A/N: I edited this chapter to fix some typos

Chapter 1

He was back in the field. Today he came in a run down car he parked alongside the road. He wandered near the trees as the light dimmed, sending out cascades of deep orange and light purples across the sky.

He held his crossbow over his shoulder. He was an archer, like her. She peered down at him. Curious what he would do today. She kept telling herself to move on and find another spot but she was drawn to watching him. She understood him somehow. She knew what it was to lose hope and have deep grief.

He had been coming to the field almost every evening before the sun sank down below the horizon for over a week. He was a broken man. Screaming, beating the ground, sitting for hours smoking as the sky turned black and stars and moon lit the earth in a silver blue glow. Sometimes he drank and lay on his back looking up at the heavens.

Once, he sat beneath her tree and cried, his whole body shaking as he let out muffled sounds of anguish. That night she sat as still as possible in the tree top on a branch with her back against the trunk. She barely breathed as he let his sorrow out, full and encompassing.

His first night in the field he rode up on a motorcycle. She heard the rumble of the bike from a long distance and stood in her tree to get a look at what was coming down the road. He let the bike fall on the ground as he ran into the field, screaming rage and torment and suffering into the wind. He called a few of the dead from their aimless shuffling and they moaned deep in the darkness as they ambled towards him. He took them out with his crossbow and pulled each spent arrow out of them.

That night she couldn't quite see him, just a dark figure in a dark field, slumped in defeat. When he came the next day, before the shadows overtook everything in her sight, she was able to see his lanky brown hair hung down on his face and his leather vest bore angel wings.

A biker, she knew. But she wasn't afraid. She felt curious, then sympathetic as the ritual continued, then pity as it stretched out to ten days.

She thought about approaching him but was wary of others. She had been on her own for a long time now. Keeping to the woods, sleeping in the trees, living off the land. She would hunt rabbits and squirrels and birds in the mornings and cook them in the light of day. By dusk she would climb into the lush trees and tie herself and supplies in with bungie cords she took from the sporting supply store she had looted at the start of the outbreak.

She had been in three groups previously and all of them had been destroyed by other stronger groups. It was easier to be alone. In the winter she would find a home to stay in, always up high in the attic. She made sure the houses were already looted which would make them unattractive to others.

The last of the light dwindled in the sky when the moans began to rise. More than one was coming. It sounded like many. She looked behind her but saw no movement. Looking at the man, who swayed on his feet drunk, she had to think. Should she get down, warn him, or let the creatures take him and send him from his misery and torment that brought him here almost nightly?

Daryl was lost in a sea of grief. So suddenly everything had changed for him. Alexandria had taken on a foe stronger than they could imagine and he had lost so much because of it.

He stood in the field and drank from a bottle of whiskey that had been found on a run. He came the first night to release his pain in private but then found his way back almost every night. Drawn to the silence, the solitude, and the agony he could only feel freely here.

He was tired of fighting. The fight with the Saviors was only just beginning and had already devastated him.

So much loss, he thought, drawing a mouthful of liquid before sending it burning down his throat to his chest.

All he cared for was gone. What was the point now? Merle was gone. Herschel. Beth. Denise. And now the worst hurt. The one that didn't let him close his eyes for long.

He could still hear the thud and scrape of wood and barbed wire on the asphalt. The crack of bone. The grunt of pain. The squish of blood and brain. The silence that followed.

He could never see the entire face after the destruction, just one eye hanging from a mass that once was a face. A face that smiled and cared and worried.

Carol's eyes looked far off away from the group as she kneeled in front of Negan. Silent tears streamed down her face and when Negan lifted his bat, his sweet Lucille he called it, she finally focused on them. On him. Whispering sorry.

He would sit up at his window looking down at the silence of Alexandria, under fresh new construction from the damage caused by the raid on them. His heart would tighten and his breath would hitch and he would need to get out. His mind told him to just run, run screaming into the night. Go mad, just let go.

Instead he came here and screamed and railed and cried and drank. Away from the others who looked to him for protection. What protection could he offer?

