie read the tense line between their side and the doctor, turning her head just enough to scowl without Pete seeing. "Her mom took off," she said so Daryl didn't have to. "Couple years prior."

The judgement was silent as the man scribbled a note down. Ivy gave a stubborn pull of her hands against his grip and he allowed her the movement, shifting with her until she relaxed again. Being restrained bothered her but Daryl couldn't bring himself to let go again, not after the moment he had turned around and seen her holding a knife to her chest, clear with her intention to drive it down.

"That's an unusual scar," Pete commented, pointing to the W on her wrist. "How would she have acquired something like that?"

Maggie stood up from the chair and gazed down at Pete despite being physically shorter than the man. "You've been safe and sound behind these walls since the fall, haven't you? That's why you're so comfortable. Outside in the real world, people are less friendly than your neighbours. I'm telling you, keep asking these questions right now? I'll be the one giving you an 'unusual scar'. Give him a minute with his daughter, why don't you?"