Blaire

We always said 'just one more night'. That's all we ever needed. Just one more night, and maybe things would be better in the morning. But that was then, and this is now. We becomes you, and you start to wonder what you're really holding on for. You wake up in the morning and think you can't go on, but you do, because of those who have fallen. Sometimes, you make it. Other times, you don't. That's just how the world works now.

Golden light filters between the trees, warming the side of my face. Deep purple inches it's way up rough brown bark, stopping occasionally to change courses or maybe just rest. The early morning breeze picks up a few strands of hair, forcing them to twist and turn in an enchanting dance. The ache living behind flesh and bone continues on, like the idling of a car whose owner refuses to turn it off. The cut, etched across an otherwise untouched face, begs to be scratched at, to be pulled open again by rough, uncut nails. Blood pumps right at the surface, eager to flow freely down dirt covered skin. Ahead, rotting flesh, turned a leathery brown color due to exposure to the elements, stumbles over branches, yellow eyes scanning the area as it searches for something, anything, to turn into its next breathing buffet. I keep an eye on the dead one, now positioned to my right; continuing to follow the tracks of what I'm hoping is a deer. The canned vegetables and spam are all right, but God does some fresh meat sound amazing.

Behind me, I hear a twig snap. My hand instantly drops to my gun as I spin in the direction of the noise. "Whoever it is, I'm armed and will shoot you."

There is a quiver in my voice. I don't even believe my own words. I've been out here too long, seen too much. I promised to keep going and I don't break a promise. I have to fight. I have to live. If not for myself then for those who lost their own battles.

"Show yourself!" I demand, sounding a bit more confident this go round. "Now!"

Two men step into view, each holding their hands up by their ears, showing that they're unarmed, or at least don't intend to use the weapons they're toting. Both are covered in a layer of dirt, various spots made cleaner by sweat. One has on a deep blue rain coatT, only half buttoned up; a plaid shirt peeks out from underneath the jacket lining. He's got a tan bag thrown over one shoulder, a rifle over the other. His partner is the one who catches my eye though. This man stands straight; chest heaving under his black button up, a thick mop of dark brown hair covers half his face. The eye I can see stares, unblinking, at me, occasionally sinking lower or higher and then returning to meet my gaze. He's got a crossbow strapped across him, a knife resting in a sheath looped through a belt buckle. I keep eye contact with him as the blue jacket man begins to talk.

"Uh...my name is Aaron and this is Daryl."

I keep my gun raised, unsure of these new arrivals. Aaron fidgets, shifting his weight from foot to foot. For someone who's out here to survive, he sure is skittish. I know how I must look to them, dirty and unkempt, it has to be obvious that I've been on my own for a while now. My clothes, a par of jeans with the knees busted out, a blood stained tank top, and unraveling knit poncho all stiff with mud. The cut, barely scabbed over, some places still dripping with blood. There isn't an inch of skin that isn't covered in dirt. If I were them, I'd be wary too. It isn't just the dead we need to fear; people kill people, that's just how the world works now.

Daryl

"We don't mean any harm. We're just going to be on our way." Aaron's words catch my attention. Usually if we run into people along our way we extend an offer to come live with us. I'm not sure why he's withholding it from this girl. She looks harmless enough, scared shitless. Hell, she could've shot both of us but hasn't.

Reaching out I catch Aaron by his shoulder, forcing him to spin around and look at me. Glancing at the girl, I turn my back to her, lowering my head so that I can talk with Aaron. "We ain't bringin' her back?"

"No," Aaron glances over his shoulder quickly. "She looks feral. Deanna isn't going to want her around."

"Hey, I looked feral when I came in and she still kept our group around."

Aaron sighs, shifting his weight from foot to foot. "I don't know Daryl, she looks like trouble."

"She's alone. By the looks of her, it's been that way awhile."

"We don't know that." I understand his caution despite it feeling unnecessary. If she were going to do something, she would have by now. You don't hesitate like that if you mean someone harm.

I let out a long sigh, my hand dropping off of Aaron's shoulders. I don't want to leave her out here alone. I'd want someone to extend the same favor to anyone I've been traveling with. I wouldn't want them to just pass them by because they looked like they'd been out for too long. "I'll vouch for her. If something happens because we bring her back, I'll take the fall."

Aaron frowns, shaking his head, but makes no move to stop be from turning around and addressing the girl standing before us. "I'm Daryl."

"Yeah, your friend told me," the girl responds, a sarcastic edge to her voice as she lowers her gun; tucking it back into a holster.

"You gotta name or should I just call ya whatever I feel like?"

The girl shrugs, hands going to her hips, "Depends on what you plan on calling me."

I snort, "Smart – ass?"

