Kat's head throbbed, and her belly cramped. Yet neither ached with the same fiery intensity her heart did. She'd finally stopped crying at least. The tears, a woman's tears for the family and friends that had been lost, were petrified inside her. She had seen more death in one lifetime than most people saw in twelve. She'd long ago become numb to its cruelty, to its absolute certainty, to its awful truth. And that, more than anything else, made her the saddest. Nobody should ever get used to death. It just wasn't something you should ever allow to roll off your back.

Not even medical examiners really get used to death. No, they just inoculated themselves by having a work persona that allowed them to deal with the ugliness of their job. All life was precious, and in a world where it could be ended in the blink of an eye, it was something that should be hailed as the gift it was. Again, she saw the face of her younger sister as she'd last seen it: grayish skin stretched taut over fragile bone, feral eyes staring at her as she screamed her name over and over, that Kewpie doll mouth stained crimson by the entrails she'd torn from the squirrel with her bare teeth. It all played again and again in a never-ending loop that only heaped more misery and guilt on a heart already swelled to near bursting. Seeing Jolene become one of them, knowing she would have torn into hers or Jackson's or Bo's flesh had she been given the chance caused her stomach to pitch; roll. Nausea crashed over her in waves and for a moment she was afraid she would vomit what contents she had in her stomach all over Daryl.

"I'm queasy," she breathed out through clenched teeth.

He made a ttch sound. "See what happens when you're stubborn?" That dark rasp rolled over her, into her, instantly bringing desperately needed comfort and warmth to her battered and bruised heart. "You get sick."

A smile ghosted her lips. She hadn't really expected to get much sympathy out of him. No, the way Daryl saw it, if she'd done as he'd asked the first time he asked it, she wouldn't be about to toss her cookies all over the place. Still, there were images to be maintained, pretenses to be kept up, a game needing to be played. The apocalypse hadn't taken away everything, after all. It hadn't claimed Daryl. And so long as I have him, I'm okay.

"I'm sorry I didn't listen to you..."

He made another sound, like a low hum, down deep in his throat. "No, you ain't." He glanced down at her. "You just want sympathy outta me and you ain't gettin' it. Now, shut it."

Mouth said one thing, eyes another. His eyes had always been the windows into his soul. You wanted to know what Daryl was thinking; feeling? Look him in the eye and you'd know. Right now? She saw a whole lotta things swimming around inside those blue-green eyes of his.

"Daryl..."

"Shut it, willingly," he stated in a soft rumble, "or I'm gonna gag you."

Kat knew he'd do it, too. Wasn't the first time the wretched man had gagged her because she wouldn't shut up. Yet, in spite of the very real likelihood of a dirty rag being stuffed into her mouth, she found she was unable to do as he ordered. It'd been a long time since they'd seen each other. It had been a long time since they'd been together. And longer even since they could do something so mundane as just talk.

Well, since she could get him to talk, she amended silently.

"I missed you, Daryl."

God, she'd missed him. She'd never stopped believing that they'd find each other. They'd been through too much, said too little and loved nowhere near enough. Yet even she had started to wonder about when their paths would finally cross again. She'd lingered around the area she assumed he would for as long as was possible. She'd followed what game there was because she'd thought it would be what he'd do. When pickings got slim she'd moved her small family, always keeping an eye out, looking for a sign or clue that said he was nearby or passed through. She'd known he was alive because she'd come across Merle a few months after they'd been separated and he'd told her Daryl was with a group of people they'd met up with while heading to that "bullshit refugee center" in Atlanta. Merle had promised to go and find him, to bring him to the small house he'd gotten them settled in. That he hadn't done so could only mean one thing. Aw, shit, she thought as she studied that stoic profile. She didn't ask him to confirm or deny her suspicions, though. No, she figured he'd tell her what happened in his own time.

"I kept an eye out for you," she said to him instead. "I tried to stick with the areas I thought you would. Figured we'd run across each other at some point."

"You're damned set on talkin', ain't you?" He shook his head. "Chatterin' magpie, I swear."

"Only way I know how to get you to talk is by talking." He scoffed just as she'd assumed he would. He always shrugged off whenever she told him about how much she loved listening to him talk. "I keep tellin' you that a hundred years can pass and the sound of your voice will still cause my bones to melt like butter."

He gave her a look that told her he thought she was plumb loco before looking away and telling her to, "Shut it."

