So…sorry for the massive delay. I know for you guys it must have been disappointing from almost weekly updates to silence for the last few months. I've been having some problems of the corazon kind and long story short, I was the one that got the short end of the stick. So, my motivation to write anything romantic plummeted. Even the thought of reading my chapters left me slightly disgusted, but I'm better now, and slowly I'm getting back on the writing horse. I'll try to be more active, but we'll see how it goes. Don't worry, I'm not dropping the fic. I've invested too much time and sweat into it.

So, enjoy the new chapter, even though it's a little bit shorter.

For the first time since arriving at the prison, its walls and cell blocks were empty. The halls were left as they were found, cold and still as life had been seeped out of its veins. Without people, what is a home but just an empty building?

But if you walk deeper into the grounds, at the back of the prison, you will find quite a different story—

"Strike! You're out!"

"What?! Come on. I almost had it!"

"Almost doesn't mean you made it."

"I call foul play! Let me try again!"

"This ain't football, dumbass."

Samara snuffed a guffaw as she watched Glenn argue with the acting umpire, Dale, while Daryl tried to rush them so they could move on.

The promised baseball match was underway.

They group wasn't the most professional or even amateur level, but it was entertaining to watch. More than half didn't have a clue what they were doing and the other was imitating what they saw in movies. All in all, it was fun and everyone seemed to enjoy it.

It was a good day.

"Come on, babe. Next time you'll do better." Maggie coaxed her vexed husband. "Give someone else a turn."

Glenn pouted, but he still passed on the bat. Next up was Oscar and here Samara knew she had to be vigilant. The ex-con knew the game and knew how to swing a bat.

Breathe in, breathe out.

Samara lined up herself and readied her swing. She was on the pitcher mound, moments from throwing in some of her wining pitches that had marked her a star of her junior league days. She wouldn't miss this one. Not when Oscar was her opponent and she could see the twinkle in his eye that spoke 'I'm going to win'. That was a passive-aggressive challenge in itself.

Samara could hear the three man audience cheering while her teammates shouted encouragements and the opposing team teased and booed friendly.

Breathe in.

Toes curled. Fingers clenched. Breath hitched.

Swing.

Eyes widened.

It's going to pass. It's going to—

Grimace.

Oh shit.

Oscar clenched the bat fiercely and swung like his life depended on it. To Samara, it was already clear how it was going to play out.

Boom!

Anymore force and the wood would have splintered. Samara watched with a displeased frown as the ball soared high, agitating the others as they scrambled to catch the ball.

And lo and behold, her salvation came in the form of Daryl who was running backwards, his eyes on the ball and, for a second, Samara doubted that he would catch it as past thoughts reared their ugly heads.

A smile lit up her face as she watched the hunter jump and catch the ball, saving her team from losing ground. Her cheer stood on the tip of her tongue, but the moment her mouth opened she choked back on her words as, out of nowhere, Tyreese tackled the Georgia man to the ground. And not a friendly, bro type of tackle, but a full-blown football, protection gear on, muscled athletic guy's tackle. Samara had only seen that during Super Bowl.

Samara's reaction wasn't alone. The others had more or less the same reaction as they stood mute and dumb at the man's actions.

"What the fuck!?" Daryl growled in a strained, whizzing voice as soon as he regained his speech from the painful, jarring impact.

"Oh, shit! I'm so sorry, Daryl." Tyreese immediately got off him and started apologizing to the moon and back. "It was a slip. I forgot where we were."

"What? Did you get a Vietnam flashback?" He coughed as he held his bruised chest. "Jesus, that hurt."

Samara approached her 'wounded soldier' and looked him over for a second. He was alright. Ego bruised, but that usually healed..

Daryl waved off the others that offered their help. Even stopping Tyreese from apologizing was hard, he didn't need others babying him. Their worry was getting him agitated and Samara could see it reaching its limit. Thank the Gods for Grimes who saw the volatile temper rising and offered a hand up. The Georgia man took it despite the pain and shortened breath and raised himself to his feet. He placated the still few worried people and walked—slightly limping—back to his post.

On his way, he handed the ball back to Samara who stood a distance from the commotion. Her lips pursed tightly in a straight line.

