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He wished he could say he saw the trap before she stepped on it.

He didn't.

On instinct he merged with the darkness. The quick steps automatic as the swoosh of the trap pulled Brooke away from him. He crouched down by a bush, crossbow at the ready, Judith awake from her sleep alert and silent.

A man, a short stumpy looking man, spotlighted into view. He stepped out of the night with a calmness that unsettled Daryl. He walked without fear, each stride easy, as if there was no need for foresight. People that at ease with the world were either dead or dangerous.

As categories went, Daryl stuck him in the latter.

Brooke was hard to see in the shadows, the man was not. He carried a shotgun, heavy and rusted at the end. It was aimed at her, the man's arms stretched strong, mimicking a tango, the gun his partner.

A nozzle kissed the back of his head. A voice, a woman's voice, its owner.

"Get up." She said, "Slowly."

He did.

"Head into the light."

He did.

He stood, showered in moonlight, wet with adrenaline. He felt her eyes, Brooke's eyes, on his back where she shot him. It was a strange, almost psychic connection.

The woman, was the pepper to the man's salt shaker. She too carried a serenity to her, a misplaced coolness in the chaotic winter night. She pointed the gun, an old silver revolver, on Daryl, a lethal extension to her arm.

"Drop the crossbow." She said.

He did.

"Guns."

The soft thud of his handgun hit the snow. Her eyes were on him.

"What's in the bundle."

Daryl didn't answer. The minuscule flex of her finger on the trigger was not unnoticed.

"What's in the bundle."

"Baby."

Silence. It always happened when they found the baby. Even the cruel ones faltered, the glimpses of their humanity surfaced for a moment before reality pushed back again.

The man spoke this time.

"We don't want trouble."

Yes they did. People didn't spring traps and hold people at gun point because the didn't want trouble. They didn't care about trouble. They fucking were trouble.

"Give us your supplies and we'll leave you be."

"No."

Three heads cocked up at the sight of Brooke struggling in the net. Dread sunk down hard and sharp in the pit of Daryl's empty stomach. The other man chuckled, a fucking tremor of sound erupted in amusement from his thin lips.

He looked at Daryl, bemused, reminiscent almost, "She's a firecracker."

Few moments have terrified Daryl before, terrified him to the core. Most included Judith, now was no exception. This, however, was different.

There was another person to think about. It wasn't like the prison, it wasn't like with Merle. She was expendable.

If he wanted to, if he really had to, he could take his chances and bolt. Could run as fast as he could and pray he'd make it. He didn't have an obligation to save her. In their current situation he didn't know if it was best to save her.

He had about two seconds to decide on bolting. His brain screamed at him when he stayed rooted to the ground. He swallowed a lump, spoke to the man firm.

She was going to be the death of him.

"Get her down firs'. Can take everythin' after."

He didn't look at Brooke as the the man formed a reply. He heard her protest. It was a soft, singular no in the quiet.

"Cut her down Grace."

"Just like that Vic?"

"It's fine." Smile spread on his cheeks, "They won't try anything funny. You ever been shot before?"

Daryl watched the woman head for the tree, her gun on him the whole time. He didn't answer the man. He shrugged.

"Quiet type huh? Look, no hard feelings okay? You know how it is now."

His eyes went back on him.

"Get her down."

"We will. Grace's just lowering her nice and easy." For the first time, he saw him settle his eyes on Judith, "Crazy. Can't remember the last time I saw a kid let alone a baby."

She was lowered down, low enough for him to see her with his peripherals. She was still, but he knew, could bet that her body was antsy. She landed on the snow, the thud a dull sound. He turned to help her out the net, pulled her up and left a hand on her arm as he turned back.

The man spoke again, "Eye for an eye. Put your stuff on the ground."

She was gentle. She slipped out of his grip with ease and Daryl found himself on the ground, her body crouched as she lunged for the man with a knife she concealed. All at once Daryl was next to his crossbow and gun, hands on the firearm pointed at the woman. She was not so collected anymore, fear thick on her cold features as she watched Brooke slash the man's face.

He reclined in agony, red spilling from his face to the snow. She grabbed his gun and bashed him, hilt down, on the throat. It was not enough to kill him right away, despite the crack his jaw made as the metal embraced his skin.

It was enough to collapse his throat.

A clumsy end to her attack she pointed the shotgun at the woman, a last kick in the man's gut her send off, as she stalked to where Daryl now stood.

He was choking. An obstructed wheezing sound came from him as Brooke stared his counterpart down. He struggled as he tried to sit up, his body trembling as it craved for air.

No one said a word. The sound was an awful one. Brooke didn't take an eye off the woman, watched her as tears ruined the stranger's face. Daryl would bet she was watching someone she cared for die right in front of her.

At gunpoint.

"Brooke." He was surprised at how calm his own voice sounded, "'S no point."

She didn't move, "Hand over your gun."

The woman was undone, sputtering and gasping as the trauma broke her bit by bit, "Go to hell! Go to hell you bitch!"

Brooke adjusted her grip on the shotgun. Daryl shook his head, crossbow in one hand and gun in the other. He stood right next to her, body invading her personal space, back bent to get his head near her's.

"Brooke. Enough."