The brunette in front of me grins, crinkling up her nose, "We don't know each other well enough for pet names yet, Daryl. For now you can call me Blaire."

"How many walkers have you killed?" Aaron questions from over my shoulder.

"I don't know. Probably over a hundred by now, but it could be more," Blaire answers uncertainly, chewing at her thumb as she thinks.

I nod, "How many people you killed?"

Blaire squints her eyes at me, the distrust running both ways, "How many have you killed?"

"Just answer the question," Aaron demands, curling his fingers around the hilt of his knife.

"Four, but they all deserved it." Blaire answers, reaching down, hand resting on her gun. "What's this all about anyway?"

"We're with a community. That cut don't look so good. We got a doctor," I announce, gaze shifting from Blaire to the trees behind her as the branches rustle. We can't keep standing here in the open like this. We'll all end up in a less than ideal situation. This stranger isn't worth getting killed over.

"I don't need a doctor. And I'm not going back with you people-" Blaire chews on her bottom lip for a second "-not unless you come with me first."

"Daryl, we should just – " Aaron starts but I quickly raise a hand, motioning for him to be quite.

"Why?"

Blaire shrugs, "Trust works both ways. How am I supposed to trust that you're good people if you don't trust me? Besides, I've got stuff at my camp I wanna grab if I'm gonna go live at your community."

"Aaron, go ahead back to Alexandria. Let 'em know I'll be back tomorrow." I instruct, picking up the pack I dropped and slinging it over my shoulder.

"Daryl, I'm not just letting you go by yourself." Aaron argues though he looks like he'd love to take off running back towards safety.

"It's fine. Smart – ass over ain't gonna do nothin' to me -" I glance over my shoulder at the brunette, raising an eyebrow. "- Will ya?"

She shrugs, "You don't try anything and I won't have to."

"Harmless."

Aaron rolls his eyes, frowning. Blaire's non-committal shrug only adds to his distrust, "This is a mistake."

"Ain't your decision."

Blaire

Daryl keeps pace with me; occasionally spinning around and walking backwards to make sure none of the dead are sneaking up on us. The car I'd driven out here is about three miles away, tucked behind some overgrown bushes in hopes that no passing stranger would discover it. My traveling companion follows without question even as I lead him further and further away from Aaron and his community. He remains vigilant, eyes sharp as he take in our surrounding. I have questions, but refrain from asking them. I'll have time tonight or on the drive back to my camp.

"How'd you get the scratch?" Daryl questions as we near the car.

Instead of answering, I begin to move away branches, slowly cleaning off the red Volkswagen I'd found near the beginning of this thing. Daryl, seeing what I'm doing, jumps in, pulling a bush clear out of the ground. I shake my head, silently laughing as he frowns, throwing the plant away from us. I bet he's one of those guys that's always traveled in a group. He's probably hung in the back, letting someone else make the decisions, only putting in his ideas when he felt strongly about them. I bet he doesn't know his own strength, physical or intellectual.

"I got in a fight with someone. He was number four. I got off with this scratch. Um – " I trail off, blinking away tears. Now isn't the time to think about what happened. I need to get both of us back to my camp before it gets dark. There will be a time to mourn for the dead later.

Daryl eyes me, his stony expression softening in understanding, but he doesn't push me to go on. Everyone's lost someone out here. That's just kind of a fact of life anymore. I don't think it ever gets easier though.

"Why'd you agree to come back with me? I mean, I could have a whole band of people waiting for you back at my camp." I question as we climb into the car and I start the engine. Per usual, I check the gas gauge; half a tank. This became a habit after we'd run out during some not so ideal situations. I keep two canisters in the back in case of an emergency, but it's always better if I check before I head out.

"Do ya?" Daryl questions placing his crossbow and backpack in the backseat before propping his feet up on the dashboard.

Rolling my eyes I turn on the radio, flipping it over to an oldies CD, one I'd picked up on a scavenging mission, "If I did I wouldn't be dumb enough to tell you about it before hand."

"Are we seriously listenin' to this?" As Daryl moves to change the song, I slap his hand away, shooting him a side-glare. I've been on my own way too long and become accustomed to listening to whatever I want on the drives for supplies. He's not about to try and control the radio.

"It's this or a worn out Muse disc that starts to skip around track two and stops playing completely around track five. I like the oldies though."

"'Course ya do."

Ignoring his previous comment, I turn down a gravel road. I've tried to fill in a few of the pot holes but eventually gave up, figuring I should put my energy into keeping the house up and running and the mouths inside fed. A pang of sadness takes over but I force it away. I need to keep my guard up. As nice as Daryl is I did let Aaron go back to his community. They could have people out looking for my passenger now. I can't afford another attack. As we hit a particularly bad dip in the road Daryl throws his arms out, his dark eyes growing wide, a grimace playing across his face. "What the hell you trying ta do? Kill us both?"

