New Meanings to Old Words: Safe

Okay. I have this as a vignette because it doesn't really forward the plot any. But I'm sure it will make a few of you waiting for a bit of *action* happy, then sad, then really happy, then kind of pissed off, then really pissed off, then shrugging and ready for more. Which is just the way I roll people so deal with it.

Oh and another love connection is slowly brewing… have you been able to catch the teeny tiny clues?…if not this one will shove it into your face hardcore.

On a side note, Love Interruption is one of my favorite songs and on Jack White's Blunderbuss album. If you haven't heard it I'd recommend checking it out. The second I heard it in the car I tagged it so I could look it up later… It instantly screamed Daryl to me, and how I thought he would be feeling about a silly thing like love.

As always read, review and enjoy!

~SWW

Disclaimer: I own nothing, except Callie and the crew of misfits (Danny, Miles, Jenna, Mike, Nina, Ben and Gracie).

Vignette: Love Interruption

Danny tossed his now damp towel behind his head and around his neck, holding the ends tight over his shoulders as he sauntered out of the men's locker room with a bit of skip in his step. He'd just taken his third, that's right fuckin' third, hot shower since they'd arrived at the CDC.

He'd heard what Jenner and the rest had been saying about going easy on the hot water. Not too long. And he'd listened. He'd just scattered his warmth out in three luxuriously sweet, even if they were quick, showers.

Danny was on edge here, just like everyone else. He was on edge and pretty much thinking they were probably going to either eat it here or get eaten outside when they tried to run from whatever the fuck was going on in this underground crazy house. Either way, Danny was not letting a good thing go to waste. He was going to take as many fuckin' hot showers as he could before whatever happened here, happened.

After watching Callie leave the cafeteria with Jenner, he'd had half a mind to go after her. But when he saw Daryl the two bags he'd been rummaging in over his shoulder and head out not long after she left, Danny knew that he could consider Callie, taken care of. Thus, he left Miles and Glenn in the capable and deceptively sober hands of T-Dog and hit the showers.

Danny smiled and continued on down the hallway now, stopping in the room that he'd chosen as his own - That's right, his own fuckin' room, with a door that he could close and keep closed as long as he fuckin' wanted to. A door that he'd have to open to allow entry to whoever wanted in. Not a zippered flap that let the wind hit him, in a tent that he shared with a foul mouthed teenager and a seven-year-old. Nope, this was his own room, with a door. God, the little things in life never seemed so good. He was adding doors to his 'Things I miss list'. – Stopping in that little room, that as far as he could tell was exactly like every other room in the wing, he smiled a bit at the mess that he'd been able to create in such a short amount of time. Proud in a sick sort of way, of how his clothes were tossed randomly around the floor and how the contents of his backpack were just the right amount of tumbled and jumbled on different surfaces.

He gave his leg an idle scratch, the soft cotton lounge pants that he'd found in one of the drawers of the chest in the room foreign in their comfort. His eyes roamed over the mass of clothes he tossed into a corner and he contemplated putting on a shirt. Walking around bare-chested outside had been alright, especially when it was hot as hell. And doing it in the privacy of his own home had been pretty much a given before all this started. Hell at home he'd have probably been balls to the wind chilling in his favorite recliner by now. But here, he wasn't sure.

Scratching at his head, his hair beginning to grow out again after his cut from Amy which seemed so long ago. Before all of this, he'd been the guy sitting in his barber's chair every other week. Like clockwork. Odd to think that a self-proclaimed slob would hate it when his hair started to grow even an inch longer than he liked, but the odd curling his hair did when left to its own devices was not something he liked to show to the world. Even if it had ended.

Deciding to forego the shirt, Danny picked up the book he'd found in the nightstand and smiled. No matter where you went, you could always count on finding a fuckin' Bible in the nightstand. Smiling at the gold embossed letters he tapped his finger on the book twice before turning to his still open door, ready to rejoin the two drunkards he left in the cafeteria.

His smile fell when he spotted Dale walking by shaking his head, the light in the hallway reflecting oddly on his hat free balding head. Shuffling his bare feet a bit, Danny made his way to the door and stuck his head out.

"Hey," Danny said with a smile. He narrowed his gaze as Dale startled a bit and turned to face him. The stark look of worry that had was etched into the lines of the older man's face killed the witty comment that was on the tip of Danny's tongue. Stepping out into the hallway, his face now mirroring Dale's in the worry department he hung on to the doorjamb watching as Dale shook his head. "Everything alright?"

"I'm not sure," Dale said quietly. His eyes slid down the hallway, as if looking for people who might have been listening. "I'm going to venture a guess and say, no. Things are not alright. And I honestly don't know what to do about it."

