A/N: Wow...so...I've had issues with my writing lately, and have been writing smaller chapters to try and pace myself out. So, bear with me. This story took for EVER to update, because of life, and I ran out of muses for it. However, the most recent episodes of TWD have gotten me back into my usual groove. This chapter is short and doesn't have a lot of story to it, but it's funny and gets the whole thing flowing again, which is what I need.

Read and review and I will try and NOT take six months for another chapter, this time.

Chapter 3: Saved

"What can I get for ya?", the bartender called to a stranger. His face scrunched a bit in pity for the man, as he looked him over. He was dressed nice enough, had a nice hat, which told the bartender that he had at least a little money, but as he sat there, and his chin rose from his chest, a dark and ominous ring became visable – around his neck, "You okay, mister?"

"It's a good day. I'll have a whiskey…", the stranger whispered, before turning to the crowd behind him. The bartender reached behind the bar, his hand grabbing for a pistol, to ensure its location, before pouring his customer a glass of whiskey. Beautiful music played from somewhere in the front of the small saloon, and the stranger seemed to enjoy it, bobbing his head ever so slightly.

"You sure yer okay? I can call the doctor over…that bruise looks…", the bartender started, before a pistol barrel was pressed to his forehead. He recognized the face that emerged from the darkness of the hat in front of him, and gasped, holding both his hands up.

"I just want to have a drink…in peace…if you don't mind, sir.", Daryl whispered, his breathing a little shaky as he calmed his nerves. His face was still stained with blood, and the ring around his neck served as an ominous reminder of the debt he owed. All he wanted…was a drink of whiskey.

"Y-y-yes Mr. Dixon. Drink's on the house….I-I-I didn't know it was you, sir…"

"I know. I know…", Daryl whispered, placing the hammer back into the safe position. He placed the gun back into its holster and sat back on his barstool, smirking to the bartender, "What's the gossip, around here, anyway?"

"W-well…th-they said you escaped. We…we all thought they were lyin'; tellin' stories to scare the kids into goin' to bed at night, but h-here you are!", the man ended his explanation with a strained smile, and a nervous laugh, waiting for Daryl's reaction.

"Scarin' kids? I ain't never hurt no kid…", Daryl complained, narrowing his eyes. He stared hard at the man, before erupting in laughter that shook the bartender to his core, and caused a heavy flinch. As the laughing died down, Daryl's face grew a bit more serious, "You heard of where Shane Walsh ran off to?"

"Well…", the bartender whispered reluctantly, and Daryl leaned his head back with narrowed eyes, "Story came through here that he got off…struck a deal for your head."

"Did he, now? What kind of deal?"

"His freedom…and $5000 for information, if he finds you alive…", the bartender explained, exhaling deeply. His hands were shaking as he poured himself a glass of whiskey and downed it in one gulp.

"Damn. That's a lot of money the Governor's puttin' up for me. I'm flattered…$10,000 overall? Lemme ask you somethin'…Why ain't you after me? $5000 goes a long way…"

"Well I…I ain't got n-no reason to start a war with someone like you, Mr. Dixon. Hell…I'm not completely convinced you're not right about some of the people you kill. Cheatin' scum we have for leaders…", Daryl smirked, satisfied with the old man's answer. He reached forward, slapping the man's arm for encouragement, and stood from his barstool, "How'd you get away from them gallows, anyway?"

The question stopped Daryl dead in his tracks, and his eyes scanned over the small crowd, to the person on piano. The head turned, staring from under a hat that was pulled almost as low as his, and she smirked at him.

"A girl…"

24 hours earlier

"It's been fun…", Daryl called out to the crowd, closing his eyes as he watched Rick give the silent order for him to drop. The door beneath his feet was opened, and he fell like a stone, the rope around his neck instantly catching, but his neck didn't break. An excruciating pain flew through his back, neck, and head as he dangled, very much alive. He couldn't breathe, he couldn't even really see, but he was hanging there, thrashing and turning about, the rope digging more and more into his skin, before…

BANG!

