tHello! Firstly a huge, huge thanks for your encouraging reviews, follows and favourites. I am so sorry that this fanfic has been so stinted as sometimes it takes forever for me to be able to update just due to my brain being on overload after work and studying, and I have recently moved. It's been a bit hectic since Christmas! I am hoping that I will be able to update more frequently now that it is all starting to settle down. I think I just jinxed myself!

If you have stuck with my story like Jean F all the way through then a very special thank you and big hugs from me! :-) xx

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"Here it is. It's nothing special but it does the job," Tyreese said to Charlotte demonstrating flexing the bow before handing it over to her with the quiver of home made arrows.

"Thanks," She gushed, grinning happily as she took it from him, and thrummed the tight bowstring. She raised the bow, pulling it to full stretch, her slender fingers on the nocking point touched her lips as softly as a feather. The muscles in her forearms and triceps trembled at the force it took to draw it to full strength. After a couple of seconds she huffed impatiently and released the bow. "Damn it! I need to get my strength back up again." She muttered darkly, frowning at her arms.

"Give it time," he advised her genially, noting that she eyed his muscled arms with a little pout that made him want to laugh. She reminded him of a six year old Sasha when he had pulled up the ladder to his treehouse blocking her from joining him and his friends. She had given him the same pre-tantrum look. "Sasha had to teach me how to use it. I kept missing my targets."

Charlotte threw her head back and laughed out loud, " Oh my God, I bet that cost you man points having to be taught something like that by your baby sister."

He chuckled deeply, glad that he had managed to break the potential black cloud that would have hung over her head even before she started training, "They were moving targets! She did rip into me but then she's never been shy about doing that!"

She snorted rolling her eyes, and clucking in sympathy, "Yeah I can well imagine. I don't know her very well but she doesn't strike me as the type that would have any problem voicing her thoughts."

"No she definitely does not," He agreed, watching her as she tested drawing on the bow again. He reached into the deep pockets of his combat trousers and pulled out the folded, soft leather arm guard, handing it to her. "Sasha asked me to give you this."

She took it from him smiling widely at her thoughtfulness. "Oh thank you, how sweet of her, I'll thank her when she comes back from the recon."

"Well I better get on to the generator room, that generator's not going to dismantle itself. See you later and good luck." He excused himself, picking up the cache of tools they had managed to collect on their various runs in the last couple of weeks. She thanked him again, nodding to the weapon and perched on table to wait for Daryl. She watched as he stalked off through the quiet cell block towards the dark, empty tombs and it's generator room. Smiling softly to herself she rubbed her eyes and yawned, stretching in the early morning light that filtered through.

She had grabbed her breakfast with Tyreese that morning chatting to him about his plans to dismantle the generators so they could be rewired once they had the correct materials. He had shown a lot interest in the schematics, many of which she had worked on with Patrick, and had understood most of the calculations. She had found herself enjoying the three way brainstorming sessions with him and her new protégé after dinner the last couple of evenings, much to her surprise and to a certain extent confusion.

It had been just under two weeks since they had rescued her from Zeke, and she had almost slotted into place as if she should belonged there. The welcome and acceptance that she was experiencing from most of the members of the prison community was now making her doubt her own plans for leaving. She had promised them that she would only take a couple of weeks to get her strength back up but she also knew that she wasn't strong enough to be alone. There were times when she would feel claustrophobic sitting at dinner, all the people talking and laughing, children running around and yet when she made her excuses and retreated to her cell, the relief was short lived, she would feel the loneliness envelop her like a blanket making it so hard to breathe. She would crave the company of the group again. It was confusing and more than anything frustrating.

She was starting to care for the people that were slowly, and maybe unintentionally, incorporating her into their group. It had been agreed that they would all make a decision about her staying after a couple of weeks but it seemed to have become almost a foregone conclusion that she was staying unless she decided to walk away. The thing that was confusing her was that for the seven months that she had been in the farmhouse she had nothing on her mind but escaping and making it to Nova Scotia. Now in less than two weeks, the one thought that had sustained her was being usurped by the pull of friendly gestures and the promise of stability.

She realised with a pang that she would miss them all especially Maggie, Daryl, Tyreese and Patrick. It would be hard to say goodbye even after such a short time having spent with them. Pushing up away from the table in a bid to get rid of her thoughts, she reached for the quiver of arrows and pulled one out to inspect it. It was very obviously home made, the wood slightly warped in a way a professional arrow would not be. She ran her fingers over the colourful fletching, the softness of the feathery material bringing a smile to her face. Putting it back in it's quiver she decided to try her new arm guard on.

Slipping the finger loops of the soft caramel brown leather guard over her knuckles and thumb joint she unfurled the material up her forearm to her elbow, her head bowed over in concentration. Clumsily she pulled at the ties with her slender fingers trying pull them through and after struggling, chose to tighten them with her teeth instead.