"What's wrong?"

"It's Andrea," Dale said running his hand over his head, and letting out a sigh. "I'm not sure if it's survivor's guilt or something deeper. Something that I don't even think time will be able to heal."

"Where is she?" Danny asked, his eyes sliding down the hall where Dale had just come from. "Is she doing anything stupid?"

"No," Dale said immediately. "At least not yet," he shook his head. "I just spent the last hour in the ladies locker room. Sitting there on that tile floor trying to get her to realize that it's okay. She's so lost, son, and I don't know how to get her out of it."

"Is she still in there," Danny said his eyes now landing on the door with the placard next to it with that idealized figure of a lady in a triangle skirt.

"Yeah," Dale took a breath and shook his head again. His eyes then settled on Danny who was nodding his head as he started to make his way towards the locker room.

"Go take a load off," Danny said waving his free hand over his shoulder and smiling at Dale. "I'll talk with her." Dale made a sound and Danny turned, the look of disbelief on his face was downright comical. "Look, maybe she'll take things better from someone who's lost someone." Dale's expression changed, to that comforting father expression and Danny smiled widely. "And if that doesn't work I know I can annoy her enough to get her to storm off into her room."

Waving over his shoulder once more Danny continued on towards the lady's locker room at the far end of the hall. His eyes shifted back towards his door, where Dale still stood watching him walk. He probably should have put on that fuckin' shirt after all.

Pushing the door to the locker room open, Danny held it so that it didn't slam or make much noise as it closed behind him. The lights were low, but not too low that he couldn't still see. Mood lighting. For the depressed and downtrodden low lights were almost a must. Feeling the chill of the tile below his bare feet he made his way slowly through the row of lockers, the sounds of a slight sniffing his only clue as to where the woman he was currently seeking out had hidden herself.

He came to a stop at the end of the lockers, she was pushed up against the tile wall her legs pulled up so that half of her face was hidden by her arms sitting atop them. Two empty wine bottles sat next to her, and a third dangled from her left hand, swinging idly and hitting off of her leg. She hadn't noticed him, at least not that she indicated. She just kept staring at the floor, smacking that bottle against her leg and sniffling.

Danny leaned his shoulder up against the end of the set of lockers, and crossed his arms over his bare chest. His Bible held to his chest by those crossed arms.

"You know," Danny said, averting his gaze as she slowly raised her eyes to him. He set his eyes around the room, up to the lights, the lockers, the row of showers and then smirking landed his eyes back on her. "This is always what I imagined a girl's locker room would look like. Except in my adolescent mind there were more girls, and y'all'd be giggling and soapy."

Andrea gave a disgusted roll of her eyes and lifted the bottle to her lips.

"Guess this is closer to reality from all the stories I used to hear," Danny continued with a smirk, watching as she again rolled her eyes. "Bit more Carrie than Porky's I suppose, but boys can dream right?"

"Leave me alone, Danny." Andrea muttered her voice a little raspy and raw, probably from all the crying.

"Don't think I can do that," Danny said shaking his head as he let his arms drop, swinging the Bible the way she was swinging that bottle. Her eyes slipped up to him, as if now registering his state of undress. He blinked his eyes and shook off her stare, as he slowly walked towards her. "See you went and got Dale all sorts of rattled. And for some reason when that happens it always ends up giving me the headache." He pointed a thumb at himself and smirked down at her as she tilted her head up to look at him.

Sliding down the wall to sit beside her, he lifted his arms to rest on his knees mimicking her pose. He shifted his gaze to her, and she practically snarled at him averting her gaze and taking another drink from her bottle. They sat that way for a few moments, Danny's gaze steady on the row of lockers before him, Andrea's blue eyes sliding to him every couple minutes. As if she could just somehow will him away with her drunken angry glare.

And honestly if she didn't look so damned tired, so damned sad behind those glares he probably would have left her alone. Left her to her three fuckin' bottles of wine and let Dale have the headache for the night. But no, she had to keep putting those puffy, been crying for hours eyes on him and he felt it stabbing him somewhere deep inside. A place that he'd locked up nice and tight after the shit storm fo a relationship he'd had with Leslie.

Her blonde locks were hanging limp and half dry around her face, helping to shield her from the world around her. But her blue eyes kept slipping to his face, then down to his hands, and the book held in the fingers of his left hand.

"Is that a Bible?" Andrea asked, finally breaking the silence that had settled between them. Her head lifted just enough so that he could see her entire face now, and the raise of her brow and the incredulous tilt to her lip had him chuckling.

