It was all a blur - the struggle and energy that it'd taken to travel back to our destination. We'd happened upon a few walkers along the way, but nothing that Daryl hadn't taken out with ease. Really, we'd gotten lucky. Surprising since luck never seemed interested in sticking by my side. There had always been someone more deserving.

Our destination? A building surrounded by fences with barbed wire curled into perfect circles at the top. More chain-linked fence on the other side of it, separated by gravel. The building was large, gray, made up entirely of cinderblocks. It looked like a prison, a detail I thought I remembered from a conversation that had passed between Rick and Daryl.

Behind closed, heavy eyelids, my mind struggled to remember more, but I simply couldn't. My brain felt bogged down, blurry and scattered beneath some sedative. I knew there was danger, was aware of looming trouble, but a sheet of injected calm blurred the edges between fear and not caring.

"What's he plan on doin' with her?"

Daryl. I recalled his strength, his ability to juggle our body weight and weapons, his calm when he'd needed to use his crossbow, shuffling me out of the way. He'd lied about me being on my own if we saw walkers. I'd been too weak from hunger and too pained by my beaten insides to be much help. He'd done the heavy lifting, never seeming winded. Picking me up, tucking me back into his side after each kill.

I hated it. Relying on him. Anyone besides myself, really. We no longer lived in a world where softness was rewarded.

In my last group, the women had been expected to cook and organize and clean, to mend wounds and worry over the lost, the dead. A lot of them had died too, unable to defend themselves when their men weren't there creating a protective barrier between the dead and the living. It was an antiquated way of thinking, something I'd never bought into. They'd scowl, whispering to each behind cupped hands, as I returned from a hunt, dinner in tow. Never did I receive a thanks for the food or the danger I'd put myself in to get it. I was a burden. I could see it on their faces. I had never fit in, knew that I'd leave at some point from day one.

"I don't know."

This voice came from beside me. It seemed genuine, sincere, truthful. I felt weight on whatever it was that I was laying on, an indention in a…mattress? Surely not. There wasn't enough comfort for it to be. Besides, those types of luxuries were long gone. Or so I'd thought.

I was losing it.

"What 'bout Merle?"

It was the oddest of things, my protector showing concern over my attacker. He'd witnessed my pain and then saved me afterwards. He had saved me, of that I had little doubt. Regardless of his orders from Rick, he could've left me for dead, a distraction for the walkers that would ensure his safety - could've blamed my death on a herd when asked. But he hadn't done any of those things.

I shifted uncomfortably, not appreciating my vulnerability...or my thoughts. My effort created minimal movement, but it had summoned a groan that flew past my lips. The indention disappeared, followed by silence.

"Not here," the voice I didn't recognize instructed. "Rick asked that I check on her, try and assess the damage. We've been asked to a meeting to discuss…" I wasn't sure if I'd blacked out or the sentence just hadn't been completed.

When Daryl spoke, I realized that it'd been the latter. "Alright. I'll head that way now. Tell 'em you'll be up shortly."

I heard shoes shuffle across the floor. "Daryl?" The shuffling stopped. "You did the right thing, listening to Rick…saving her…bringing her here." There was a long pause, hands making their way over to my ribs, resting there. "There's too much killing already. No sense in murdering the living when the dead are already doing it."

"Yeah." A mumble, so soft I had to strain to hear, and then he was gone.

I knew it with a certainty that I shouldn't possess, not given my current state. Maybe it was my body's senses reawakening. I'd always had a keen sense of danger, was able to sort through situations and label them as either harmless or harmful. This was a new stranger, someone who hadn't killed walkers for me. The idea brought on another round of worry.

"Easy now," he whispered. His hands moved deftly over my ribs, pushing here and there, sighing at different intervals. My world went from dark to light in a hurry. Like a light switch, my eyes flipped open, staring up into an aging man's furrowed brows. I was pretty certain I'd tripped, lost my mind and woken up to Santa. A few years ago, he'd have made the local mall a hell of a lot of money.

"I can't," I mumbled, struggling to come to terms with my circumstances, to understand that I was alone without actually being alone. Strangely enough, being surrounded by people that I didn't know, didn't trust, scared me worse than lonely nights plagued by the threat of walkers. "I won't," I continued.

"Stop moving, child," he soothed, both hands falling flat on my stomach. They stayed that way, pressing me flat without applying pressure. "You're handcuffed and badly bruised. Struggling will make it worse."