It had been a busy couple of days since she had suggested her plans to the council and everything seemed to be working well. Thanks to the information that Jeanette, whose husband had been a contractor for a large building firm in Atlanta, had provided they had managed to source most of the materials they needed from a new housing estate in Borden Springs. It had been quite a hike but worth the couple of hours of travelling around the back roads to find the site pretty much untouched.

The site had been partially looted, the tools and stuff that could be carried out had been taken. However, the bigger materials like the solar panels and wooden framings were still stacked in their original pallets, shrink wrapped and tied in bandings. Clearing the walkers had been hard work, it seemed that they had come in endless droves but finally exhausted and filthy they had managed to lock the area down safely. The walkers had groaned through the link chain fences at them as they perused around the site looking at what was left. In their recon they had found two lorries with large trailers attached, the pallets still stacked in the back. The had also found a small forklift truck, three 20 gallon water tanks complete with immersion heating elements and much to her delight AGM batteries. It had been clear that the building firm were not sparing any expense in their materials, and judging by the partially constructed properties were of the highest standard.

She reflected with satisfaction on the drive back to the prison. The day had seen the tension released from the group, banter and laughter filling the vehicles with all the inhabitants relieved that the first part of their plan had gone well. They were one step closer to their goal. They had driven the two lorries from the site back in a convoy with the Hyundai and Jeep, and had driven into the prison courtyard amongst cheers from the remainder of group that greeted them. Charlotte had gone a very unattractive glowing red, walking through them with her head ducked and an embarrassed grin plastered on her face, as they celebrated their return.

She looked up as heavy boots echoed on the metal perch above her and down the stairs. "Ya ready?" Daryl asked her in greeting as he walked up to the shelves in their storage area and picked up a small bottle of water slipping it into his back pocket that held the red rag he carried with him all the time.

"Almost," She replied, her voice muffled around the leather she had between her teeth. After a minute or so of watching her struggle, he huffed in exasperation at her. He grabbed her wrist and finished tightening them for her, tying them off at the elbow with a little more force than he meant to, and causing her to flinch.

She admired her arm for a couple of seconds, before smirking at him, "I think you might have cut the blood circulation off."

"Ya'll live," he grunted brushing past her.

She pulled a face at him behind his back, stopping short and pulling her face straight again when he suddenly turned back around. He narrowed his eyes at her his vivid blue gaze piercing through her, causing a strawberry blush to colour her cheekbones. She averted her eyes and self consciously tucked her hair behind her ears.

Awkwardly clearing her throat, she picked up the bow and quiver from the table and raised her eyes to meet his, catching the little smirk on his face before he had a chance to set his features into a scowl again.

She laughed when she realised he was playing with her, and shook her head, "Arsehole. You got me."

He chuffed a low, growling laugh at her concession and indicated his head to the corridor, moving away as she trotted behind him trying to keep up with his long strides into the courtyard.

They had developed a strange, very stilted friendship since he had saved her with a smattering of cautious banter. She had known about his carrying her back to the prison, had let her sleep under the stars on her first night of freedom, had playfully poked fun at her snoring and had chased her to the farmhouse when he had seen her flee from the prison. He never mentioned it, she never thanked him but they both knew it.

They had sat together in the cab of one of the lorries they had recovered on the way back as Daryl had driven. For the first hour they had both sat in a comfortable silence, her mind racing through what they had to do next. It was only when he had commented that he could hear her because she was thinking so loudly that they had talked. She had found it easy to speak to him even though she had understood from what Maggie had told her and what she had gleaned that this was only in context of non personal information. As long as the subject was neutral, his opinions were given freely. She knew that if she had tried to steer the conversation to anything remotely personal he would have shut down without any warning.

However she had been touched when he had told her in his quiet, straightforward way that her plans would make everyone's lives better and that was something that he was grateful for. She had also hidden a smile when he had asked gruffly how Patrick was doing and if she had managed to sort something out for him, showing his concern for the boy.

"This way," he muttered to her pointing passed the courtyard into one of the long fenced off runs that connected the watch towers. She paused in her pursuit of him, her eyebrows raising at him questioning as she spotted the target set up at one end.

"We all thawt ya'll needed some'it ta aim fo'." He told her, shrugging his shoulders at her surprise, "Hershel tol' me he woul' hol' me responsible if'n he had to extrac' an arrow outta som'ones butt."

"Obviously my reputation precedes me," she laughed affectionately at Hershel's comment. Looking over the target range she noticed that he had marked lines on the concrete floor away from the target, in what looked like twenty feet increments.

"This is really cool, thanks." She commented, giving him a small smile of appreciation.