"You got something against the Greatest Story Ever Told," Danny said with a chuckle as he held up the book so that she could see that it in fact was a Bible in his hands.

"You read the Bible?" Andrea said scoffing a bit as she read the embossed gold lettering on the hardbound black book.

"Is that really so hard to believe?" Danny said lowering the book and raising a brow at her. His expression for once, was serious and she felt herself looking away from him a bit in shame. "Books and covers," Danny said quietly shaking his head. "Never judge Andrea, lest ye be judged."

"Oh God, tell me you're not going to sit here and quote scripture to me," Andrea put her free hand to her forehead and let out a groan.

"Wasn't part of the plan," Danny said idly chuckling at her. "You're the one focused on the book. I'm just waiting for you to say what's really on your mind."

She slid her gaze to him again, those blue bloodshot eyes meeting his square on. He held her gaze this time, not letting her waver or scoff or even try to break it. She stared at him long and hard and finally he watched the transformation, watched her go from bleak and dismal to angry.

"I shouldn't be here," Andrea said, or rather yelled, her voice echoing through the empty locker room. Danny's jaw clenched but he sat still, watching as she went to set the bottle down beside her. As if just noticing the bottles stacked beside her she lashed out with that arm throwing the half full bottle against the empty ones. The crash was loud, but Danny didn't move. "I shouldn't be here. Amy should."

Her voice was a harsh whisper of agony and disbelief. Her eyes shot to his, wide angry eyes just begging for him to jump at the bait. Waiting for him to say something, anything against what she'd just said. Waiting for him to try and 'make her feel better'. He tilted his head to the side, and looked into those eyes. Those eyes just begging him to say something that she could rail out against.

"You're right," Danny said quietly and she flattened her back against the wall in total and complete shock. "About Amy. She should be here. But that doesn't mean you shouldn't be." He looked down at his bare feet, wiggling his toes as he angrily gripped the book in his hands. "If Rick hadn't taken Daryl, T-Dog and Callie along with most of our guns off to Atlanta to get Merle, she'd still be here right?."

Andrea's jaw clenched, and she looked away from him.

"If Dale had been up on the RV on watch, like he always was that time of night," Danny continued still looking at his feet. "If he'd a been there, she'd still be here." Andrea was shaking her head now. "If I'd have taken Gracie to the bathroom, like I should have done," her gaze slipped to his now, and he looked at her. "Well then it woulda been me getting bit by that fuckin' Walker. And she'd still be here. That whole shit storm up on that Quarry hit a lot of people, in different ways. You don't get to corner the market on grief with that one, honey."

"You don't understand," Andrea said shaking her head. "She was nothing but good."

"I understand," Danny said quietly turning so that he was facing her now. "I just put a bullet through my wife's skull yesterday, Andrea. I put a bullet through her skull and said to myself, 'well fuck, how did this turn out to be the way shit works out'." Danny smiled and she narrowed her gaze. "My son is still out there, don't know if he's dead or not. My wife, ex-wife, is dead, and me," he smiled wider. "Well I'm still kicking and living large now in the a relative cocoon of fuckin' safety. So trust me, honey. I fuckin' understand."

"I've done nothing good in my life, Andrea." Danny said looking at her. "In fact I've done a lot of bad. Things that will haunt me for the rest of my life." Andrea's shocked gaze hit his and he didn't flinch away, but he also didn't let her ask the questions she was dying to. This wasn't about him. "I've done nothing good that should have me sitting here in this place, eating and drinking and being fuckin' merry while the world above dies around us." He leaned in close, not letting her shake her head and her gaze away from him. "Yet here I sit."

"It's not the same," Andrea said shakily, her head moving from side to side but her eyes riveted to his as he just sat there and smiled sadly at her. "It's not."

"It's the same no matter who you put it on," Danny said with a laugh. "Survivor's guilt is fuckin' one-size fits all. It's all about how you cope with it that really matters." He lifted her arm from where it landed across her knees again as she placed her mouth to it to hid her face. "I'm gonna tell you right now. This," he waved a hand at the broken bottles, and wine splattered along the tiles beside her. "This is not the way to cope with it."

"And how the hell would you suggest I cope, Danny?" Andrea spat at him, pulling her hand angrily from his grasp.

"Live your fuckin' life, Andrea." Danny said sharply. "You are alive, in a time when the world lay dying at our feet. You are alive for a reason. Whether that reason is for some greater good, or simply to supply a much needed bit of sass to my life, you gotta remember that it's for a reason."

Andrea stared at Danny, those tired bloodshot blue eyes boring into his. Trying to see through him. See through what he was saying and find a better a truth. A truth that she'd be able to live with. Slowly a tear began to slide down her cheek, and her lip trembled just a bit. Not thinking, he lifted his hand and cupped the side of her face using his thumb to wipe that tiny bead of salty water away from her face.

