Disclaimer: I do not own The Walking Dead.

Sorry for the wait. So here's a long-ass chapter to make it up to you.

The night passes by in a quiet, tense atmosphere. The upstairs rooms had been given to Rick and his family, Dale and Carol, and T-Dog and Andrea. Shane, Glenn and myself spread ourselves around the downstairs level in case of an attack during the night. Nobody assumed that there would be one, but Shane seemed so intent on this idea failing, that it almost seemed like he wanted to be the first one to say 'I told you so'.

I settle myself in the kitchen, leaning against the oven and spreading my legs out against the back door. The rest of the house grows quiet as the hours pass, but it's hard to tell if the cause was sleep or fear. For myself, I think it may have been the latter, but the others might not have that problem. For the first time, these people feel safe. Secure. And it's on me.

So I'm not looking forward to whatever blood-thirsty event that might or might not happen.

It must be the early hours of the morning when I hear it. The quiet, hesitant footsteps that echo across the hallway. My instincts get the better of me and I quickly reach for the rifle that lays beside me. When the door opens, a figure moves toward the side and leans against the wall, sinking down to the ground in a tired haze. When I remember that walkers don't have this particular habit, I pull my hand back and fold my arms across my chest. When the figure spreads out in a territorial guard across the door, I can just catch the silhouette in the drips of moonlight that creak across the room.

My eyes are falling just as my mind manages to draw out a clear statement. I'm not sure why, but the fact that Daryl is sitting there suddenly makes the room feel a lot safer.

The next morning, just after the sun has risen, we all stand on the front lawn. Our respective weapons are loaded, and everyone is accounted for. Even Carl is standing just before me, his father's hat tipped over the side of his head.

I gotta hand it to him, the kid's got style.

Rick walks back and forth, creating a steady check in his head, doing everything he can to prevent even the slightest chance of something going wrong. He'll occasionally hand out a quip of advice, such as 'Glenn, take some more ammo', or 'Dale, lessen the weight of your pack'. When he seems satisfied, he points his hand forward and begins his sermon.

"Okay. I want Daryl in charge of Group A. Andrea, T-Dog, and Carol. I'll charge Group B. Glenn, Dale, Carol, Carl, and Lori. Group A will do a clockwise patrol around the back. Any sign of trouble, come straight back here. Myself and Group B will cut straight through the middle. Shane, you and Lyla go around the other side. Check for any other exits or entrances."

Ugh. How is it that I'm stuck with Shane? Not that I have anything against the guy, he just seems like someone I would never want to talk to in the 'real world'. Not only that, but he seems like the guy to snap your neck if you utter a bad word against him. And after the whole 'Fort Benning' senario, I'm sure that I'm not top of his favourite list either.

I'm clearly not the only one who has this thought, as I can suddenly feel eyes on me. I look up, catching the eyes of Glenn and Dale. I'll bet anything that they don't particularly love the ex-officer. I can also just catch Daryl's stare. He sends a quick nod before dropping his head again, kicking the ground and pulling at the strap on his crossbow.

Rick continues. "You see walkers, you take them out quietly. More than you can handle, come straight back to base and set up fort. Keep your groups accounted for. Don't lose anyone. Alright, let's break out."

A few mumbles of words are shared between the group. The others begin moving instantly. I turn and follow Shane like a soldier, matching the heavy beats of his feet against the ground. As the voices fade and we're finally alone, I pass the time by checking the rounds in the rifle I've been handed.

The houses get no better as we pass. One in particular is nothing but a pile of charred remains burnt into the ground. Something went down in here. On the way, we check a few cars in silence. Only one or two seem to work, and we quietly take note of where they are in case of emergencies.

Our journey isn't graceful in the slightest. Shane kicks through the weak garden fences, and we pay no respect to the paved paths. We stick close to the borders of the estate, formed by large wired gates. Along the top run those springy death traps that you might see in jail. Classy.

About half an hour passes in thick silence.

A twig snaps beneath his heavy boot. I pause in the air, fingers gripping instinctively around the trigger. Shane glances over and gives a small chuckle.

"A lil' jumpy, ain't ya?" he teases.

"It's the end of the world, I have a right to be jumpy." I resume walking, not bothering to flash a glare at him. He's harmless enough. A bit of a jerk if nothing else. "We don't all have the ability to be on auto-pilot."

