Okay guys, so this story has been rolling around in my frontal lobe for a while now, and I've played with it on and off for months. Finally decided to post it, but I'm not sure what the next step is, so PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE leave LOTS of REVIEWS! As always thanks and love y'all x

Chapter One

"I tried to stop them," Andrea coughed brokenly. Her normally pale skin had blanched even further with the loss of blood. "Judith, Carl, the rest of them?"

"Us. The rest of us," Rick corrected.

"Are they alive?" she questioned desperately.

"Yeah, they're alive " he confirmed.

Andrea turned to Michonne. "It's good you found them. No one can make it alone now." She shot a meaningful look towards Daryl and he nodded his understanding.

"I never could," he admitted.

"I just didn't want anyone to die," Andrea said sadly. She reached for Rick's gun. "I can do it myself."

"No!" Michonne immediately disagreed, but Andrea held up a weak hand to halt her protests.

"I have to. While I still can. Please? I know how the safety works." Andrea gave a halfhearted smile towards Rick, acknowledging the argument they'd had upon their first meeting in Atlanta. Begrudgingly, Rick handed over the gun.

Andrea's body straightened suddenly and she jerked her eyes between Michonne, Rick, and Daryl. "There's a girl," she said hoarsely, "the Governor was holding her here. Somewhere close by- I could hear her screaming. She's strong, stronger than I am. She might still be alive."

"We'll find her," Rick promised.

Michonne gazed beseechingly at her dying friend, "Well, I'm not going anywhere."

Andrea understood her need to be here. It was a way of punishing herself, but also a gift. "I tried," Andrea ground out softly.

"You did," Rick acknowledged, turning with Daryl to leave the room, "You did."

Rick and Daryl stood silently in the hallway outside Andrea's torture chamber, before a single shot echoed off the concrete walls. Tyreese flinched at the noise, and Rick's features betrayed his guilt. But Daryl only sat, mournfully, solemn. When Michonne walked out of the room with a look of anguish, Daryl hopped up from his perch and continued down the winding paths of the Governor's private penitentiary. He had a girl to find.

He kicked open the first door he spotted to find a room filled with bloody tools. Saws, switchblades, and screwdrivers, all lined up on linoleum tables, coated with blood. Daryl quickly closed the door and continued on. The next set of double doors revealed an armory. But rather than guns and ammo, the room contained the exact paraphernalia necessary to construct a multitude of high intensity bombs. C-4, copper wire, deconstructed timers- as if the Governor had been planning on sending suicide bombers into the fray. They'd come back for this later.

The third door was the ticket, as it always seemed to be. He cracked off the locked knob with the heel of his boot, and ventured inside to find a young woman huddled in the corner. Her hands and feet were bound, and duct tape covered her mouth. A handkerchief had been wrapped expertly around her head, cutting off her vision as well. Her shirt and jeans were soaked through with blood. It was clear enough she'd heard Daryl's unceremonious entry when she scuttled as far back against the wall as she could manage. Her cries were muffled against the tape gagging her, but the effect was the same.

Daryl approached her hurriedly and untied her blindfold first. Green eyes greeted him, with specs of gold. She was trembling and tearing up, trying desperately to rip through the ropes binding her. "Ain't gonna hurt ya," Daryl tried to assure her, but it was useless. Her eyes darted between him, Michonne, Tyreese and Rick, quickly calculating how many fists would be connecting with her battle-worn body before she'd finally pass out from the pain. The look in her eyes told Daryl everything he needed to know. He'd seen it before- in the mirror.

Daryl looked over his shoulder and instructed, "Give her some space." The trio nodded their understanding and retreated to the hallway.

The girl's eyes remained unfocused and frightened, prepared for a fight, anticipating pain. He reached towards her face and the girl tried her best to jerk her head away from him, inadvertently slamming her temple into the wall. Her chestnut hair cascaded around her clavicle when she moved, dancing across her skin. "Whoa, whoa, whoa," Daryl said as softly as he could, "Just gonna take off the tape. Ain't gonna hurt ya, girl, I swear."

