Chapter One: Our Solemn Hour


A/N: So this is obviously a Walking Dead fanfic, and a cowritten story by two authors. This story begins in Season 1, but we plan to continue all the way through. There will be some romance and pairings a bit later, but at first it's not a major part of the story so if you're not into slow-burning romances this might not be for you. The only characters we own are Billie Dixon and Rory Verna.


~ Rory ~

The blue and red lights throbbed against the approaching night, pulsing behind my eyes every time I blinked.

"You left the cruiser's lights on."

Shane glanced up. "I know."

"Won't it attract the... things?"

"I'm more worried about looters," he said, tossing another armful of canned food from the pantry into a duffel-bag. "I don't want them mistaking this place for an easy target. The lights might discourage 'em."

I didn't argue with his logic; I never did. I shifted against the window and stretched my fingers, stiff from holding onto my gun for so long and so tightly. I kept my eyes glued on the outside.

"How much longer?"

"Not long," he said, zipping up the bag and tossing it over a shoulder with the first. "Just -"

"Shane?"

We both turned to the archway of the kitchen. Lori stood there, red-eyed from crying and clutching a suitcase.

"Yeah?"

"The flash lights and batteries are in the garage, in a camping tote, up high."

"Right, I got it. Don't worry." He paused awkwardly, glanced at me, then back to Rick's wife. "How's Carl?"

"Packing as fast as he can."

He nodded, opened his mouth as if to say more, then shut it. There wasn't much more he could say; he'd said it all the moment we'd arrived.

Lori slipped away again, wan-faced, and Shane came up to me. "Take these bags out to the car, yeah?" I barely had an agreement out of my mouth before he tossed them at my feet and pressed a set of keys into my hand. "It's the greenish one"

"Wait, we aren't taking the cruiser?"

"Lori's car is bigger."

More Shane logic, right.

"But you said -"

"Just take the bags out, Rory."

We were both still in our uniforms. His badge reflected the lights at my back and dazzled me slightly, but it was the blood stains down his shirt that caught and held most of my attention; it was the pulse of the memory of what I'd seen at the hospital that kept replaying in my head. "You promised I could -"

"I know, I know." He was backing toward the garage. "Just do it."

With the two over-full bags on my left shoulder I felt awkward and off-balance, which didn't bode well for aiming, but it left my right arm free to hold my weapon of choice; a standard Glock 34 that fit nicely in my hand. For a man it would have been too small, but Shane's would have been big for me.

Outside the sun was sinking, dragging the day mercilessly with it, its parting salute a faint line of gray on the horizon. With the obnoxious flare of lights parked out front, painting the yard and driveway in varying, shifting colors, it was hard not to be a little night-blind. Shadows danced and twisted, chasing the lights, twisting into things that could be mistaken for moving figures.

I stumbled down the walkway. A ruckus of noise washed over the neighborhood; the standard crickets, breeze, and hush of night overran by shouting three houses down, a brittle scream a street away, and the hollowing of a dog chained and forgotten somewhere in the madness of it. The unlocking of the car made a high pitched squeal that had me cringing. I opened the trunk, shouldered the bags on top of multiple others already there, and stretched on my toes to pull it closed. Something brushed my thigh.

I whirled, raising the gun to chest height on instinct. Chest height is customary; man or woman, you're bound to hit something crippling in the abdominal or thoracic regions. However, I was fast aware that I wasn't about to take down one of those... things unless I'd gotten them in the brain. I had to work on that.

This time, thankfully, my mistake didn't cost my life. It didn't cost me anything; I was pointing at open air.

Down by my knees, a black lab nudged me with his muzzle. I sighed in relief.

"Lost, buddy?" I asked it, as I rubbed its downy ears.

It yelped, and I cast a look around the driveway and street, scoping for threats. I made to turn back to the house, anxious to get out of here and across town where my apartment was, but the lab followed.

I shooed him.

"Go, go back home. Out."

It would not be banished.

Inside, I could hear Shane calling out at Lori about something. Her shadow flitted across the front window's curtain, and I spotted her son's shadow, too, lingering in a doorway. I'd only seen him twice before; one of those time was in passing within the picture that sat on Officer Rick's desk. A man I never even met, but whom now was dead, and I got to see his son's face go pale at the news of it.

God, what was I doing here?

The metal teeth of the car keys dug into my palm. I glanced at Lori's car, full of food and supplies. Something like temptation flared in my chest; my heart started pounding unbearably, because I could do it. I could do it and there was nothing to stop me, but myself. Shane wouldn't even guess until I was well away. He promised me the moment this... thing broke out that we'd go to my apartment to get my roommate. He promised that once he went to the hospital for Rick, we'd go. But then Rick was dead and he had to find Rick's family, and there was only the police cruiser that we were stuck sharing. There hadn't even been time to beg him to drop me off at the station in order to take my own car.