Once again I roll my eyes, shifting my gaze over to the bowman who has settled back into my passenger seat, "Calm down Daryl. I've been driving this thing since the beginning I have no intention of losing her now. You're bleeding by the way."

Daryl looks down, fingers meeting the wet, red stained spot just above the waist of his pants. He curses under his breath, pressing his palm hard into his side as he turns around in the seat, beginning to search through his pack. Once he's pulled out a long roll of bandage he lifts his shirt up, trying to wrap it around his middle without removing the pressure.

"I can bandage that for you once we're inside." I offer, pulling off the road and shutting the car down. "You shouldn't wrap it dirty it could get infected."

"I don't need your help," Daryl barks back, throwing the wrapping back into his bag and getting out of the car.

"Just an offer. I learned a few things from the nurse who was traveling with me for a while. What happened anyway?"

Daryl grimaces at me, "Met some unruly people."

I nod as we walk back out onto the gravel road. "Well, it isn't much, but welcome to your home for the night."

Daryl

Blaire bows forward, sweeping her hands out to the side. Ignoring her, I continue to stare at the twenty or so staked walkers positioned around the yard. Each one has got its arms and legs chopped off. Somehow, most are still letting out groans, yellowing teeth grinding together. Other than the field of walkers, it looks like Blaire hasn't taken any other safety measures. No wonder she's lost people along the way, probably doesn't know how to take care of herself, let alone others. "What the hell is this?"

"Oh," Blaire glances at the walkers, smirking a little. "That's the dead garden. They keep the other dead ones away. It took us a little to figure out how to stake them without killing them. Trick is to leave most of the body. I do have to change them out every now and again. The poles eventually poke through their skulls."

"How long've you been here?" I question as Blaire shoves the door open, leading me into a carpeted room lined with shelves full of dumb shit that rich people used to spend their money on. While walking past, Blaire reaches out, knocking a white and blue vase off a shelf. I glance at it as it hits the floor, shattering into dozens of pieces.

The brunette shrugs, continuing through the kitchen and into a living area. Aside from the blankets and pillows piled up in the corner nothing in here looks like it's been changed. "Since last winter maybe. I wanted to keep going but everyone else was starting to get sick from being out in the cold. We got attacked shortly after we settled in, lost about four. After that no one wanted to go anywhere. Things went pretty smoothly until…" Blaire's fingers play over the wound cutting across her face.

"How'd ya get it all to work?" I ask, continuing to take in my surrounding. The doors and windows along the back of the house have been boarded over. There is a television set against the wall, a big leather couch set in front of the fireplace. I stand in the middle of the living room waiting for Blaire to answer my question.

"There's a generator out back and about five more in the garage. I don't know who lived here before, but they sure as hell stocked the place," She finally explains motioning for me to sit down on the sofa. "I'm going to go grab some bandages from the bathroom. Can I trust you to not make a run for it?"

"Ain't got nowhere else to go," I answer back, working on digging a piece of gravel out from under my nail. "Still don't need your help."

Blaire rolls her eyes, giving me a frown, "Sure thing, tough guy."

The brunette disappears into a backroom. I keep my knife pulled, eyes fixed on the doorway Blaire went through, prepared to defend myself if she decides to attack. Staying vigilant keeps you alive. Walking around the room, I open drawers and cabinets, searching for signs of anybody else that may be living here. Most of the stuff looks like it belonged to the original owners. As I go to open the hall closet, I hear a rustling on the landing. Pulling the crossbow over my head, I load in an arrow as a flash of brown shoots down the stairs, disappearing behind the kitchen counter. Spinning around, I follow the sounds, ready to shoot when the creature reappears. Big yellow eyes blink at me from around the dark wood of the cabinets. As I go to release an arrow, Blaire reenters the room, striding across the hardwood, her fingers curling around the end of my weapon. "Kindly don't point that thing at Duke."

"That thing has a name?" I question, lowering my crossbow and fitting the arrow back into the holster.

Once again I receive and eye roll as Blaire motions for me to sit back on the couch. "Yes. That's Duke. I've had him since he was a baby."

"There ain't no way Deanna's gonna let you have that thing in Alexandria," I explain shaking my head. It takes a special kind of idiot to own a wild animal.

"Looks like I won't be going then. Now, lets get that cut patched up before you bleed out on my sofa."

