Hello once again!

Thank you so much for all the feedback and alerts on this! I'm really glad you're enjoying.

It was a stupid idea.

He wanted to tell himself that he had no idea what had made him speak up. He should have wanted to call the words back the instant they had crossed his lips. He'd survived this long by not sticking his neck out, by avoiding unnecessary risks. Common sense demanded that he apply the same thinking to this situation. It was too bad about the Royce's kid…they seemed like decent folk, but their son's predicament was not his problem. He couldn't make himself listen to common sense, though. Not this time.

He felt like his heart had seized in his chest, and the sick, lurching feeling still shivered unpleasantly in his gut. His breath had lodged somewhere in his throat and it was like the entire room was closing in on him. The need tomove, to shove his way through the crowd and keep going until there was nothing around him but the night air and the quiet of the forest was rising in him with the clawing frenzy of a cornered animal, but he held himself steady. He fixed his gaze as unflinchingly as he could on the small family in front of him.

They were nothing to him. Decent folk who had offered them shelter…but ultimately nothing to him.

It wasn't…it wasn't his boy, wasn't the man he'd loved trapped down in the city. Glenn was gone. Glenn was gone, and nothing Daryl did would ever bring him back. His boy had died in the hellhole that used to be Atlanta, and Daryl might hope with every fiber of his being, might pray to a God he wasn't sure he'd ever believed in that it had been quick…but he knew better. In his worst moments, his mind taunted him with the knowledge that likely, his boy had died horribly. Had died scared and alone. Had died in pain.

These people were nothing to him…but their son's name was Glenn.

He knew exactly why he had spoken up.

Stupid as it was, pointless as it was, hurtful as it was, he couldn't refuse to help them any more than he'd been able to let Andrea's sister die.

The hush that had fallen over the meeting hall as soon as Grimes had started talking only deepened as he and Andrea spoke up, and he could feel Walsh's incredulous stare boring into the back of his neck as he shuffled forward a bit—though he didn't go so far as to move up to stand next to Grimes and Andrea. Grimes himself threw a surprised glance over his shoulder at the sound of Daryl's voice.

The Royce's though, were looking at Grimes the way a drowning man might look at a lifeline. The kid, Danny, took a few halting steps forward. "You mean it?" he demanded. "You'll help me get him out of there?"

"That's what we said," Grimes replied, his voice carrying the same calm, confident tone that had had all of them falling in line behind him at the quarry.

A soft, choking sound came from Jill Royce as she sank back down onto the couch, her hands pressed tightly over her face. It might have been a gasp of relief, might have been a stifled sob at the thought of Danny going back into Atlanta again. Likely, it was a mixture of both. Her husband immediately settled beside her, wrapping one arm around her shoulders and pressing his face into her hair for a moment as he whispered something against her temple. When he looked back up again, there was pure gratefulness on his face. The tightness in Daryl's chest constricted still further.

Danny nodded once, shortly, to himself, before leveling a glare at the surrounding members of his own camp. Very few of them would meet his eyes. "All right," Danny said, taking a deep breath, "all right…I need to see what supplies we'll need and figure out the best route to take. Can we...can we talk in your RV after dinner?"

Grimes turned a questioning glance at Dale, who merely waved his permission, watching the proceedings with avid interest. "Sounds like a plan," Grimes agreed. The words seemed to break the spell of quiet that had settled over the meeting hall. Gradually, the murmur of voices started up again. Grimes turned to face them, his eyes settling on Walsh, who was shaking his head in consternation.

"Andrea, Dixon…why don't you two go grab something to eat while there's still time? I got a feeling that's gonna be a long meeting."

"Rick, you can't seriously be thinkin' of doing this," Walsh said harshly. Daryl and Andrea exchanged a sidelong look. A quick look over at Grimes' wife showed that she had abandoned the dinner line and was striding towards them, a thunderous look on her face. Almost as one, the two of them stepped away from Grimes, heading vaguely towards the end of the dinner line.

