Here's my second story. It's also my first multi-chapter fic so a little commentary would be welcomed.

I don't own The Walking Dead or the sex god Norman Reedus, wish I did though. I do own my OCs though, so thats cool I guess.

'thought' "dialogue"

Stumbling in more unfamiliar territory, a young woman is alert of her surroundings, her eyes searching for any sign of those creatures. She cannot be distracted. After a several miles of walking, marking some trees along the way so as to not lose her way back, she finds a small stream. Thanking God for his small mercies, she begins to fill her canisters, placing them back in her pack once full.

'Can't wait for the ridiculously long walk back', if she thought getting here was bad, carrying all the water back was going to be a nightmare.

Sighing heavily, she hauls the pack onto her back and begins her journey back. She follows her markings a few miles when she catches a glimpse of movement out of her peripheral. Stock still, she tries to control her breathing. The bat in her right hand is clenched tightly, ready for use.

The forest is quiet. No sign of life or un-life around. The woman remains cautious. Although she lived in the city all her life, she's seen enough horror movies to know danger is lurking.

'Don't got time to be dealing with this shit'.

High tailing back to her base, she makes sure to crisscross through the trees and go in circles, in order to confuse her pursuer. No such luck. Hearing a whizzing sound by her head, just to see a bolt embedded in the tree near her. She doesn't hesitate to run as fast as her worn legs could take her.

'Fukin' A'.

Scared could not begin to describe how she felt, pushing her legs harder, the weight of her pack slamming into her every step painfully. The thought of dropping the extra load to get away faster had briefly passed through her mind. The fear coursing through her veins ceases any actions other than getting to safety.

Another bolt was released, this time meeting its mark. She's knocked to the ground from the momentum. Her shoulder feels to be on fire; white, hot fire. Feeling like an injured gazelle, the woman quickly gets to her feet.

She cannot be caught.

Adrenaline pumping, she follows the basic instinct of survival. Run away from the predator and live to fight another day. Chancing a glance at her said predator, she forces her body to slow down. No one is there. Flabbergasted, she would have been convinced she imagined it if weren't for the bolt sticking out of her shoulder blade.

'How the hell did I get this far with this thing?'

Not willing to stay out in the open any longer, she continues her journey back to base. Arriving, she stills before entering the small cabin. The hairs on the back of her neck are standing; she is unable to get the feeling of being watched out of her system. Taking one last glance around her, she enters her cabin and relishes her spoils of the day.

Two predatory eyes see the injured woman enter a small cabin.

Boiling the stream water, she starts to pick up the mess left around the cabin. Picking a few cans from the small stack of food supply she was able to collect, she begins to make a small stew with the variety of canned vegetables. After disinfecting the water, and preparing dinner, she turns to her current problem. She has never been injured quite like this. She tried yanking the damn thing out with brute strength but that only seemed to make it worse and bleeding to death was not an option. She had no clue in what to do.

Grabbing the minimal medical supplies in her disposal, she lays out the alcohol, wrap, and cotton balls. Taking off her belt as a second thought, she puts it in her mouth.

'This is gonna' be a bitch'.

Tearing the material of her shirt from around the bolt, she counts to three and pulls out the pain afflicting object. She screams into the leather of her belt. Tears fall down her face as she feels the tip of the bolt mangle the muscle in her shoulder. Her once blue t-shirt is darkened into a deep purple by her warm sticky blood. The copper smell of it is beginning to nauseate her. The damn thing just won't come out.

She pours alcohol over her wound, her only option to help keep off infection. The seemingly never ending river of tears continues to fall, she prays to all things holy that her cries of anguish have not been heard.

Luck is on her side as the cabin's silence surrounds her. The sound of water boiling on the small single burner outdoor stove could be heard in the distance, did not have the ability to overpower the sound of blood rushing from her ears.

The cabin seemingly vacant aside from her, she grins slowly, despite the pain. It quickly vanishes as just as fast as it appeared when the cabin's front door was kicked open. A sole figure stands at the doorway; the man's wide frame took up most of the space of the opening. Each of his shoulders nearly touched the door's frame from either side.

'No!'

The man steps into her sanctuary, her home and last defense from the evil outside, crossbow raised and aimed at her. Skin tanned from the hot Georgian sun, dirt covered every inch of visible skin. His red plaid shirt, dingy from the elements, and from the kill or be killed new world. She didn't even bother reaching for her bat; this man was all business.

A small noise is heard from below.

'No. Please God, not now.'

The hunter must have heard it also as his finger hovered over the trigger.

"Whu' was tha'?" a gruff voice came out.

