After coming back from checking the traps for caught food, Rick returned to tending the animals, and the crops, holding the bucket of "slop" as he sauntered his way to the pigs, ready to pour it into the trough, when he threw a glance toward the walkers that continually hovered by the wire fence, stopping him in his tracks.

That one particular walker with the "blood-soaked" tears still standing there, trying to claw his way in like the others, staring blankly at Rick as it did so.

What the hell is up with that? Rick found himself asking, wiping the sweat forming on his forehead with his gloved hand before pouring the pigs' food into the trough, putting it down beside him when it was empty, and leant onto the fence, still staring at the walker.

Is it something that I should be worried about? That we should be worried about?

He also noticed Violet lying in the corner of the pen, not moving, not breathing. Carl's gonna be devastated.

He didn't have time to ponder about her or the walker as he heard Andrea calling out his name from the top of the guard tower, followed by the fact that the group on the supply run had returned, although Rick thought it rather strange that they were back so early. Earlier than usual when on supply runs.

He didn't much care as he was just glad Dave had returned in one piece.

As he walked a little closer, watching as the gate was being opened by two men stationed there, he saw Daryl riding out in front on his motorbike while the two cars trailed shortly behind him, stopping halfway toward the second gate which lead into the prison itself.

But what was strange about it was the obvious fact that Dave wasn't sitting behind Daryl like he'd done when they set off hours earlier. Maybe he's sitting in one of the cars. Probably didn't like the way Daryl liked to drive his bike.

His heart fell to his stomach when they all climbed out of the cars, and everyone was accounted for…except for Dave and Zach.

No…no, no, no, no…

"Where's Dave?"

Daryl had climbed off his bike, and ambled his way slowly toward Rick, a little cautious to what he might do if he told him exactly what went down at the store, and with his husband.

"Where is he Daryl?" He asked again, edging closer to him, the look in his eyes warning Daryl that he was about to do something that he might regret

Raising his hands up he began his explanation, watching as his dear friend fell apart right in front of him, collapsing onto his knees, Daryl following suit, his hands now on both Rick's shoulders to give him comfort, if only a little.

"I'm sorry Rick, really I am. We tried calling him back but…but we had no choice, we had to get out of there. Before he left, he shouted that he would find another way out, but…looking at the circumstances at the time, the chances were very slim."

Rick looked up, tears staining his cheeks as he replied, spitting a little as he did, "So there's still a chance…a chance that he could still be alive?" With that in mind, Rick wiped the remnants of his tears with the back of his hand before standing back up to his feet.

Heading back to the stable he took his gun holster, which he'd hung up there while he was tending his chores, off and fastened it around his waist before he returned, walking right past Daryl, and to one of the cars.

"What are you doin' Rick?"

"What do you think?" He replied, knowing full well that they all knew what he meant, opening the door and climbing in, but was stopped from closing it by Daryl, who was holding it with one hand, the other placed on top of the car.

"I hope you're not doin' what I think you're doin'? Look Rick, we're sorry, I'm sorry for having to leave Dave behind. It's one of the many things I'm goin' to haveta regret, but if you go out there, Carl's not only going to lose one father, he's going to lose two. Do you really want that? Huh?" Daryl clarified, it may not be what Rick wanted to hear right now, but he could see, as well as everyone present, that he wasn't thinking straight.

He had every right to be. He'd just been told that Dave, the love of his life, had been left behind, without no knowledge of whether he was still alive, and he was going to go out there alone, and not thinking straight.

He may not have felt this personally himself, but Daryl knew that this act was blatant suicide.

Rick sat back in the front seat; quiet, Daryl seeing it in his eyes that he was contemplating on the idea. After what felt like an eternity, Rick gradually nodded his head, "Okay…okay." He then climbed back out, and slammed the door, making the car rock as he did.

Michonne then approached him, a soft hand upon his shoulder, causing Rick to look up at her, a small smile on her face as she replied softly, "We will get him back, Rick. Safe and sound, but we can't do that if we're tired, low on ammo, and not thinking straight. It'll be dark soon, so you, me and Daryl will go at first light. If what I've heard about Dave is true, then you have nothing to worry about. Do you hear me?"

Rick nodded as she continued, "He can look after himself. He, like the rest of us, is a survivor. He knows the "do's and don'ts" of staying alive. I have a feeling that he is alive, and probably making his way back here."

The others; Sasha, Bob, and Tyrese, had left the three of them to talk it out, seeking out their love ones or finding the others to tell them the news of Zach's untimely death and the fact that they had to leave one of their own behind. As they spoke, they all felt the same thing: guilt. Dave, when or if he came back, would tell them that it wasn't their fault. They didn't know that he was still alive, and even if they did, the place was overrunning with walkers. They needed to get the supplies and medicine back to the prison or else everything that happened would've been in vain.

Dave, just like his husband, was selfless like that.

"Come on," Michonne urged Rick, "let's get you something to eat and some rest. It's been a long day…"

Daryl watched as Michonne escorted Rick back to the prison, Andrea joining them from the guard tower before he decided that, when the time was right, he was going to find Dave on his own. Being an expert tracker and able to find Sophia when she'd gone missing, he was the obvious guy for the job.

He just hoped that Michonne could buy him some time to find Dave. If he knew Dave like he knew Rick, he'd probably stick nearby the roads, using the trees for coverage if he caught wind of any unsavoury types along the way. That was Daryl's best bet…


He's gonna be alright, he knows how to take care of himself, and he'll be back before you know it, Rick mulled, getting ready for bed, but knew it in himself that he wouldn't be getting any sleep. As he was about to climb into bed, alone, he could hear shuffling going on outside, and thought that it was probably someone heading to the bathroom or showers, slipping under the covers, wishing that Dave was lying next to him.

Don't worry, I'm gonna find you as soon as first light appears. Rick soon closed his eyes in a bid to, at least, get some sleep.

Unbeknownst to him and the other residents of the cell block, the shuffling was coming from Patrick, Carl's friend with the glasses, who was feeling a hell of a lot worse than he did before, sweating profusely as he staggered toward the showers. He felt weak, as though his legs were going to collapse from under him at any moment, using the walls as leverage along the way, feeling his strength wane with every few steps.

He managed to make it to the showers, stripping down to his boxers, reaching out to turn one of the showers on. It spluttered into life, raining down cooling water as Patrick stood under it, it cooling him somewhat, but it wasn't enough. He still felt like he was about to burst into flame a la Human Torch.

Then he couldn't breathe. He felt his throat closing up, breathing in, but not being able to breathe out as he gasped for air. He suddenly felt lightheaded, his eyes lolling to the back of his head as he collapsed onto his back, gasping for a few more breaths before his movements stopped.

A few moments later he was dead and yet, no-one noticed. How could they? It was the middle of the night, and the majority of the residents were either asleep or otherwise occupied.

Like everyone who died, whether being bitten or not, Patrick's eyes opened, blood seeping out of them as "he" clambered sluggishly to his feet. He seemed to stand still for a second, as though "surveying" where he should go before stumbling back out the showers through the only exit, body still perspiring, eyes tearing blood, on his way back to the cells…


Author's Note: Sorry for the terribly long update. I've been busy working on other projects on Fanfiction, Friday the 13th III, WWE Avalon, Glee, etc. before uploading them. I'll endeavour to upload them sooner, and thanks to those of you who are still with me, I'm still alive so don't worry about any these projects being on hiatus. Thanks again, and I'll see you soon.