Daryl glanced over at where the Royce family was still huddled together, talking quietly. He could imagine what was being said, the reassurances they were whispering to each other. The hope they now had that the lost member of their family would be returned to them. He swallowed harshly and turned away. In the space of a heartbeat, the idea of food lost all its appeal.

He glanced around the meeting hall, suddenly feeling as though the place was crowding in on him. With the addition of their own group, there were nearly thirty people in the meeting hall. His eyes fell on a fire exit in the back of the hall and he changed course immediately, shouldering his way through a couple of hanging blanket 'walls'. He didn't slow down until he hit the push bar handle with the now-useless sticker on it warning him that an alarm would sound, and burst out into the humid air of the Georgia twilight.

The very last shreds of deep orange sunlight were quickly fading from the sky, and he cursed to himself under his breath. It wouldn't be smart to plunge off into unfamiliar woods in the darkness, and he wasn't desperate enough for solitude that he was going to risk swinging a flashlight around and hanging a goddamn target over his head for any Walker that might be lurking in the woods. The weird guy Andrew had sent to make sure they weren't hiding any bites had said that they hadn't had any problems with Walkers on the grounds…but that didn't mean much to Daryl.

They hadn't had any problems at the quarry, either.

With another muttered curse, he set off across the small courtyard towards a wide, well-kept path that took off between the snack bar and the laundry room. A bright yellow, metal sign indicated the path led down to the camp's lake. Good enough. He walked quickly, the crossbow held in easy readiness in front of him, chin tucked low against his chest. The tight, breathless feeling hadn't left him, and he gnawed on his bottom lip agitatedly as he walked.

He just needed a few minutes. A few minutes of quiet to get his head on straight, to get a handle on the boiling, raw emotions churning through him. Time to wrap his mind around what he had just volunteered to do, to think of a plausible reason for his sudden altruism…because he knew Grimes would ask. And what could he tell the man? That the Royce kid happened to share a name with the one person on Earth Daryl would have happily laid down his life for a hundred times over, and because of that something in him had refused, absolutelyrefused to stand by when he might be able to help?

Yeah, like that would ever happen.

He hadn't gone very far before he realized there was someone following him—light, quick footfalls that were too steady to be a Walker. Even so, as soon as he heard them, he whirled around, bringing the bow to bear in one quick motion.

A few yards behind him, barely visible in the deepening gloom, Andrea startled violently, immediately raising her hands in a gesture of surrender. "Whoa, hey! It's just me!" she called.

He lowered the crossbow, mouth twisting in irritation. "Goddamn it, woman, you tryin' ta' get shot?" he demanded harshly. Without waiting for an answer, he turned away and resumed his trek towards the lake at a faster pace.

He couldn't say he was entirely surprised when he heard her speed up behind him, as well.

He made his way down to the shore of the small, man-made lake, not stopping until he had reached the very edge of the wooden dock that stretched out into the water. The last of the sun had faded out of sight, but the sky was still lit with the murky purple-gray of twilight. The moon would not be up for a while yet. He took a deep breath as he looked out over the water, rolling his shoulders in an effort to relieve some of the tension. He narrowed his eyes as the hollow sound of Andrea's footsteps on the dock reached his ears, sinking down to sit on the dock's edge, with his feet dangling over the water.

A moment later, Andrea came up beside him, dropping down to mirror his position on the other side, far enough away that she wasn't touching him, but still closer than he was used to any of the group getting. He wondered silently just what in the hell he had done to make her think he wanted her hanging around him, and if it was too late to take it back.

She didn't try to talk, though, just sat in silence and joined him in his contemplation of the water. After a few minutes, when Andrea didn't make any effort at conversation, he felt himself relaxing. The tightness in his chest eased, leaving only the familiar, phantom ache that he knew he'd carry until the day he died. The rhythmic slop of water against the dock's pylons was soothing, in its way. He'd never been much of a fisherman, but he could see the appeal.

"So, how much of Rick do you think Lori is going to leave on the floor up there?" Andrea asked at length.