For the first time since this started she shifted her gaze on his. Her eyes squinted, the browns menacing in the dark, and Daryl saw his reflection pleading back at him.

But she could too. She looked at her hostage and moved back, moved far away back to leave their attackers. Daryl left with her, the footsteps in sync, their movements choreographed.

His back was turned away from Brooke's, his eyes still watched the strangers. They grew smaller as they got further away, but he saw them. The woman crouched, and he knew she was doing everything she to try and save that man.

He didn't know how long after, but eventually, they blended with the dark. Daryl turned around, Brooke's silhouette far ahead. She floated across the open plane, the grounded snow a contrast to the deep darkness above them.

He quickened his pace, found himself out of breath when he caught up to her. She didn't bother talking to him. She just trailed on, aimless.

"Brooke."

No reply. He grabbed her arm, "'M talkin' to ya girl."

She stopped, turning to face him, "What Daryl?"

She was carrying the shotgun, the weapon made her look both bigger and smaller at the same time. Daryl studied her, that vacancy she sported a while ago was present on her face.

"Y'alright?"

"I'm fine."

"Y'ain't fine. Can see it."

She frowned, "Doesn't matter. Let's keep going."

As if the conversation omitted itself, she trailed on. He bit on his lip, angry now. It was no one's fault but he was angry, and he was angry at her, and he was angry at himself for putting up with her.

"You're a fuckin' piece a work."

She stopped at her tracks again, irritated. She turned to him.

"You can bitch and walk at the same time."

"What's wrong with ya?"

"I could ask you the same question?"

He had to remind himself Judith was still strapped onto him and not do something stupid. He didn't know what got into him, he hadn't been this pissed off in fucking months. And he didn't know why he was mad, he didn't know what it was, but he was livid.

"We just gone and almos' died a second ago. Ya fuckin' killed a guy and ya lookin' at me like 'm trailin' ya down."

"They were going to kill us."

"He let us go."

"He wanted our supplies."

"Coulda got more. Made it out there with less for longer."

"So what, you're just going to give people everything if they ask for it?"

"I was thinkin' of Judith."

"So was I!"

She shook her head and threw the shotgun as far as she could into the dark. She was just as angry, just as pissed off. Fingers curled themselves into fists, and she punched the air in pent up frustration. He knew it was wrong, he didn't know where it was coming from, but he just itched for a fight now.

"Coulda got us killed. Don' cha see that?"

"I just saved your ass, again, can't you see that?"

"Ya pathetic. Think that's all ya do? Think ya can go decidin' what's best for everyone? Savin' everyone?" He snorted, "Ya think for a second if ya could trust people not to fuck up ya wouldn't have ta run 'round like Goddamn Wonder Woman half the fuckin' time."

"It's the world we live in-"

"Na. 'S the world you live in." He pointed at Judith who sat like dead weight on his chest, "Ya think for a second that if one thing went wrong she might not be here?"

That was it. It was a low blow. Her face, once twisted and snarling, went limp in sick fear. The notion, the very thought, plagued her.

"I wouldn't have let that happen."

He barked a laugh. It was dry, forced and painful.

"Wouldn' let that happen, what? Ya fuckin' God now?"

"No."

He got closer to her, one of his long rough digits pointed at her face. His gesture had an intrusive, weaponised feel to it. She cringed a fraction, the exhaustion, the trauma, her fucked up personal shit, all of it cracking that mask she wore on a continual basis.

That fucking stupid mask of her's.

"This ain't no game girl. No death wish road trip for ya to reinforce ya own suicidal fantasies." He said, "Don' care 'f ya wanna die, don' give a damn. Don' go draggin' me and my kid down with ya."

"She's not your kid."

Daryl bit his tongue, hard, "Whatcha say?"

There was no falter in her voice.

"She's not your kid."

There was a decency he thought she respected. It was one of her redeeming qualities, her distaste for judgement, her unspoken understanding. So he knew, he knew that this was her way of lashing back, her form of personal destruction. She did it with the scars back in the library and he forgave her, because she didn't know shit about what she was talking about.

She knew what she needed to know about Judith. She was kind enough not to press it, and he knew that regardless of this she would not press it. She knew it wasn't important, why Judith was here with him.

No, this wasn't about Judith at all. It was about Daryl. It was about how, no matter what he did, he was not her father. Daryl was not Judith's no matter how much of himself he gave to her. He could die for the girl and that fact would never change.

She was not his daughter.

He was not her father.

It didn't matter how thick the bonds were, how much he did for her, how much he loved her, there'd always be that gap, that astrix reminding him of the truth. Judith was not his. Judith was all he had, but she could never be his.

It was painful, remembering it. He knew it didn't matter, that come a couple of years the kid wouldn't care if she was his blood. He knew it meant nothing, but he still ached when he thought about it.

He placed a hand on the little girl's head, let himself believe in the moment she was his little girl, and stroked her blonde curls a couple of times to soothe the thought away. Brooke didn't take an eye off of him.

Her orbs ablaze.

"She needs me." He said, rough and snarling, "Who ya got left that needs you?"

He didn't bother to wait for her reply. He didn't bother to check if she was even behind him. He kept walking through the darkness.

The cold was not thought of once that night.