"Not broken?" I jumped, startled by the sound of my own voice. His mouth formed into something of a smile, the lips framed by so much white hair it was hard to tell. "I thought…"

He nodded. "Yeah, Daryl did too, but I just think they're badly bruised. We'll keep you comfortable for a while, but pain meds are hard to come by."

"Don't waist them on me," I mumbled, hating myself for saying it the moment I did. Was I a complete idiot? The pain meds were the only thing keeping me from tears, from sanity. "What I meant was-"

"Try not to talk." He chuckled, spiderlike wrinkles creasing away from his tired eyes. "I expect you'll be okay in a week or so."

A week or so? I didn't want to be here that long. I was headed towards Atlanta, making my way there one day at a time. The CDC seemed like my best option. I'd tried convincing the others of this before leaving, something they were non-receptive of. They'd been too afraid to move, too cowardly to leave the confines of their shoddy camp. It was another reason I'd left. I had no desire to sit on my hands, awaiting attack – death. I had an intuition that movement was best, lowered your odds of being killed.

Maybe my intuition was shit, maybe it wasn't, but I'd rather follow it than ignore it. Death seemed inevitable, but I had no desire for regret to consume me in my final moments, to lye dying, thinking that maybe I should've listened to myself, done this instead of that.

"I'm going to go now. Get some rest. I'll be back to check on you later."

A protest stilled on my lips. Where there was once stifling fear of being in the presence of another stranger, there was now more fear of being alone. What if Merle returned with no Rick or Daryl or this guy? What if he had his way with me while I was handcuffed to this bed? God, what had I gotten myself into?

He must've sensed my unease. "You'll be fine. No one's going to harm you. You'll get better and then either stay or go."

With that, he turned and walked out of the cell, my mind confirming the suspicion from before: he'd brought me to a prison. Something about that fact seemed ironic. You spent your whole life trying to stay away from places like this, and then an apocalypse happens and it becomes a sought after, highly advantageous situation.

Being that I was handcuffed to the bunk – in an actual prison inside of an emotional one - I settled onto the thin plastic that served as a mattress. Maybe I should get some rest. If I died during slumber, who cared? Maybe that was the easiest way, falling asleep, never to wake again. Before, I'd never given much consideration to death. I was too young, had too much life left in front of me. In the present, when death stared you in the face multiple times every day, you thought about it a lot. Especially when you were alone.

My thoughts drifted to my father and what I'd had to do. As quickly as I'd conjured the demons, I chased them back into the corner of my mind. This wasn't the time or the place to be reliving the ghosts of my past. If I escaped, and the urge was still there – to remember and relive – I'd do it out there, in the woods, all alone. But not a moment before.

My eyes shut and sleep followed shortly after, caving in on me with a ferocity that it hadn't in some time.

I awoke some time later, the cell shrouded in darkness, save a small lantern on the desk emanating the tiniest ray of dull light. Two figures stood facing one another in the opening, whispering, looking towards me then back at each other. "You can't stay in here all night. Let me watch over her." This voice was feminine, filled with concerned. Her hand came up to the other's chest, resting softly there. The silhouette stiffened, uncomfortable beneath the contact.

"It's what Rick wants, so it's what I'm gonna do." The familiar drawl cut into the silence. He backed away from her touch, the outstretched hand lingering awkwardly in the space between them, palm remaining flat, like she was hoping he'd change his mind.

"You're tired. You can't keep this up," she pleaded, her hand finally dropping to her side. He grunted, but didn't respond. "So what, you're going to keep an eye on her and your brother?"

"No, Rick's got Merle in a different cell block, Glenn on guard. My responsibility is ta her."

Merle was Daryl's brother? The shock pierced through me uncomfortably, a sharp intake of breath making my presence known. They both turned towards me, the woman remaining in the framework of the opening, Daryl approaching my side.

"Ya awake?" he asked, dropping down to eye level. There was a sigh from behind us. The woman. I struggled to fit pieces into spaces that they didn't seem to fit. "Okay?" he continued.

"Daryl-"

"Carol, tha decision's been made. Ya best be leavin'. I've got work ta do," he explained, never turning back towards her. She left in a huff, scuffling her feet angrily across the concrete until I could no longer hear them.

I realized that the work he'd referenced was me, the word scraping over my pride. If he'd just let me leave, uncuff and release me, I'd be out of their hair. I had half a mind to tell him just that, but the words stayed lodged in my throat beneath his assessment.