Unwillingly, he felt the corners of his mouth twitch in the beginnings of an amused smile. He glanced over at the woman sitting beside him, but she was still looking out over the water, seemingly uncaring of whether or not he answered. "Woman looked fit ta' be tied," he allowed, finally. Andrea chuckled softly, before shaking her head.

"I can't believe none of those people were going to help go back for that kid," she said, disgust coloring her words. He shot her a sidelong glance, raising an eyebrow. She looked over at him, and her chin went up challengingly. "You're telling me you'd do something like that? If it was Amy, or Carl, or Sophia, you'dreally refuse to help us go after them?"

He licked his lips, turning his attention back out onto the water. Truthfully…he could see where the members of the Royce's camp were coming from. Most of them looked like the most physical activity they were used to was a slow jog around a manicured park track, and there were at least three families on the grounds with young kids. He could understand why they'd be hesitant to go down into the death trap that was Atlanta.

But…

From what Andrea had said, the Royce kid and his brother had been risking their necks in the city on a regular basis to get supplies for the camp. The idea that no one outside of the kids' parents and some old coot left over from Vietnam would be willing to even try to return the favor didn't sit right with him. As much as he didn't want to admit it, even in the privacy of his own mind, he knew Andrea had him pegged. He'd never volunteered to go down into the city on their own supply runs; had done his absolute best to make the rest of the group understand that he didn't give one good goddamn about any of them.

That hadn't stopped him from saving Andrea's sister, though. It hadn't stopped him from standing beside Grimes and Walsh to lay down defensive fire during the Walker attack at the quarry, when he could have easily slipped away to greater safety in the woods. And…all right, no. If it was Amy, or the Grimes kid, or the little blonde girl, no he wouldn't have refused to help rescue them. He wouldn't have been able to live with himself. Whatever he thought of the people in this group he'd fallen in with, there was no way in hell he'd just sit back and do nothing if any of the kids were in danger. Even at his worst, he wouldn't have been able to do that. He didn't give voice to any of his thoughts, but Andrea let out a small, satisfied hum anyway.

"Can I ask you something?" she said. He shrugged one shoulder, neither denying nor granting her permission. People could ask him whatever they wanted…whether or not he answered had always been up to him. "I know you'd help us if it was someone in our group. You'd probably be an asshole about it, but you'd help…" she trailed off suddenly, and when he glanced over at her there was a slightly sheepish, apologetic expression on her face. He snorted lightly, rolling his eyes.

He'd never had a problem with people calling it like it was.

"Why did you volunteer to come with us?"

The words, when they came, were said quietly. So quietly they were almost lost under the gentle slap of the water on the wood of the dock. He heard them, though, and hunched his shoulders against the honest curiosity in Andrea's voice. Her judgment, her distaste for him, her high-and-mighty certainty that she was better than him…those he could deal with. Had been dealing with. Had taken and returned with interest, actually.

He wasn't sure what to do with it when she talked to him like this, though.

"Why'd you do it?" he countered, and wondered why he was continuing the conversation at all. "Ain't ya' worried 'bout what your sister'll say?"

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Andrea turn to face him. He kept his own face stoically forward, staring at the rippling, night-blackened surface of the lake as though it was the most fascinating thing in the world.

"My whole adult life, I've been in charge. I've never let anyone tell me I couldn't do something. Never let anything make me back down," she said, still in the same soft tone. "The Walkers…I…I can't fight them. None of us can. We're all living on borrowed time now, Dixon. I know that. But I can't just sit around and hide, waiting for my time to run out. Otherwise, what was the point of even surviving in the first place? Rick's doing it because he thinks it's the right thing to do…that's what he holds onto; he needs it. Me, well, I've never been a victim…not in my whole life. Hell if I'm gonna start now. Amy understands that." Andrea's voice never lost its steady, even tone. She spoke matter-of-factly, and Daryl could hear the honesty ringing in every word.

He felt his respect for the woman go up a notch…and for the first time, he didn't try to fight or deny it.