He swallowed his whiskey again and again and again. His mind was starting to become fuzzy, unfocused. Tonight he would drink the bottle down and lay in the field and let whatever was waiting to take him have him.

The moans got louder. She could now hear the shuffling of things over the dead leaves below. She watched the man sit on the ground, drinking as much as he could then he lay down.

Get up, she urged him silently. Get the fuck up.

She didn't want to do nothing but she didn't want to move. She had tried to help so many before who were unable to help themselves. She had been trapped before by people who surrendered to the lawlessness of this new world. The callousness it brought with it.

She thought back to his crying beneath her. Evil men don't mourn she told herself as the dead got closer. Evil men don't have sorrow so deep.

She unhitched her rucksack from the trunk of the tree and slipped it on her back. She grabbed her bow and quiver of arrows and dropped them to the ground then climbed down after them.

Beneath the trees the darkness suffocated her. The moans beat into her ears and began to overwhelm her senses. She couldn't tell how close, the shuffling got louder along with the sounds of limbs being dragged along the ground. She slung her bow over her shoulder and clipped her quiver to her belt and took off towards the man drowning in the dead wheat of the field up ahead.

Daryl sat up at the sound of someone coming towards him. Running towards him. He dropped his bottle on the ground and grabbed his crossbow. The sound got closer, in his fuzzy haze he peered into the dark. He saw the figure quickly approaching.

"Get up," it said. A female voice. "Get the fuck up they're coming."

He blinked at the silhouette that now stood above him. It was a small figure, who had one hand on her hip holding arrows still in a hip quiver and the other tugging at his arm.

"Please get up. You're not fucking dying on my field." She was strong, he felt himself lift slightly off the ground then thump back down.

Why should he get up. It was his choice to sit here and let them take him.

"Keep running." He said firmly. He still gripped his crossbow.

If you want to die, why did you grab it, he thought to himself. You want whatever that came to take you. Let her take you.

"I can't outrun these things and I can't fight them all. If you don't get up, we both die," she gave a loud grunt as she tugged more sharply on his arm.

He slowly got to his feet. He could hear the moaning behind them now, spilling from the trees and sound of the dead wheat under their feet.

"Car's over there," he pointed. He dug into his pockets. "Here are the keys."

She ran to the car and put her stuff in the back as he stumbled up and got in the passenger seat. She sat behind the wheel and tried to start the car. It sputtered and died. She turned the key again and got a shorter stutter before it died again. Her heart thudded in her chest and her breathing quickened. I tried to help this asshole and now I'm going to die, she thought as she looked in the rearview and saw a massive swarm heading over the field towards them.

"It usually takes three tries," he said thickly to her before putting his head against the glass of the window.

She turned the key again and the engine roared. She threw the car in drive and drove straight ahead. A few of the dead fell against the car but she kept going, struggling to see the road in the darkness. She put the highbeams on and took a sharp left to get away from the growing swarm.

"Where to?" She looked over at him and he rolled his head up and looked at her. She heard the rush of wind as he put his window down, he put his head out and threw up all over the side of the car.

"You got any water?"

"Front section of my pack. Don't get any ideas about stealing from me." She was fast regretting getting down from the safety of her tree. The swarm would have passed under her, never knowing she was up above looking down at them. By morning they would have been gone and she could have moved on to find another camping spot.

Daryl could remember drinking a lot in the last few days but had no memory of having eaten. He drank deeply from her water bottle, swishing the liquid around to clean his mouth out.

"I went to that field to die tonight." He held the bottle in his hand.

"I know." She tried not to look at him as she searched for a good place to hold up until sun up when they could part ways. She was trying to get her bearings to see if she could think of a place she had already been.

"I told myself I wouldn't fight whatever came to me in that field," he leaned out the window to spit. "I guess you got there before the walkers could."

She stared at his profile in the darkness. How could she be so stupid to think this sad man was worth saving. She still held tight to her stupid romantic notions of her past life. Her pity for him clouded her judgement.