"I'm alone now," Andrea said quietly, her voice shaking with each word. Danny shook his head, his thumb still sliding along her soft skin, wiping at that wetness below those beautiful blue eyes. Hooded eyes, growing heavier with the sorrow she felt, with the weight of the amount of alcohol that she drank.

"Sweetheart, you are the furthest thing from alone right now," Danny said, his whispered voice coming out more hoarse and husky than he'd wanted it to. But it was beyond his control now. She was looking at him, imploring him with those beautiful blues of hers to take away the pain. Even if it was just for a moment.

He leaned his head in, her lips so close he could feel them. Her breath bouncing off of his lips as they parted. Just before they would have met hers he shifted his face to the side, closing his eyes tight against the world. He shook his head and leaned back just a bit.

"You're drunk," Danny said shaking his head as he opened his eyes and was again caught up in her eyes. Just his fuckin' luck that part of Andrea's inborn coping mechanism was sex. Just his luck. If she'd a hit him with a joke, or hell just hit him, he'd have been better prepared. "You're drunk and you're hurting."

"I don't care," Andrea said leaning forward, and he let her just a bit. Her lips barely brushed his and he clenched his free hand into a fist, while the one still cupping her head pulled her back just a little.

"No, Andrea, you're drunk." Danny shook his head and chuckled. "And I am apparently a better man than I ever thought I was." He shook his head and blinked hard, looking into her eyes. "Fuck, when did that happen?"

Andrea just stared at him, a bit in shock and a bit embarrassed as he placed a tender kiss to her forehead. He looked into her eyes once more, after letting his lips linger on her forehead a touch longer than he probably should have. Danny pushed to his feet then, the Bible forgotten at his feet as he reached down a hand to Andrea. She took his hand, reaching and picking up the Bible before stumbling slightly as she tried to drunkenly get her footing. Her hand settled on his bare chest, his towel falling off to the ground at their feet, while with her other hand she pressed that hardbound book into his heart.

"Son of a bitch," Danny muttered shaking his head, his hands settled at her upper arms. They were working to both hold her close and push her away, and finally he just let them drop and ran both through his slightly curling puffy fucking hair.

"Danny," Andrea began, her hands slowly sliding off of his chest, fuckin' Bible and all.

"Nope," Danny turned around then, but remembered her state of inebriation and turned back around grabbing her lightly by her arm and practically dragging her after him. "Not one more word. Let's just get you back to -" he stopped, looking at her over his shoulder and the shook his head. "Son of a bitch." He took a breath, and then continued pulling her along, her stumbling steps helping to remind him of the many reasons why he was doing this. "Let's take you to Jacqui."

"Jacqui?" Andrea said confusedly as she stumbled after him. She finally slapped at his hand and got him to let go. God knew she wasn't able to keep up with him if he kept dragging her. He looked back over his bare shoulder at her. "Why not my room? You don't trust me?" She was angry now and he rolled his damn eyes.

"I don't trust me, sweetheart." Danny said in a matter-of-fact tone that stopped her short. "My chivalry only goes so far. Toss the sight of a bed into this fuckin' mix and it's gonna go out the window faster than a girl's panties on prom night. Jacqui, she's fuckin' formidable."

She giggled, she honest to God giggled and Danny groaned again. The tears were still hidden in those blue depths. The hurt, the pain, the loss. It was all still there, but there was something else simmering now just below. Something Danny didn't want to name, because it sure as hell would make him carry her ass back to her room. He reached out a hand and she walked up to him, letting him swing his arm around her waist and help to lead her to Jacqui's room.

As Andrea's hand encircled his bare waist, those warm fingers dancing along his skin, and he yet again chided himself for not picking up a fuckin' shirt from his messy room, he couldn't help but wonder. Wonder if Callie was going to let better judgment win out tonight? Or if he was going to be slapping her upside the back of the head again tomorrow morning.

I want love to roll me over slowly

Stick a knife inside me

And twist it all around

I want love to grab my fingers gently

Slam them in a doorway

Put my face into the ground

I want love to murder my own mother

And take her off to somewhere

Like hell or up above

I want love to change my friends to enemies

Change my friends to enemies

And show me how it's all my fault

I won't let love disrupt, corrupt or interrupt me

Yeah I won't let love disrupt corrupt or interrupt me anymore

Daryl hadn't really thought this out. He hadn't really though anywhere past the point of following her and Jenner to wherever the fuck they were going.