"So what about you?" she asked again. He darted a look at her, ducking his head slightly. One hand crept up to his mouth and he chewed on his thumbnail absently, a habit he'd had since he was a child.

Honesty deserved honesty. But he couldn't bring himself to tell her all of it.

"Cause I would have, before," he said finally. Before. Before, before, before…before the world went to shit and every single second became a fight for survival. Before every decision had potentially life or death consequences.

Before he'd wrapped himself in all of the harshest, most flawed parts of his personality like armor, burying all the best bits of the man he'd been so deeply that he wasn't even sure there was anything of that man left.

Before he'd lost Glenn.

"Cause I would have, before," he said again. The rest of it lodged in his throat, and even though he thought he trusted Andrea more than he had a scant two days ago, he couldn't make himself continue.

Andrea was watching him silently, her lips pressed into a thin line. "Because of someone named Glenn?" she ventured after a few heartbeats.

He froze. He absolutely froze for those few precious seconds when he could have pretended not to understand, or asked her what the hell she was talking about. He froze, all of the air leaving his lungs in a short, sharpwhoosh.

Andrea could tell in an instant that she'd gone too far. "I'm sorry," she said quickly. "I'm sorry, I know it's none of my business. Just…when they said the name, you looked like you were gonna be sick." Just what in the hell had this woman done in her life that she was so good at reading people? He knew he had a damn good poker face.

He grit his teeth and leaped up from his seated position, barely missing hitting her shoulder with the butt of the crossbow. "You're right," he snapped. "It ain't your business!"

"Dixon…hey, wait!" she called as he stalked back up the length of the dock, intent on getting as much space between him and the woman as possible. He growled, honest to Godgrowled, low in his throat, and sped up. He heard Andrea scramble to her feet, and start running after him. "Dixon, please! Please wait. I'm sorry! I swear, I didn't say anything to anyone else…I won't!"

He whipped around again, finding her almost directly behind him. She flinched back at the motion, and his eyes narrowed into slits. "For fuck's sake," he bit out, "I ain't never hit no woman. Jesus Christ."

Andrea bit her lip, looking down at the ground before raising her chin to meet his gaze squarely. "I'm sorry," she said again. "Look, you don't have to talk to me if you don't want to—"

"Damn straight," he interrupted scathingly. "I don't want ta' talk," he snarled, getting right up in her face. This time, she didn't back down. "I don't know what your game is, but just leave me out'f it! The hell you even give a shit for?"

"Because like it or not, all we've got now is each other!" Andrea burst out. "That's all we've got. None of us can make it in this world alone anymore…and that includes you. And I give ashit," she continued, drawing out the word, "because I think you deserve it."

"I don't need—"

From somewhere to their left, out in the woods, there was a sudden crashing—branches and brush snapping underfoot. In an instant, he snapped his mouth shut, zeroing in on the direction the noise was coming from as he stepped forward and shoved Andrea behind him. He was suddenly aware that the woods were completely silent…no sounds of nocturnal animals rustling in the bushes, no calls of owls or other night birds.

"What was that?" Andrea asked, her voice tight and sharp.

"Shhh," he hissed. The crashing came again—something large and clumsy moving through the woods. Too big and too loud to be a deer or a wild hog. He loaded the crossbow quietly, glancing over his shoulder to see that Andrea had pulled her own pistol out of the waistband of her jeans. "How good a shot are ya' with that?" he whispered. Grimes and Walsh were the only ones he'd ever seen shoot.

Andrea chambered a round, her face grim. "Good enough," she said.

The crashing grew closer, right on the edge of the path they were standing on, and he reacted, gripping Andrea by the elbow and dragging her into the trees on the opposite side of the path from where the noise was coming from. He pulled them into the brush, ducking down by the roots of a thick tree and pulling a few branches of a large, nearby bush over their position. To her credit, Andrea didn't protest the manhandling, just tucked herself into as small a ball as possible by his side, her gun held at the ready.