"I know a place up ahead we can camp out at. In the morning, you go your way, I go mine."

He nodded in the darkness of the car. He was pathetic. He felt pathetic. A drunk fool filled with sorrow and self pity. Afraid of his dreams and what life held in the future but too afraid to just die.

"Are you dangerous?" It was too late to ask now but she did anyway.

"Only to those who try to hurt me." He said in his gruff southern accent.

"Do you rape women?"

"I ain't no rapist," he shot back quickly. "I ain't no fucking pervert." His voice was angry, indignant and that gave her a sense of relief. The men who hurt her had been full of charm and smiles.

"You lost your woman? Your kids?" He was silent, she could feel his eyes on her. "That why you want to die?"

"I don't have any of that. Never have." His voice was quiet and sad. "I lost my friend. My best friend not to long ago. She was like an older sister. Made sure I was okay and I couldn't save her."

"I'm sorry." They got quiet as she drove down the streets in an abandoned town. She pulled the car to a stop in an alley and shut the engine off. "We get out here. We can cut across the back of this alley. I know a place we can stay. You steady enough to put up a fight if you have to?"

He nodded. "Yeah."

They walked silently down the narrow street behind the buildings. There was an apartment she had stayed in months back that could only be accessed by fire escape. The best part was it would be easy to take the ladder off and bring it inside so no one could climb up after them. The front entrance to the building was blocked by debris that would make a too much noise to remove. When she left the place she had put the ladder behind some bushes just in case she needed to get back. She did this with a lot of the places she camped out at. Hiding tools of entry around the property so only she could gain access.

They kept to the middle of the street in case something was lurking close to the buildings. They moved slowly to keep the noise down. With every step her supplies rattled. It wasn't loud but in the silence it clanged in her ears like church bells.

He kept his weapon drawn and sweeping it from side to side to hit any dangers. She was grateful for the cover as she concentrated on locating the building in the dark.

"It's here," she whispered to him. She walked to the tall bush nearby and kicked it with her foot and quickly stepped back. He trained his crossbow on the bush and they waited for signs of movement. Nothing. She leaned into to bush and with a few tugs she pulled out the iron ladder for the fire escape.

Handing it to him she said, "I need you to hook this to that walkway then pull it up after you. He nodded and slung his bow over his shoulder and did as she asked. As they heard the ladder hook a scratching moan filled the alleyway. She climbed up and he did the same, pulling the ladder up behind him. She moved to a window and tapped on it and after nothing came, slid it open slowly and climbed through. The creature in the alley stopped beneath them and hissed up at them, scratching the air in its feeble attempt to reach them.

Daryl climbed in after her, impressed. She had been here before and made sure that only she could come here. She asked him to close the window and said she would open the small one over the kitchen sink to let some air in. He stood by the window, trying let his eyes adjust to the darkness. He heard a whirring noise near where she was and in a short time a beam from a flashlight came on.

"It's hand cranked. No batteries needed." She looked around and pulled out a large blanket. "Can you hang this on those nails above the window." He followed her beam of light and saw what she was referring to. He hung up the blanket over that window and another sheet over the one in the kitchen. When that was done she began to light the candles that were on the coffee table in the livingroom.

He finally got to get a look at his rescuer. She stood behind the couch, her eyes on him. She was nervous, he didn't blame her.

"I'm not a threat." He said as he put his weapon by the window they came in. He noticed her hand was near a knife she had strapped to her left thigh. Her hip quiver on her right hip.

He walked around getting a look at the place. The apartment was small with a modest living/dining room combination. The dining room table had been broken apart and was now hammered against the front door. There looked to be two rooms down a short hallway. Those doors were sealed shut by legs of chairs hammered between the door and door jamb.

As she watched him sit all she could think was that he looked like hell. His eyes had dark bags under them, he had a wild tangle of beard on his face and his hair seemed matted in places.

He could feel her staring as he sat on the couch. "What's your name?" He leaned back in the couch. "I'm Daryl."

"Harley." She went over the kitchen and opened a cupboard. "I think I left some cans here. You need to eat."

