Phew! I'm still on time, right? I promised Friday/Saturday uploads and I believe I'm within my limit. Reason this is late is because this chapter was kicking me every single step of the way. But it's ready!

THANK YOU for the reviews and a hell of a lot of followers/favorites. Forever grateful because it's awesome. But! Where did you reviewers go last chapter? You should drop in! Say hello! Or else I might get a teensy bit frustrated. And, well, who knows who I might take my frustration out on when writing...? ;) Fair warning!

One quick thing before we delve in- PrincessPiPi! Hello! To answer your question, I have no plans right now for another story. Taylor and Daryl are hard enough to keep up with as it is! If you're thinking of a one shot, feel free to share. I tend to be kind of (read: very) picky, though.

Okay. That's it!

It took an hour for the rain to subside, an hour full of bumped thighs and arms and an awkwardness so thick that T-Dog must have been able to feel it. As soon as the downpour had turned into a sprinkle, Daryl signaled out the window, alerting the others of our stop.

"You two gonna ride together?" T-Dog asked as Daryl slid out of the seat.

"No," we both said forcefully at the same time. I didn't look at Daryl as I repeated, somewhat more normally, "No, we're not." T-Dog raised his eyebrows, but didn't say anything more, for which I was grateful.

It wasn't until we were back on the road again, Daryl riding behind us, that I tried to talk, an attempt to alleviate the concern that T-Dog had noticed our obvious discomfort.

"Did Rick say if he had a goal this time? Or are we just wandering?" I asked, hoping I had missed some kind of plan when Daryl and I were having our argument.

"Yeah, actually. Said something about a storage facility that Glenn noticed on a run few months back. With all the garages and stuff?" He shrugged, and said, a little too slyly, "Be good to get some alone time for people." He had his elbow on the armrest, covering his mouth with his hand. When he dropped it, I could see he was smiling, a rather rare occurrence for anyone these days.

"What?" I asked, uncomfortable.

He looked at me quickly with his eyebrows raised knowingly before refocusing on the road. "You know y'all are screwed, right?"

"What are you talking about?" I asked, too hurried.

"You and Dixon."

I looked down, recrossing my legs nervously. "What about him?"

"You two've gotta get your shit together."

I was trying to keep from looking too surprised, going with a neutral, careful response. "Our shit's about as together as anyone's."

He laughed low. "Yeah, but I don't think anyone's been doing the same...extracurriculars as you two." He laughed harder at the look of appalled horror on my face. He put his hands up defensively for a moment, and I bent over, putting my head between my knees.

"How did you know?" I moaned, rubbing my temples.

His only answer was another chuckle, and it hit me like a sucker punch.

I sat back up, though keeping my hands on my head. "It's nobody's business," I said, but it came off more bitterly than I meant it to. "I'm sorry, I just-"

"You keep to yourself, I got it," he said, leaning his head back against the seat, giving me another look from the corner of his eyes, still smiling slightly. "No harm in it, though," he said, shrugging.

I was seriously not okay with this discussion. This was why I didn't want people knowing, questioning. He was already beginning to see me differently. "Of course there's harm in it," I said shortly, hoping to deter him.

"Who knows how long you've got, how long any of us got? Ain't a lot of sense in holding back these days."

I didn't answer, though I was listening. Getting past the realization that we weren't as discreet as I thought, this was the first time I had ever had someone outside of Daryl to talk to about what was happening. Even though this had been exactly what I had wanted to avoid, I was surprised to find myself wanting to talk. I looked at T-Dog again, trying to muster up the nerve. When was the last time I had actually had a real conversation with him, with anyone?

I took a deep breath. "I don't think he's…capable," I said quietly, picking at the extra skin around my too long fingernails.

I saw his head turn from the road to me and then back, as if trying to make sure I had spoken. I blushed, almost wanting to take the words back, hoping he would just leave it alone, but then he began to respond. "I'd've been the first to call Dixon out for being a jackass at the start of all this, but he's done alright by me. Flatout saved my ass one time," he said, absentmindedly rubbing his forearm where the scar was still visible. "You spend more time with him than any of us, though."

I nodded, but didn't say anything. I did end up being with Daryl more than the others, but that didn't really feel like an advantage at this point.

T-Dog kept on talking, not noticing my lack of an answer. "I will say, though, that night you got stabbed? Last time I saw him that on edge was when we went back to Atlanta for his brother."

I still didn't reply, though I wanted to. This had gone deep enough. I shouldn't have even indulged myself in the first place.