"Don't worry, you'll learn soon enough. It's better that way."

"How so?"

"Well, that's the thing. The big question, isn't it? Why are we still here? Is it 'cause there's something bigger for us? Or is it nothin' but dumb luck and survival."

I give a small shrug in response. "Maybe both."

"Probably. But I ain't gonna be stupid about it. You gotta' learn to leave everything behind. Find a reason to keep going. Make that your only mission." He turns to face me and slows his pace until there's only a few inches between us. I step back on instinct. "Ya' see, first thing for me? I had to save people I loved. Lori and Carl. Rick was gone, and I had to take care of them, so I did everything I could."

"What about now?" I ask quietly, thinking of the cold glances I'd seen shared between Lori and Shane.

"Still the same. I'm watchin' out for 'em. But you just gotta' remember to forget about all those complications. Those can mess you up."

"Complications? Like...people?"

"I guess so. More like emotions. See, that's where Rick and I are different. He's too controlled by what he feels. I like to go with my gut. It's quick and easy to make hard choices and better decisions."

"I guess I see your point. Like love and friendship."

"Exactly. And anger. Fear. That's a killer," he says, giving a small snort.

"Well, you can't help fear. That's a completely normal thing in our situation. It can't be controlled."

"Yeah, it can. Hold up." He presses the end of his gun against my shoulder. I quickly freeze, the cold metal feeling sharp. "Lemme tell ya' somethin. There are two kinds of people living right now. The scared and the strong. The scared ones? They let it take control. Think of it like this. There's a switch inside your brain. The one that makes you forget all that fear and uncertainty. Without those things, you can survive. Make any kind of choice. But it only works if you turn off the switch. The scared ones go first. They're the ones that become walker bait. The strong people are the people that can turn it all off and pull the trigger when needed." The conversation is quickly gowing uncomfortable. His eyes have darkened with his beliefs, like black orbs. "I know which one I am. Tell me, which one are you?"

I can feel my mouth open and close several times before I can stutter out. "I don't know-"

"You know. Maybe you're like the others, who are just to afraid to face it."

Hell, what I wouldn't give for a walker right now. Something to draw away from this topic. "I, uh-"

"Found somethin'!"

The sound of Daryl's voice so close is a relief. We must have made it to the halfway point without realising it. The crunch of leaves twitch in my ears, and I look over to see him just a few feet away. Brushing past Shane without an answer, I briskly walk over and see the others just rounding the corner. As I walk past Daryl, I realise that he's not looking at me, but at Shane, his face like stone and tight with a scowl.

"What'd you find?" I quickly ask, not wanting anything to escalate into something worse.

He doesn't reply right away, only tearing his glare away from the officer quickly to nod his head towards the other way. "Over there."

He begins walking, and I follow just a few feet away. We catch up with the rest of his group, all standing several steps away from the iron gates. Andrea's face is creased in disgust.

"Watch it," Daryl instructs the others, stepping through a gap between them. As their frames part, I see what they are all staring at.

Along the top of the barbed wire, a thin, droopy corpse hangs limply across the side. Tired, subdued groans and growls errupt from it's peeling lips.

"Okay, that is disgusting," Andrea spits. The walker seems tied up top, unable to climb over. It's hands weakly claw at the gates at a feeble attempt to escape.

Shane steps forward, looking up at the body with a twisted grimace. "Least we know they can't get over." He reaches his gun up to poke at the body. "Jeez, what a-"

Daryl's hand flies out and flings Shane's arm down. "Watch it," he scorns.

Shane steps back, his face flickering into a warning glare. "The hell, man?"

Daryl gives a small smirk, before bending down to pick up a small pebble from the dirt. With a quick flick of the wrist, the pebble is hurled toward the gate. As it hits, a sharp, metallic ping sounds, followed by a loud hum. The hum of electricity. He steps back, sending a quick glance to the other man. "You wanna fry? Go ahead," he says, his voice bitter.

Shane gives a small huff and turns his back to the group. Seconds later, the sounds of voices appear, and Rick and the others soon arrive. After inspecting the body and ramming a small blade through it's skull, Rick and Glenn test the fence themselves.

"Does it go all the way around?" Glenn asks, looking at it with uncertainty.

"Most likely," Rick replies quietly. "Let's hope the electrics run a little while longer."

"There are generators round back. We saw at least five of them up and running," Andrea says.

