Dishes

The group had been at St. Mary's for several days now. Although scouts had ranged farther and farther south, no one had yet encountered any sign of the Wolves—not even a single walker with a W carved in its forehead.

"Be careful out there," Maggie told Glenn as she fussed with his clothes.

"I will," he assured her. "You get some rest . . . both of you," he added, addressing her very pregnant belly.

"Who else is going?" she asked him.

"Michonne, Rosita, Abraham, and Heath."

"Not Daryl?" she asked, smiling just a bit.

Glenn smiled as well. "Daryl volunteered to help with the breakfast dishes again," he said. "I believe this makes seven meals in a row now." They both laughed a little before kissing each other.

"Be careful," Maggie repeated.

"I will."


Lexie and Daryl were back in the kitchen again. By now they had done the dishes together so many times that they had it down to a routine.

Trigger came running through the kitchen chasing Oscar the cat. "Hey, look out!" Daryl yelled at the little boy. "Floor's wet."

Neither the toddler nor the cat slowed down. Oscar hit a puddle of water and freaked out. He jumped into the air and landed on a plastic bag, which scared him even more. He rolled over and over in the plastic bag before finally working his way free and bolting for the dining room at top speed. Trigger wandered behind him plaintively calling "Kitty, kitty! . . . Kitty, kitty!"

Lexie laughed aloud, and Daryl surprised himself by laughing too-something he found himself doing more and more often lately. He knew what the rest of the group was thinking about him and Lexie. They were wrong, but he couldn't seem to stop himself from volunteering to be wherever she was.

They worked on in silence for a few minutes, the dishes almost done. Both looked around for something else to do, but there wasn't anything left.

Lexie took a deep breath. "So," she began, "what's behind this sudden interest in doing dishes?"

"Whaddya mean?" asked Daryl

"I asked around, and no one seems to think that you've ever shown any interest in the cleanliness of your tableware before now."

Daryl shrugged. "Gotta have somethin' to do. Since I'm fired from runs, dishes seemed better than getting stuck with scrubbing toilets."

Lexie wasn't buying it. She moved closer to him and asked, "Do you really expect me to believe that you're volunteering to be down here with me all the time just because you're worried about scrubbing toilets."

Daryl looked away. "I can volunteer for somethin' else if you don't want me down here," he offered.

"You know I don't want that," said Lexie. "I'm glad for your help." She paused a moment, then added, a little shyly, "It's been good to get to know you." When Daryl didn't speak, she continued in a more businesslike tone. "Look, Daryl, I don't know how much longer your group is going to be here. The Wolves could show up any minute. Are you going to make a move or not?"

Her directness left Daryl dumbstruck for a moment. He decided not to answer the question. "You should come with us when we go," he said instead. "It would be safer for you and Trigger."

"Right," said Lexie, a little irritated. "Because joining a group being chased by a pack of murderous thugs calling themselves Wolves is much safer than staying in a place where no one found me for more than a year."

"Do you really want to say here, alone?" countered Daryl. "What if you break your leg or get sick or somethin'? What would happen to Trigger?" If there was one argument guaranteed to work on her, Trigger's safety was it. He continued, "You might survive here, but it's not a life. Come with us."

Lexie looked him straight in the eye. "And would I have a life if I came with you?" she asked softly.

Uncomfortable, Daryl backed away. "It's, it's not like that," he tried to explain. "I— I— I just thought the group could use you. Your help with Judith, I mean. And it would be good for you to be with the group. . . too. But, I mean, that's all."

As his voice trailed off, a disappointed embarrassment flooded Lexie's face. "I see," she whispered.

She threw the dish towel she had been holding onto the counter, then turned and walked out of the kitchen, hoping to escape before Daryl saw the tears in her eyes. It was silly to feel this way, she thought to herself. She should have known better than to let herself have feelings like these. After all, she wasn't even sure she could stand to let someone touch her. Out in the dining room, she walked faster, forgetting to bring Trigger with her.

From the storeroom doorway where she was standing guard on the tunnel entrance, Carol watched her go, a slight smile on her face. While she hadn't heard the entire conversation, she had heard enough. She still wasn't convinced that Lexie wasn't a threat, and she wouldn't be sorry to leave her behind when they left.


The recon team was pushing farther out than usual, so they weren't back for lunch. The meal was quiet with fewer people around the table than usual. As soon as everyone had finished, Daryl spoke up. "I'll get the dishes."