And for the first time since he'd entered her prison cell, the girl looked at him. She really and truly looked. Momentarily, she became lost in his cool blue pools. Daryl watched in some degree of surprise as her features softened, and breathing slowed. She trusted him; or at the very least, she was trying to.

As gently and slowly as he could, Daryl reached out again and peeled back the duct tape at her mouth. Pouty, pink lips revealed themselves to him, and briefly, Daryl allowed himself to think about what they'd feel like pressed against his own. But he quickly shut out the thought; he was a pervert for even entertaining the idea, and now wasn't the time. Next would be the ropes, but that posed a problem: to get the ropes undone he'd need to cut them, and to cut them he'd need to take out his knife. Chances were, she'd panic. So he tried another tactic.

"I'm Daryl," he said quietly, "What's your name?"

"Layla," the girl replied, after a beat. And goddamn if hearing her voice didn't disprove everything Daryl had ever believed about the value of poetry. Because the girl's voice sounded like bells ringing. It sounded like angels singing and sunshine on skin and peach juice running down your cheek. He caught himself before the smile on his lips could make its way out of his body. This girl was beat to all hell and there wasn't one good reason he should be smiling at her now, lest he wanted to scare her even more. But there was just something about her voice...he forced himself to concentrate on her eyes instead.

"Layla, I ain't gonna hurt ya," he drawled. God her name felt good on his lips. Layla.

"Why?" she asked, before he could finish his statement. Her question unsettled him. A couple decades before, if anyone had tried to help him or be nice to him while he'd been trapped under his father's abusive thumb, he might have asked the same thing.

"I ain't like that. My friends ain't neither. We ain't with the Governor, and he ain't here no more. No one's gonna hurt you, I promise," Daryl tried to explain.

"You're not with the Governor," Layla said slowly, processing the words. "Then who are you with?"

"The Governor had one of ours, he was holding her here…" Daryl began.

"Andrea?" Layla's watery emerald orbs had focused on him with the precision of an archer hitting his mark.

"Yeah…"

"She's dead."

It wasn't a question. Layla could see it clearly enough from his defeated expression. "I'm sorry," she whispered, holding his gaze. Maybe this man wasn't here to hurt her. Maybe he was telling the truth.

He sighed, "She told us about ya, said we should come find ya, that ya might still be alive. Guess she was right."

"So …are you going to let me go?" Layla asked quietly, almost hopefully. But she couldn't let herself want that. Letting that emotion run free in her veins could be her demise.

"'Course we are," Daryl assured her, "But you're hurt. We got this prison, a little ways from here. It's got fences, walls…women and children. Good people. The other Woodbury folk wanna come back with us. You should too."

Her eyes narrowed in suspicion. "I'm fine on my own," she spat. She was closing off; he had to convince her before he lost her entirely.

"Nah, you ain't. No one is these days. And with this much blood comin' off ya, you won't survive the night out there. C'mon Layla, just give it a shot. Give yourself a few days to get patched up, and if ya still don't like it you can leave. It might be a prison, but you ain't our prisoner. I don't wanna see ya make it out of this room just to get yourself killed straight off," Daryl said sincerely.

"What do you care if I die?" Layla asked him. She could see he was telling the truth. Feel it, moreover. But she didn't understand this man.

"Just do," he shrugged. There was more there, but she left it, for the time being. Daryl reached to his side and began to take out his hunting knife. The girl immediately stiffened, but he surprised himself by placing a hand on her shoulder to calm her.

