The gravel crunched underneath her boots.

Samara sighed as she dispatched a rotted walker hanging for dear unlife on the fence. She and the convict duo were on cleanup duty and were taking their time in their work. It was a lazy warm morning and the fence was relatively clear save for only a few clingy ones.

Samara's mind was elsewhere as she wiped the blackish blood off her machete. To be more precise, it was on the deal she had entered a week ago with the resident hunter. Not that she was complaining, but it all seemed so bizarre. She still couldn't wrap her mind around it.

Daryl for the most part had been taking it considerably well. Considering that he was the one to initiate this whole chain of events, Samara was surprised at the level of clarity and distance he was treating it with. The Native was a hundred percent sure that the Georgia man felt more about her than a quick romp on that old couch and a part of her was terrified of the degree of it, but she was also foolishly curious to see how far he could go before snapping. A morbid game of cat and mouse, so to say.

But, as always, the Native chose no to dwell on his feelings or thoughts of her. She would rather ignore them entirely and just bask in the euphoria of their secret rendezvous. Samara had her own demons to keep at bay and the dilemma called Daryl had no more room to fit in at the moment.

"I think we should have a match."

Samara frowned.

Axel was watching both her and Oscar with an excited spark in his eyes as if this idea was so brilliant he couldn't contain himself from sharing it. Unfortunately, neither marshal nor convict seemed all to thrilled with the prospect of an actual game.

"I'm serious!" The thin mam tried to energize them. "We could make two teams, have ourselves a real game. We have enough players, don't we?"

"Not really." Oscar scratched the side of his nose as he lost himself in thought. "There are nine players on each side. Right now we have myself, you, the marshal, Carl and Andrea."

"We could ask some of the others if they want to play. Maybe not exactly a nine-man team, but close enough." The man was persistent as he flashed a large, excited smile. "I think it would do us all good to let off some steam."

"It would…" Samara conceded. It would also be a good distraction. A good old fashioned game never hurt and they could all take a break from duties and worries.

At both Samara and Oscar's affirmation, Axel all but jumped in joy. "I could ask the others and see who else would like to join in and make a list."

"I'm game on one condition—" Oscar crossed his arms as he stared pointedly at the former marshal. "The two of us play on opposite sides."

Samara blinked languidly before smirking sharply. Oscar was challenging her—

Her eyes narrowed, only now excited.

–And it was a challenge she would undertake.

"Alright, both of us are the captains." The Native returned his unwavering stare. "Once Axel gets a list, we chose our players and may the best team win."

The corner of his lips twitched, on the verge of breaking into a victorious grin. "I'm alright with that."

As the two puffed up their chests in challenge, Axel's mind was already on how to make the game happen. This was the first time in years that he's gotten himself so excited over an idea he conjured. He felt like he could do anything at that moment, but what he wanted the most was to make his 'dream' come true.

Noon hit and Samara found herself in Hershel's garden working with the old man and Maggie and Glenn. They were tending the growing plants and Hershel was talking her ear off about farming and cultivation. Samara soaked it all up like a sponge and tried to imprint each word into her mind. One day this knowledge might be useful and she wasn't about to waste the opportunity. The Native could tell by the tone of Hershel's voice that he was enjoying himself with sharing his knowledge with someone eager to learn.

Samara did 't even know what time it was when the Kentucky sheriff decided to join them.

"You two seem to be havin' fun." His hands found their preferred place on his hips.

Samara wiped the accumulated sweat off her forehead. "All in a day's work."

Hershel cussed under his breath and moved away as quickly as one leg would take him. His new son-in-law was about ready to unknowingly butcher a bean plant and he needed to be stopped and properly taught how to take care of it.

Rick's eyes followed the old man's wobble, but his words were addressed to her.

"Axel approached me this mornin' if I want to join up a baseball team. Says that there's gonna be a match soon." His brow peaked dubiously. "Your idea?"

"His."

He nodded understandingly. "It's a good idea on his part. A game around here might be just what we need to loosen up a bit. Maybe get some of that old feelin' back."

Samara's eyes sharpened from underneath her cowboy hat. In a flash, the man turned from confident leader to someone pensive, weighted down by heavy thoughts.