When he'd seen Jenner leave, and Callie stay behind he'd been more than a little confused. The nod that the doctor had given to him as he passed Daryl in the hallway had added to that confusion. When he'd pushed off the wall and walked up to that closed door, he'd felt his lips twitch down in a frown. That simply scrawled name of "Marcus" in black ink on a hastily ripped piece of duct tape was all the info he needed to know what was going on.

He'd thought about leaving. Thought about giving her the privacy to be with her brother's things, to mourn, do whatever the fuck she needed to do. But then he remembered her coming up to him as they were getting ready to leave the Quarry. Talkin' about fuckin' burying Merle's hand. 'Bout not carrying it around, it only servin' as a reminder that he was out there hurtin', or worse. He'd put his hand to the doorknob then, shook his head at himself and entered the room.

He' d stood there after the door closed behind him, his arms crossed over his chest as he looked at her. Her body standing in front of what had been her brother's desk, her palms flat as her shoulders hunched and she stared at whatever was on that desktop. His eyes skimmed over the photos hanging on the wall near to her, and he bit at his thumb nail.

His eyes swiveled back to her and before he knew what he was really doing, his fuckin' bare feet were padding across that cold ass tile and he was at her back. And his hands, those fuckin' appendages that he couldn't seem to control anymore when he was around her, had settled themselves on her upper arms. His thumbs moving in circles on her skin, again, and he felt his blood boil just that little bit with a tingle of electricity as his calloused fingers moved over her soft skin. And instead of pullin' her away from whatever had captivated her on that desk, he moved himself closer.

He took a deep breath then, feeling the length of her body pressed into him. And she fit well there, all those important places matchin' up just right, gettin' his attention on things it shouldn't have been on. Fuck. There she was smelling like that clean scent of the soap that they'd all used on her hair and his eyes closed. When she tilted her head back, just that fraction of an inch, his breath left him in a rush blowing strands of her hair around her face.

He could practically hear Merle laughing loud and long about this one. Fuckin' lead around by your dick by some sweet little piece of ass, my brother. You got you a problem, son.

"What you doing, girl? You gotta death wish?" his voice was a harsh whisper, not what he was expecting when it came out. But he could just feel her pressing up against him, and his brain was fighting itself on what to do.

This wasn't why he came here.

Shit. Yeah it was. It may not have been the whole reason but it was definitely part of it. He'd kissed her last night. He'd gone and opened the fuckin' Pandora's box of it all. Him. Not her. He'd crossed that line. Because no matter how many times he'd said she wasn't infected, he hadn't been sure. So he'd kissed her. He'd kissed her and damn if it hadn't felt good.

And that night while he sat there in that front seat, running his fingers over her sweat covered brow as she tossed and turned in her fever, he figured that'd be it. That in the morning, when they got on the road, he'd at least be able to take that one little thing with him after she died.

But then that doctor said everything was fine, that she was just sick and he'd been almost ripped apart with relief. Couldn't show it. But fuckin' Rick and T-Dog musta known he was feelin' it 'cause at that moment they looked at him with those sappy fuckin' grins. He wanted to smash his fist into both of their faces. She walked away from almost death, and back into their lives. And while he should have just been relieved, on a count of those kids, he was feeling it for him too.

When she'd held his gaze at dinner, he'd known that she was feelin' something for him too. And now as her body arched, just that little bit as he spoke into her ear and those goose bumps ran the length of her soft skin, he knew. They were both fucked. He closed his eyes for a second, gathering his thoughts, and finally he opened his eyes shifting his gaze over her shoulder. Desperate to get his mind on something else.

And he spotted that fuckin' gun, and his hands tightened again. And he knew it was probably painful but he didn't give a fuck. He put his lips right to her ear, this time able to get that anger that he wanted into his voice.

"You gonna tell me what happened in that car?"

Callie was transfixed by his voice, her body held captive in his strong hands. Pressed into that firm expanse of steel he called a body. Her jaw clenched as she tried to figure out what he was asking. What did he want to know? Shaking her head slowly, trying to get the feel of his warm breath in her ear out of her brain she pulled away slightly from his hold.

"I killed a Walker," she said tightly, lifting one arm so that she could free herself from him. He held fast with his other hand and spun her around to face him. Those piercing blue eyes drilling into her, and she again clenched her jaw tight.

"You ain't tough," Daryl spat through his own clenched jaw, his eyes narrowed in disgust as he looked at her. "So stop pretending you are." She looked away, for the first time since she'd met him she actually averted her gaze from his. He lifted his hand, he put it to her chin and lifted her eyes back to his. He was shaking his head as if amazed by his own actions. His thumb smoothed over her chin, a soft caress that was so against the coldness in his eyes she was literally taken aback. But he pulled her close again, a hand circling around to the small of her back.