Visible shaking, the woman shook her head, "That was me," she kicked her foot softly to the floor, trying to imitate the sound from earlier. The hunter glared down at her, clearly not buying her obvious lie.

"Think I'm fukin' stupid, bitch," he growled. Seeing the tarp a few feet away, he motions his crossbow towards it, "Show me what's under tha' rug."

She hesitates. Contemplating on how fast she could reach her bat and beat the hick's ass. Seeing she was scheming, the man starts yelling at her to hurry or receive a bolt in the eye, stomping all thought of her getting the best of him.

"I ain't tellin' ya' again! What's under the fukin' rug?" His face is turning beat red, he isn't playing any games.

Before either of them made a move, the carpet flew up, revealing a hidden flush door in the floor. The hunter would have taken the shot if a small boy and girl hadn't cried at him to leave them alone.

The woman's shocked face morphed to anger and settled to utter fear as the children rushed to her, crying into her legs.

"Leave us alone," a small boy yelled at the imposing man. He couldn't have been more than eight years old, a little on the skinny side, but who wasn't nowadays. He moved in front of the woman and small girl, stretching his small arms as far as possible to shield them. The smallest of them had darker features, natural tan revealing Latin descendants. She seemed to mold herself into the older woman, trying her damndest to hide from the stranger, yet was still glaring up at him.

The woman whimpered, shuffling slowly to put herself in front of the children. Seeing a hopeless situation, she gave up any thoughts of a fight. There was no way she would put the little ones in danger.

"Look. Take what you want, just don't hurt the kids. Please," she begged.

The hunter remained quiet, crossbow still held up to the frightened woman. His eyes squinted in speculation, always guarded. An eternity seemed to have passed when the hunter grunted and lowered his weapon.

"Fuck," exasperated the man rubbed his neck sheepishly, "I don' make it my mission to shoot no kids. Da' fuk' were ya' thinkin' leavin' dem babies by themselves 'nyway?"

The woman didn't know how to respond. This man shoots her, hunts her down to her home, threatens to kill her, and now has the audacity to question her parenting skills. Hell no. She was pissed, but then she realized how everything led them to this.

The man expected a lot of things, but her laughter was not one of them. Angered at her finding something funny in him led him to yell and frighten the kids.

"Da' fuks so funny bitch!?"

The children's giggles just made her laugh harder. They found his cussing hilarious.

"Ha ha. I'm sorry. It's just that I don't know what to make of you. Ha ha. First ya' try to kill me then you're scolding me over the kids", calming down, the seriousness of the situation practically smacked her in the face.

The man tried to ignore her comments by shrugging his shoulders and looking around the cabin, taking in his surroundings, his mind taking everything in and thinking of exit strategies if he needed them.

"Thought ya' were spyin' on my camp. Wonderin' 'round dem woods alone like some fool. People do crazy shit when they desperate enough. C'aint be too trustin' nowadays, can we," nodding her head in agreement, they were left with an awkward silence.

"I always leave them here when I have to go scavenge for supplies," his face scrunched as she admitted to abandoning them ever so often, "not like I have a choice though. Can't really take two kids out there with them things out, the secret flushed door is there only hiding place and last defense." She didn't know why she felt the need to defend herself to this stranger, but something told her she needed him to trust her, to appear weak in his eyes. She held the girl closer to herself. She really hated leaving them behind, not knowing if they were safe or not, but she couldn't have them with her all the time. This life has become too dangerous and as the only protector and provider, she needed to do what was necessary for their survival.

She looked up at the now quiet man, wondering why he hadn't left. She had a gut feeling he wasn't going to hurt them or steal their supplies as little as they might be. She cast him a quick glance, he was staring at her still bleeding shoulder. How could she forget about the damn bolt lodged in her? Now that her injury had her attention, the pain returned at full throttle. Luckily the kids didn't take notice. She couldn't have them witness the pain she was in, it would scare them.

"Babies, why don'cha go to the room and play a little, okay? I'll call ya'll back when I'm done."

The kids ran out of the room, the boy took his time entering the other room, hesitating leaving her alone. She smiled to show him he was fine, but it came out more of a grimace, the bolt needed to come out and fast.

"I can help ya' wit' tha', girl", his husky voice came out softly, almost shy.

Looking up at him, she knew that he was the shy type. His personality seemed to have done a 180. Head bent, feet shuffling side to side while biting the skin by his thumb. A nervous habit she came to recognize more and more.

Any other day, she would have told him to fuck off; that she could handle the problem on her own, but for some reason she couldn't reject his offer. As cliché as it sounds, there was something in his clear blue eyes that shown such sincerity and a hint of remorse that begged to put her full trust in him. He captivated her, and ignoring her better judgment she allowed him to help her.