Everyone still seated at the table smiled—except for Lexie.

"Lexie, I assume you're volunteering for dish duty too?" queried Rick, feeling fairly sure of her response.

But she surprised everyone. "No, actually," she said. "If Maggie wouldn't mind keeping an eye on Trigger, I'd like to do a little work on the electrical system. With so many people here, the breakers keep tripping, but I think I might be able to squeeze a little more power out of the system . . . if Eugene could give me a hand in the attic?" She said this last bit like a question.

Eugene and Maggie readily agreed to the plan. Daryl kept his face expressionless.

"Then I guess it's my turn to help you with the dishes, Pookie," Carol said to Daryl, squeezing his cheeks. "And Sam can help us," she added as an afterthought as she caught sight of the boy trying to slip out of the room.


Up in the attic, Eugene and Lexie were deep in a discussion of voltage and relays when Daryl popped up through the trapdoor.

"What are you doing up here?" asked Lexie, sounding slightly miffed.

"Get out," Daryl growled at Eugene, who immediately scurried off as Daryl paced back and forth, picking at his lip.

"You're not supposed to be up here. It was the deal," Lexie asserted, her hands on her hips.

Daryl looked at her, but didn't say anything. Looking a little like a caged animal, he continued pacing anxiously with his eyes firmly fixed in her direction.

"Look," Lexie said more gently. "I'm sorry I couldn't do the dishes with you. I just . . . need to do other things until you all move on."

"I lied." The words seemed to burst out of Daryl as he stopped walking and turned toward her.

"Excuse me?" Lexie asked, confused.

"I lied, earlier today," Daryl said, resuming his pacing. "It wasn't just for the group that I wanted you to come with us."

Lexie's eyebrows narrowed as she waited for him to explain. After a few more laps back and forth, he figured out where to begin. "Look, back before, my brother Merle, he always had a girl, and when he didn't, or even if he did, there were hookers. I went with him sometimes, but it wasn't really my thing. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

Trying to follow along, Lexie asked, "Do you mean you've never had a girlfriend?"

"It's not like I'm a virgin or nothin'," said Daryl. "But, no I never had a girlfriend. Didn't want one. And then, I met Aaron, and I thought maybe. . . ."

"You mean, you're gay?" asked Lexie, feeling more sure about the direction the conversation was heading now.

"No, I mean, maybe, I mean, I don't know," Daryl ran his fingers through his hair, then added suddenly, "You wouldn't tell anyone that, right?"

Lexie shook her head. "I don't know why it's a secret, though," she began, "Or why it's so hard to figure out." Her voice became more clinical. "It's really pretty simple. Are you attracted to men?"

"Maybe, sometimes. . . I don't know."

Lexie continued with her questioning, "Are you attracted to women?"

"Not usually," said Daryl. "Sometimes, though," he allowed. His voice grew angrier. "I just don't know." He took his lighter from his pocket and hurled it at the wall. "I'm a grown man, and I don't even know who I am."

"That's bullshit," said Lexie, irritated.

"Bullshit?" growled Daryl. "I thought I was getting shit figured out and then there you were. I can't even go out there any more without putting everyone in danger. I can't get my head straightened out." His voice was growing louder and louder.

"It's bullshit because you do know who you are," said Lexie, matching his volume. "You're the guy who sleeps on a lumpy couch instead of a soft bed in order to protect his friends on the off chance that some dead nuns happen to bust through three locked doors. You're the guy who volunteers any time something dangerous needs to be done. You're the guy that even when he screws up out there manages to get everyone back safely. You're the guy that when a scared, screwed up girl threatens to cut off your dick you don't get mad or even take the knife away, you just promise not to hurt her."

In her tirade, she had moved much closer to him, and he was no longer pacing. The two stared at each other, both breathing more heavily than normal.

Lexie continued, "No one does that, Daryl, not now. Not the way things are. You're the only one. So I do know who you are, and you do too. Figuring out if you're gay or straight or bi or whatever, that doesn't change who you are."

"It does," argued Daryl. "How can we be together if I haven't got this stuff figured out."

"Good grief, Daryl," replied Lexie, now feeling exasperated. "We're not talking about getting married here. I'm just talking about giving ourselves a chance to see if we're going to fall in love. If it turns out your gay, then fine, we'll know that, but at least I'll have gotten the chance to know you better."