"I'm fine," he mumbled as he kicked his shoes off. "I had a Harley once. I miss that thing. She was a beauty."

Harley had a can of peas and a can of corn. She put them down on the table in front of him and stepped away. "Choose," her voice was firm.

Daryl looked at her. She was good looking. She had her hair cut into a short afro that puffed out behind a band and wore a plain black t shirt with the sleeves cut off, showing off her lean, muscular upper arms that each had a bandana tied around them. She wore fingerless wrist supports on her hands. She looked sternly at him with large almond shaped eyes.

"Corn I guess." He watched as she whipped a army knife out her back pocket and began to open the tins. The sound of the can opener tool scratching and scaping against the tin sent a march of hammers to his brain. He rubbed his temples to quell the agony the sound produced and shut his eyes.

He could hear her rummaging through her pack and then felt her standing over him. He opened his eyes to a spoon in his face. "I need this back when you're done."

They ate in silence. Him with his corn on the couch and her standing against the wall opposite him with her peas. He needed food. The clenching in his stomach subsided along with the slight nausea. The puking had helped too. He paid no mind to her suspicion of him. She didn't seem likely to attack unless he did something and he had no plans other than closing his eyes and trying to get a bit of sleep.

Daryl drank down the water in the can when he finished to corn and set the empty tin down next to the candles. "You stay here?"

"It's one of my winter homes," she said as she got another scoop of peas on her mouth.

"You're out here alone? No one else with you?" She eyed him from the wall, shifting her body to a better stance in case she had to defend herself, still eating. "I have a group not too far from here." He paused. He couldn't sell Alexandria right now. It had been attacked, the front gate torn down. "I would ask you to join us but things aren't so good right now." He leaned forward and held the spoon out towards her.

Harley gingerly took it from him and stepped back to her position at the wall. She wasn't interested in being in a group. She didn't fit with them. Her past groups were filled with scared, irrational and dangerous people.

"Why'd you save me?" His voice was tired.

"Because I'm an asshole," she deadpanned. Daryl laughed weakly. "I've seen you in that field. Screaming. Railing at the wind." He stared at her, a frown on his face. She could tell he didn't care for her spying on him, but she wasn't spying. He had come into her territory. "You were sitting under the tree I was in. That day you cried." Her voice was quiet, soothing. "I wanted to come down to you but didn't know what I would say. I could have told you it would be all right but that would be a lie."

Daryl's breathing became heavy and his chest heaved. He was angry with her, watching him in his desperate moments. She had seen them all. He was embarrassed having exposed himself to this stranger. He didn't need her pity, her kind words, her look of concern. He needed time to spin back. He needed those he cared for not to be dead. Not this woman standing opposite him, eyeing him silently in the glow of candle light.

"You saw all that?" His voice was slow and even. "Must have been quite a show." Daryl lay down on the couch, his feet hanging over the armrest.

"I'm sorry," she said quietly. She heard the hissing groans of the dead in the street and went to the window. She peaked stealthily behind the blanket and saw a small group had gathered below the fire escape. She turned to Daryl who was sitting up again. "The first one drew a crowd.

Daryl grabbed his empty tin, blew out the candles, and stood next to her by the window. He quietly slid it up and leaned out and flung the tin as far as was possible. It clanged on the ground and rolled along the empty street away from them. The crowd turned toward the noise and made their way over to where it was.

He closed the window and covered it again and watched her silhouette in the dark. He pulled his lighter out his pocket and struck it. In the orange red glow he looked at her face, her high cheekbones and plump lips on a wide downturned mouth before walking to the coffee table and lighting the candles anew.

She remained at the window taking small peaks through the sheets. He lay back on the couch, drumming his fingers on his chest. She could feel his eyes on her and struggled not to turn and face him.

"I guess you're taking first watch," he said behind her. "You can wake me in a few hours then I'll take over."

She turned to him, eyes suspicious. "I'm not sleeping with you."

Daryl let out a small chuckle. "That's what she said." He closed his eyes and fell into an uneasy sleep.