Beside me, the dog yelped and pushed his face against my leg. His nose was wet. I pushed him away gently, but my hand came away wet. Not just wet, but dripping, warm, and I recoiled from the damp touch of his muzzle. The red haze of the cruiser's lights made the blood on my hand look scarlet.

I flinched away from the beast then.

Up the steps and inside, I slammed the door and rushed over to the kitchen sink. It wasn't until I'd scrubbed my skin raw that I realized the boy had been watching me the entire time. "You packed up?"

He just stared.

I turned and put my back to the sink, leaning into the counter. "Is your mother packed?" I asked.

His eyes went to the door that led to the garage, then settled on my now-clean hand. "What happened?"

"Nothing," I said dismissively, unconsciously rubbing at my badge.

"Who are you?"

I blinked. In all things that was the crisis, Shane had neglected to introduce me. "My name's Aurora."

"Did you work with my dad?"

Oh. "No... I, uh, started just after he left, actually."

"You took his place, didn't you?"

"No, of course not. I was Shane's temporary partner."

"But now that he's dead, you don't have to –"

Mercifully, the garage door open and out came Lori and Shane to save me from what would have been an unbearable conversation. She glanced over at me, then to Carl, and put on a smile that seemed thin.

"Carl and I are finished, but do you two have anything beside your uniforms?"

I opened my mouth to say that we'd be stopping by my apartment and I'd be getting my things, but Shane cut in with a brisk, "No, but we're in too much a hurry to stop by my place. The radio said that Atlanta was the place to go and we're gonna want to get on the highway as soon as we can." He looked over at me, swept me over, and said to Lori: "Rick's 'bout my size, and he wouldn't mind if I borrowed." A pause, wherein Lori's face tightened, but she nodded. "And Rory can manage, too."

"In his clothes?" I blurted.

"He wouldn't mind. You being a fellow cop and all."

That wasn't the point at all. "I thought –"

He quirked his lips in an almost smile that I think he meant to reassure, but that only made me feel a little more frustrated and that made the car keys in my fist feel heavier. Perhaps, I should have done it.

After a quiet comment or two, Lori parted ways to the hall and Carl trudged after her. It left Shane and I in the living room, but he quickly headed toward the door and nodded for me to follow him. "Got to put this in back with the rest," he said, bobbing the pack slung over his shoulder full of odds and ends.

Outside I unlocked the car and watched Shane's back as he fussed over the organization and stock count of the things in the trunk. The whirling lights were starting to give me a headache the darker the sky grew and it made it impossible to spot that dog, or any other thing in our surroundings for that matter. "Do you still have the keys to the cruiser?" I asked. "I want to turn off those lights."

"They buggin' you?"

"They're not helping us much."

He turned, pulling the keys from his pocket. I held out a hand to catch them; he usually threw them. I'd learned that from the few months I'd spent as his partner. Except, this time, he hesitated. His brow creased as he peered at me in the flashing dark. It was then that I knew he could see right through me.

"You aren't gonna just peel out of here, are you?"

I frowned back, shifted underneath his regard, and stretched my fingers around the handle of my gun.

"You don't need the cruiser anymore," I replied. "You've got Lori's car."

He gave me a look caught between disbelief and vexation. "You're just gonna go off on your own?"

"I have to go find my roommate. She's... my best friend.. my person. I can't just ditch town without at least trying." I paused, letting that grow heavy in the air. "Besides, my things are at my apartment."

"What are the chances your roommate hasn't already jumped into a car to Atlanta? That's what the smart people are going to do, and if they aren't the smart people, they're the dead ones walking."

"Then call me stupid, because I'm going back for her before I leave. I went all the way with you to the hospital, and I had your back then, and I even came here with you and helped out, but I have to go –"

He gestured to the house. "You think I should have just ignored their existence? There's a child and mother in there right now, defenseless and, to boot, grieving their loss. They're here, right now. They're alive and in need, and we're right here, too, right now. What are the chances your friend will be there? What are the chances she'll still be there by the time you get all the way across town? They're a whole lot lower than the chances of Lori and Carl surviving if you stay and help protect them. Isn't that what you swore fresh out of the academy, to serve and protect? If you honestly believe that it's worth it, then I won't stop you." He thrust the keys at me and I barely caught them in time. "But if you think better of it, I need back up here."

Curt and to the point; just like the mentor-Shane I'd come to know, being the rookie-cop in this co-worker relationship. I stared at the keys in my hands for a moment, working through his words, working through the doubt and the guilt that bloomed as a result of them, and drowning in it.

One thought seeded itself, quietly, at the back of my mind: If you'd gone first thing, she would have been there. But I hadn't, I'd trusted Shane to keep his promise, and I'd gone to the hospital for Rick, too.