T-dog took the cue of my silence this time and didn't say anything more, leaving me to mull over his words. On edge. That could mean anything. I thought back to that night, touching my side where I would still get a twinge if I pushed or stretched myself too far. Daryl had come back for me, or rather, his bike, and he had taken me home, that much was true. But beyond that? I hadn't even really seen him until the next day, and that had been when he was there to question me. He hadn't even been there, where I needed him, when I was getting patched up, just stayed on the outskirts. No. Whatever edge T was talking about, Daryl hadn't gotten there because of me.

But even if he was off base with the events of that night, he was at least right about one thing: I didn't know how much time we had left. The idea of spending it like this, in some fucking Daryl limbo, was torture.

I looked in the side rearview mirror, shifting so that I could get the image of Daryl on his bike riding behind us. He had made his points, too. Neither one of us had been fair to the other. But I wasn't going to be the reason why this pattern kept up between us, not anymore.

The bolt cutters had been enough to deal with the locks on the garages.

A storage place. It wasn't a half bad idea, Daryl thought. Steel doors. Shelter. Space for everyone. Good location, visibility. Not the most comfortable of places, but he doubted that was high on people's priorities anymore. Sure as shit wasn't on his.

They had spent the afternoon opening up a few of the garages and clearing them out, mostly furniture and junk, nothing usable. But it was getting darker out now, and colder, the daylight wasted by finding this place.

He looked around, his eyes naturally finding Taylor, who was helping Maggie carry some fancy table. She hadn't talked to him since they had gotten here, but she kept throwing him these looks and he knew something was coming.

He turned away from her, looking for Rick. Seeing him a few units over, he started to move towards him until a hand grabbed his arm, instantly recognizable. Taylor. He was getting too fucking used to that touch. He didn't like the way her skin felt on his. Soft. And fucking distracting as shit. He yanked his arm away, not needing to feel that confusion anymore, trying to ignore the itch of guilt. Why couldn't she keep her damn hands to herself?

She looked at him, hurt in her eyes, but he just shook his head and walked away. He tried not to think about it, turning his back on her like that and knowing that his actions held so much power over her emotions. She'd just have to deal with it. He would hear about it later, he was sure, but for now they had shit to get done.

He continued on to Rick, giving him a single nod as he approached. Rick crossed his arms, leaning against the truck, scanning over the progress people were making. "This is closer," he said, distant.

Daryl followed his lead, leaning with his shoulder, watching. "This is good," he corrected.

Rick nodded at him gratefully. "Listen, we're a little tight on space, and I don't think they're up for clearing out another garage. You don't mind sharing with Taylor, do you?"

Daryl looked down, kicking at the ground, resisting the urge to laugh. This was exactly what he fucking needed, to be locked in a room with that woman overnight. Taylor would love it. But he wasn't about to be more of a problem. "Naw, we'll deal with it."

"Appreciate it," Rick said, standing up straighter. Others had already started to go in, tired and cold. Lori was standing at the entrance of one, hands on her rounded stomach, watching them. Rick sighed. "I'm gonna head on. We'll deal with provisions in the morning." He clasped Daryl on the shoulder and walked away.

Daryl gave a sigh of his own, kicking off the truck, heading towards the last unoccupied garage. He passed Taylor on the way, who had been making her way towards him.

"Where are you going?" she asked, following him, a single blanket and gas lamp in her arms.

"We're roomin' together," he answered, not stopping to see her reaction. He went to the garage, waiting at the door for her to walk sullenly inside, letting the rolling door fall behind him. It didn't shut all the way, hovering just inches from the concrete, and he didn't bother to fix it.

When he turned around, Taylor had already settled, sitting with her legs crossed on the left wall, the lamp in the middle of the room.

She looked at him, watching as he sat across from her, sliding down wall until he was sitting. He had expected her to talk his ear off as soon as the door had shut, but she was quiet now, almost nervous. They sat in silence for awhile while he waited for her storm to hit.

He propped his head against the wall, the concrete unforgiving, but he didn't care, had slept in worse places. He took the moment to look at Taylor, huddled opposite of him, her eyes fixed on nothing, obviously thinking. The dim flicker from the gaslamp wasn't exactly letting him see a whole lot, but he still caught the way she was hugging herself, her whole body shaking with suppressed shivers even underneath the blanket. It bothered him more than it should have.

"You're freezin' your ass off," he said, watching her carefully.

She scoffed, unimpressed with his observation, but didn't say anything more, still distracted.

"Come over here."

That got her attention. She looked at him for just a second before looking back at the ground, hugging her blanket tighter around herself. "No."

He had expected it, but that didn't stop it from being damn annoying. "You're bein' stubborn again. Just come here. Body heat. Too damn cold to be fightin' bout it."

