Sorry this update took like 9 years... had some computadora issues, pretty major ones. Anyway, I should be quicker now...

Disclaimer: I own nothing of this brilliant world, only my OC's.

The clopping of hooves in loose gravel has a very distinct sound.

Skipping stairs to descend from the porch the sailor loped toward the approaching horses on long legs. They were back. Glenn was back.

The sun had fallen in the sky, approaching its set with the tease of pink now tingeing the cloudless blue. They had been gone longer than she had anticipated, at least two hours longer if she had judged the distance correctly on the map. Which of course, she had. Maybe they had run into trouble, a few wandering corpses or some other obstacle. Although as she lifted a hand to shield her eyes to get a better look, neither rider appeared to be bloodied, just a little sweaty. Reddened faces. Oh… Quinn let out a snort, having an inkling as to why they had been delayed.

Footsteps on wood behind her alerted Quinn that Hershel had followed her out of the house, the white-haired man keen to see his daughter. Probably wanted to discuss his recent conversation with the sailor with his oldest child, Quinn thought as her boots hit grass as she neared where her co-pilot was dismounting. He turned to her, sweaty, and reddened, with his brown eyes darting away from her own in embarrassment when he caught the smile spreading across her freckled face.

The sailor chuckled and punched the kid in the shoulder, rasping, "Have a nice ride, Romeo?" once Maggie had strode a safe distance away, following her father back into the house.

Glenn sighed, flipping off his hat to run a hand through his hair, he gestured Quinn toward the survivors' makeshift camp with the cap. "It was a quick in and o—wait! No that wasn't…" he stuttered when he saw the cock of her eye brow at his choice of words, drawing a snort from his SEAL friend before he continued, "The town was pretty empty, we went to a little convenience store and were able to get all the shit on the list and… yeah," he ended lamely, shooting out a fist to punch Quinn in the shoulder when her smile grew too large.

The pair wove through the parked cars and the recently set up cooking area, heading toward the RV. Glenn with an arm around his freckled friend's broad shoulders he described Maggie to her, gaze hovering dreamily on the horizon as he spoke. Quinn stayed quiet, smile still plastered to her face as she listened to her co-pilot's ramblings.

The others of their little group were gathered around the door of the RV, well all but the Grimes family and Daryl. The hunter had still not returned from his search.

They were discussing shooting lessons and how ridiculous they found the farmer's 'no gun' rule. Carol, Andrea, and Shane had only recently returned from a trip to the highway to check for Sophia. They had been unsuccessful, leaving Shane with a heavier limp then when he had left due to the exertion, and Carol with puffy red eyes as she sat on the couch inside the camper. Staring at her hands as conversation bounced around above her.

With only a few more feet of privacy as they approached their companions, Quinn quickly whispered to Glenn, a smirk plain on her face, "I'm gonna tell her you snore, G. Like a dying whale." Laughing as he let out an aghast gasp and knowing that he couldn't respond as they came to a stop between Shane and Andrea at the steps of the RV. Interrupting another argument between the blonde and the retiree that sat inside the vehicle next to an annoyed looking T-Dog.

The kid elbowed her hard in the ribs, luckily just above her still-aching stitches, but the impact still drew a slight flinch. Fortunately she was able to rearrange her face by the time any of the group glanced to her, the last thing she needed was to appear weak in front of civilians. At the sound of her name, Quinn glanced up to Dale, blue eyes settling on his wrinkled face.

"Quinn, you've been around the farmer a bit," He paused, waiting for her to give away some clue about the conversation he had seen her having with the white-haired man, and continuing when she cocked an eyebrow at him. Clearly unfazed by his strategy. "Do you think he could be convinced to let us carry arms?" he asked, eyes darting between Andrea and Shane as if to clarify who the question was really coming from.