'Could be the blood loss…'

Neither knowing how to hand the situation or where to begin, they just stood awkwardly. Finally the man started to make his way towards her. Raising a brow at her direction, she just pointed to her meager medical supplies.

"Good lord woman! How da' hell did ya' survive this long with just Band-Aids, rubbing alcohol, and some Neo-fukin-sporin?"

His crass ways and speech did nothing to help the feminine giggles from sprouting out of her mouth. The hunter raises his brow once again, seemingly trying to figure her out.

'Holy shit. Am I flirtin'?' Couldn't really blame her, weeks from seeing any other living person and the first one she makes any form of contact is a drop dead sexy man who exudes masculinity.

"Been too damn long," she accidently says out loud.

"What's been too long," she's surprised she just did that and denies having said anything.

He has been standing behind her, trying to decide the least painful method in dislodging the bolt. It would hurt since the head of the point was diamond shaped and pulling it out won't be easy if they didn't want to cause irreparable damage. Deciding to have to force it out, he tells her to grab her belt and bite on it hard because it was going to hurt like hell. After eradicating the offending object he is quick to clean the wound, he tensed up every time she would wince when he went over a certain area. Minutes pass and he finishes dressing the wound.

They sit in silence, not the awkward kind this time, it's strangely principle.

"Gabriela," she breaks the silence.

"Huh?"

She turns toward the older man. "My name is Gabriela, but you can call me Gabby if ya' want". She smiles at his puzzlement, he obviously couldn't figure how things ended between them.

Squinting his eyes at her, he tries to find some sort of sign of mistrust or malintent; he was satisfied at finding neither.

"Daryl."

Daryl finds himself invited to spend the night at Gabriela's cabin. Night had fallen quickly and neither wanted him to brave the walk back to his camp. 'Walkers', as he called them, were more active at night. He shared his kill of the day with them, guessing it was the close as to an apology as she would ever get from him, she accepted his offering. Besides…it would do the kids good to eat fresh food.

Said kids surrounded Gabby as they ate rabbit mixed into their stew. They tried to put as much space between them and Daryl, a difficult feat in itself as their dinner table was ridiculously small. She had to give them some sort of credit; they weren't crying into her stomach while he ate and he was pretty intimidating. She found it cute how he tried not to make contact with them. Mr. Big Hunter Man was afraid of a couple of little kids. She snorted, grabbing his attention.

Daryl was never a fan of small talk, always straight to the point, but at this moment he would do anything to fill the unnerving silence.

"So, Whu' yer kid's names?" wow Dixon, is that the best you could do? As he didn't receive laughter, he guessed he didn't make a fool of himself.

"Sorry, that was rude of us", she starts to introduce them.

"This handsome young man is Sean," said boy blushes and looks down at his plate to avoid Daryl's gaze and Gabby's humored eyes. "And this little princess is Diane", Gabby laughed gently as the little girl snuggled closer, peaking at Daryl from Gabby's side.

"Kids, this is Mr. Daryl. Say hi," they were met with silence, "I'm not gonna' tell ya'll again. Now stop being rude and mind your manners". Not wanting to challenge Gabby's authoritative voice, soft hellos were given.

Daryl nods at their greeting. He never was good with kids, even before the dead began rising.

"Yeah, they've never been very social with strangers. Guess it can be seen as a good thing now."

Having been that way himself as a child, he agrees with her. Kids can't be too trusting with anybody that comes along. He could respect that.

As the children were tucked in what he presumed was the only bed in the cabin, they were left alone once again.

"So…do you always shoot random people in the woods or is that a new habit you've picked up recently?" Her attempt at breaking the ice just made the hunter's scowl.

'What is it with this guy, he always on his rag?'

"Fuck it," getting up from her spot at the table she beckons him to follow her. His curiosity rises but so did his guard, still he was amused at the woman's behavior. Never before has he met a woman who has been in his company this long without expecting some sort of payment or favor.

"Do ya' wanna' bed to sleep in or do ya; like sleepin'' on floors Mr. Hunter?"

'Cheeky broad', he thought as he made his way in her direction. Still slightly suspicious at her offering, Daryl gives her a scrutinizing gaze. As he nears her, he notices her change in demeanor. Her body tenses and a rosy hue reached her cheeks, making its way down her neck.

'Got the bitch nervous'. He smirks, male pride swelling in his chest.