"You're soft," he continued, his lips hovering over hers now. "You're softer than you let on. Soft and sweet."

"And scared out of my sweet little panties," Callie said, which worked just as she'd hoped and got him to step back. He shook his head and turned his back, the anger rolling almost palpably over his body as his shoulders rolled.

Callie took the moment to settle herself back against the desk, her hands holding to it like she was grabbing onto a building ledge to keep from falling. She watched him pace around the small room, hands going to his hair, running through and pulling just a bit. He shook his head and spat, "Fucker."

Daryl turned back around to face her, and she lifted her brows to him in agreement. Yeah, Garrison was a fucker. That was a given.

"You need a smoke?" Callie said with a smile pointing a finger to the pack on her brother's night stand. He just stared at her. "Maybe a drink?" She turned to get the bottle on the desk and was stopped short by the sight of the Fat Lady still sitting there. And the small piece of crumpled paper that she'd almost forgotten about. She made a grab for it, but like the fucking redneck ninja that he was, he was back on her before she could even pick it up.

"What you hiding?" Daryl spat, obviously trying to hold desperately to his anger this time. God, she could read him, couldn't she? He was holding on to that anger and using it to make sure he didn't do something stupid again.

Like kiss her.

"What were you doing in the cafeteria?" she spat back at him as he tried to pry the paper from her. He glared at her and shook his head, finally prying her fingers off the paper and snatching it up. "Give it back Daryl." He opened it, and she watched with stiff spine as he read down the list of names. Nine names. The nine people she had killed since this whole fucking thing started.

She'd yet to add Jim's name. He'd be number ten.

"The fuck is this?" Daryl asked shaking the paper at her. She was reminded of a parent shaking a bad report card at their child for a moment and she shook her head. He advanced on her, and she moved away from the desk and took a few steps back. "The fuck is this? You keep a list of people you offed?" He shook his head at her and made a grab for her arm, pulling her towards him a bit. "What about all that shit you spouted off to me at the Quarry. 'Bout not carryin' shit with you. 'Bout it doing nothing but help to get you killed."

"Call me a hypocrite," Callie tried to shrug out of his hold.

"I'm callin' you a fuckin' idiot." Daryl said still shaking the paper. "This ain't nothing but torture. Each one of these people you put out of their misery. You took them out 'cause you had to. You did what needed to be done."

"Maybe I'm afraid that doing what needed to be done, is gonna come back on me someday." Callie said back, reaching for the paper. He pulled it back and she lunged again. He grabbed her arm, but she was able to snake around and get the paper. She shook off his hand and shoved her crumpled list into her pocket, turning her back on him. Her eyes being met with the cluster of photos hanging on the wall.

"Ain't no one gonna be holdin' you accountable for none of that shit," Daryl said quietly. "Except the lady in the mirror."

"Doesn't she count for anything?" Callie said closing her eyes and moving away just a bit. He watched her, his eyes caught on a picture of her and her brother. Smiling and happy.

She shifted her gaze back to the desk, her eyes first catching on the bottle then on the gun. He was still watching her, moving closer to her again.

"I couldn't do it," Callie said quietly, feeling him moving closer as she spoke. "I tried," she said shaking her head, putting one finger to that little gun and running it along the barrel. "I put it to my head three times after I shot Jim. Three times," She turned around and faced him now.

He stopped right in front of her, his shoulders tense and jaw clenched as his eyes searched hers. She worked on a smile, but it wasn't really a smile. It was a sad little grimace of pain and it made his chest hurt to see it. She shrugged and let out a laugh.

"I couldn't do it," she shrugged again. "I've easily pulled the trigger on ten people. But when it came down to myself, I couldn't do it."

"You didn't need to," Daryl said, and she laughed. She put a shaking hand to her cheeks, wiping away the tears collecting there and laughed. He moved forward, taking her hand in his and holding it. "And I'm glad—"

She kissed him, a gentle brush of her lips on his. If he was a man who felt the need to describe kisses, he would have called it tentative. The brush of her lips was so soft, that at first he wasn't really sure she was actually doing it. He thought it was just his imagination getting' the better of him again. But no, when she stepped forward just that little bit, applied just that little bit more pressure to his bottom lip. When she sucked just that little bit at his lip he figured it had to be real. He'd never been quite that good at imagining shit like this. Just as he was starting to respond she pulled away.

"I'm sorry," she started to say, her hand settling on his chest. He shook his head and grabbed her by her upper arms pulling her close and back to him.

"Fuck woman," he growled and then he crushed his lips to hers in a fierce pressure that stole her breath.