Blaire

Daryl grimaces from across the room, his displeasure with me insisting on patching him up evident. He can protest all he wants but I'm not gonna just let him keep the wound open and untreated. It's not healthy and I'll be damned if he ends up getting an infection because he wants to be stubborn. I've dealt with those kinds of people before and none of them get very far, at least not in the world we're currently living in. As I go to lift his shirt, Daryl flinches away from my touch, eyes leaving me and landing on Duke who has taken up his usual spot on the stovetop

"Sorry," I mumble as Daryl settles back down. Although he's still stiff under my touch, he allows me to clean and wrap the wound without any further objections or complaints. Once it's done I step away, allowing the bowman to fix his shirt and readjust on the couch.

"You really ain't gonna come back if ya can't bring your beast?" Daryl questions once I've returned to the living room, splaying my limbs out over the worn down carpet.

I turn my head so that I can look at the dark haired man, "Nope. He's been with me too long to just abandon him. Besides, he knows how to fight the dead and does a pretty decent job of keeping the rodents away."

Daryl nods, seemingly lost in thought. "What'd you do before all this?"

I smirk. It's funny how people try so hard to cling onto the time before this, like any of it really matters anymore. Sure, some skills are useful but most of them fall to the wayside, unable to be utilized in a world without any real structure or purpose. "I kinda floated. I served for a while in this sickeningly fancy bar in New York City. Before that I worked as an auto mechanic. I just applied for a law enforcement position a few months before the shit hit the fan."

"You came all the way here from New York?" Daryl questions, raising an eyebrow as if he doesn't believe my story at all.

"No. My mom got sick right at the beginning. I was all she had in terms of family so I came back from New York to take care of her. After everything happened I figured it was better to be in a rural area than take my chances getting back up north. What about you? What's your story?"

Daryl grunts in response, shrugging his shoulders, "Ain't really got one."

Raising an eyebrow I push myself up into a sitting position. There's no way in hell he's getting out of sharing. This isn't going to be a one-way conversation. I'm not gonna go live with some guy if I don't know anything about him. "Everyone's got a story, Daryl."

"Well I don't. Not one worth sharin' anyway," Daryl grumbles, crossing his arms over his chest defensively; using the dirt covered flesh as a type of armor against my prying inquisitions.

Rolling my eyes, I flop back down across the carpet, "Fine, keep your secrets. Can I at least get a last name?"

"Dixon. Daryl Dixon."

"Well, Mr. Dixon pleased to meet you." I flash him a smile before getting up off the ground and heading into the kitchen. "You hungry? I've got just about any kind of canned thing you can think of. I can even heat most of it up. Can't make toast though. Duke knocked the toaster off the counter and it just doesn't work right anymore."

Daryl wanders into the kitchen, opening up various cabinets stacked full of various cans and boxes that I've managed to scavenge over my time in this area. For some reason the local mom and pop shop got avoided in the raids. Some of the stuff is off brand and looks like it's been on the shelves since the fifties, but I've not gotten sick off of it yet. Eventually, he pulls a container of Spam and some canned corn out, placing it on the counter. "Got a pan?"

"Yeah," squatting down I pull out the draw under the oven, handing up a pan. As I go to stand up my head begins to spin, little white dots clouding my vision. My legs give out and I can feel myself begin to fall. Reaching for the stove, I try to steady myself but miss, continuing my descent towards the tiled floor. Just as I'm about to hit, strong arms incase me, preventing me from falling any further. Blinking a few times to clear my vision I come face to face with Daryl.

"How long has that cut been bleedin'?" Daryl questions, helping me to stand back up before leading me over to the table, pulling out a chair so that I can sit.

"Few days maybe," I answer.

Daryl frowns, turning away from me to search through the cabinets once again. After a second he comes across a set of glass cups. Seeming satisfied with that, he pulls one out, filling the cup up with water from the tap. "Got any other injuries?" He questions, setting the glass of water down on the table in front of me.

"I mean, it was a fight, I got knocked around a little. Fucker pushed me down the stairs. He tried to kick me around after that but I shot him."

"You get the cut on your face from the stairs?" Daryl narrows his eyes, the mistrust hanging in the air like a thick blanket.

Taking a drink of water, I shake my head back and forth slowly; trying to avoid making the headache I'm starting to get any worse. "No. I got my head shoved through the glass window on the door. That's why it's boarded over."

"You need to see a doctor." Daryl comments. "That cuts probably gonna need stitches."

"I already told you, I don't need a damn doctor." I argue.

Daryl leans over, hands placed on the table top, his nose almost touching mine. "It ain't your choice no more, Blaire! First thing in the mornin' we're loading up that car of yours with all the supplies ya got and that cat of yours and we're taking you to the damn doctor."

"Fine!" I shoot back, slamming my hands down on the table hard enough for my water glass to fall over.

Daryl straightens back out, crossing his fleshy armor across his chest once again, "Fine."