They held themselves tensely, barely breathing as the crashing got louder and louder. It was almost a relief when the Walker stumbled out onto the path. Daryl grimaced at the sight of the thing—a woman in a torn and filthy nightgown. One knee was bending the wrong way with every step she took, giving her even more of an awkward, halting gait. As she wended her way closer, he could make out a horrific wound on the side of her neck, large chunks torn out of her throat and shoulder. He took a slow, silent breath and raised the crossbow as unobtrusively as possible, letting the braches fall around him to conceal the movement.

He took aim…but before he could release the arrow, a second Walker lurched out of the woods. This one was a large man in jeans and a shredded plaid shirt. One arm was completely gone, and where his shirt gaped open, they could see a bloody pulp of torn muscle and the glint of bone all down one side.

He reached over and gripped Andrea's shoulder until she looked up at him, eyes wide…but determined. He jerked his chin towards the closer female Walker, raising one eyebrow in question. Andrea took a soft, shaky breath, and nodded, hefting her gun.

And that was when another three Walkers staggered out onto the path.

Then two more.

And there was still noise coming from the underbrush.

He felt Andrea go absolutely still and rigid beside him. He swallowed hard. "Oh fuck," he breathed, the sound barely carrying on the exhalation. His eyes darted around desperately as the Walkers started shambling up towards the camp, taking the path of least resistance.

They were heading for the camp. They were heading for the camp, and everyone was probably still inside the meeting hall. He had no idea what the watch schedule for the Royce's group was. He and Andrea needed to make it back to the camp before the Walkers did. That was all there was to it. He leaned close to Andrea.

"We need to circle around ahead of 'em," he whispered against her ear. "Gotta go back through the woods…ya' stay low, ya' step where I step much as ya' can. Only use your gun if there ain't no other choice. Got it?" He waited until she nodded her understanding, before he turned around. Still crouching as low to the ground as he could, he eased himself away from the trunk of the tree they were huddled behind, deeper into the underbrush.

Before he lost sight of the path, he saw another four Walkers exit the woods.

They moved in an awkward, stooped position for several yards, keeping as low as they could. He slipped through the bushes and shrubs that made up the forest's undergrowth as silently as possible, pleased when Andrea managed to move along behind him only a little more noisily. His heart was pounding, even though they hadn't started running yet. They had minutes, only minutes to get ahead of the Walkers and warn the camp; to come up with a plan of action.

His mind was racing as he finally deemed them far enough away to risk running. He set them on a slightly curving route, one that should bring them out of the woods by where the vehicles were all parked. "C'mon!" he hissed, and broke into a flat out sprint.

Once again, Andrea surprised him, easily keeping up with his pace. He clutched the butt of the crossbow, keeping a sharp eye out for any other Walkers as they ran. Most of his attention was on keeping them on the correct path towards the camp, though, and so he missed the sudden lunge of movement on his right side as they passed a thick patch of brambles.

The Walker tackled him to the ground with a hissing, snarling groan, hitting him at the waist and trapping one of his arms beneath its weight as they fell. He couldn't get the crossbow up at the correct angle to fire…couldn't even use it to bludgeon the thing. The wind was knocked out of him as they hit the dirt, but he had the presence of mind to slam his free elbow into the thing's temple as its crusted, bloody teeth tried to close on his neck.

"Dixon!" He heard Andrea shout his name, but was too busy trying to dislodge the Walker on top of him without getting in range of its teeth. He thrashed like a wild thing, kicking and punching for all his was worth. The stench of the Walker was overwhelming, thick wetness dripping down onto him where his fists sank into yielding, putrid flesh. It snarled and snapped at him like a rabid animal, and the thing was too heavy for him to get enough leverage to buck it off.

And then, suddenly, the weight was rolled off of him. For one, timeless instant he just lay there, blinking at the dirt beneath his face, unable to believe he was still alive. Then sense reasserted itself, and he was rolling to his feet. Andrea was standing over the Walker, a thick, heavy branch raised over her head. As he watched, she brought it down as hard as she could on the Walker's neck and shoulders, trying to bash the thing's head in before it could go for her. With a dull start, he realized she had actually managed to knock the thing off of him.

