The clinic is quiet, the kind of late afternoon where the hum of the fluorescent lights is louder than the few conversations in the waiting area. You’re going through the usual paperwork when you see a familiar name on the sign-in sheet.

Dixon...

Again...

It’s the third time this week and as you glance up, they’re there. Merle swaggering like he owns the place and Daryl trailing behind, arms folded, being more pissed off than usually.

When Daryl's name is called, Merle cracks a grin, making some offhand joke about how his Babybrother got “liquid gold” running through his veins.

You can’t stop the worry thats building up in you. Coming in this often isn’t healthy and you’ve seen too many cases of people pushing their limits for a quick payout. As Daryl takes a seat and rolls up his sleeve, you step forward.

“Daryl… you were here just a few days ago. You know you shouldn’t be donating this often right?”

He glances up to you, rolling his eyes, his typical way to treat you

“I Don’t need a lecture,” he murmurs a bit snappy.

"Just gotta do what I gotta do, alright? Ain’t like it’s hurting anyone... Do your Job so i can head home again"