The sailor sighed, leaning slightly into the kid whose arm was still slung about her as her eyes floated from the retiree to the pile of guns resting on the RV table. An array of police rifles, handguns, and shotguns. She knew that some of her companions were going to butt heads with their new hosts, it was almost inevitable. But the first night? At this rate Hershel would try to throw them off his land the next day… not that she was any more willing to give up her firearms then the rest of them, hell the SEAL was fully against it. For her to be unarmed in times like this was foolish, irresponsible, and the farmer knew that now. He had made an agreement with her. But that was the issue, only her.

"I think it will take time, and that for now we need to respect his wishes." Quinn rasped, eyes flicking to each of her companion's faces. Continuing, "He's agreed to let Dale keep watch, correct? That's a good first step. That's what we need, step after step until he understands."

Dale nodded with her words, clearly satisfied, where as Andrea let out a defeated rush of air. She would not argue with the SEAL like she had argued with the retiree, but her beliefs were clearly counter. The blonde changed the subject to shooting lessons, inquiring if Quinn would help Shane teach those who wanted to learn in the next few days. She was tired of having men lording their abilities over her, and the SEAL seemed like the best alternative teacher.

They moved away from the RV, Andrea, Shane, Glenn, T, and the sailor, to continue the discussion of potential shooting lessons and search plans for the following day. Respectfully away from the broken from of Carol, who could not bear company for the moment. Another day with no news about her daughter. Only Dale dared stay near, climbing on top of his vehicle to take up watch.

They gathered around the cooking supplies, dropping down on logs and camp chairs in a semi-circle, voices quiet, as they could hear the distraught mother's sobs from within the camper. But she wanted to be alone. She would swat them away if they tried to comfort her. She needed to be alone, although the sound tore at their hearts.

Quinn couldn't keep her eyes from darting to the large vehicle every few seconds, pondering if the woman truly wanted to be alone or if she should try and help…the sailor couldn't decide. Andrea had convinced her to help with firearm lessons, but only after a full day's search, and only if the others also searched. They were not here to learn about weapons, they were here to heal one child and find the other. The sailor flicked her long ponytail over her shoulder, eyes settling on the camp stove that T had just fired up; they seemed to have terrible luck with the children in their care. She needed to fix that.

Footsteps shuffled through the grass behind her, coming from the house.

Tilting her head back, the sailor watched Lori approach, the thin brunette looking agitated as she headed straight for Glenn. Quinn cocked an eyebrow as Lori practically dragged her copilot away from their gathering, starting to rise from her chair until Glenn shook his head as discretely as he could. What the fuck. None of the others seemed at all phased by this behavior, Andrea and Shane were deep in conversation about something, guns probably, and T was busy opening cans of beans. The sailor followed their path as the thin woman led the pair off behind the RV, where after a moment only Glenn returned, looking guilty as hell.

Eyebrow still raised Quinn stared at her young Korean friend. Waiting for an explanation and receiving nothing but a muttered, "Later, Q. Later." As the kids eyes darted between her and where he had just returned from. She tapped the front of his hat over his eyes in response, unsatisfied.

"How's your side?" he asked, changing the subject. His brown eyes floating to where he knew a neat line of stiches sat on her skin. "You probably shouldn't have helped with the well thing earlier… I thought of that while I was with Maggie…"

With a quiet laugh the sailor shook her head, rasping, "That's not what you're supposed to think about when you're with a girl." Laughter growing louder when Glenn clapped a hand to his mouth, realizing how his phrasing had sounded, she continued, "My sides fine, don't worry about me." She patted where her bandages lay to emphasize her words.

She was fine. She had to be fine.

Quinn had wandered over to her vehicle, searching through the clothing in her military pack for her favorite blue scarf, while Glenn stretched out across the Subaru's hood, when she heard familiar muffled footsteps. The near-silent ones she'd been waiting to hear since he had left that morning, coming back into camp as the sun slipped behind the horizon in an array of orange and red. How fittingly dramatic.

The hunter headed straight for the RV, sharp eyes focused on the shorthaired woman that puttered around on the inside, cleaning incessantly. He held a beer bottle at his side, nearly hidden behind the girth of his forearm, as was likely his aim. In the beer bottle was a single white flower.

