A/N: oh poor Jane...you never think anything through, do you?


"Have you been practicin' your aim?"

"Yeah."

"Gettin' any better?"

"Dunno. Little bit."


Oddly enough, I felt better in the open field where I could see everything. I'd made an old golf bag from Dale's RV into a quiver for my homemade sharpened sticks—because, really, they didn't look like arrows—and now I hefted it higher onto my shoulder. A gun from their stash was tucked, just in case, into the waistband of my pants. The rising sun tinted the sky pink and orange, and I wasn't far past the tree line when I saw something.

I crept forward. Covered by a small spattering of fall leaves and accompanied by a disgusting smell was the half-eaten body of a woman. I froze, but she wasn't moving. I went to step around the body when it suddenly flashed out, grabbing my ankle and pulling me down with a snarl. I screamed loudly, my "quiver" spilling sticks onto the ground. My hands fumbled, trying to grasp the gun, as I kicked at her, simultaneously trying to get her off and avoid being bitten.

My foot hit her head, her skull soft and pliable with decay, and she was knocked backwards. I found one of the sticks and gripped it tightly. I was crying now, struggling to breathe, as she reared up again and I lifted the stick right between her eyes—

The squelching sound as she was impaled made me want to puke. I scooted backwards until my back hit a tree, eyes never leaving the walker. It didn't move again. My chest heaved with each breath, and my thoughts were screaming, Go back! Go back to where it's safe!

Where is it safe? Where has it ever been safe?

With Daryl.

I bit my lip harshly.

Really, Jane, all of this attempting to run away from emotional shit is gonna get you killed. You can be emotionally intact and dead, or you can take a chance of getting hurt but being alive. This is just stupid.

It was never safe with Daryl. Not from zombies, not from anything. He was just a man. He would die like all the others…and if I had stayed with them, if he kept trying to protect me, he would die a lot sooner.

Call me selfish, call me anything you want, but I couldn't live with that on my conscience.

Not after the way Nolan died.


It took a few more hours of pointlessly wandering in the woods to realize I had rushed into leaving too quickly. This fact became painfully evident the closer it got to nighttime as I remembered I hadn't brought a sleeping bag, tent, or any camping equipment—I had also failed to realize that, since I was alone, I probably wouldn't be able to sleep.

I sighed heavily. Okay, think of a solution. I kept walking for a little while longer, unable to come up with anything, but by the time the sun had begun to sink below the horizon, I had found a tree with a branch low enough that I could jump up and grab it.

I climbed up a few branches higher, tying the shoulder strap of the golf bag to it. In the pockets of the golf bag were the only rations I'd been able to snag. I munched on a piece of jerky, telling myself I wasn't hungry so that the food would last longer. My growling stomach wasn't fooled.


"So who was…."

"The dad?"

"Yeah."

"You're going to keep dwelling on this, aren't you?"

"Sure am."

"Why? It's not like you're ever going to meet him."

"He was important to you at one time, wasn't he, girly? So I wanna know who he was."

"Anyone would think you were jealous."

"Unh."

"His name was Nolan. He was three years older than me."

"Did ya love him?"

"…Yeah."

"How'd he die?"

"Walkers."

"Damn bastards, ain't they?"


I made it through that first night taking short power naps—only three, because after the third one I nearly toppled off the branch, and my rapidly beating heart served to keep me awake for the remainder of the evening.

That next morning, as I dropped from the tree with a sore back, I heard a twig crack. Immediately, I pulled my gun from my waistband. I would not try to fuck around with my bow right now. It was early, I was cranky, and if one of those damn zombie bastards tried to bite me today, they'd get a bullet in the fucking head.

"Well, well, well, if it isn't my little sunshine."

The muscles in my hand tensed. Walkers didn't talk. The man who emerged from behind a tree was most certainly not a walker, but I got the same feeling of angry nausea as if he had been.

His eyes found the gun. "What are you going to do with that, Jane, you simpleton? I never taught you to shoot for a reason."

"Shut up, Owen, and stay where you are."

Owen Bishop raised his eyebrows at me and belted out a deep, rumbling laugh. "I remember a time when you used to call me 'Daddy'."

"Long time ago," I said through clenched teeth.