She felt her back hit the wall a second later, Daryl's hands painfully holding her to him. Arching her back in almost the same manner as he had when he kissed her before. Only this time, as his mouth worked on hers, as she felt his fingers dig into the flesh of her arm she knew he wasn't holding back. Daryl's hands moved from her arms, one landing roughly in her hair, tangling there and pulling her head back and her mouth open to deepen the already heated kiss. The other slid over her front and down, causing her to arch even more, finally settling at her hip. Pulling her body even more flush to his.

At some point her hands had lifted to his shoulders, and her nails were digging into him. Which honestly he didn't seem to mind. There were no thoughts anymore. No discussions going on in either of their heads. Just the feel of heat and heady scent of need and want in the air mixing to a toxic level, that was apparently strong enough to shut up every sensible thing they'd ever even tried to think.

His knee pressed and pushed until her legs separated and he fit himself neatly against her. The moan she tried to hold in, mixed with the one he let fly and she let her one hand drift into his hair. Pulling, tugging him closer. His hand at her hip slid down to her thigh, lifting it around his hip. Another mixed moan and her hands were gone from his shoulders, out of his hair, and tugging at the buttons of his shirt.

She was working those buttons, more than halfway down – God, far enough. She placed her palms flat against his bare chest and dug her nails in as she slid them around to his back. That seemed to spur something in him, his hand at her hip moved up. Sliding under her shirt, skirting over her abdomen. Fingers gently moving over her once sore ribs, as if even in the heat of this moment he remembered the injury. He continued upward with that hand while his lips moved down from hers to her neck.

His right hand was still cupped at the back of her head, but it too moved fingers now sliding down the left side of her neck. Just as his hips had started to press into her in a heated rhythm, just as her hands pulled and scratched as his back, over the scars she'd seen. Just as his lips began to suck at her neck in that same rhythm that his hips were keeping with hers, and that had under her shirt closed over her breast and squeezed causing her to cry out. Just as all that happened, the fingers of his right hand ghosted over those healing scratch marks on her neck and he pulled away like he'd been burnt.

His eyes were wide when he stared down at her, still in the throes of their passionate embrace. Her hands still trying to hold him to her. His right hand fisted, and then slammed into the wall beside her head. Her hands slipped from him, going to the wall beside her to hold her up as he began to pace away from her.

"This ain't happenin'!" Daryl yelled, and she wasn't quite sure who he was actually explaining it to. Her or himself. He looked back at her. "It ain't. You hear me!" She continued to stare at him, her brain obviously still too infused with other thoughts but slowly clearing as he advanced on her. He pointed a finger at her. "I had my weapon ready. I was the only one outta all these fuckers that was ready to take you out when you up and walked out of that car. I was gonna take you out. If you woulda turned I woulda done it. There ain't no amount a kissin' that's gonna change that. You get me?"

"Is that what you think this is?" Callie asked, slowly shaking her head as she pushed off the wall. "Honestly?"

"I don't know what to think about this shit," Daryl said running his hands through his hair. "I don't want this shit. Don't fuckin' need it. All I care about is me. Me surviving this bullshit, and finding my brother. You get that." He glared at her and she just stared back. "I'd a taken you out if you was a Walker. Ain't nothing, no amount of kissin' or lovin' up on me that's gonna change that."

"Keep sayin' it Daryl." Callie said, finally her anger getting the best of her. "Honest to fuckin' God." She stalked over to the desk and picked up the gun. She turned and took the few angry strides to bring her right up to him, glaring into his face as she took his hand and lifted it. She slammed the gun in there and closed his hand around it. "Here. I obviously can't do it, so it's a load off my fuckin' mind to know that you're so adamant about it Daryl. So here, when the time comes don't feel the need to waste an arrow on my ass."

His eye was twitching when she let her hand slide off of his, his jaw clenched so tight she was half expecting him to break a tooth. His hand curled around that gun, and she continued to glare at him.

"I didn't want this," Daryl said again, the anger still there but not quite as strong.

"You think I fuckin' did?" Callie said throwing her arms up. "I know better than anyone what a bad idea it is to make any kind of connection to people in this fucked up world. But I got this problem. This fuckin' bleeding heart or whatever it is. It makes me care about people." She glared at him. "That wasn't the case with you though. I don't know what the fuck it is about you. You irritate me to know end, all this macho bullshit you try to pull. All this 'I ain't nothing but a simple redneck, and I couldn't care less if you lived or died' bullshit you pull. It's all a lie."

He was still staring at her, watching her as her arms railed in the air. She winced when she moved her left shoulder and then let her arms finally fall.