Quinn forced her eyes away as her hands felt the familiar woven pattern of her scarf, she tugged the dark material out of her bag and quickly wrapped it around her neck, mind whirling to place that white flower. Large petals, small leaves…there was a story behind those, she knew it. Adjusting the patterned wool, Quinn swore in her head. Her grandparents would be so disappointed that she couldn't recall it. Something about the Cherokee tribe if she wasn't mistaken. Wasted education, Quinn.

"How are you cold?" came Glenn's voice as he pushed himself off of her hood with a little grunt. Brown eyes on the fabric circling her neck as he gestured with an arm for them to head over to where T-Dog had finished his dinner concoction.

With a shrug the sailor rasped, "Habit." Eyes drifting to the back window of the RV as they strode by, finding Daryl standing before Carol with that flower in his hand on the inside, nearly hidden by the walls of the vehicle. As if he could feel her watching, sharp blue eyes met her own for a second through the glass. Only for a second, before both glanced away. Both sets of eyebrows furrowing. What is that damned legend…

"Quinn, can you come here for a second?" came a voice from her side, from the side of the farmhouse.

The sailor pushed Glenn ahead of her with reassurance she would join him soon before spinning to to the sheriff. Meeting his honest eyes as she strode toward him, away from food and away from her ponderings of a flower. Following him as he jerked his head toward the deck.

The two leaned against the wooden rail, eyes on the gathering of their companions. After a moment of silence, the sailor rasped, "You've talked to him about staying, haven't you." Dark brows drawing together as she anticipated his answer, gaze tracking Lori Grimes who had just strode in from a distant field to join the gathering. Odd.

Rick nodded and sighed, hanging his head to stare at his hands as he gripped the polished wood, "He's not keen on it, but I think I can convince him," the lean man replied. "He'll at least let us stay until Carl is healed and we find Sophia."

Dropping a freckled hand on the man's shoulder, Quinn gave it a little squeeze. Rick was pale, gaunt, still unrecovered from the copious amounts of blood he had given to his son, and now the stress of leadership was beating him down. Mercilessly. "Let me help. I'll talk to him tomorrow after the search, this doesn't have to be on you," she rasped, squeezing his shoulder gently again.

He nodded again, thanks in his eyes and brought an arm up to clasp her shoulder as well. They stood there for a long while, watching their friends chatter as they sat in a circle around a small fire, the sailor and the sheriff sharing the weight of responsibility. The bridge between those inside the house and those on the lawn. "We can't leave here, Quinn. It's safe," Rick whispered eventually, his honest eyes settling on the dark hair of his wife.

"I know, I know," the sailor replied quietly, gesturing him towards the others with the tilt of her head. They descended the stairs and padded across the gravel and grass together, stride matched and heads together as they muttered strategies for the next day back and forth. Their priority still needed to be finding Sophia, after the search they would try to convince their host. Only then. No matter the resistance they knew they would find in the other, larger lawman.

As she plopped down on a log between the hunter and the delivery boy who was shamelessly shoveling beans into his mouth, a bowl of food was thrust in front of her nose. The hand that held it was large and dirty and the arm attached bare. Blue eyes met blue, one of her dark brows cocking questioningly as they did. Tell me about the flower. The hunter shook his head slightly at the expression, muttering, "Later," in his quietest growl. Glancing around the group he clarified what he meant: not in front of others.