"I thought this was a friendly game." The man hissed as he massaged his tender flesh. His raspy voice reminded the woman of a person who had been smoking all his life three packs a day.

"It is."

Daryl paused and squinted his eyes further.

"Are you laughin'?" He asked incredulously. "Me gettin' hurt makes you giggle?"

At that moment, he had no idea how hard it was to keep her face from breaking into laughter. Except for the small crack in her lips, Samara looked the picture of nonchalance. But inside…

"Perhaps."

-She was laughing her ass off.

Daryl spat disgruntled as he passed her by without a second notice. Definitely, ego bruised.

It was involuntarily on her part. She just couldn't get the picture out of her mind of Tyreese, who was well built like a mountain, bulldoze into Daryl, who was mostly thin with some muscle. Like a boulder rolling over a thin tree. It was just too funny.

The man probably had gotten too excited and remembered his football days and the adrenaline that came with it. Samara had never seen anyone confuse sports like that, but everything had its first.

Even now, Tyreese shouted an apology which had Samara bite her knuckles to stop herself from guffawing. Tyreese was the likeness of a kicked puppy left in the rain.

This is just too much.

"Hey! Can we start playin' again or what?" Impatient, Oscar hollered from his position.

Ah, of course. The show must go on.

The game went on and, of course, Samara's team lost. By some miracle, Oscar's team had a recovery and kicked her team's ass in the last moments.

At first, Samara had been angry. She had wanted to yell at her teammates for playing so badly, but abstained herself at the last second. This hadn't been a competition for them. The others had just wanted to have fun and they did judging from their smiling faces and joyous laughter. Who was she to ruin that because of a rivalry between her and the ex-con?

Samara approached the man as he stood apart from his cheering teammates, proud of his win and slightly smug about it.

"Not a bad game, marshal." The man said as he crossed his arms.

Samara nodded begrudgingly. "Not bad yourself. Rematch?"

He smirked teasingly. "Sure, I'm always lookin' for the opportunity to kick your ass."

"Not if I do next time." Samara smirked herself, only sharper. A promise.

The man extended his hand and the Native shook it. Nothing but mutual respect crossed between them from their shared silent gaze.

Of course, and a promise for matches to come.

"The others are happy." Oscar mused as he watched everyone celebrate and talk amongst each other. There was no sadness or jealousy over the game, just sportsmanship and good mood. There were no losers and winners, just friends and family letting off some steam and enjoying the moment that they were still alive and able to have fun.

"Yes, they are."

The Native smiled.

"Stop that." Daryl swatted the wayward finger that kept prodding his ribs.

Samara slid her hand back underneath her chin as she gazed down at the injured hunter from her perch on the couch. She wasn't fully smiling, just a faint upturn of her lips, but Daryl could see the wild amusement swimming in her eyes.

After the game they had both retreated in their hideout and spent some downtime, feeding off the leftover adrenaline from the game.

"Does it still hurt?"

"What do you think?" He grumbled as he massaged the sore area. "Gettin' hit by Tyreese is like gettin' hit by a ram. I'm surprised he didn't bust a rib or two."

The corner of her mouth sharpened. "Do you want me to kiss it and make it better?"

He knew she was just feeding her own amusement, but Daryl still felt a shiver pass over his skin. Her kisses usually involved teeth.

"I'm kidding."

He snorted. "I know that. You're more likely to bite me."

This time she smirked like the pleased cat.

Daryl left his bruised chest in peace and placed his hands at the back of his head. His attention naturally gravitated back to the other person in the room. She didn't turn away this time. Samara kept facing him even after the deed which was a first. Of course, that just might be so she could poke him with the metaphorical stick for his growing pain, but Daryl liked to think otherwise. At least, only slightly.

He had been surprised how fun the match had been. Everyone had enjoyed it, even the ones that didn't participate. It had been something normal…or at least as normal as the lives the others have had before. To Daryl it had been a refreshing experience.

He actually enjoyed it.

"Didn't know you play baseball."

Samara focused back on him. Like always she seemed to veer off into space and stare out blankly if not engaged in conversation.