Her nose scrunched up. "I can't think of anything more fucking cliche than needing to share body heat." But he could see she was considering it. Daryl liked this, watching the conflict play out clearly on her face, seeing her realize he was right. She put up a big sigh, muttering to herself as she gathered up her blanket and walked the short distance over to him. He kept his face stern, pushing away the eager feeling in his gut, something that was happening too often lately. It was that same thing that had made him touch her that night she had slept next to him. He wasn't able to control it then, and where had that fucking gotten him?

Taylor settled in next to him, throwing the blanket over both of their bodies. She scooted in closer so that they were touching, shoulders, arms, hips, thighs. He felt his hands clench into fists, almost wanting to tell her to go back, her proximity already a problem.

"T-Dog knows about us," she said suddenly. He looked sharply at her, but she was still staring straight ahead, surprisingly calm. He braced himself internally. This must've been what she was trying so hard to get his attention for earlier, which was fucking irritating. He wasn't even sure why she cared. It wasn't like people didn't have problems of their own to be thinking about.

"Reckon Rick does, too," Daryl said, figuring she might as well know.

She barked out a laugh. "Guess we're not as discreet as I thought."

"If ya call starin' at me all the time discreet." He said it casually, trying to judge her response, see if he could get her off this track, but she only pressed her lips together. He nodded once, accepting, leaning his head back again to the wall, closing his eyes. He could feel how antsy she was, her fingers tapping away on her knees. He wanted to reach out, calm her down like he knew he could, and he felt his fists tighten.

"What happened that night?"

The question came out of left field. He opened his eyes a crack to see her looking at him intently, focused. "Gotta be more specific than that."

"The night when you brought me back from the run where I got stabbed."

His eyes opened all the way, his jaw setting, fingers flexing out on his thighs. He had been thinking she was gonna want to talk about more secrets she wanted to keep, not this. He wasn't ready for the rush of memories from that goddamn night, his senses assaulted, and now he was pissed. "Why?" he demanded harshly.

But she didn't show any signs of backing off. "Because I need to know what you felt."

Feelings. She wanted him to sit down and discuss his fucking feelings. He sighed, tilting his head back to look at the ceiling. He supposed he had brought this on himself, what with all the talk about the shit she was pulling, but this isn't what he had wanted, talking about things that didn't matter none. Not anymore.

"That night is done. Ain't a point in dwelling on it now."

She nodded her head, and he felt relieved at first, but then she kept going, nodding away, and he looked down at her in time to see the look on her face before she turned away, biting her lip, her eyes watering.

He was alarmed, unsure of what to do, just like he always was when this happened. But this time, he was stuck, not just in the same room but under the same damn blanket, and he felt compelled to say something. "Hell, I'm sorry, alright?" Felt like she was always crying these days. It'd never been his job to fucking watch out for her feelings, never had to watch the shit he was saying, and now it felt like there was a fifty/fifty shot she would bust up in tears every time he spoke. It was doing a number on him. She was still looking away, trying to hide her emotions and doing a damned sorry job of it. He could read her so easy, an open book with pictures on every page, but that didn't mean he knew what to do about what he saw.

"It's okay," she whispered. "I'm sorry. This isn't fair to you."

What wasn't fair? Asking these questions? Crying when he couldn't do anything about it? But he didn't know, and it didn't look like she was about to explain. He wished she would, dammit. He had no clue what she fucking wanted from him.

Daryl stared at the wall, listening to the way her breaths were hitching. He wasn't the person to be talking to. He was nobody's damn therapist. He only ever made shit worse. But she was still here, right fucking under his skin in ways he didn't understand, or, hell, even like. Would've made his life a hell of a lot easier if he could just blow her off.

He looked back down to her, and even though her face was tight, her nose a little red from both the cold and the crying, she was still pretty. Not in the obvious ways. Things he'd learned from countless trips where they'd had nothing but each other. A mess of brown hair, and eyes a few shades darker that had always been her tell, his way of knowing what she was thinking before he'd even known her.

She must have felt him looking at her, because she turned to him, her lips setting in a frown, resolutely trying to prove that she was fine. He should've let her, let her go and stew and hate him, but he couldn't help himself. He brought his hand out from underneath the blanket, reaching slowly until his hand was on her face, waiting for her to push him away, but she didn't. He brushed his thumb over her cheekbone, wet from the tears she hadn't been able to hold, and it made him angry, at himself and her for making him this way. Her attention was rapt, now, her eyes on his face.

"Just listen, alright? Cause I ain't sayin' this twice. But I'm gettin' real sick and tired of you tryin' to tell me I don't care."

She nodded quickly once, an agreement, thankfully keeping quiet so he wouldn't have to shush her again. He almost wished she would try and argue, though. It was easier for him if he could keep hold of that frustration. Less chance of pussying out.