Quinn nodded and began spooning food into her mouth, unaware of how hungry she had been until that moment. At her side Daryl leaned a bit closer to her and talked her through his search that day, raising his eyebrow as a hint whenever he got to a part he didn't feel like sharing until they were alone. He had found a house, abandoned other then a lone corpse trapped in an upstairs bedroom, and in a cupboard he had found what looked like a sleeping area for a very small person…

They would need to thoroughly search that area the next day, the odds of the traces of a child being from anyone but Sophia seemed very unlikely. Quinn fished her map out of her vehicle as her companions filed away from the little dinner gathering, heading to bed. Stretching the crinkled paper across the hood of the Subaru, she had the hunter circle where he had found the house with a pen. It wasn't far from the church where she had last seen the little girl, where she had been certain she would die…

The pair stared at the map, leaning into each other's shoulders as they bent over it, each silently planning tactical routes around the circled point. Occasionally jabbing one another in the ribs with an elbow to talk the other through an idea, until eventually Daryl ice blue eyes flicked to her face, and the gruff man muttered, "It was a Cherokee Rose." His rough voice quiet, almost embarrassed.

The relief was evident in his face when the sailor nodded; he wouldn't have to explain himself. The SEAL knew the legend. That's all she had needed, the name of the thing. A mother's tears… Quinn smiled slightly and dropped a hand onto the shoulder of the sleeveless man at her side, rasping, "You did a good thing," a flower had grown for that little girl.

The hunter shook his head and shoved her gently, the corner of his lips pulling upward as he strode away toward his tent, murmuring, "G'night, Lee."

The air was cool now that the sun had dropped, and the sky dark with no signs of the brilliant blue skies that had graced their first day at the farm. The survivors were shuffling around in their tents and within the RV, readying themselves for bed and enjoying the relative solitude that was so hard to find in this new world. Only one stayed out on the grass, a dark blue scarf pulled high over her face to cover her nose.

Snapping open a long black case from inside the Subaru and gently lifting out a long lethal weapon, the sailor's eyes darted to the hunter's nearby tent. Wondering if he was awake, and wishing she had told him about her conversation with the farmer while she had had the chance, just in case she needed backup. Although she shouldn't, it was comforting to have the younger Dixon at her back. She wanted no secrets from him. From either of her boys.

The sailor was in for a long night.

She had always had an affinity for rooftops.

They were tactically advantageous. Above the noise of people milling around, and below the endless expanses of sky. Crucial for good sniping vantage points, while also hidden in plain sight. Unless someone glanced up, which no one ever seemed to…a flaw of the civilian population.

The sailor shifted slightly, adjusting her cross hairs to again rest on the door of the old wooden barn.

She had once been stationed on a rooftop for 9 days, monitoring some clueless target in some crowded city. Orders placing her directly across the street from the target's house on a regular building without much cover to hide behind. It hadn't seemed like the best idea. But orders are orders and a SEAL always trusted their CO.

Nine days. Nine days of a scope to her eye and her rifle to her shoulder until she had finally had the perfect shot. Nine days without a single person looking up. Not even when the body had fallen to the ground, blood seeping from a bullet wound that no one had heard fire.

Her CO had praised her patience after that mission, one of her first, and explained in his signature growl: They never look up. They'll never look up. Civilians live in one plane, Lee. We live in all of 'em.

How true that still proved to be.

The rooftop she currently occupied had a certain charm to it, much like the house it sat neatly above. Large, with three tall brick chimneys and a variety of gently sloping peaks all covered in orderly green shingles. Fitting for the Greene family farm. The sailor had wedged herself against one of the chimneys; stretched out flat on her stomach with an eye to the scope of her .50 caliber rifle she faced the old wooden barn. Above the heads of her companions, all seemingly asleep in their newly set up camp site, and under the glow of the moon hanging in the clear dark air.

The doors of the barn rattled occasionally, pushing outward slightly against the heavy chain whenever some creature of the night made too loud a call. But nothing too concerning. Nothing that raised her alarm enough to do anything but watch. Guard. With steady hands and sharp eyes. There was no need to betray the farmer's trust and tell her comrades when she could keep her eye to a scope through the night. The secret could rest with her for now.

No matter how foolish a secret.

He had been confrontational at first.

The sincere smile and the kindness in his wrinkled face evaporating with her questions, the white haired-man had folded back into his shell under the scrutiny of a stranger. It was none of her business what was in his barn. This was his land; he didn't need to explain himself. What right did she have when his family had already done so much for her little group? He ought to throw them off his property right then.