"The old days, huh?" She scratched her chin thoughtfully, smudging it with dirt. "You know, it hasn't even been a year since the virus broke out and we're already talking about the old world as if decades have passed."

"It does feel like it, don't it?" Rick lowered down to her level. All traces of joy seemed to have evaporated as a dark cloud reigned over his head. "Sometimes, I swear I feel like the old life was just a dream I had while in that coma and wakin' up from it brought me back to reality…" A strange, empty film settled over his eyes. "Or maybe I'm still in that coma and this is the dream. Any moment now I'll wake up in that hospital bed in Cynthiana with Lori and Carl by my side and Shane…" He breathed in deeply. "Shane still alive and not crazy."

That would be an incredible mindfuck, Samara thought as she stared at the man passively. The sheriff was in a strange mood. Enough that it sent alarm bells ringing.

"You've been giving this a thought." That was putting it lightly.

There was something haunted in those blue irises as he stared deeply into Samara's eyes. "Sometimes…when the quiet is too loud."

She understood that. The almost pin dropping quiet of the world had her, at times, think strange things. Worse, when that focus was turned on herself and her own sanity came under question.

Her attention traveled back to the man in front. The film was still there, no doubt Rick was seeing different times when things weren't so messed up and she could tell who he was thinking of.

"You miss him, don't you?"

The man blinked out of the haze, disrupting the memory playing out before him. He sighed forlornly as he raked his finger through his shaggy hair. "I've known Shane since high-school. We did everythin' together. He was the best man at my weddin' and Carl's godfather. We worked together, we were partners. I would've given my life for him and he would have done the same for me. Not once did he act like he did in this new world. He never envied or tried to take what I had. I hate how it changed him into this unrecognizable man. It didn't need to end like that. Him dead in the middle of a field, shot by my own son." His eyes darkened as flashes of his anger and gradual descent into madness had Rick question the nature of all of Shane's actions, words and gestures from before the virus. "Or maybe I just didn't know him that well."

"How well can you know someone, really?" Samara mused as she drew squiggles in the earth. "It's all just layers atop layers, hiding the core of your being because the real you might not reach the social standards of what a person should be like. It's rare for a person to be completely honest with his nature." She smirked. "I know I wasn't."

"You think everyone at their core is bloodthirsty and savage." Rick hit the mark point blank.

"After everything you've seen, can you really doubt that?"

"…Yeah, I can."

Samara's eyes narrowed fractionally. If only he hadn't hesitated at first she would have believed him a hundred percent, but it seemed that even he wasn't naïve enough to still think the world was still good at heart. His doubts were enough for now.

Rick shook his head to dispel his dreary thoughts and returned to a more passive appearance.

"Sorry, I know you don't wanna hear this. I just came here to tell you I signed up for the game. Now, I don't know much about baseball. I never played it, not even when I was a kid. I was more of a soccer fan, but I'm a quick study."

"You'll be fine." Samara tipped her hat to hide her face from the sun and him. "This is not some professional match, just us."

The man departed soon after with the former marshal's eyes still glued to him. The man was in a slump and yet, he still kept up the appearance that nothing could touch him. But around her he let go and exposed his burdens and doubts. Not because she was special, but simply because Rick knew she wouldn't judge him for being troubled. For not being the strong leader everyone wanted him to be.

A part of her wished she could just sit down with him and let him unburden himself of everything that weighted his heart down, but if Samara did that she'd open a door she closed on him months ago. And what was behind that door could create her own doubts about leaving.

It was too late for that.

Smoke coiled above his face as Daryl lay on the dusty carpet in the warden's office staring at the ceiling with empty eyes. He was still too lethargic to close his jeans properly or even wipe off the sweat from his brow as butterflies still danced sweetly in his groin.

The woman that brought him to such heights was on the couch, hogging it all for herself, with her back turned to him. She never remained near him after the deed, always moved at a distance as if cautious of rogue fingers. In a way, he was relieved she took that precaution, but on the other Daryl was annoyed that she kept such distance. He wasn't going to bite her if she stayed beside him.