He fell to the ground, spitting and sputtering as he lay there, staring at the grass below. He was saved. He was alive. He looked down at the rope that was still connected to his neck, and a new sense of meaning flew through him. Something had saved him, whether it be a higher power, or sheer luck.

The crowd outside screamed, and carried on. He felt bodies slamming into the side of the hardwood as they ran, and more shots were fired. Daryl couldn't make out for the life of him what was going on, here, lying in the darkness. He had to get out of here, but first, he had to get these ties off. Scrambling, he was able to push himself back against one of the legs of the stage, the rope laying over it, tightening around his wrists. Skillfully, he began rubbing the rope hard and fast against the wood, until the warmth of it began to burn the sides of his hands.

After a few seconds, his hands broke free. He flexed them, brought them up to his face, and down to his neck, which was still in so much pain. He removed the rope from around his sore neck, and untied his legs, before crawling toward the curtains that covered the sides of the stage.

It was time to see his savior, or to be killed. Either way…

"Dixon! This isn't the way! You know you're a dead man!", he heard Rick calling to him. Though, it sounded as if he was retreating, in some way. Whoever had come for him was scaring the Sheriff and his new posse away. Was it Jarvis? Surely not. Daryl slowly pulled the curtain to the side, and peered out, careful with how his neck moved. If it wasn't broken, it was close to it. He groaned a bit at the effort, and narrowed his eyes to fix his vision, as a horse galloped toward the stage. He sunk back into the curtains, watching the horse stop directly in front of him, followed by another.

"Get on! We gotta move…", a familiar female voice sounded. He quickly exited the curtains, and had to stop for a moment to take in Clara, a rifle perched atop her thighs as she paced on her own horse. His horse, which he had presumed dead, stood nervously in tow, "C'MON!"

Daryl snapped out of it, running to the side of his horse. He hoisted himself up, groaning in pain, and pulled the reigns from Clara's hand, which signaled her to kick her own horse in the sides.

"Keep yer head down!", she called out to him, and although he narrowed his eyes in wonder, he leaned his foggy head down to touch his chin to the mane of his horse. A shot rang out from in front of him, causing them both the flinch. She didn't go down, and the horses ran just fine. So, he shook it off.

"A little further and I need to rest…", he gasped out, as the woods became deeper, and more dense. Clara began to slow her horse, and eventually stopped, turning it to him, "How'd you know I'd survive?"

"I didn't.", she said quickly, unloading her rifle. She placed it into a long holster at her horse's rear, and relaxed.

"You didn't. So…you took it on faith that I would be lucky?"

"Out of the last ten men to hang at the gallows around here, only five died from the drop. You had a fifty fifty chance of makin' it through that part. My job came afterward.", she explained calmly. Her smirk made Daryl uneasy, as his hand reached up to rub at the deeply bruised skin around his neck.

"Nice…", he murmured. Clara's eyes lowered to the area he was rubbing, as her horse adjusted itself and danced around.

"We get to the next city…you need to get that checked out. You breathin' okay?"

"Fine.", he answered quickly. Shrugging, Clara reached into the saddlebag under her rifle, and retrieved a belt. The belt held two guns, Daryl's guns. He stared on, watching the way she held them up with two fingers, like a trophy, "Who are you?"

"Just a girl…Like you said. I'm a girl who's finished. Tombstone…All that was true?", Clara asked, her tone serious. Daryl's breathing continued to labor as he nodded, and snatched his gun belt from her, "Good. Let's get a move on, then."