That was his response to any sort of flirtatious or playful comment: shut it. Compliments or personal innuendos of any sort tended to unnerve Daryl. He simply didn't have the social skills necessary to navigate those particular waters. His family had been incapable of imparting those necessary skills to him. Saying Daryl's upbringing had been a nurturing one was about as true as saying the walkers were only being friendly when they bit you. Whenever his dad did manage to remember his existence, it was either with his belt or the back of his hand. There had been many a night where he'd snuck in through her bedroom window after his father had taken his drunken rages out on him, his body battered and bruised and broken from his attack.

I hope you suffered in the end, you no good, rotten son of a bitch, she thought as she fingered the hair at the back of Daryl's neck. What your dumb ass deserves after everythin' you did to Daryl. And to Merle.

Daryl had been too busy after that with playing the crap hand life had dealt him to worry about things like girls and dating. Besides that, most of the girls who did actually take notice of him weren't the sort he'd look twice at. And the rest of 'em? Well, the rest were just looking for a way to piss off their rich daddies and boyfriends. Her lip curled with distaste. He needs a woman with substance, with brains and guts, she mused as she surreptitiously studied his face. A woman who is willing to stand at his side through whatever this world tosses at him and who'll have his back no matter how bad shit might get.

That she was, in essence, describing herself was not lost upon Kat. She'd been in love with Daryl for as long as she could remember. There wasn't a time where she could not remember loving him, in fact. However, just because she loved him, and just because there might be a part of him that loved her in return didn't mean she warranted any sort of special treatment. This world consumed the weak. She wasn't weak. He hadn't taught her to be anything less than what he was: a survivor.

She tucked her face into the curve of his neck before releasing a shuddering breath and saying, "You can put me down now, Daryl. I'm okay to walk."

"I ain't puttin' ya down."

"I can't get my balance if I ain't on my feet."

"Yeah, well," he muttered, "I said I ain't puttin' ya down."

She saw how the world going to hell had not managed to cure him of his obstinate nature. She heaved a sigh, counted to twenty before saying as calmly and reasonably as she could, "Daryl, you ain't carryin' me all the way to wherever it is you're takin' me."

He ignored her. She really should have expected that, though. He always ignored her when she was fussing about him fussing. It was just his way. There was a hard outer shell to Daryl Dixon, one that could be just as unbreakable as a steel girder and which was nearly as thick as tar. He wore his "don't fuck with me" attitude as comfortably as he did his sleeveless vest. Yet, Kat knew there was a man beneath that hard as nails exterior who keenly felt for the people he loved and protected. Earn Daryl's trust and you had a friend for life. Betray him or hurt someone close to him? There simply wasn't a pit in Hell that was deep enough for you to hide in.

"I'm too heavy for you to be carryin'," she stated firmly. "So put me down."

"Ain't as heavy as that thirteen-point buck I bagged on that last huntin' trip we went on."

"That you drug me on," she instantly corrected. "And you didn't say it was a huntin' trip. You said we was just going campin'."

"Campin' involves huntin'."

"Huntin' involves you terrorizin' Bambi and his friends."

"You wanna eat, you hunt."

It was a debate they'd been having since they were fifteen and she'd convinced him to take her along with him on a hunting trip. He'd learned patience and she'd learned that there was absolutely nothing he could say that would convince her to shoot a harmless animal. Only took the world going to shit before I got over that particular hang-up.

"You survived just fine on the stuff I'd packed."

"Ain't no damn vegetarian."

It was all familiar, all blessedly normal. If she hadn't known how much time had passed she'd think it was only a few weeks since they'd seen each other last. She told herself that this was normal for people with the history they had. Normal. She almost wept at the novelty of it. It was going to be a long time before either of them would get over the things they had been through. They fell into a companionable silence after that. Kat allowed herself to just enjoy being with him, to being in his arms and being the one she hadn't been since they'd got separated: safe.

"Why didn't you return to camp that night?"

She'd anticipated him asking that question every night since this never-ending nightmare started. Course, she hadn't anticipated answering it while he carried her through the forest to where only he knew and to meet people who were complete strangers. However, asking him to put her down was just going to get the same reply as the last two times she'd requested he do so.