"You can't mean that," said Daryl, incredulous, but no longer angry. "That you don't care if I'm. . . . like Aaron." He still couldn't say the word.

Lexie stepped closer. "Daryl, are you attracted to me?" she asked in nearly the same clinical voice she had used for her earlier questioning.

Daryl rolled his eyes. "Look at you," he said, gesturing with his arm. Lexie folded her arms and waited for an answer. "You know I am," he finally muttered.

"Then you aren't exactly the same as Aaron," she countered.

"But doesn't it bother you that I . . . have feelings like that."

"No!" said Lexie, as if the idea were ridiculous. "Does it bother you that I've had sex with women?" Lexie challenged him.

Daryl looked startled, and then the corners of his mouth turned up just a bit. "No," he said. "You've really had sex with women?" He looked interested in this idea.

Lexie saw his expression and smiled just a little. "I have a lot of lesbian friends. I tried it out. It wasn't for me. And I'm pretty sure that with a reaction like that, you may be more hetero than you think."

She leaned against one of the many tables stored in the attic. Daryl moved closer and half-sat on the table as well. He stared at the floor, not wanting to meet her eyes. Fidgeting a little with her hands, Lexie broke the silence. "I'm sorry I made you uncomfortable today. Sometimes I'm too direct. After. . . after everything that's happened, I never expected to feel attracted to anyone again. And frankly, with the way things are, I could die any day. I didn't want to miss my chance. If you still need to think about things or if you don't want to do dishes together any more, I'll understand."

Lexie made a motion as if she were going to leave, but Daryl grabbed her hand. He looked her in the eye for a few moments. Then, abruptly, he grabbed her head with both hands and kissed her—hard. For a microsecond, Lexie froze, startled by the sudden kiss. Then her hands were on his chest, and she was kissing him back just as fiercely.

After about ten seconds, Daryl broke away, leaving them both gasping for breath.

"I'm sorry," he began, stepping back and running his hand through his hair. "I meant. . . to work up to that—to do it more gentle."

"Daryl Dixon," Lexie said quietly but sternly, stepping forward to close the space between them. "Don't you ever apologize for kissing me like you mean it. Not ever." As she whispered the last two words, she gently stroked his cheek with the back of her hand. She leaned in and kissed him again. It started more softly this time, the passion building as it went on.

Wondering if he should come back up to the attic yet, Eugene popped his head through the trapdoor. He caught an eyeful of Daryl and Lexie locked in an embrace before slinking back down the ladder with a smile on his face.


The recon team had pushed out about five miles and was swinging around in a wide arc. So far, it had been like every other patrol—no sign of the Wolves. Now they were on their way back.

"I want to stop by that gully Daryl and I found again," Michonne announced. Teams had been checking it every day, but so far they hadn't spotted anything unusual.

"It's on the way," agreed Abraham.

This time, as they approached the far end of the ditch, Glenn noticed something unusual. "What's that?" he asked.

For unknown reasons, two walkers were tied back to back. The awkward circumstance meant that they were both constantly fighting to be in the lead. They spun round and round, making little forward progress.

"What the hell?" wondered Abraham. Without speaking they all inched forward trying to get a closer look.

Heath was in the lead. "Ws!" he spat. "In both their heads."

The five friends took off at a run, following the edge of the gully. From time to time, they'd spot more walkers down below with the telltale Ws carved in their heads. Frighteningly, some were near the end of the ditch, just a few hundred yards from the tunnel that led to their sanctuary. They picked up the pace.

The group plunged into the mine entrance, Abraham leading the way. About ten steps in, they realized they had a problem: they weren't alone in the tunnel. Walkers blocked the way. With his knife, Abraham quickly took out two, but there were more-lots more.

"Turn around," he yelled," I don't know how many are in here. We'll have to go around to the front door. No choice."

Everyone did an about-face in the tight confines. Now Michonne was leading the way, followed by Heath, Glenn, and Rosita with Abraham bringing up the rear.

But there were walkers in that direction as well. Michonne drew her sword, but there was little room to maneuver in the mine shaft. She took out three walkers, but it slowed them down. Meanwhile, the others were closing in behind them. Rosita heard Abraham groan.

"Abraham!" she yelled, not able to see what had happened in the dim light.

"I'm fine, keep going," he hollered. She obeyed, but Abraham wasn't fine. Blood seeped from his side where he had been bitten.