Rick steps back, a thoughful look playing on his features. "Let's check out the rest of the houses. Pick up any food and extra clothing or blankets you can find."

Feet soon begin to shuffle, and I hear a smaller voice from beside me. "I'll stick with you." I look down and see Carl standing timidly beside me. I send him a small nod, remembering that I owe the kid some attention. Not that I want to be babysitter, but I've gotta give in to the kid at some point.

Lori is near, hovering like a protective hawk. Her face twists into discomfort. "Carl-"

"It's okay. I'll keep an eye on him," I quickly cut in.

"I don't know-"

"I'll go with 'em," Daryl says, appearing from nowhere. He hooks his crossbow around the back of his shoulder.

Lori's tense attitude barely flickers as she watches us. Not surprising that she doesn't think the newbie and the redneck to be good babysitters. She opens her mouth to protest, but is cut off by Rick.

"Meet back at base in an hour," he says firmly. "Any longer and we'll come lookin'."

Daryl sends him and nod before turning away from us. I look down at Carl and send him a small wink. He ducks his head with a hidden smile. I can still feel Lori's watch as we begin walking. "Come on, Squirt."

I roll my eyes again as I hear the non-stop rant behind me. Somehow, I have become the babysitter in our current situation. The house we choose is a mess of chaotic debris. Someone ransacked the hell out of this place. Tables lie overturned, pieces of wall spill into the hallways, making the paths difficult and dangerous. Glass shards from the windows lay cracked and broken on the ground, and the smell of neglect reaches every nook and corner. I keep hearing the thumps and heavy heaving as Carl tries to make his way through the house.

"You are without a doubt, the dumbest kid I've ever met."

"Nuh-uh," Carl teases in a sing-song voice that all kids seemed to have stored in the back of their clever little brains.

"How wrong can you be?"

"Hey, I know what I'm talking about. You're the dumbass."

Treading carefully over a crooked piece of debris, my head shoots around to send a quick glare towards the younger boy. "Watch your mouth."

Carl sends Daryl a matching scowl; a look of blame. Daryl just smirks, gently kicking the back of his knee so Carl stumbles and crashes into a wall. At the sound, I turn and just catch his look of fury toward the hunter.

Daryl steps around him, his eyes staring ahead. "Better watch what you say 'round me. I'll string you up from a tree like a pinata."

"It just doesn't make sense. Superman is way better than Batman," Carl counters, giving a slight jog to keep up.

"Damn boy, you don't know what yer' sayin'."

"Superman has a whole load of powers. Batman has a belt."

"A cool as shit belt," Daryl replies in a very unfamiliar tone. I should imagine that if he ever had a real childhood, this is what he would sound like.

"And Superman has a girl."

"That's what cool 'bout the Bat. He don't need nobody but himself. Doesn't need some bitch followin' him around."

I turn around and send them both a pointed look. "Okay, cut it out." Both grow quiet and continue to walk in silence. As they pass by, I mutter aloud, "Besides, Captain America kicks ass."

Carl looks horrified at the statement, while Daryl just snorts to himself, wearing a smirk when he thinks nobody sees. He turns around and clicks his fingers toward me. I strip the backpack from my shoulders and throw it over. After catching it with one hand, he flings it into Carl's face.

"Kid, make yerself useful. Go stock up," he intructs, nodding toward the kitchen. "Canned foods only."

Carl nods, and quickly moves into the next room. His sudden energy is only a reminder that the poor kid probably never gets to do anything around here. I'd hate that more than anything. To sit around and watch as everyone does something? Do have no power over your own survival? How is it that the sudden end of the world brings back the workings of a 1950's society? I shake my head to myself. That shit sure isn't happening on my watch.

My train of thought escapes quickly as I look up and see Daryl standing in front of me, arms folded. One of his eyebrows has heightened, and he's staring at me with some sort of expectancy.

"What?"

He turns then, and resumes the hike through the house. "Have a nice little chat with Officer Shithead?" he mumbles.

A small scoff escapes me, and I can't fight a smirk as I begin a small climb over a mould-ridden chair laying amongst the mess. "Whew. Sounding a little bitter there, Dixon. Jealous?"

"Shut up," he shoots back. "Just wonderin'."

"Yeah. He's pretty intense."

"Pretty stupid, more like."

"He seems hell-bent on protecting Lori and Carl." The sound of wood crackling echoes the hall as he kicks in a door. I wait until we both enter what seems like an abandoned office until I speak again. "You notice that?"