"Move!" he barked, jerking the crossbow up into position. Andrea jumped back and he let loose with the bolt, nailing the thing right in the skull. The Walker, a heavyset man in a tattered business suit, slumped back down on the ground, and he bent over double, resting his hands on his thighs as he gasped for breath.

"Shit, are you okay?" Andrea demanded, laying one hand on his shoulder. "Did it—"

"Ain't bit," he said brusquely, shrugging out of her grasp. He glanced down at the remains of the Walker, lying beside the branch that looked like it weighed almost as much as Andrea. "Nice work," he grunted, leaning down to jerk his arrow out of the Walker's head. He wiped it on the leg of his jeans and reloaded it onto the crossbow.

"You're welcome," Andrea muttered, looking around warily for any more hiding in the brush. The woods around them were quiet, though, and with a shared look between them, they set off running again.

The lake wasn't that far from the camp…they could only hope that the Walkers wouldn't hear or smell anything to incite them to go towards it at a faster clip. If they could keep up this pace, he was pretty sure they'd be able to beat the swarm.

God, why hadn't he told anyone what he was thinking about the Walkers leaving the city? Grimes and Walsh pissed him off, but they took the safety of the group seriously. There was no time for self-recriminations, though. He forced himself to run faster, ignoring the weight of the crossbow in his arms, and the way his muscles were starting to burn from the exertion. It seemed like hours, but in reality it could only have been a few minutes, before he finally spotted the windows of the meeting hall through the trees, glowing with the light of lanterns.

Something the Walkers were sure to notice as soon as they got far enough up the path.

"C'mon!" he threw over his shoulder, forcing another burst of speed. The two of them broke the tree line on the side of the meeting hall that was serving as an impromptu parking lot. Something like relief coursed through him when he realized he couldn't hear any screams, or see any shambling figures silhouetted against the light spilling out of the meeting hall windows.

They'd beaten the herd.

"Go, go tell 'em we got incomin'!" he gasped. "Get everyone inside an' douse the lights!"

"What about you?" Andrea huffed, thankfully not trying to argue with him.

"I'm gonna get on top a' the RV, try ta' bottleneck 'em when they come off the path." The plan literally formed as he spoke. "I'll try an' buy ya' enough time t'get everyone armed."

There were too many of the things to hope they could just lie low and wait for them to pass through the area. They'd seen at least a dozen of them by the lake, and he was willing to bet there were more. Their best bet would be to try and pick them off as they spilled out into the courtyard formed by the ring of buildings.

"Okay…be careful!" With that, she split off from him, running full-tilt towards the meeting hall while he adjusted his course and headed for his truck.

He didn't have near the collection that Grimes had shown up at the quarry camp with, but the crossbow was certainly not his only weapon. He skidded to a halt beside his truck and fumbled the keys out of his pocket, cursing the extra seconds it cost him. He unlocked the driver's side door quickly, leaning in and snatching his carry-case off the floor of the passenger side, as well as the rifle he'd left on the rack over the seats when he headed into the meeting hall.

He swung the crossbow around onto his back and threaded one arm through the straps on the carry-case and the rifle. By the time he reached the side of the RV, he could hear raised voices coming from the meeting hall. He swarmed up the ladder on the back of the RV, making his way to the front of the vehicle and hitting his knees at the very edge of the roof. The crossbow was set in easy reach, and he undid the zipper on the carry-case, pulling out an extra bundle of bolts, as well as his remaining guns…a shotgun he'd used for deer hunting, a pistol. Three guns and the crossbow. It would have to be enough.

Hopefully, he would have backup before he started to run out of ammo.

He snatched up the crossbow, and stretched out on his stomach, propping the crossbow's sight up on the raised lip of the roof. He focused on the path he had taken down to the lake less than an hour ago, ready to try and buy the people inside the meeting hall as much time as he could to mount a defense.

He waited for the first Walker to appear.