Clearing her throat, she leads the intimidating man to the other bedroom. She couldn't resist comparing their contrasting differences. While he wasn't that tall, maybe 5'10 or 5'11, his height dwarfed her, being she was a mere 5'5 on a good day. She always wished she were taller, her figure wasn't what you would find in magazines or the envy of every celebrity starlette. All her life she always carried a few extra pounds more than needed, she always blamed her tits and ass. She wasn't fat, just curvy. She got it from her father's side as all the women in her mother's side were slim and tall with athletic builds. They didn't have fat asses or melon sized breasts.

'Least now I don't gotta' worry about diets, hardly anyone to impress.' This brought her thoughts back to the hunter behind her. He was looking at everything but her.

"It's not much, but it'll do", she opens a door to their left, revealing a small room with bare walls and a single bed. The small window was high, didn't allow for any eyes to peer in or out.

Turning to see if it met his approval, she frowns as he still stood outside the doorway.

"Every heard the idiom never look a gift horse in the mouth? This is one of them moments". Grunting at the woman, he enters, not meeting her eyes. Dixons are not used to any form of genuine hospitality hell they're not used to any form of kindness, so being given shelter for the night and a warm bed has left him speechless.

'Come on Dixon, man up. No time ta' pussyfoot around, jus' let it be. No one forced her to be nice ta' ya'. He didn't have a chance to say anything; she had already stepped out of the room.

"Goodnight Daryl". With that she was gone.

The morning sun peaks into the room, the sole occupant is slowly roused by the sunlight pouring in. Daryl takes a deep breathe, stretching out all the kinks in his body. He finds himself reluctant to leave the comfortable bed. Couldn't remember the last time he had such a restful sleep. After a heated debate with himself, he has no choice but to get up as the pitter-pattering of small feet could be heard in the other room.

"Morning Daryl," he walks in to see the small woman place small bowls in front of the now sitting children. "Hope ya' like oatmeal." She tells the kids to eat up and not be picky because that was all that was left.

Appreciative, he gives gruff thanks. She sits across from him to enjoy her share of the bland breakfast.

'Better than nothing Gabbs'.

Taking in her form, he starts to feel out of place. No woman as ever treated him so well without expecting something in return. Even the women back at camp feel obligated to even serve him the food he hunted and it was usually the scraps the others left. He's seen week old road kill with more meat than they leave him.

It was quiet once again at the table, not that they mind. None of them were morning people.

Out of character, Daryl decided to get to know the woman in front of him, something he's never tried to do.

"So they yer kids? Cuz' ya' look a liddol young to be their mama, 'less ya' were one of dem teen moms or sumthin'." She didn't answer right away, still chewing at her breakfast although there wasn't much need. How many times can you chew oatmeal until you realize it was already mush? She makes an odd facial expression, one of intense concentration. An unfeminine snort erupts from her mouth.

Her laugh was whimsical and would have stored it in his memory as such if it weren't for the realization that she was laughing at him. Ready to unleash harsh words, she surprises him by raising her arms in apology.

"I'm sorry sweetie. It's just that I was picturing myself as one of those teen moms on that god awful show." Settling down, she clears her throat, "but no, they're not mine. They're my cousins on my mom's side. My mom's brother was their daddy. I've been helping him raise them since they were born so it's like they are truly mine." She hugs the boy to her, kissing him on the temple just to have him shy away once again. Daryl left it at that, not wanting to know what happened to their actual parents, it was none of his business anyways.

"How 'bout you Daryl? Got any little Daryl's running around with miniature crossbows that I should be warned of or a Mrs. Daryl I should fear for keepin' you hostage?" At this point she knows she is flirting, but she couldn't resist seeing the man squirm in his seat.

Slightly flustered he denies having either. "Nah. No kids, maybe a niece or nephew somewhere out there. An' din't ever 'ave the patience for some broad wantin' to be all serious and shit."

Accepting his answer, she turns back to her breakfast, trying to hide her grin. There was something about Daryl Dixon that amused her and it didn't hurt that he was easy on the eyes.

Adjusting his crossbow across his back, Daryl faces his host. The little girl is hiding behind Gabriela's legs with the boy in front of them, her ever present silent protector. Smirking down at him, he nods and walks away from the cabin towards his camp.

Her husky voice called out to him.

"Come back again for a visit Dixon. Might want ya' to shoot my other arm. Ya' know, to make it even."

He makes a noise that could be mistaken for a chuckle, but this was Daryl fukin Dixon, hunter extraordinaire and all around badass. He is too much of a beast to do something as mundane as laugh.

Seeing his retreating form raise a toned arm and give her a lazy salute.

Oh yeah, he was something special.