Finally working their way free of the tunnel, Michonne, Heath, Glenn, and Rosita took off on a run towards the front entrance to the convent. Lagging behind, Abraham fought off one last walker, then pressed his hand to his side and tried to catch up as best he could. The woods were full of walkers now, and Michonne kept her sword out, slicing through at least a dozen heads. Behind her, the others each fought off two or three with their shorter knives.

By the time they reached the front gate, Abraham was panting and bleeding heavily. A larger herd was coming up toward the front walk. Michonne paused only a second to fling the gate open before turning her attention to the walkers inside. The others followed on her heels. Abraham closed the gate, kicking one last walker out of the way before closing the iron gate and taking his place in the formation. They quickly fought their way toward the front door.

Up on the third floor, the open gate set off the alarm. Rick rushed to the window and peered outside. In less than a second, he headed down the stairs two at a time. In the office, he hit buttons madly trying to find the music. A few seconds later, Lexie burst in and flicked the right switches. Rick waited only a few heartbeats to be sure the walkers inside were headed up to the second floor before bolting out of the office and heading for the front door.

The recon team dashed for the office with Rick supporting Abraham. Lexie closed the door behind them and then cut the music as they all headed downstairs toward the basement dining hall.

Outside, dead walkers littered the walkway and grass leading up to the door. The remnants of the herd that had seen the recon team run inside pressed themselves against the wrought iron fence. It was holding—for the time being—but it wouldn't last for long. Even with the music off, the sound of the walkers was drawing more of their kind. Around the corner, one of the Wolves sat in a tree, binoculars trained on the front gate. He smiled to himself before loping off to find the rest of the pack.


Inside, Abraham was trying mightily to prevent the rest of the group from examining his wound. In the end, Daryl, Heath, Rick, and Glenn each grabbed an arm or a leg while Carol and Rosita lifted up his shirt to see the damage.

They knew instantly that it was a bite. Abraham stopped struggling, and the other men let him go. Rosita alternated between sobbing and yelling at him with an occasional punch in the shoulder thrown in. For his part, Abraham remained stoic, his composure broken only slightly when he used his thumb to brush away a tear. The rest of the group looked stricken. Several, including Rick, sank to the floor. There was nothing to say.

Abraham was the first to speak. "Rick," he said, "we found something important—more important than mourning my idiocy. Walkers with the W in their foreheads."

Rick looked to Michonne for confirmation. "It's true. They were in that gully leading up to this place. The Wolves are catching up."

"And there were walkers in the tunnel," put in Heath. "We couldn't get back that way."

"With the dead bodies on the grounds, it's just a matter of time before the Wolves know we're here," concluded Rick. "If they don't know it already."

"We should run," Lexie offered without hesitation. "There's another tunnel, I can get us out."

"But if we keep running, the Wolves are going to follow," said Rick. "It's time to take care of this problem once and for all."


It took several hours to put Rick's plan in motion, but when the Wolves arrived in the late afternoon, the group was ready. With danger so near, Lexie had readily shown them the second, secret tunnel entrance in the basement. She was leaving with them—the only other option was to leave without them, and she couldn't do that now. Carol, Jessie, Lexie, and Maggie took Sam, Trigger, and Judith down into the tunnel for safety. Abraham sat at the entrance. He was starting to grow feverish, but he was determined to do his part. By his side were Eugene, Carl, and Ron; they would serve as the last line of defense in case something went wrong. On the top floor, Rick, Daryl, Glenn, Rosita, Aaron, and Heath each sat by a window, rifles ready. Down on the first floor, Michonne and Tara waited to do their part.

The Wolves brought several captives, hooded and tied back to back, to use as bait. They sliced through the bellies of the first two and then left them on the ground a good distance from the fence. Within minutes, their cries had drawn most of the walkers outside the fence. The dead launched themselves into the feast, paying no attention to the Wolves, who efficiently dragged several more captives inside the fence.

There they repeated the maneuver twice more, drawing the nuns and schoolgirls still wandering on the grounds to the two far corners of the fenced-in area. That left the path to the main building clear. With grins on their faces, the entire pack of Wolves dashed for the front entrance.

From the upper windows, rifles began firing. The Wolves ran more erratically trying to evade the gunfire. Several fell, but dozens remained on their feet, heading purposefully toward the main door.

In the front office, Tara waited, crouching behind the countertop partition, praying that none of the Wolves would see her. Michonne was down the hall, stationed outside a large classroom. As Tara heard the alarm signal that the first of the Wolves was inside, she began counting down from twenty. The seconds ticked by, and Wolves poured into the front hallway. Tara could hear them formulating a plan for clearing the floors. She tightened her grip on her revolver.