"Okay, le's see wha' ya got." Daryl encouraged her, waving his hand at the target and leaning against the fence with his arms crossed. She could see that he was enjoying her squirming a little too much, she could feel his eyes on her as she stepped up to the first marker. She took a deep breath, pulling the bow to full strength again, she ignored her muscles protesting and aimed for the target. The tremble in her arm knocked the aim of her first arrow so that it landed a foot short of the target and bounced off the concrete floor.

Shaking her arms, to try to get rid of the already dead feeling in her muscles she turned to him grumpily, "Do you realise how disconcerting it is to have an audience?"

He raised his eyebrows at her, not answering her. Muttering under her breath she turned back to her target, scowling. Three more arrows hit the deck before he decided to comment.

"Now don' tak' it ta h'art, some people jus' ain't buil' fa this kinda weapon. Maybe ya'll be betta off wit'a baseball bat." He told her in an off hand manner, a smile pulling at his lips.

"Yes well forgive me but any moron can point a loaded cross bow at a target and shoot, it takes real skill to wield a bow and arrow." She replied cuttingly, her clipped accent making the insult more scathing as she knocked another arrow in the bow in preparation.

"Did ya jus' call me a moron?" Daryl growled as he pushed himself off the fence towards her. She almost smiled as he rose to her insult, usually he was so unflappable. She felt a little satisfaction at being able to ruffle his feathers just as much he so easily ruffled hers.

"If the boot fits." She replied stonily turning back to him, attitude clearly broadcasting from her person, from her arched eyebrow right down to her tapping foot," If you can shoot with my weapon and get a bulls eye, then I guess you put me in my place. You don't get the bulls eye, then you can't take the piss out of me anymore and you have to help me."

"I ain't got nothin' ta prove ta ya," He told her coming to a standstill with his arms crossed aggressively against his chest.

"Really?" She challenged, holding out the bow and arrow, her dark blue eyes flashing, "Ya ain't a liddol so'thern fried chickin now ar' ya?" She asked cheekily, mimicking his accent in a passable impression.

For a second she thought maybe she had pushed her teasing too far. His Caribbean sea blue eyes seem to darken by a couple of shades and his lips were set straight in a hard compressed line. They stared at each other, both refusing to look away and intensity pulsated from them. She was playing with fire she knew, he had at first pissed her off with his jibes although in fairness as soon as he had volunteered to watch over her whilst she trained she had known he would be mocking her. Now she was seeing if she could get a rise from him. Although she tried her best not to show how pleased she was that it seemed to be working. She also knew, somehow in her gut feeling that he wouldn't hurt her, in the right circumstances he was an intimidating man but he wouldn't lay a hand on her; he was simply answering her challenge.

In a fluid motion, a movement quicker than she could ever react to, his hand grasped his hunting knife out of it's sheath and flipping it expertly, he threw it at the target. The blade landed in the dead centre of the bulls eye, the knife and target reverberating slightly from the impact.

"Oh my God that was so fucking amazing!" She squealed, her face lighting up with gleeful surprise. She had been expecting him to take the bow and show her how good he was, and she had hoped maybe he might miss his target so she could take the mickey out of him. However, knife throwing skills were another level.

"That was off the scale bad arse! Please, oh please, will you teach me how to do that?" She gushed, smiling brightly at him.

His bottom jaw fell, the hard aura that had radiated from him disappeared in light of his surprise at her reaction. She was grinning at the target and then him, her sapphire eyes sparkling in excitement. He looked at her as if she was a little unhinged, shaking his head in confusion. One minute she had looked at him as if she wanted nothing more than to kick his arse the next minute she was begging him to show her how to do his favourite party trick. It was something that he had learnt to do when he had been given the hunting knife on his sixteenth birthday by his brother. Merle had already shown him when he was younger how to skin and slice the meat off the carcass in the most efficient way, but once he had his own knife he had spent hours with him teaching him how to throw it so that it always landed regardless of the target, moving or not.

It was a trick that he often performed when he was younger to impress the men he was drinking with, and the women he was interested in. Only recently though had it been something he used as a survival technique to get himself out of a jam, or when he was having some kind of pissing contest with one of the governor's henchmen.

"Woman, I don' git ya at all," He stuttered at her, his brow furrowed.

"Daryl, I was just trying to get a rise out of you." She explained contritely, her barely concealed grin ruining the effect of her apology. "I'm sorry, I was only playing. You are so easy to wind up. But that was really amazing." She waved towards the target, "So will you?"

"Will I wha'?" He asked eying her a little warily.

"Teach me how to throw a knife?" She asked hopefully, clasping her hands together around her bow, pleading to him.

He momentarily looked at the target and then back to her, "When ya hi' tha bulls'ye ten times ina row wit'ya bow an' arrow, I'll teach ya tha' knife." He promised. He knew she would practice until she fulfilled his requirements, which if nothing else would make him feel better that she could defend herself.

"Deal!" She exclaimed, smiling at him she moved back to the marker. He had to concede that her second attempt was better than the first, it at least hit the target before limply bouncing off.