"Gotta cut the ropes, okay? Just trust me," he begged her. And when she relaxed slightly against the wall, he reached around her to cut away her blood-damp woven shackles. He worked quickly, but he was close to her just long enough for her to feel his hot breath against her neck. Daryl tried not to take any pleasure from being this near to her. She shivered as he pulled away, rubbing her raw wrists idly. Daryl cut her feet free next and helped the girl to stand

"Daryl," Layla called softly, pausing before she followed him out of the room, "Don't leave me alone with them." Her voice was pleading, eyes afraid. But she wasn't afraid of him, and that was enough for now.

"You'll stick with me," he declared, just as much for his own sake as for hers. And with this assurance, she followed him out to meet his group.

TWDTWDTWDTWDTWD

"I'm fine," Layla growled from her seat next to Daryl inside the prison's walls. But lord have mercy; even when she was angry, her voice sounded like a purring kitten. Daryl wanted Hershel to take care of Layla's wounds. Layla had other plans. "Just get me some gauze. I can take care of it myself."

He rolled his eyes at her. "We both know you can't." She glowered at him, but remained silent. "I'll stay with ya, if it'll help."

Almost imperceptibly, Layla nodded. At least if he was there, she could maybe, just for a moment, relax. Acquiescing, she allowed him to lead her over to Hershel's cell.

"Alright, Daryl. If you'd just step out-"

"He's staying," Layla said firmly. No room for argument. The peg-legged veterinarian eyed her curiously, but let it slide.

"Okay, if you don't mind, let's start with you taking off your clothing so I can get a better view of the injuries," Hershel asked her kindly.

"I can't," Layla croaked. When Hershel looked like he was about to put up an argument she interjected, "The shirt is burnt on in a few places. Can't get it off without ripping skin."

"It sounds like we'll have to cut it then. Is that alright with you?"

Layla nodded and Hershel set out to work, cutting carefully around the red, blistering patches on her back. The Governor had preferred her face down. One wide, blank canvass for him to mar.

"I'm going to need to reopen some of these wounds. They'll never heal properly with the fabric stuck in them. I could give you some anesthetic…"

"No. I don't need it. Just do it," Layla insisted. She lay on her front, her entire back exposed to the two men in the room. It was oddly reminiscent of her time with the Governor, and the thought of him made her tense. Daryl noticed her nervousness and went to kneel by her side.

She winced every now and again as Hershel carefully cut into her skin. And Daryl couldn't help but let the anger boil within him at the sight of what the Governor had done to this beautiful girl. When he looked back to her face he caught her watching him.

"He hurt you anywhere else?" Daryl asked pointedly.

"Just a whole bunch of bruises," Layla sighed.

That hadn't been quite what Daryl meant, and the girl knew it. But Daryl had to be sure. Because if the Governor had done that. Well…he'd kill him. He'd rip that asshole to shreds then burn the pieces.

"He didn't…"

"No," Layla cut him off. "He didn't rape me." Daryl continued to eye her skeptically. "Why do I get the feeling you don't believe me?" she asked, exasperated.

"He's a sick fuck," Daryl said in response. It was true enough.

After a moment, Layla spat out. "Fine, you want to know the truth? First day he put me in there one of his lackeys came in and tried to put his dick in my mouth. I bit it off. After that, the Governor didn't seem too keen on having his dick anywhere near me. So no, he didn't rape me, Daryl."

Daryl nodded silently. He certainly believed her. "How long were ya there?"

She scrunched her brow, trying to remember, but eventually seemed to give up. "A couple of weeks, maybe? It was hard to keep track. No light, after all."

"Why'd he stick you in there?"

"What, you think I did something wrong? You think I deserved it?" Layla angrily questioned.

"No!" Daryl backtracked, "But he had to have a reason. Ain't sayin' it was a good one. Or that what he did wasn't fucked up. But whatever reason he had for stickin' you in there, I'm guessin' you know it."

She sighed. "It's a long story, Daryl."

"Don't look like you're goin' nowhere."

"I'd actually like to hear this too," Rick said from the doorway, startling the girl. Every muscle in her body twitched away from the noise, and Daryl thoughtlessly put his hand over hers, trying to settle her. He looked down at the appendage like it didn't belong to him, surprised that she hadn't jerked away from his touch. Layla gave him a small smile, but he retracted his hand anyways.