My father was exactly how he'd always been. Thick black mustache peppered with gray, thinning coarse hair, angry grey eyes, dangerous strength hidden under a lean layer of fat, at least four guns visible on his person—yup, that was my dad. He was alone as well, something I noticed with a small twinge of glee.

"What happened to your group?" I asked.

"They fell behind."

My eyes narrowed. Cold, heartless, son of a—

Bang!

I could've laughed, but the gunshot had scared me a little. I hadn't even realized that I'd settled my aim and squeezed the trigger. When I saw the blossoming red stain on his dirty white shirt, I felt even angrier.

"You ungrateful bitch," he snarled, more animal than human. I was reminded of why I didn't call him 'Daddy' anymore. "You shot me!"

"I missed."

He clasped a hold of his right shoulder, trying to stem the bleeding. "You didn't miss, you fucking shot me!"

"I was aiming for your head." At least I hadn't missed him entirely. That was something, I guess.

"You always were a terrible shot."

My eyes narrowed, beginning to shake in the throes of my rage. How dare he. How dare he still try to put me down. I was the one in power now. I was the one with the fucking gun. How dare he.

"I wonder," I said slowly, "if I aim for your stomach, what will I actually hit?"

His gaze widened ever so slightly. Yeah, you asshole, you're damn right I'm serious. "Have it your way, sunshine. I'll be on my way." Then, however, he smiled crookedly and said, "It's just like you, Jane, to not seek retribution against me. You're soft. That's why I didn't want to bring you with us. Grant insisted, but I knew, I knew you'd only bring us down."

His hand was slowly moving as he spoke, reaching for something at his side.

"You honestly think I don't know you well enough to know where you hide your guns, Owen?" I whispered.

He gripped it, bringing it around to face me, and there was a second gunshot. Bang!

"Missed me again, sunshine."

I gritted my teeth. "Stop calling me that!"

"Why? That bother you, Jane?" He laughed, aiming his own Colt .45, his favorite gun, at my head. "That's a might nice gun you got there, Jane. That's not the one I left you is it? Whatever happened to that one? I doubt you could have shot your way out of the mess you were in last time I saw you."

"You made sure of that, didn't you, Dad," I growled. "Leaving me only one bullet in the gun, you sneaky—"

"I thought that was very kind of me. That way you could have just shot yourself. A merciful option, if you think about it."

"I wouldn't have needed mercy if you hadn't shot me in the leg in the first place." We were staring each other down, neither moving, except for the shaking of my inexperienced gun hand. "How dare you call yourself my father."

"We both know I never wanted you. Having a girl was useless to me." He said it so casually, as if we were chatting about the weather. "You were especially useless after you fell in love with the Buford boy. You made him useless. It wasn't easy getting rid of him, but—"

"Getting rid of him?" I heard voices, shouting, a jumble of noises I couldn't decipher, but my field of vision had narrowed to my father and then turned red. "Nolan was killed by walkers, I saw—"

"You're very slow, Jane. You saw him bloody and mangled with a gunshot to the head, and I told you that he'd turned into a walker. I didn't know you'd really believe me, sunshine."

Time moved very slowly as my dad spoke. I heard his words, but it took a little bit for me to fully register—

"You son of a bitch."

My eyes stung with tears, thoughts hazy, and as the voices got closer and closer I fired my gun again. The shot hit the tree harmlessly, and someone from behind grabbed me around the waist. My rage-filled mind told me it was a walker, but my kicking and struggling was less of an effort to get away from it and more of an effort to strangle my father.

"You son of a bitch! You son of a bitch!" I was sobbing, shouting hysterics, and the walker was holding me close and stroking my hair. It wasn't a walker—it was Daryl. "Son of a bitch!"

"Love doesn't have a place in this world anymore, Jane. The sooner you accept that, the sooner you learn to survive."

"Son of a bitch! You killed Nolan. You fucking son of a bitch!" My voice was hoarse, sobs overtaking any intelligible words, and I stopped struggling against Daryl. I didn't wonder yet how he'd found me, I didn't wonder yet who else was there.

He was soothing me, whispering against my ear, and saying, "It's alright, it's alright, Jane."

Except nothing was alright. Nothing would ever be alright again.

Because the more I thought about it, the more I realized…my father was right.


A/N: as always, reviews are pretty. i like pretty things :) review please.