They never talked much after, just exhausted themselves and Samara was the first to leave. There was no need for anything more. It was better if they didn't try to seek answers or place a purpose to it. Simply just go with the flow. It was a mutual understanding, one that both seemed to be content with. Whenever they felt the urge they would join up at the warden's office and indulge and forget, and once they left that room, it was back to business. They had reached a perfectly even ground where it left both parties satisfied. If they did broach the subject, Daryl was sure they'd end up back to square one and for now, he did not wish for that.

—If this was the only way he got to spend time with her and the heat of her body then he wasn't going to ruin it.

It was difficult at times as the urge to touch her sometimes overcame his self-control and Daryl woke up with his hand hallway stretched towards her. He'd retract just in the nick of time as Samara would roll over to get dressed. He knew that if she noticed his 'affection', as she put it, she would put a swift end to their deal.

It was hollow, their joining. There was passion and fire, yes, but no real warmth. Samara was emotionally distant throughout and Daryl was hyper vigilant of doing nothing to disturb the peace. They both were afraid of each other and it was felt in the distance between them.

Sometimes, Daryl couldn't believe he had offered her this deal. Like waking up from a dream and realizing that it had been true and not a figment of the imagination. He had wanted to crack his forehead against a wall the moment those words were uttered and he genuinely had come up with ideas how to get out of it, but considering how shallow this 'thing' between them was treated, there was not much for him to worry.

Daryl tried to be honest with himself. Denying his thoughts and needs never once worked in his best interest.

—He wanted this woman. Even after all this time and after all the shit they went through, he still wanted to touch her and be near her. This wasn't to say that he forgave all the things she had said and done or that he suddenly liked her unconditionally. There were still times where he disliked the Native with fervor or she exasperated him beyond reason, but there was still that spark that pulled him towards her. The expression 'love/hate' came to mind, only he usually replaced the word 'love' with anything else that wasn't in the same spectrum.

Physically, that wasn't even a question. He appreciated the shape of her body even if she was more toned than what he was used to. And perhaps, somewhere deep down, he wanted her even a bit emotionally. Although, that part he ignored with a passion. What could he possibly expect from a cold shrew like her was beyond his capabilities of understanding. Hell would arrive on Earth before she showed him a smidgen of affection.

Daryl was beginning to think he was cursed with his taste in this one particular woman. She was the first of her kind that he ever slept with. Back in the days, he avoided strong-willed women like her. They were a lot of hassle, plus they were too bossy. Daryl was an old-fashioned type of guy. He still liked taking the lead in a relationship.

Daryl's eyes moved to her partially naked back. Russet skin with the spine visible underneath the skin, but even from this distance he could see the scars that the hardships of life bestowed on her. Samara was the anti-thesis of a feminine woman. She was crude, harsh, hardheaded and cruel and violent at times. Everything he did not appreciate in women and yet…He still wasn't able to look away. Whatever web she spun, he had been effortlessly caught in it without her even realizing it.

—He was hooked on a drug and he wasn't in a hurry anymore to kick the habit.

His eyes lowered to her behind and thighs and he smirked in amusement.

"Never thought you'd have a tattoo down there." Down there being on the length of her inner thigh right near her sex. Red roses with thorns. Again, something feminine that didn't suit her. "Gotta say I was surprised to find that one."

He noticed the light flick of her shoulders, not expecting him to initiate a conversation.

"It's a cover-up. There used to be a name there."

"You tattooed a guy's name on you? And here I thought you were too independent for that."

"It was a stupid mistake made by an even stupider teenager and her novice tattoo artist boyfriend." Samara scoffed as she still kept her back to him. "Should have never let that idiot mark me like that. He turned out to be a shit artist."

Daryl folded one arm underneath his head as he stared at the glowing red ash on his cigarette. "Got any other boyfriends tattooed beneath those two on your arms?"

"No, I didn't date that often and even when I did, men never stuck around for long. I gave them the boot or they left because I was too much to handle."

The corner of his lips tugged upwards. "I bet you made it as hard as you could on them."

Pause.

There was an awkward expectant air in the room and Daryl almost sighed in vexation at the thought that she clammed up. But to his surprise, she turned on her back with her face towards him.