He'd moved the lantern from the desk, hanging it above our heads. What he was checking for, I wasn't sure, but his eyes drifted over my face as the silence engulfed me. He was so close I could hear both of our breathing. It was weird. And uncomfortable. His hand lifted up to my face, fingers cupping my chin as he moved my face in his direction. His fingers slid over a patch of skin along my hairline – the exact place that Merle had nailed me. Well, one of them. I winced.

"I asked if ya were okay," he repeated, his gravelly voice deeper than I remembered it being in the forest.

"I'm handcuffed to a fucking bed," I pointed out, my mouth fumbling through more syllables than it had in a month. You didn't talk much when you were on your own, or beaten and bruised. "What do you think?"

He eyeballed me, his lips quirking into something just shy of a grin. A half-smirk and a controlled chuckle to match it. "Just a precaution." He glanced at them anyway, his hand leaving my face to fumble with each of my wrists.

"Precaution my ass," I retorted, finding the fire inside that had so often gotten me into trouble in my past. I was fighting off something else too, something unfamiliar. Emotions had never been my strong suit before. Funny that somewhere along the way, I had begun to compartmentalize my life. There was the past-life, pre-walkers and there was the here and now – two completely different filing cabinets in my brain, each one with their own set of scary, painful memories. "You're brother beat me up out there. I got a feeling I couldn't defend myself from you if I tried."

"Damn straight." Another smirk. Another chuckle. And a glimmer in his eyes that somehow made its way to me through the darkness. "Somethin' you shouldn't be forgettin' anytime soon."

"If I had my bow and arrow, none of you'd stand a chance." I ignored the voice inside reminding me of his skillset with a crossbow, something that had been very apparent when he was saving my ass. "I'd stick an arrow right between each one of your eyes." I realized my misstep the moment the words left my lips, that I'd all but signed my death warrant. Not that I wanted to stay here after I healed, but I shouldn't be threatening hostility when my life was still in their hands.

"Like ya took care of tha walkers on tha way here?"

He was taunting me, challenging my ability. "Listen here, you venison stealing shit…" I could feel my anger climbing, the heat that often accompanied it flashing through my veins and over my skin. "I let you take care of those walkers. No need to overexert myself, not when you had puffed out your chest and put on your manly badass cape."

He ducked his head out from beneath the bunk, pulling away from me. I was glad for the distance. Something about his close proximity had me feeling more than a little off center.

"Shoulda left ya in tha woods," he mumbled, turning to remove a set of folded blankets from the desk. He moved to the corner of the room, organizing the blankets into the best make-shift pallet that the space would afford before propping himself up between metal bars and cinderblock.

"You afraid I'm going to escape?" I asked, prodding him, subconsciously hoping to lull him into another debate. I realized in that moment, that I was actually afraid of my own thoughts. Months of being alone, thinking only of myself and of survival, and now memories…fucking painful memories flooding into my brain, bringing on the guilt, the what-ifs. Banter with him distracted me from it all.

He snorted. "Sure as hell make my life easier if ya did." He crossed his arms over his chest.

Fucking asshole. "All you have to do is uncuff me and I'll be gone. Please, Daryl."

His body stiffened, like he hadn't appreciated his name on my lips. It was a similar reaction to the one he'd had before with Carol. The one who'd touched him, had spoken to him like they were more than just familiar. Girlfriend? Wife, maybe? I stilled my thoughts. What did it matter? Why had I stepped a single toe onto the unfamiliar, undesirable path?

"Rick says yer stayin'. If ya ain't got nothin' worth talkin' about, then close yer lips."

"Fuck you," I spat, pulling unsuccessfully against the cuffs, hating the turn that my mind had taken moments before.

"Ya got a dirty mouth, woman."

"No worse than yours."

"Point taken. Get some sleep."

I sulked, settling into an uncomfortable position. The restraints had left me no other choice. I hated this. Hated the unknown, my inability to control the situation, my inability to choose. I hated the man in the corner with the snarky comments and the probing eyes, with the fowl mouth and the lethal words. With the confusingly soft touch.

It was a slow spiral into unconsciousness, my mind hampered with thoughts of the unwanted company in the corner and my undecided future. Just prior to sleep, in that span of time when reality intermingles with dream and you're not sure what's real and what's not, words drifted to me through the dark. 'Ya really think my cape is badass?'