Thank you to those of you who reviewed. Here is Chapter 2. I hope you like it, but it won't kill me if you don't. (I'll just roll around on the floor and cry for a few minutes, then I'll be fine.) Thanks for stopping by!

Shane raised an eyebrow as Daryl took another swig of liquor and then looked at Shane expectantly.

"Well?" Daryl queried, "You gonna tell me what's on your mind or are we gonna play twenty questions?" He tilted the bottle up to his lips again and gulped down another swallow of Yukon Jack. It burned his throat going down, but in a good way, if there could be such a thing. Another random thought flashed by: No wonder the Native Americans had called this stuff "fire water".

Shane got a good look at Daryl in the warm glow given off by the fire. His eyes were on the fire and half closed and he sat astride a log next to the fire with one hand firmly planted on the log. It gave the appearance that Daryl thought he might fall off it at any minute and was using his hand to keep himself balanced. Shane raised his eyebrows as Daryl swayed to the right a bit and then seemed to notice he'd done so and straightened up. He then swayed slightly to the left.

"You're fucking drunk," said Shane as he shot Daryl a condescending look of disgust.

Daryl raised the bottle of Yukon Jack in his left hand and held up his right hand. He spread his index finger about an inch from his thumb, "Just a lil' bit," he answered, "but I'm workin' on fixin' that. Give me another half hour or so."

"Are you fucking nuts?" Shane shook his head slightly.

"I'm guessin' that's the general consensus," Daryl responded. "Now tell me what the hell you want. I don't 'preciate you crashing my party."

"Fine," Shane sniped, "I'll get right to the point. You haven't taken a watch for over a week and everyone else has had to pick up the slack. You haven't cut or carried wood for anyone but yourself and you know we need to get up a good supply of firewood for the winter. We've got a shitload of haying to do to fill the hayloft for winter, the gardens need tending and we need everyone to help. That includes you. What the hell? Do you think you're on vacation?"

Daryl's eyes narrowed and he put down the bottle and stood up from where he had been perched on the log. He swayed drunkenly where he stood and pointed a finger at Shane, almost touching the man's nose. "Ffffffuuuck you!" he shouted. "I bust my fuckin' ass to feed you ungrateful assholes an' you have the balls ta tell me I ain't pullin' my weight?"

"You would be hunting to feed yourself, anyway," Shane shot back. "so don't give me that shit! You also owe Carol a hell of an apology! Man up and get with the fucking program instead of sulking and pouting up here like a spoiled child."

"Whether or not I owe Carol an apology ain't none a your damned business!" Daryl yelled. He frowned and then mumbled, "An' I ain't actin' like no spoilt kid."

Shane was furious, "It's everybody's business!" He shouted. "Carol is a wreck and it affects everyone! You haven't spoken a word to her since Sophia was found! She thinks you're upset with her! The least you can do is apologize to the woman for your fucking stupidity!"

"My fuckin' stupidity?"

"Yes, you asshole! I'd been saying for days that the search for Carol's girl should be called off; trying to prepare her to accept that her daughter wasn't coming back. Hell, trying to get everyone to pull their heads out of their asses and face the fact that the girl was dead! ….but you, Mr. "Super Tracker Mighty Hunter" go and open your big stupid-ass mouth and spout off some complete bullshit about knowing that she's still alive and she's going to be fine! Carol grabbed right on to that! You gave her hope when there was none! Then you bring her that fucking flower and tell her a fairy tale that strings her even further along! What the hell are you, some redneck, inbred sadist? She wasn't prepared in the least for Sophia's death just because you couldn't keep your big, dumb mouth shut, you worthless piece of shit!"

Daryl felt awful and looked at the ground, but then his traitorous mind threw him an image, just for a split second. Why the hell did his brain do shit like this? He'd often wondered. It was sporadic and not a constant thing, these random, detached and ridiculous thoughts (he thought of them as "brain farts"), but this quirk had been getting him in trouble since he was a little kid.

Today had been a brain fart field day. First stink waves, then shampoo instructions, thoughts of filthy sock induced dead fish, and now this. Maybe he really was losing his mind, or maybe this particular image was due to the fact that he was just drunker than he thought. The image that flashed in his head was of a clear picture of him in a superman costume, all huge and steroid enhanced. The "S" on the chest had been replaced with "STMH" for Super Tracker Mighty Hunter. He snorted, then giggled, and then burst into laughter.

Shane looked with disbelief at the scumbag doubled over with laughter in front of him and totally lost it. He lunged at Daryl and tackled him, shoving him backward. The back of Daryl's legs caught on the log he had been sitting on earlier and he flew over it backwards. He came down on his back hard with Shane on top of him. It was a sobering experience. Sort of.

Shane pinned Daryl's arms against Daryl's chest with his big hands and leaned forward. He brought his face down just inches above Daryl's and growled, "What the hell is wrong with you?"