"If you don't want this," Callie said looking at him. His eye twitched again and he bit at the inside of his mouth. "If you're so against making connections with people, why the hell did you let Ben get close to you? Why did you spend all those nights smoking and talking with me?" She stepped forward, closing the distance between them just a bit, but then stopping. "That kiss didn't feel like it was a spur of the moment, I ain't had none in a long ass time and you're around, type of kiss."

He tossed the gun on to the bed, and closed the distance coming to a stop not more than an inch away. His breath hot on her face again as he glared at her.

"It didn't?" He growled, raising his brows. She shook her head, lifting her chin, taunting him. "Well it shoulda, cause that's just what it was, bitch. You're just a sweet little piece that ain't too shy about givin' things that a man needs."

There was a single beat of silence, while they stared at one another, and then finally she lifted on her toes. Her eyes level with his as her chest pressing lightly into his and she uttered two simple words.

"Bullshit, Dixon."

His jaw clenched, and she licked her lips. Again his hand was at her waist, pulling her body to his and just as his lips were about to again crash into hers the door opened.

"Danny?" Glenn practically fell into the room, almost falling to the ground but catching himself on the door. Callie and Daryl shot apart, both looking at the clearly drunken kid lifting his confused gaze to them. "Oh, wow. I thought Danny was in here." His eyes squinted as he took in the disheveled figures in the room.

"Glenn," Callie said running her hands through her hair trying to straighten it. "Did you need something?"

"I was looking for Danny," Glenn slurred flinging himself forward a bit. "Miles is throwing up," he said with a smile. Obviously proud that he himself wasn't throwing up. His eyes slid over Callie moving down to where her tank top was rolled up on the one side, stuck just under her breast. She let out a sigh and pushed it down, running her hands over her thighs. Glenn's eyes slid to Daryl, his shirt more than half way unbuttoned. Glenn's eyes went wide, and it would have been comical if it hadn't been her on the receiving end of the wide-eyed stare. "Oh man, were you two—" he didn't finish the statement just waved his hands around between the two of them in an odd manner.

"Why don't you take Glenn to bed?" Callie said to Daryl who was running his hands through his hair. "I'll go take care of Miles."

"Why do I gotta take him?" Daryl spat back scratching at his neck and looking at her with an angry frown.

"Because I believe you were the one that said 'I wanna see how red your face can get'," Callie said walking up to him and patting him on his bare chest. She turned him towards the still wide eyed Glenn, who took a few steps back and then almost fell. Daryl's hand shot out and grabbed him by the back of his shirt and hauled him up. "See that," Callie said with a smile as she patted Daryl's arm. "That is how red his face can get. You got to see it."

"Fuck you," Daryl said to Callie earning a bit of a chuckle from her.

Daryl placed Glenn's limp drunk arm over his shoulder and started helping him out of the room.

"Oh man," Glenn was saying looking up at the side of Daryl's face. "Did I interrupt—" he cut himself off again. "Oh man." He came to a stop then, causing Daryl to stop just at the doorway. "Are you gonna kill me? I'd kill me." He swallowed. "Seriously, are you gonna kill me?"

"I will if you keep on talking, Chinaman." Daryl growled, his eyes sliding behind him to Callie. She ran her fingers through her hair, stuffing strands behind her ears as she smiled back at him. He snarled at her smug little look and then hefted Glenn up a bit and continued out into the hall.

Callie let herself fall onto the bed as soon as Daryl and Glenn were out of sight. Her hands covered her face, elbows resting on her thighs as she sucked in deep breaths. Good fucking God. Her hands slid off of her face a bit, coming to a stop at her mouth. A mouth that for some reason had one of those ridiculous grins on it. She bit her bottom lip and shifted her eyes slightly.

The Fat Lady was laying on the bed, left where he'd tossed it. She ran her hand over her forehead again and let out another breathy chuckle.

I want love to walk right up and bite me

Grab a hold of me and fight me

Leave me dying on the ground

And I want love to split my mouth wide open

And cover up my ears

And never let me hear a sound

I want love to forget that you offended me

Or how you have defended me,

When everybody tore me down

Yeah I want love to change my friends to enemies,

Change my friends to enemies

And show me how it's all my fault.

Yeah I won't let love disrupt, corrupt or interrupt me

I won't let love disrupt, corrupt or interrupt me

I won't let love disrupt, corrupt or interrupt me anymore.

~Love Interruption/ Jack White

AN: :-O Are you excited now? Are you catching what I'm throwing? I'm not going to put any responses to the reviews in this one. I'm saving it for the next installment. Why? Honestly I was just uber-excited to get this up and on there.

See you next chapter!