"Sometimes." Her tone was faraway as she gazed at him lightly. "They were all too bland. There was no passion, no excitement just tedious day to day stuff normal couples do."

"What's so bad about that?"

She shrugged. "Nothing, just not to my taste."

Daryl huffed. He understood where she was going with her words.

"Got a thing for the bad ones, huh?"

The corner of her lips quirked up for a moment. "I'm pretty sure that's why I found you attractive in the first place. The woods, Hampton, Bowdon. There's never a dull moment with you."

Daryl felt his insides burn. A compliment? That had been unexpected. But the mention of Hampton all but killed the good mood for him.

He scowled as that unfortunate trip that he approved of came to mind. He'll never forgive himself for letting the woman have her way that one time.

"I don't think runnin' for our lives was exactly a thrill seek, neither was seein' you try to put a bullet through your skull."

Her eyes took on a faraway gaze as she stared through him in whatever thought she was pondering. "Even dying had its own special breed of energy. It makes your heart beat uncontrollably and your blood simper. There's this cold shake to your body from the massive overload of adrenaline that makes your head feel like it's going to burst. You don't know if in the next second you'll live or die." The shadow of an eerie smile flashed. "There is some strange beauty in it."

If she were expecting for him to be impressed by her pretty words then she was sourly mistaken. In fact, it was quite the opposite.

"You should try listenin' to yourself sometimes." Daryl said with grave lips. "I don't think you know how fucked up that sounded. Like you have a death wish."

"Maybe I do…"

Daryl frowned. This wasn't the first time she had mentioned death with such carelessness and it never failed to send a shiver down his spine.

"You often think of death?" He all but whispered.

She broke out in a chuckle as she gazed at his ashen features. "I'm not going to off myself, Daryl. I still have some life left in me. Besides, I want to see how far I can get in this new world."

It still didn't put him at ease. This world wasn't easy and even the strongest of men had their breaking point. Samara was no different. This was why he feared her leaving. If something did happen and she cracked…he wouldn't be there to stop her.

Something in his chest tightened painfully at the thought of her death. It was the farm back all over again, only this time it was worse. There were more at stake than just a promised hunting trip.

"How many tattoos do you have?"

His worries came to a halt as his eyes connected with hers. Without doubt, from her defensive posture, she had seen the flash of panic that slipped out of his tight grip and opted to close the subject on such a morbid topic.

Daryl licked his sudden dry lips and cleared his throats as if nothing had happened. As if his mind didn't just conjure up an image of her being devoured by walkers and shoving that gun underneath her chin, her brains splattering all over the ground.

"Four." He indicated the winged devil on his upper inner arm. "That one. This star." A crude hollow star on his wrist. "This." A tiny, simple X on his clavicle. "And another one on my back. It's bigger than the others."

"Show me."

"No."

It wasn't even debatable.

The woman's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "You never show your back. Are you deformed or something?"

"Just don't wanna."

Her scoff sounded more like a bark. "Oh, that's a great reason. Next time, I won't feel like taking my pants off. Actually, I'll stay fully clothed and you can use your girlfriend," She made a jacking off motion with her hand. "To satisfy you."

"Don't make a deal out of it." His frown turned into a scowl, wishing to be over this subject. "It's nothin'."

The woman scoffed again and rose to a sit. Daryl watched passively as she clothed herself, signaling the end of their little rendezvous.

Daryl sometimes wondered how it would feel if he were the first to go and leave her alone in this quiet room. She'd probably be pissed and he was tempted to try it next time. It didn't feel great being discarded without a backwards glance and he was sure she'd take offense. She was still a woman underneath those harsh layers and they tended to get rather catty when they got ignored and treated like a used dishrag.

He sighed as he heard the click of the door and threw an arm over his eyes to block out the world. He could still smell her on him and Daryl couldn't get the thought of wanting to share body warmth with her out of his head.

I'm really screwed.

Foot Note: Poor Daryl, he's the only one emotionally invested (or trying not to) in this while Samara is basically being an ice cube for her own reasons. It sucks having to repress yourself because you basically give a shit about someone, but attraction is not always sunshine and daisies.

Daryl's tattoos…I'm not really sure how many Reedus has, but I didn't include all of them just the ones mentioned.