With everything going on, the timing couldn't be better for the medical training Martha'd offered a few weeks back. Not that the place doesn't usually lend itself to accidents, mishaps, and general injury, of course, but a psycho on the loose definitely calls for more than a handful of people able to help out. He's only been down here a few times yet, but even so- he's more than willing to use what he's learned so far (and the knowledge he'd already had from back home) to patch people up, do what he can to ease the strain that he's sure Martha's already feeling.
As it turns out, "strain" might be an understatement.
The sight that greets Daryl when he pushes into the clinic wouldn't have been out of place back in Georgia, and that's saying something considering the post-apocalyptic wasteland Daryl calls home. There's shit strewn everywhere, papers and equipment and all sorts of other things, chairs are knocked over, beds pushed aside, shoved haphazardly where they don't belong... And then there's the blood: splattered on the walls, smeared on the floor... Faint, unidentifiable footprints, all leading to a dark puddle toward the back, dripping down from the wall... And from the body that's been set in a gurney and propped up against it.
Martha's body.
His stomach drops, and he can feel the heat creeping into his face, his vision as soon as it dawns on him what's very obviously happened here. A struggle, a fight... A murder, and while there's no denying that he's upset about it, for the moment that's overshadowed by a quickly creeping rage, the kind that makes his arms twitch and shake and his heart thump furiously against his chest.
Without thinking he kicks a leg out, knocking one of the cots onto its side with a grunt and metallic clang.
"God dammit!"
...And once that's out of his system (he doesn't feel any better), there's no hesitation at all- Daryl makes his way to the back quickly and once he reaches her, hovers his hand over the gaping, bloodied maw her chest has become; somebody did this. She'd been in here trying to help, and somebody--
His face may be a bit paler than usual when he reaches his shaking hand in to dislodge the tiny bottle that's replaced her heart, set it carelessly on the desk... He can deal with that later. It's important, it means something, but not nearly as important as cleaning this up, getting Martha someplace where she ain't set up like some kind of god damn doll. It's a message, obviously, but he'll deal with that later, too. He doesn't flinch as he scoops her up, shifts the body in his arms and starts for the back room. He nudges the door open with his boot, careful not to jostle her as he twists to get himself inside.
And then, with more gentleness than one might expect from someone like Daryl- or anyone who's experienced the things he has, really- he sets her down on a cot, folds her arms over her ruined chest before digging around until he finds a sheet to cover her with. He won't have her exposed like this, he won't.
It doesn't take him long to find one, to drape it over her body... And before he sets it over her face, he closes her eyes, too. He's thinking she's seen enough.
And then he sits, for an hour, maybe two, until he's absolutely sure she isn't gonna turn, until the blood's stained most of the sheet in a sort of macabre Rorschach blot; maybe there's a message in that, too, but there are other things on his mind. The urge to do something, anything to make sure she doesn't is nearly overwhelming... But the rules are different here- no one's infected but him and so mutilating her further is terribly inappropriate, unnecessary... Even if every fiber of his being is telling him do it.
He doesn't.
[[ooc: OKAY SO. Daryl's gonna be around the clinic for a while, watching Martha to make sure she doesn't zombie out (because he can't help it okay) and probably cleaning shit up because TOTALLY NOT STERILE ANYMORE, so if anyone wants to get in on that, come across her, etc, I am down for that! Everybody loves Martha and I don't wanna cockblock the rest of Wonderland from being emotionally compromised by this horror.]]
THE FORECAST SAYS TL;DR.
As it turns out, "strain" might be an understatement.
The sight that greets Daryl when he pushes into the clinic wouldn't have been out of place back in Georgia, and that's saying something considering the post-apocalyptic wasteland Daryl calls home. There's shit strewn everywhere, papers and equipment and all sorts of other things, chairs are knocked over, beds pushed aside, shoved haphazardly where they don't belong... And then there's the blood: splattered on the walls, smeared on the floor... Faint, unidentifiable footprints, all leading to a dark puddle toward the back, dripping down from the wall... And from the body that's been set in a gurney and propped up against it.
Martha's body.
His stomach drops, and he can feel the heat creeping into his face, his vision as soon as it dawns on him what's very obviously happened here. A struggle, a fight... A murder, and while there's no denying that he's upset about it, for the moment that's overshadowed by a quickly creeping rage, the kind that makes his arms twitch and shake and his heart thump furiously against his chest.
Without thinking he kicks a leg out, knocking one of the cots onto its side with a grunt and metallic clang.
"God dammit!"
...And once that's out of his system (he doesn't feel any better), there's no hesitation at all- Daryl makes his way to the back quickly and once he reaches her, hovers his hand over the gaping, bloodied maw her chest has become; somebody did this. She'd been in here trying to help, and somebody--
His face may be a bit paler than usual when he reaches his shaking hand in to dislodge the tiny bottle that's replaced her heart, set it carelessly on the desk... He can deal with that later. It's important, it means something, but not nearly as important as cleaning this up, getting Martha someplace where she ain't set up like some kind of god damn doll. It's a message, obviously, but he'll deal with that later, too. He doesn't flinch as he scoops her up, shifts the body in his arms and starts for the back room. He nudges the door open with his boot, careful not to jostle her as he twists to get himself inside.
And then, with more gentleness than one might expect from someone like Daryl- or anyone who's experienced the things he has, really- he sets her down on a cot, folds her arms over her ruined chest before digging around until he finds a sheet to cover her with. He won't have her exposed like this, he won't.
It doesn't take him long to find one, to drape it over her body... And before he sets it over her face, he closes her eyes, too. He's thinking she's seen enough.
And then he sits, for an hour, maybe two, until he's absolutely sure she isn't gonna turn, until the blood's stained most of the sheet in a sort of macabre Rorschach blot; maybe there's a message in that, too, but there are other things on his mind. The urge to do something, anything to make sure she doesn't is nearly overwhelming... But the rules are different here- no one's infected but him and so mutilating her further is terribly inappropriate, unnecessary... Even if every fiber of his being is telling him do it.
He doesn't.
[[ooc: OKAY SO. Daryl's gonna be around the clinic for a while, watching Martha to make sure she doesn't zombie out (because he can't help it okay) and probably cleaning shit up because TOTALLY NOT STERILE ANYMORE, so if anyone wants to get in on that, come across her, etc, I am down for that! Everybody loves Martha and I don't wanna cockblock the rest of Wonderland from being emotionally compromised by this horror.]]