Present Day

"Wow. I'd say you're right lucky, then, Mr. Dixon…", the bartender mused, watching Daryl's face as he finished his story of triumph. Daryl nodded slowly, kicking back another glass of whiskey, as he turned to the crowd once more. There, sat a poker table. One man in particular seemed to be running the show. He was thin, lanky, and wore a tattered hat. Daryl smirked in admiration, before turning toward the bartender once more, as the man finished another sentence, "…mystical women and horses…"

"Mhm. Who the hell knows where we're goin'. Tombstone…That's what she said. I thought about killin' her. Ain't no sense in watchin' her die in Shane's hands when he gets a whiff of who she's with. She'd be bait…or worse…", Daryl rambled on. As he finished a fight broke out at the poker table, and it appeared that the strange skinny man was in the middle of it.

"I ain't stupid. Take off that jacket…", a gruff man in black growled, pointing his finger in the face of the new guy.

"Kiss my ass, old man. I didn't do shit!"

"That's my queue…", Daryl murmured, reaching into his jacket. He pulled out a crumpled bill, and tossed it at the bartender, before turning to the irritated crowd. The music stopped, as the entire building began whispering amongst themselves at his presence, "Why don't we all just calm down. I'll take care of the kid…"

"Well I'll be a rabbits ass…Tombstone…Dixon…", the man in black chimed, stepping a bit too close for Daryl's comfort, "Now what good would killin' a kid…do for you?"

"If the rumors are true…I've already killed a dozen. Half a dozen more in their mommas' bellies. I'd say it couldn't hurt, eh?", Daryl smirked, placing both his hands on his hips. The man in black narrowed his eyes, before pulling a gun, and quickly shoving it into the young man's face. Daryl flinched, stepping forward, "You doubtin' me?"

"I ain't got no reason to doubt you, man. I just want to see his face when I feed him his dick…"

"That might be a bit difficult…", Daryl sighed, "She's lackin' a bit in that department."

The man narrowed his eyes in confusion, turning slowly to Daryl as Clara whipped her hat off. Her hair cascaded down around her shoulders, and as quickly as the fight broke out, was it ending. She began scooping up money, under Daryl's cover of flying fists. After he had knocked the man in black out, the crowd parted, and he grabbed for Clara's hand, prying her away from what was left of the money on the table.

He ran her outside and into the streets, shoving her toward her horse roughly. She grunted, clinging to the bag that was pressed against her chest, crumpling the money that she also held inside her chest wrappings.

"What the hell was that? I thought the plan was to go in there…WIN the money…"

"They thought they caught me cheatin'? What was I supposed to do? You know what they do to people who cheat around these joints! Maybe you should have done the shit yerself!", Clara screamed back, kicking a little dust toward Daryl's feet. He huffed, working hard to control his hand that wanted to run for the pistol at his side. He couldn't kill her, but dammit…

"I feel like I owe my life to a kid! You ain't nothin' but a thorn in my ass, lady!", he screamed in frustration, his face red.

"What's owin' anything to 'Tombstone Dixon'. I thought the whole outlaw thing was about breakin' rules. Why don't you leave me then, hmm? Just leave me here! I'll go back…I'll tell 'em everything…"

"They'll hang you, and you know it. Rick Grimes can't save you from everything…not like this.", Daryl lowered his voice as he spoke truthfully to her, "Yer best bet is to just get on that horse…"

"Not until you apologize…", Clara sad stubbornly, crossing her arms. She let her hip jut out, and stared straight into his eyes.

"I ain't apologizing for shit. I ain't said I was sorry my whole life…I ain't startin' now.", he explained, but she didn't falter. She continued to stare stubbornly, and after a while of brewing, Daryl sighed, the red in his face fading a bit, "FINE! I'm s….I'm…I'm SORRY!"

"Kay…", Clara chirped, before climbing atop her horse. Daryl stared blankly.

"Really? REALLY?! Stupid bitch…", he grumbled, pulling his horses straps roughly, before climbing atop it, "Shoulda killed you…stupid bitch…"

"Quit whinin' and act like someone who's worth $10,000.", Clara murmured, smirking a bit as she turned her horse sharply and began trotting away. Daryl sighed, glancing up and down the streets for any sign of enemies, and decided to follow her, a frown pasted to his face.