Daryl's eyes were wide with surprise, but just for a second, then he glared at Shane. "Get the hell off a' me you asshole! Ain't nothin' wrong with me." He struggled beneath Shane, trying to throw him off. He could feel the dirt and small rocks beneath him grinding into the back of his head.

Daryl was not as big as Shane, Shane was about the same height as Daryl, maybe an inch or so taller, but he outweighed Daryl by at least thirty pounds. He was strong and fit and his police background meant that he was well versed in the art of neutralizing combative adversaries.

Fortunately for Daryl, years of pulling the bowstring had given him unusually strong and well-muscled arms and he was able to use that to his advantage. He pulled his arms out of Shane's grip where they'd been pinned against his chest. His hands free now, he shot a fist up into Shane's face where it caught him right in the nose. There was a dull "crack" and Daryl felt the cartilage give way under his curled hand. For a second he felt a twinge of guilt. Anyone who had ever seen Shane could instantly tell that he'd had his nose broken in the past on more than one occasion.

Shane responded with a blow aimed at Daryl's face, but Daryl caught Shane's fist in both hands and shoved it violently to his right, while pushing his left leg and hip upward with all his strength to try to throw Shane off of him. Shane was unseated and the minute he was free of Shane, Daryl rolled away from him and jumped to his feet.

That wasn't a good idea. The alcohol was catching up with him and the motion of becoming vertical so quickly induced a spell of vertigo. He staggered backward, wind-milling his arms to keep his balance, then fell flat on his ass. He had just scrambled to his feet again when Shane grabbed his left shoulder and spun him around; landing a series of blows to Daryl's left ribs.

Three weeks ago while searching for Sophia, Daryl had pulled a bolt out of his left side and the stitches had been taken out just a week ago. The spot was still sore and Daryl wondered if Shane was actually going for this area on purpose. He gasped at the sudden sharp pain and threw out his right leg, kicking as hard as he could and catching Shane square in the stomach.

Shane bent over to clutch his belly, not prepared for the strike at all and Daryl brought his elbow down hard on the back of Shane's neck. Shane lost his balance and went down and Daryl leaped onto him, grabbing Shane by the back of the neck. He pushed Shane's face into the dirt with both hands fisted in the back of Shane's shirt collar as he sat on Shane's back, digging his knees into Shane's shoulder blades. "How you like this?" he shouted. "How's that dirt taste, you fuckin' fuck!?" He pulled Shane's head up and slammed it into the ground again. Dirt and dust was flying everywhere.

As Daryl released Shane's head, Shane suddenly bucked upward and rolled sideways, effectively dislodging Daryl from his back. Both men got to their feet at about the same time and stood crouched in a fighter's stance about five feet apart, facing one another. Shane's face was scratched and dirty and his nose was leaking blood. It ran in two scarlet streams down to his mouth and onto his chin. Daryl notice that Shane's poor, abused nose also appeared to be off center and to the right a bit. This observation made him want to laugh again, but he controlled the urge to do so.

"Look, man," Shane said in a surprisingly calm voice. "I didn't mean to go off on you like that. It's just that we really need your help getting things ready for the coming winter and it would be nice if you'd make peace with Carol."

Daryl stayed crouched and as alert as he could be with the amount of liquor he'd put away. He narrowed his eyes and chewed on his bottom lip for a second. "Maybe I'll think about it" he said with an air of indifference, "an' maybe I won't."

Shane stood up straight and backed up a couple of feet, putting his hands up in an 'I'm backing off now' gesture. "Whatever, man." He turned and started walking away and Daryl breathed a quiet sigh of relief and straightened up from his crouched position. He started brushing the dirt off his shirt and his no longer clean jeans with his hands.

Before he'd reached the edge of the circle where the firelight kept the darkness at bay, Shane turned quickly and looked at Daryl. "What the hell were you laughing at, anyway?" he asked. "You think it's funny that Carol thinks you're upset with her? You think it's funny that she's falling apart? Laugh about that again and I swear, I'll fucking kill you."

Daryl's mouth was off and running before his brain could take control of it. "Kill me?" Daryl asked. "Why? You din't meet your quota when you killed Otis?"

Shane glared at Daryl and strode toward him, sternly pointing a finger at him. "You don't know what the hell you're talking about! I did not kill Otis, he knew he wasn't gonna make it and he covered me and told me to leave him! He told me to save Carl!" he growled.

Daryl glanced at the fire and then settled his gaze back on Shane. "I wan't born yesterday, Shane. You came back with Rick's gun. The gun he'd given Otis. If Otis was fire'n the gun to draw off the walkers so you could escape like you say, how'd you end up with it? I ain't stupid 'n neither's Rick. He'll figure it out when he gets a moment to think about it. Tell you what, why don't we go down there right now, you an' me, and we can discuss the whole matter with 'im. Whatcha think?"