"That day ya decided to storm off, by your damn self, in a fuckin' mood bad enough that you were distracted, even though you fuckin' knew better? You weren't comin' back from that." He swallowed, remembering. Denial. Rage. And something else, worse. "Ain't a lot of times I've been scared. But that was one of 'em." She opened her mouth, starting to respond, but he grabbed her chin, a little too roughly, shaking his head. "No. I ain't finished. Not even a week later, ya went back to acting like nothin' happened, like ya hadn't almost gotten yourself killed because you were too busy bein' pissy over what we were doin' to focus. Ain't exactly keen on that happening again." He released her face, leaning back. "So I don't wanna hear anymore bullshit 'bout how difficult I'm makin' this."

He had barely even gotten the sentence out before Taylor nearly lunged at him, catching him completely off guard, one hand on the back of his neck, the other on his shoulder, using the leverage to pull herself over him so she was straddling his lap. She was looking down at him, any hints of her earlier distress gone, her face filled with a whole different kind of need. He had no idea how she was able to change like that, like flicking a switch. It wouldn't be such a damn problem if she didn't affect him, too, a drug stronger than his nicotine. She inched closer, her legs squeezing, her chest getting closer to his face, her grip on his hair pulling so that his head was tilted up, and he could feel himself getting hard already. There were layers of clothes and blankets between them, for Christ's sake. He wasn't a fucking teenager. When had he become a slave to this girl?

But then she had ducked down, kissing him, hard, needful, and he didn't give a shit anymore about the why of it. He wrapped his hands around her hips, fingers grasping, harsh, the way he knew she liked him to be, and he fucking loved the way his hands fit on her. It turned him on, knowing she wanted him that bad, that she wasn't some fucking chinadoll that he had to worry about breaking.

Her hands pulled at his hair hard enough to force him back, but he kept his mouth on hers, tasting her tongue with his own. She pushed her hips against him, straddling him closer, but with the extra fabric between them, it wasn't enough. He dug tighter into her hips and pulled her down, grinding her against him, making her feel how fucking hard she was making him, what she was doing to him. At the contact, she broke away from his mouth, the breath of her whimper brushing over his lips. He moved her against him again, wanting to hear that sound knowing it was for him. Her hands raked down his neck, her hips taking up his rhythm, her temple pressed against his cheek.

But being away from her face, her searching lips, was giving him a second to breathe. Her hands clutched onto his shoulder, fingertips slipping under his shirt, nails cutting into his skin and giving him even more clarity.

They couldn't be doing this. He wouldn't. He had fucking played along with this game of hers before only to have everything be turned into a bigger mess of things. He wouldn't be making that mistake again.

She pressed her lips into the side of his neck, her motions fucking merciless, making it damn near impossible to even try and get this to stop.

"Do you still have those condoms? Because," she kissed behind his ear, rolling her hips particularly hard, making him growl, "I plan on using them," she finished, kissing him again, and if sin had a voice, that was fucking it. He couldn't handle it when she said shit like that.

"No," he groaned, voice pathetic.

"No, you don't have them?" she asked, back in front of him, her hips stilling. She pouted, making dozens more dirty thoughts cross his mind, his hands still on her hips, of half a mind to flip them both over and take her right there, principle be damned. "We can make do," she said, and tried to resume her rhythm, but his hands stopped her, reluctantly. He already knew his body was gonna be punishing him for this for the rest of the night.

It took everything he had. "No, we ain't doin' this."

She immediately stopped all movement, her hands coming off his shoulders like he'd burned her. Gone was the confidence, replaced with clear rejection, all hurt in her eyes. He'd have to teach her a thing or two about not letting every emotion be a dead giveaway just from her face.

She leaned back. "I thought-"

He took his hands from her hips, placing them by his sides, looking for the cold concrete to ground him further. "Ya thought things were gonna be perfect now?" he said, his frustration with the situation preventing him from stopping the mocking tone of his voice. He watched her face fall, but he continued anyways. "Thought we'd ride off into the sunset together?"

She pushed off of him wordlessly, scooting back on her ass so she was still facing him but no longer within reach. She brought her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around her legs, a dead expression on her face. He had expected her to fight him. This was worse.

"It ain't worth it," he said, and she gave him a deadly look, making him quick to expand. "Shit like this, you gettin' hurt, me bein'..." A hell of a lot of words to finish that sentence. Distracted. Off his game. Weak. "It ain't good."

She got a hand on the blanket, pulling it with her as she moved further back, all the way to the wall. She wrapped it around herself, pulling it tight before turning on her side, her back to him, not once even looking at him.

He bent over, holding up his head with his hand, resisting the urge to punch something. Why didn't she get it? Was it so damned hard to understand?

He thudded his head back against the wall, welcoming the pain, knowing that there wouldn't be any sleep for him tonight.

Damn. Is he right? Wrong? Let me know! In a review! And I will see you next week! :)