He replies with a nod. "From the first day. Thought they were his at first."

"Even after Rick came back?" I ask, pulling open a desk drawer. A cloud of dust and god-knows what else fills the air.

"Yeah, he's a real nutjob. For a while there, I thought we were all gonna wake up with a dead Rick one day."

"He wouldn't."

"Well," He nods towards the door once more. I settle for finding a small pocket knife in a drawer and shove it in my pocket. "Dead people are up and walkin' around. You don't think someone would do somethin' bad to get what they want?"

"Shane's a good guy," I point out, keeping my eyes sharp as we enter the darker corners of the house. Wooden boards now cover the windows, some broken in, allowing streams of light to flood through.

Daryl shifts his crossbow from his shoulder and lets it hand by his side. Always prepared. "We all break sooner or later."

Something heavy collides with my foot, and I push myself to the side to avoid falling. Great freaking idea. Instead of hitting the floor, I smash against the wall. The thump it causes fills the room as my hand flies up to steady myself. A sharp pain stings my hand, and I hiss at the pain. Glass falls to the floor and shatters. My hand flies to my chest and I clutch at it, yelping as I feel another shard press into it. Fan-fuckin'-tastic.

I didn't hear him move, but another, stronger pair of hands suddenly wrap around my wrist and pull it away from me. My eyes flick upwards, and I can just see Daryl's frown through the dim light.

He pulls me away from the wall and into the small glimpses of light near the window. As he turns it over, I can see the large chunk of glass still stuck inside my palm. Actually, not large. Freaking huge. The deep red of blood is pooling in my hand. Not too deep, but enough to make me more pissed off than I already am. Daryl lets out a low, long whistle. "Good job, clutz."

"Screw you," I spit. He holds it open with one hand and lightly presses his thumb against the torn skin. I yank it from his grip, ignoring the wave of pain that runs up my arm. "Don't touch it!"

He looks less than impressed. "You want ma' help or not?"

"Not." The warm, sticky blood trickles down my fingers, but I don't tear away my glare. "I can do it myself when we get back."

"And how are ya' gonna deal with infection, moron?" he asks, annoyance already beginning to show in his voice. "Give it." His fingers clasp around my hand again. He turns it over a few times, processing the damage quietly. I suppose better him, who probably has experience with injuries, than anyone else. I take the time to watch his face, which is suddenly a lot more interesting than my hand. His eyes narrow and crease with thought.

"Let's do this," he mutters, reaching and grasping the end of the glass lightly between his fingers.

He's gentle. So much so that I can barely feel the extra weight pressing down on my skin. Before anything happens, he pauses, waiting until a breath escapes me. Without warning, his hand tightens around mine, and he pulls. The sharp pain is instant. Broken shards shred against my skin one after another. A hiss of 'fuck' appears, followed by a small gasp as the cuts tear and rip at my skin. My head falls and quickly lands against his shoulder as I bite down hard on my lower lip to stop anymore humilating sounds escape.

He's quick about it. The bloody glass is soon tossed to the ground. I quickly lift my head. Wordlessly, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out an old piece of cloth. He binds it around, pulling tightly at the knot with small and steady movements. When he's finished, he checks it once over again. "Y'alright?"

Being a few inches taller than me, his eyes fall to meet mine. I return to studying his features to ignore the throbbing pain that has suddenly appeared. But I find that as soon as my eyes lock onto his, it's damn near impossible to pull them away. There's something strange about his. Hidden behind shades of icy blue and cloudy grey is something much darker. Something grave that flickers through his eyes like dark tendrils. Everything is quiet but the small breaths from the both of us, seemingly ear-splitting against the silence of the room.

I'm suddenly very aware of the closed space between us. And for some reason, his hand is still touching mine. The rough skin doesn't exactly feel uncomfortable, but this is something I really don't want to encourage.

I gently tug my hand from his grasp and bring it up to my chest. "We should check on Carl."

He stares for just a few seconds longer, before retrieving his crossbow and brushing past me without another word. I pick up the gun that I'd dropped and fisted my good hand as I followed behind.

"Find anything?" I ask when we find Carl.

He jumps down from the kitchen counter and holds up the backpack, a proud beam spreading on his face. "Stocked up. Didn't these people eat?"

"Good job. Let's get outta here."