"I'm Rick Grimes, by the way," the officer told her, pulling up a chair next to the bunk. A safe distance away, though. He didn't know this girl.

"Layla," the girl said through a hiss. Hershel wasn't exactly being gentle with that scalpel. She looked between Daryl and Rick's faces, then let out a deep breath she didn't realize she'd been holding.

"I used to be in a bigger group," she began. "But a few weeks ago we got separated by a herd. It was just me and Bonnie. She was this adorable five-year-old with curly blonde pigtails and big blue eyes. And I protected her, you know? For a little while. Then another herd blew through and I thought we were done for. But this big, burly guy with a knife for an arm came charging out of the woods and saved us. So we went with him."

Daryl and Rick shared a look. "This guy got a name?"

"Merle," she all but whispered. "He brought me back to Woodbury. It's not his fault though, he thought he was protecting me. He didn't know what the Governor would do."

Daryl didn't say anything, just waited.

"They had this scientist there, Milton, who believed that when people turn into biters, that some part of them is still there. The human part. And he and the Governor thought up a way to prove it. Bonnie got...bit when the herd attacked us. She was going to turn, I knew it, I mean she was already burning up when we got there. And I begged them to kill her. So much pain…and she was just a little girl. But they had to do their experiment." Layla was crying now, though she didn't' realize it. And Daryl had unconsciously shifted closer to her, the back of his arm grazing her shoulder.

"They locked us in separate rooms. I couldn't even be there for her, when she…and then after it happened, they threw her body in and I just had to wait. Wait for her to come back. And she did, after a while. They wanted to see if she'd recognize me, I guess. But she didn't, the dead don't do that. She came after me, but I couldn't kill her. The Governor did- he shot her down right in front of me. And after that, they couldn't let me go. I mean god forbid I tell all those dumbasses from Woodbury what the man was really like. So he just kept me as his plaything. Until you all showed up, that is." Layla closed her eyes for a moment, trying to get a handle on this. She was surprised by the wetness on her cheeks; she hadn't had it in her to cry since she'd first seen Bonnie's lifeless body.

"M'sorry," Daryl murmured.

"I'm sorry that happened to you," Rick echoed, as he got up to leave. "I can promise you that if we ever do find the Governor, we'll kill him. I'll let you finish up here."

Hershel stepped away from her bandaged torso and brushed his hands off. "You'll have to sleep on your stomach for the next week or so, I imagine. But the burns will heal in good time. You let me know if you want any painkillers."

"I'll be okay," Layla mumbled into the bed, "Thanks."

Daryl pulled one of his sleeveless flannels out of his back pocket. "Grabbed this on the way in. Figured ya wouldn't wanna put the old one back on."

Layla smiled gratefully and tried to swing her legs around to sit up, but she found herself too weak. Daryl was immediately at her side, hoisting her as carefully as he could until she was sitting up on the bed, and trying desperately not to look at her body in the process. He stared down at her lap until he was sure she had put the flannel on.

"Merle was my brother," Daryl finally said, with great difficulty.

Layla hesitated a moment. "Was?"

"He died last week. Tried to take on the Governor by himself."

Layla reached out tentatively and placed her hand over Daryl's, surprising both of them. But by some power of God, he was able to catch himself before he flinched away. "I'm so sorry," she whispered. And if Daryl was being honest with himself, it felt like the first time anyone had meant the words. Rick had told him he was sorry for his loss, that he wished they could have saved him. Everyone at the prison had sent their condolences, at some point. Even Carol, when she said the words, didn't seem to believe them. But Layla meant it.

Daryl took the hand on his face into his own, examining it, almost. Her hand was so small and soft compared to his rough mitts.

"It's getting dark," she murmured, mostly to herself. "Where am I sleeping?"