"I think you're not going to be telling Rick a damned thing," Shane said in a quiet and eerily calm voice.

"Is that so?" Daryl stared at Shane and shook his head and then his out of control mouth was saying, "Does Rick know 'bout you an' Lori? Does he know his best friend was puttin' it to his wife every chance you got? Does he know that the kid Lori's carryin' more 'n likely ain't his? That "Uncle Shane" is really the baby daddy? Doncha think he's got a right to know these things? 'Cause I sure as hell do."

Shane looked at the ground for a second, and then looked back up at Daryl. His brown eyes were cold and hard and in a calm and steady voice he said, "Like I said, you're not going to be telling Rick a damned thing. Not if you know what's good for you."

Daryl regarded the other man for a minute. He had suspected for some time that Shane was losing his mind. Now he had confirmation. 'That's a Bingo!' he thought.

With the return of Rick, Shane had lost both the leadership of the group and Lori. Of course he was losing it. Rick was his best friend and now his best friend was also his worst enemy, having stripped him of all that was important to him.

Daryl suddenly realized just how very dangerous Shane was, but his mouth was off and running again before his brain could rein it in. "Is that a threat, Walsh? 'Cause I don't take kindly to threats."

Shane charged him then and even though he was feeling the effects of that damned 100 proof booze he'd been guzzling, Daryl was easily able to maneuver out of Shane's way and shuffled around to the opposite side of the fire. "You're fuckin' nuts!" Daryl yelled as he looked through the fire at the man glaring back at him. Daryl thought Shane looked totally insane. He was dirty, his face was bloody and his eyes looked wild, like he had fallen off the edge of reason and was just drowning in anger and hate.

"Are you going to keep your mouth shut about things that don't concern you?!" Shane yelled back.

"Fuck you!" Daryl retorted. His eyes widened as Shane came straight through the fire like a shot and shoved him, hard. Daryl flew back into the neatly stacked pile of firewood he'd collected and it toppled over, spilling chunks of firewood onto him. He brought up his arms to protect his head and his face, but thankfully most of the falling wood pieces pummeled his legs. Shane was there hauling him to his feet and as he pulled Daryl in closer to him to land a fist to his head, Daryl used the momentum and brought up his knee hard right between Shane's legs.

"Augh!" Shane shrieked as he doubled over. As Shane slipped to his knees, his hands shot out and he grabbed Daryl's right leg and hauled up on it. Daryl lost his balance and went down on his back and Shane landed on top of him.

"Fucking dirty fighter," Shane spit. He drove his fist into Daryl's left side above his hip and Daryl knew then that Shane was purposefully hitting him where it would hurt the most. Fists and feet were flying as each man tried to overpower the other. Dirt and gravel flew, and soon the sweat covered men were both caked in a thin coating of grime.

Daryl could brawl with the best of them, but his earlier quest to get blasted on Yukon Jack had him at a disadvantage. He wasn't moving as fast or landing punches as accurately as he normally would. His left side was throbbing and his legs hurt where the chunks of wood had fallen on them. The blows that Shane had landed on him ached, but he had landed some decent blows on Shane as well. Shane was just getting in better shots and more of them. He and Shane were both yelling and flailing about and panting and heaving to catch their breath between blows.

Thinking about it later, Daryl was surprised that their fight hadn't attracted every walker for miles. He had wondered why no one from the farmhouse had come to see what was going on. Certainly they could hear the ruckus. He bitterly decided that it was just more proof of the fact that none of them gave a shit about him or what happened to him.

Then Shane was behind him and had him on his knees in a choke hold headlock. This time, though, his arms were locked in place by Shane's strong legs. Shit. Here we go again, he thought. There was no way in hell he was going to be able to break free from this. He struggled and Shane only tightened his grip; the more he struggled, the tighter Shane's arm squeezed his throat. Daryl couldn't breathe. His lungs felt like they were on fire, so he stopped trying to escape from Shane's grasp to indicate that he surrendered and Shane had won this one.

When Daryl stopped struggling and tried to move his head, signaling a willingness to cooperate, Shane spoke quietly into his ear, "That's it, just relax. Everything is going to be okay. You just need to listen to Shane, you hear?"

Daryl was seeing spots before his eyes and his chest was heaving, his lungs screaming out for air. He nodded as well as he could and Shane loosened his arm. Daryl gratefully sucked in air and took several deep breaths..

"So," Shane said in the calm policeman voice he had used on the job to diffuse situations before the world went to hell, "I'm going to talk and you're going to listen. Is that understood?" Daryl nodded his trapped head again.

"You are not going to say a damned thing to Rick about anything. You don't mention Otis, you don't mention Lori, you don't mention Lori's baby."

Daryl didn't move. Shane's calm voice whispered in his ear, "Do you understand?"