Now I was here, in the throbbing darkness, with Shane's dark, dark eyes bearing down on me.

I sighed and held out my hand. He put his underneath it and I let the keys fall back into his palm.

"For a second there, I thought you'd actually leave," he said. Then, quietly: "Thanks."

"What are partners for?"


~ Billie ~

It was really too warm for a thick woollen coat, but for some reason, I was shivering. My heels clicked across the pavement as I headed down the street for my car. Sure, they hurt my feet after a while, but stick a couple of Band-Aids on the backs of my heels and I would be fine. Not only did the black stilettos make me taller, but they made me feel like a real lady, not a lower-class university graduate two months into her bank job.

Part of the reason I parked a block away from the bank was so none of my co-workers would see my crummy little Ford Falcon. 1997 model…it was pretty shit. Just like most things I owned. I frowned as I passed the newsagency, watching a pair of men scuttle out with bottles of soft drink. It was nearly five, but the streets were practically dead. What was going on?

"Hello?" I peered into the newsagency. Was the guy behind the counter aware that he'd probably just been robbed? But no, it was so very quiet in there as well. Newspapers on the front desk rustled in the slight breeze. Starting to get a bit nervous, I gnawed at my lip and looked around. The fridges were nearly emptied of drinks. Was there seriously no one working behind the counter?

So there was the manager, standing hunched over near the greeting cards. I had seen him a few times before, but never spoken to him before now. I shuffled closer hesitantly, nervously. I had never been good with talking to strangers. I wasn't what one would call social.

"Um, excuse me? Sir? I think you've been robbed…"

The manager turned to face me, head tilted oddly to the side. There was something about his eyes, something off, something I couldn't place…he moved towards me with outstretched hands, growling like a kicked dog…

An arrow suddenly pierced the manager through the head, and I couldn't help but scream. Sure, I hadn't exactly grown up in the best environment, but I had never seen anyone killed in front of me. I spun around to see my brother, Daryl, lowering a crossbow. I could only watch in utter shock as Daryl brushed past me, ripping the arrow free of the dead man's skull. The sound made me screw my eyes shut and grimace.

"You killed him," I accused, but my voice was devoid of any true anger. Something had been wrong with the manager. Something was off. I had known that since walking down the empty street towards my car. Where was everyone?

"Shut up, Billie." Daryl's tone was abrupt and he turned back to face me. "Take those damn shoes off. You can't go nowhere in them."

"What? Where are we going?" I was honestly surprised. I hadn't seen Daryl since before I'd started working at the bank…months ago now. Yet he knew just where to find me. It seemed like he'd been looking for me urgently. Were we in some kind of trouble? I peeled off my high heels, stretching out my toes.

"To find Merle," Daryl replied, setting off out of the newsagency as I followed in utter bewilderment.


I lurched upwards, choking for air. My hair was all tangled and my body was glossy with sweat. My heart thumped wildly in my chest, and it took me a moment to realise that I was okay, everything was okay. Licking my parched lips, I gave a quiet sigh of relief, before turning to check that the other occupants of my tent were also just fine.

Daryl slept silently beside me, a sleeping bag tangled around his waist. His bow was within arm's reach, so that he could grab it without a second's thought if he needed to. I couldn't help but smile as I watched him toss restlessly. Even in sleep, there was nothing placid about my brother.

I looked further across to see my oldest brother Merle, planted face-down in a pillow. I refrained from laughter. We never had camping experiences as a kid, so I guess this is the closest it was gonna get. Part of the reason was because of the huge age difference between us – Merle was twenty-five years my elder, Daryl fourteen. I was really only their half-sister, because I had a different mom, but they treated me like I was full-blood.

Merle and Daryl had protected me since the virus struck, and I knew that they would continue to do so. I was grateful, but I couldn't help but feel useless. I didn't know how to fire a gun. I flinched at the sound of it going off. I had never shot anything in my life. Merle probably fired his first bullet before I was even born. It was a bit of a scary thought.

I curled my knees to my chest, closed my eyes and counted to ten. Sometimes, it all got so overwhelming. Sure, my background was pretty damn crap, but the world had definitely turned to shit now. At first it was just my brothers and I braving it on our own, but then we ran into the rest of the survivors. Now, I wasn't really a people person. It took me a while to make friends, even longer to trust. I didn't mind most of the group, but there was something about Shane Walsh that just didn't sit right with me. Maybe it was because when I looked into his dark eyes, I saw another man.

"Billie?" Daryl's hoarse voice made me jump. He shifted in his sleeping bag and sat up. "What you doing awake? You should be getting sleep."
"Nightmares again," I murmured. The name 'Dixon' should come with a certain level of intimidation – and for my brothers, that was true. But I had always been the one who stuck out like a sore thumb. I shared Daryl's green eyes, but had the same auburn hair as my grandma. My features were a lot softer, and my personality was too. I was the only Dixon kid to have actually graduated from high school and university. Not that a pretty certificate declaring my Finance Major had any worth these days.