"Jo wandered off while I was fetchin' some water from the creek," she explained after he not-so-subtly jostled her. "By the time I managed to catch up with her, we had found ourselves cut off and surrounded by a group of them dead-but-not-dead walking things. Took all I had just to get her and me outta there with our skin still intact."

"And after?"

"After," she breathed out in a heavy breath. "Well, afterward it was just too late. We couldn't get back if'n we'd even wanted too."

"Why not?"

She skimmed her lips over his whisker rough cheek. "The stress of the attack caused Jo to go into labor."

"How the hell you deliver a baby without any medical supplies or anythin'?" he grumbled. "And with walkers crawlin' all over the damn place?"

Kat frequently had found herself wondering the same thing. To Daryl, though, she said, "Honey, I can't answer how the hell I was able to deliver that baby without any medical supplies. Truth be told, if it weren't for little Jackson Tierney getting us into his families root cellar, I dunno what would have happened."

He seemed to accept that. "You shoulda kept your ass in camp." You shoulda waited for me, she translated. "Just like we'd agreed."

"I had to go and get water, honey."

She felt more than heard his sigh. She tilted her head to look at his face. Oh, yeah, that mask of his was locked firmly in place. She didn't ask how he was. She didn't ask if he was all right. She knew he wouldn't say whether he was or wasn't. Not that it needed saying or asking anyway. She knew Daryl like the back of her hand. She knew he was hurting. Hell, who wasn't?

"Who told-"

"Your father ordered me to go and get the water, Daryl," she cut in. "And I knew better than to tell his ass to go and get it for his own damn self."

"Yeah, well," he grumped. "I'd have gone and got the damn water if you'd have asked me to."

She knew he would have gone to have gotten the water if she'd asked him to. He'd do anything for the people closest to him. That was the sort of man that Daryl was beneath it all. Putting himself in the line of fire, doing what was needed, sacrificing his own health and well-being were all faucets of her mule-headed and moody mate.

"I had to do what I was told," she told him quietly. "I had to play the game, be what was expected and do what was needed for you, me and Jo."

"Maybe."

There was no maybe and they both knew it. Will Dixon would never have stood by and allowed his son to molly coddle her and her pregnant sister. Not without there being severe consequences.

"Daryl, you know I couldn't let you or Merle take care of me and Jo." Kat slid her hand to his cheek, stroked her thumb beneath his eye. "That's not how our world worked, honey." He closed his eyes, more a long blink than it was anything else. "You know I had to do what I did, that there was no other choice, that there weren't any other options."

He released another sigh. "Yeah." His gaze flicked to hers, shared four decades of secrets and memories and lies. "Don't mean I'm puttin' your ass down."

She harrumphed. "Well, you gotta put me down." When his lip merely curled in that way that told her she wasn't winning this debate, she stated, "You can't coddle me, Daryl. This world consumes the weak. And," she gritted now, "I ain't weak."

"Ain't said you are."

"Then put me-"

"No."

She willed herself to be patient. It'd been a trying day for them both. Finding each other while she was on her hands and knees and burying her baby sister wasn't exactly how she'd pictured their reunion to go. Losing Jolene was a blow emotionally for him as much as it was for her. However, he was being even more ornery than usual. Briefly, she wondered why. What had happened to make him be even more stubborn than usual? The possibilities, she knew, were endless. Most of it, though, just came down to Daryl being Daryl. His wits, his skills, and his bullheadedness were what had kept him alive. Something, though, told Kat that his reason for being so obstinate went deeper than merely being relieved at finding her alive.

"Daryl," she said in a practical voice, "what happens if somethin' or someone tries to attack us? I can't exactly shoot my bow from this position. And I know you're talented and all," she continued even as he mumbled again about her 'chattering like a damned magpie,' "but even you can't shoot your crossbow while carryin' me in your arms."

His lips twitched. "Somethin' comes out to attack us," he retorted with a thin note of wry amusement in his tone. "I'll drop your ass and kill it."

She gave him a dirty look. "That ain't even funny."

"And this ain't up for debate."

Kat saw that moving a mountain was going to be easier than convincing Daryl to put her down. He needs to do this, she realized as she stared into his eyes. And he needs me to let him do this.

"Fine," she huffed. Then, just because she couldn't let him simply have his way she muttered, "Still being a stubborn asshole, though."

"Shit," he replied on one long breath. "That's the damned pot callin' the kettle black."


A/N: Hello m'dears! Hope the week has been a good one for you!

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