I'd Never Hurt You

by zeke1

Doyle gets separated from Levy and the kids after the poison gas, and finds himself indebted to a quiet lady with haunted, dark brown eyes. Doyle's POV. I really hated that Doyle died so horribly in 28 Weeks Later, especially since push starting the car would have never really worked in those circumstances. So here's my bit of an AU where Doyle gets to live. MATURE THEMES!

1. Chapter 1 - Routine

*Notes*

So, this story goes AU right about the time that Doyle got burned to a crisp in the film.

28 Days Later was filmed in 2002, and therefore I suppose technically 28 Weeks Later should be based around that time too. I was too lazy to check all the technology and books etc that would have been around at that time, so please forgive me for using references that wouldn't have existed in the time period. There were two in particular that I just had to include, for the giggles. You'll just have to keep reading to find them.
Rated M for violence and for a (hopefully) developing romantic relationship. As long as Doyle doesn't mess it up!
I don't own the characters or plot from the 28 Days/Weeks series, or any of the characters/books mentioned within this fiction. And I'm not earning any money from it. Le Sigh.

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Chapter One - Routine

Doyle walked into the green zone complex, ready to start his morning's shift. As he passed through security one of the soldiers greeted him, asked if his big weapon was ready to protect them from the monstrous hoards. The guy laughed, and Doyle grinned, not missing a beat.

"My weapon is always ready," he replied. "Or at least that's what your mom told me last night."

The other soldier laughed good naturedly as Doyle went on his way. He saw a dark haired woman walk past him, a hiking pack on her back. He was sure he'd seen her carrying that before, and he had no idea where she'd got it. The green zone supermarket didn't have anything like it.

She caught his eye, her brown-eyed gaze so haunted that it made him swallow hard. It was wearing, standing watch for hours over a warzone that wasn't a warzone, being tense and full of nervous energy with no way to let it out. He'd seen some shit in his life, but nothing like the briefings that they'd been given at the start of this tour. Sometimes it was easy to forget that some of these people had survived being chased down by the rabid remains of their own fucking family.

The woman glanced at his uniform and his rifle, and looked away again. Her face had taken on an expression of disgust that he couldn't entirely blame her for, and his jaw tightened as she rounded a corner and disappeared from his sight.

Doyle's next few shifts were night watch, and as he stood up on his rooftop scanning the windows through his gun sight he chuckled as he saw a couple fucking on a bed, lights illuminating everything for all to see. The woman was on top, breasts heaving as she rode the man beneath her, and she turned her face to stare straight out the window.

He looked away, laughed softly as he realised the lady knew she was probably being watched. Well, whatever gets you off, he thought to himself as he moved on to the next window. He saw people sleeping, arguing, hugging, crying. Nothing eventful, until his eye caught the familiar backpack that he'd seen that woman carrying a few days earlier.

She sat on her bed, with a load of supplies spread out in front of her. He saw binoculars, cans of food, bottled water, medical supplies, torches, about a million different types of batteries, some warm clothes, a couple of knives and a fucking machete, amongst other things. She packed the bag efficiently, and set it down to the side of her bed so that it would be within reach whilst she slept. For a moment she disappeared into the bathroom, and then climbed onto the bed, fully clothed, making sure that she faced the door.

Fuck. It was a fucking go-bag. He wasn't sure if this was just some kind of PTSD-related habit, or if she truly believed that the infected were going to break down her door at any moment. Either way, it was fucking morbid. He had to admit though, she looked like she knew how to pack a good bag.

He saw her out and about a few times over his day shifts. At first he wasn't sure what she was up to, until he realised that she was finding places where she could spot the snipers positioned on the rooftops. She was walking the perimeter, making a mental note of the soldiers' stations. She stayed out of sight as much as possible, but she wasn't military and Doyle had a sniper's eye.

He should have reported it, but he didn't. She never did anything dangerous, so he figured maybe he should just watch her and wait to find out more. Right now she'd done nothing wrong, anyway. Even without any training, she was quiet and quick, always alert, and Doyle was starting to gain an understanding of how she'd survived the outbreak.