"Hey." Daryl reached across and rubbed my back. He had always been the sweeter brother. I couldn't remember the last time Merle showed me affection, and although Daryl wouldn't be a big sap in front of the rest of the group, it was different when we were alone. I had just turned twenty-two, but to Daryl, I would always be his baby sister. "I'm right here, okay? Ain't nothing gonna get you while I'm here. Promise."

I believed him. I had always believed him. He was the only man who I had ever trusted. I loved my brother Merle, but we'd never been that close. I hadn't trusted him since…well. It was all old history now. Suffice to say that Merle and were too different, polar opposites more like. If Merle made me a promise, I would think he would break it. But Daryl had never broken a promise yet.

"Okay."

I lay back down and curled on my side, aware that my brother was sitting vigilant beside me. It made a small smile creep across my face, and I was glad it was dark so he couldn't see it. I fisted my hands tight in the blanket and faded into the sound of crickets and snapping twigs.


If there was one thing I was good at, chopping vegetables up all neatly was probably it. Neither of my brothers had ever been excellent cooks – but that was okay, because Daryl did the group's hunting. He found the meat, we cooked it. Lori Grimes was generally in charge of the cooking, but sometimes she needed help from me or Carol Peletier.

Part of the thing being in a group of survivors is that over time, you find out everything about them. Lori was the wife of a deceased cop, who had escaped with her twelve-year-old son, her husband's best friend Shane, and Shane's new partner Rory Verna. Rory stuck around Shane a lot, and to me she looked fresh out of the academy. Probably a year or two older than me, tops. I looked over my carrots to see the blonde helping Shane set up a fire over which we'd cook the meat.

"Billie?" Lori glanced at me with concerned brown eyes. She was rail-thin, something I had always envied in women when I had been younger. Probably because their graceful slenderness made my curves feel like chubbiness in comparison. "You sliced your finger."

"Oh." I looked down to see blood welling from a small cut on my little finger. Right. I should probably have been paying more attention to what I was doing. There was no point trying to seek Merle out, because odds were he was causing trouble around the camp somewhere. It was no secret that Daryl and I were pretty much the only ones who accepted him.

I wondered what the cops thought of him, Shane and Rory. He was the type they shoved in the slammer. He'd spent plenty of time in prison when I'd been a little girl. Reckless to the point of being dangerous, that was my brother Merle. I put the knife down and sighed heavily.

"First aid kit's in the RV," Lori stated with a shrug of her shoulders. "There should be some Band-Aids left. See if you can find Carl while you're there. I don't like the thought of him playing where I can't see him."

I headed across to the RV and glanced around for Carl. These days, it really wasn't safe to have your kids out of sight, especially with walkers crawling everywhere. But there he was – a flash of brown hair and pale skin, playing some card game with Carol's daughter Sophia. I exhaled in relief. I hadn't been looking forward to going on a search party.

A rustle in the bushes caught my attention, and my fingers fumbled for the handle of the knife I always carried with me. No point in having a gun when I had no idea how to fire one, and Merle said the gunshot would only attracted more walkers anyway. Better to do it with a knife. I slid it from my belt as a figure traipsed out of the bushes…

"What, gonna stab me, Billie? Nice way to greet your brother."

I groaned and lowered the knife, relief coursing through me. It was only Daryl. Part of the problem was that we lived life on the edge, thinking every stealthy movement was a walker coming to get us. I fell into step beside my brother as he headed back towards the camp.

"Get anything?"

"Nothing." Daryl sounded disappointed, and I knew he prided himself on being an expert hunter. Where he had learned those skills, I had no idea. Another problem with our age gap – not living together meant there was plenty we didn't know about each other. I wasn't sure that I was ready to ask yet either.

"Going out again later?"

I knew the way Daryl functioned. Failure wasn't an option, persistence was key. If he hadn't caught anything this time, he'd just go back until he had. I couldn't understand it myself, but maybe I was just the sort of person who was more prone to giving up. He might have returned to camp now but he would be restless and agitated until he succeeded in finding something.

"Yep. If you're thinking you're gonna be coming, you ain't."

My shoulders slumped. How was I meant to learn how to use any weapons if neither of my brothers was willing to teach me? I guess that hinting at hunting with Daryl for about a week meant he knew I was going to be asking again sometime soon. I was meant to just hang around the camp with all the other women? I think any of them could tell that I wasn't a real lady. I had grown up around boys, grown up trying to prove to my brothers that I wasn't fragile.

"Come on, Daryl. Give me a chance."

Daryl's voice was firm and I could tell that his answer was final. "Hell no."