Ten. Nine. Eight.

A hand jiggled the office doorknob. It was locked, but that wouldn't keep anyone out for long. In a second, someone would come bursting through. She couldn't wait any longer. Tara flicked a switch, hoping against hope that most of the Wolves had made it inside.

Choir music began playing in the first floor entryway at maximum volume. The signal given, Michonne flung open the classroom door and then hid herself behind it, her sword ready for any walker who came her way. None did. As one, a huge mass of walkers headed for the entryway, directly for the Wolves.

Her part done, Tara headed out the door that led from the office to the back stairway, pausing to lock and barricade the door, nailing a few pieces of wood into the frame.

With the walkers all headed the other direction, Michonne escaped out a window. She quickly scaled the rope ladder Glenn had lowered from the third floor.

Confused at first by the music, the Wolves froze in place. But as soon as the walkers appeared from around the corner, they understood what was happening—after all, they had set traps like this themselves. Two were close enough to the office to make it inside before the herd arrived. They broke open the door and ran inside, pushing the door closed with their body weight. Several others dashed back out the front door, but Rick, Daryl, and Heath were still manning their rifles. They easily picked off those who tried to escape.

Those who remained inside and hadn't made it to the office took the only other path available—the stairway leading up. The walkers followed, cutting off any potential escape.

When no more Wolves came out the front door, the members of Rick's group on the third floor sprinted for the back stairs. Heedless of the noise, they ran down as fast as they could.

All seemed to be going according to plan. At the mouth of the tunnel, Rick paused to count heads. Someone was missing.

"Where's Tara?" Rick asked.

"She never came down," volunteered Carl.

"Everyone, into the tunnel," ordered Rick. "I'll go get her. Abraham, anyone comes down those stairs, you take 'em out."

Eugene spoke up. "I'm coming with you," he announced stoutly.

"We don't have time for this, Eugene! Go!" Rick yelled.

Eugene obeyed grudgingly, but Rick didn't even make it to the stairs before he was stopped. The leader of the Wolves was slowly descending, a pistol trained on Tara's head.

"So this is where the rabbits ran off to," he said in a singsong voice. "Now, drop your weapons," he continued addressing Rick and Abraham.

Rick slowly laid his rifle on the ground, and Abraham followed his lead.

"That's right, little rabbits," cooed the Wolf. "That was a good try up there, but not quite good enough." Several more Wolves were walking down the stairs now, wiping their knives. "And now we see where your escape tunnel is."

Unbeknownst to anyone in the room, Eugene hadn't followed Rick's instructions completely. He was inside the tunnel, but just barely. He could see everything that was happening in the room. His hands shook as he realized that he was the only member of their group that was still armed. Only he could save Tara.

In the dim light of the dining room, the Wolves were baring their teeth. The leader was still talking, but any moment he would decide to kill Tara. Eugene raised his gun, and while doing the best to steady his aim, squeezed the trigger.

The bullet hit the Wolf in the hip. Eugene had been aiming for his head, but at least he hadn't hit Tara. Rick and Abraham, their instincts honed by the non-stop fight for survival, reacted instantly, diving for their guns at the same second. Tara took off running for the tunnel entrance as both men opened fire.

"Go, Rick!" yelled Abraham. "I got this!" Several more Wolves fell.

Rick followed Tara into the tunnel, pausing only to clap Abraham on the shoulder as he passed. Within a few feet, they both met up with Eugene, who looked badly shaken.

"Was that you?" Tara asked him, incredulous.

"If you are referring to the gunshot that took out the man who held you captive, yes, I believe it was," Eugene replied.

"We gotta get out of here," Rick reminded them. "Eugene, do the honors."

Eugene picked up the detonator that lay on the floor and pressed it once. A timer flashed to life. They had ten seconds. The three set off at a run. They had just reached the others when they heard the explosions start behind them. Worried about a cave-in, everyone started jogging more quickly down the tunnel, which was lit only by their flashlights.

Within a minute the dust had cleared. Rosita grabbed Rick's arm. "Abraham?" she asked.

"It was the way he wanted to go out," Rick said, knowing how little comfort the words offered. Rosita nodded, eyes streaming tears. Tara put her arm around her friend, and they headed off together into the darkness.