Bullshit on this, Daryl thought. Shane was nuttier than a fruitcake and Rick had a right to know what had gone on.

"Daryl," Shane repeated a bit louder now, "Do you understand?"

Daryl took a deep breath and mumbled, "Fuck you."

The pressure on his throat immediately increased, cutting off his air.

"Daryl," Shane said into his ear, "Just agree. Just agree that you'll keep your mouth shut. That won't be so hard; you've made it clear that you don't want anything to do with the group, anyway. Can you do that, can you agree to keep it quiet? Just say the word and I'll let up."

Daryl choked out "No" and felt Shane's arm tighten even more against his neck. His body panicked and he bucked and strained wildly trying to break free of Shane's grip.

Shane pleaded with Daryl to just agree, just say he'd keep quiet and he'd let him loose, he'd let him breathe. He whispered and spoke softly into Daryl's ear, just say the word, it will be easy. Daryl's head was pounding and his lungs tightened in his chest as he thrashed and strained against Shane's hold on him. His could feel his heart racing and his pulse pounded in his neck and in his ears.

Shane's arm still denied him the ability to breathe. God, why was he so damned stubborn? His lungs froze as his body finally gave up its desperate attempt to breathe.

Shane couldn't believe how damned stubborn the stupid redneck was. Shane had always been able to force compliance with this particular choke hold. He was assessing his options and trying to figure out an alternative plan when he felt Daryl stop jerking and fighting him. A spasm rocked Daryl's body and then Shane felt the redneck go limp in his grip.

Shane held his position, not letting up on Daryl's neck. If he held this position for just a little longer...

Damn, he really didn't want to kill Daryl. I mean, gee, how hard would it be for the others to figure out that he had done it? He supposed he could haul Daryl off into the woods and hope that a walker found him, but that could be an iffy proposition.

He released Daryl from the hold and slid backward, easing Daryl down onto his back. Daryl started breathing the minute Shane had released him and his blue lips had already started to regain their color. Shane tapped Daryl's right cheek and then his left. "Hey, Daryl," he said. There was no response. Shane grabbed Daryl's shoulders and shook him, "C'mon, wake up, you stubborn asshole."

The stupid redneck was out cold. Shane stood up then and positioned himself at Daryl's head. He bent over and gripped Daryl under his arms then he walked backward, dragging Daryl towards his tent. Outside Daryl's tent, Shane again bent over Daryl and tapped at his face. He was still unresponsive. Shane unzipped Daryl's tent and crawled inside, and then pulled Daryl in after him.

It was darker in the tent as the fabric was too heavy for the firelight to penetrate. Shane let his eyes adjust to the darker environment but it was still difficult to see anything. He felt around near the top of where Daryl's sleeping bag was arranged and found what he was looking for. He flicked the flashlight on and shone it in Daryl's face, planning to check Daryl's pupils. Shane startled when Daryl squinted and turned his head away from him and the light.

The idiot was awake. Shane felt a wave of relief wash over him. He had begun to wonder if he'd pushed Daryl into some kind of coma, but he remained stoic and cold as he stared down at Daryl. Shane could see the bruises on Daryl's neck appearing right before his eyes as he stood with the flashlight on the side of Daryl's face.

Shane leaned over and spoke, "Daryl, I don't want to hurt you,"

Daryl snorted. "No," he whispered hoarsely, "you wanna kill me."

"Daryl," Shane said matter of factly, "if I'd wanted to kill you, we wouldn't be having this conversation right now. Now I want you to think hard before you go running your mouth to anyone about anything. It would be a real pity to lose you to a walker in the woods or some hunting accident, don't you think?" Shane gave Daryl a sympathetic look and reached over and patted Daryl on the shoulder. Daryl pulled away from Shane's touch and Shane crawled out of the tent, zipping it up behind him.

Daryl lay there, his mind racing. His body ached all over and his head felt like his brain was trying to vacate the premises by boring several holes through his skull. What the hell was he going to do? Shane could, Shane would kill him if he approached Rick. As clarity of thought returned, Daryl realized that now that Shane knew Daryl was onto him about the whole Otis situation (and after Daryl had spilled his stupid guts about how he'd figured it out, Shane hadn't denied it, had he? No, he hadn't!) Shane probably wouldn't wait very long to make sure that Daryl kept his secret. Permanently.

Then it hit him. He'd just leave. He'd been thinking about it anyway and this was a perfect time to disappear. It would solve a multitude of problems. He'd sleep first, he decided. He'd sleep and then pull out the map he had looked at last week. The one with the two lakes. He had been thinking about taking a ride down to just check them out, anyway. He closed his eyes and sighed. Was this headache due to lack of oxygen or the Yukon Jack? Maybe a bit of both? Before sleep took him he cursed the fact that his bath in the creek earlier that day had been for naught.