The sailor had been fearful as he muttered these things to her that she had made the wrong call. Her brows furrowing more and more with each quiet threat. Little Carl still desperately needed medical attention, and they were all weary to the bone. Hell she had just been stabbed; the stitches were still stiff and bothersome beneath her shirt. She could have just kept her mouth shut and kept watch on the damn barn, she didn't need to know the farmer's reasoning. What reasoning could one possibly have for this? But eventually, after a few moments of venting, he had calmed down and looked her in the eye. Assessing, as if her trustworthiness could be measured by the clarity of her gaze.

It wasn't until his stare had fallen to the silver cord that hung around her neck, her dog tag, that he had sighed in defeat and nodded. This wasn't a hotheaded man wanting to take over his land, demanding and demeaning. This was the calm face and the broad shoulders of a Naval Officer. He would tell her.

They had moved their conversation to his office, padding quickly through the house past the room that held a sleeping Carl and his two worried parents, away from potential eavesdroppers of both groups. Locking the door and moving to stand beside her, Hershel had handed the sailor a framed photo. His eyes had on the RV outside the little window as she peered down at it, watching strangers stride across his yard. A photo of his family, well loved and well protected going off the weight of the frame; she had immediately recognized the smiling faces of his two daughters.

The other two in the frame-the boy and the woman-Hershel had explained, they were in the barn. They were sick. His wife and his stepson were sick, just like the rest of the people locked inside. If he just kept them safe, safe and locked away for long enough...a cure would be made. Just like every other disease. He was a doctor; he had seen this happen time and time again. Panic for nothing.

Quinn had seen the belief in his eyes as he had turned from the window to speak; in the way he had held his shoulders back as he had explained. Those people in the barn were his family, and he loved them too much to be anything but hopeful. How dangerous hope can be. She would not be able to change his mind, not that day. Not until he saw what they could do, what they were.

So she had chosen a different tactic. If he wouldn't let her kill them, and he didn't want her to tell her companions about the predicament, then she needed to be on watch. Every night, every hour of the night, until the corpses were dead or they were off the farm. If he let her do that, she would keep his secret.

"You have my word, sir."

With a pop the sailor adjusted her shoulder, taking her eye from her scope to peer down at the camp. Gaze floating over the gathering of tents, all as dark as the windows of the RV they were circled about. Although as a SEAL she was proud of it, her word was as good as gold, she hadn't expected the farmer to trust her so easily; the days where people trusted a stranger's word were quickly coming to an end.

Quinn took her trigger hand away from her rifle for a moment to adjust her blue scarf to sit higher on her nose, the garment protecting her against the chilling gusts of wind that had been rippling around the fields.

Movement.

The sounds of sheets rustling and footsteps from somewhere in the house beneath her.

The sailor's eyes jumped to the green shingles that covered the roof of the deck as the subtle glow of a lamp illuminated the far corner of the railed in area. Near the room where little Carl was recovering, and where his parents were sleeping fitfully at his sides.

Soft sobs floated up to her from that corner of the deck, muffled and distant, but definitely recognizable. The sailor had heard many of her group cry enough times to recognize them by their sobs. A cruel reality.

Lori Grimes, sobs occasionally interrupted by a muttered curse, stood at the corner of the deck, below the sailor's perch. The thin woman's shadow stretching out on the grass from the small lamp she carried.

It hadn't taken Quinn more then a minute to get information out of Glenn earlier that evening. He had easily folded under the weight of her raised-eyebrow stare, spilling to the sailor the secret product that Lori had asked him to fetch on his run. The delivery boy couldn't really keep a secret from anyone, much less her.

A particularly loud sob drew the sailor's eyes back to the shadow of the thin brunette from where she had settled back against her scope. She stared at the shadow as it moved with the thin woman's pacing. Rippling against the posts of the railing. Quinn shook her head and let out a quiet rush of air as she settled back down to face the barn, frustrated. This reaction could only mean one thing.

Lori was pregnant.