This isn't Daryl--not Daryl sober, not even Daryl drunk. Maybe it's Daryl at the end of his rope, but even back at the hospital, he hadn't stared at her like she wasn't quite real. He's just surprised, she wants to think. But he looks like he's been hit.

Worry sickens her stomach. There's a low, hard feeling she can't quite name, an amorphous suspicion she doesn't want to examine. She already knows that she's not going to like whatever answer he gives her. He wouldn't be looking at her that way if this was something good.

"What didn't hurt?" She swallows, making no effort to hide the apprehension in her face. "Why would it hurt, Daryl?"