"It was my favorite game when I was a kid. My team actually won the Arizona Junior Championship." She smiled nostalgically. "That was one of my proudest moments."

"Because of a kid's game?" He couldn't understand.

"At that time it felt like a conquered the world. All kids feel like that after they accomplish something that gets their hearts pumping, even something as small as a sport match."

"I never did."

Her eyes took on a probing sheen. "You played any sports?"

"Nah, just dumb games with the other kids."

The Native was silent for a moment and Daryl could almost see the cogs moving as she processed his words. He already knew what was going through her mind. What went through everyone's head when bits and pieces of his past were revealed.

"You didn't have a lot growing up."

Daryl didn't even react. She hadn't spoken in a demeaning tone, simply stating a fact. While it still managed to tick him off, it wasn't as strong as when he was younger. Fights had started on those simple words alone.

"That house back near Ropville, I grew up in a similar one." He spoke with no intonation. Calculated as always when he spoke about his past which he was ever reluctant. "That's how I knew what it was."

She nodded. "Figured as much. Your revulsion to it was pretty obvious."

"Yeah well, we don't all get to grow up in a happy family, go to college, get nice jobs and marry. Some of us don't get that luxury."

She snorted derisively. "Is that what you think? That I had a happy-go-lucky life?"

He shook his head. "Fact that you joined the army tells me what I need to know."

"Oh really?" She raised her upper body on her elbows, curious as a puppy. "Do tell."

Daryl was reluctant. Samara had a tendency to react badly at things spoken about or against her, and Daryl didn't want to ruin the peaceful mood they were enjoying, but if she really wanted to know… "My brother did the same. Signed up as soon as he turned eighteen to get away. Didn't last though. Got kicked out soon 'cause of his temper. Saw it comin', but Merle wouldn't listen." He shook his head, reliving the memory when he got a call from the next town over that his brother was passed out drunk and methed out of his mind. A way to 'celebrate' his failure. "Dumbass…"

A shadow seemed to veil over the Native's eyes and she frowned as if in deep thought. It looked like she was raking her brain for something, but soon she gave up and returned to her earlier passive mood.

"So, I take it you've never left Georgia?"

Daryl shrugged. "Didn't have a reason to."

"How about not dying in the same place you were born?"

"As I said, not all of us get that luxury."

She rolled her eyes, slightly exasperated. "It's better than sitting on your ass in the same place, watching your life go by. Anything is better than that."

"Never felt that need. I like Georgia. Maybe not everythin' about it, but it was what I knew best." His eyes slid to her. "Choosin' to enlist? That seems extreme."

"A lot of people did it, mostly for the college support. I never went for that. I wanted to see the world from sky high—"

"While down below people shot and killed each other." Daryl finished.

"Everything has its pros and cons." She shrugged nonchalantly, but Daryl caught the faint twitch in her brow.

"Suits you, I guess." He prodded her. "The chaos war causes."

This time he got a real reaction as Samara glared nastily. "Fuck you. You think I liked seeing so many dead, so many atrocities?"

"Didn't mean it like that, damn. I just think that you work better in tight situations. You like bein' away from the safety of the prison. Freedom from others and responsibilities. You're more alive out there than behind walls. I noticed that back at the farm. That's why you always want to get away, right?"

Among other things…

This time Samara seemed to recoil from the truth in his words. "I'm not running, I just never could stay in one place too long. I always got this sense of containment, like something was trying to chain me down. That's why I stayed as a pilot so many years. Not because of my comrades or out of a patriotic sense of duty, but because I felt more alive traveling place to place than I ever felt in my entire life. I was in control of my own existence." A haze settled over her expression, reminiscent of days past. "It was a change from living in some boring reservation in Arizona. I didn't want to follow in my dad's footsteps and become Navajo Police, marry some local man and have kids." Her lips contorted. "It hadn't turn out so well for him so why the hell would I want that?"

Her expression changed in a fraction of a second—from frustration to alarm. She glanced at him worriedly then avoided eye contact. She realized too late that she had said too much.

Ah.

Now he understood.

"Like I said, I can tell." She shouldn't hide. He, out of all people, understood her plight more than she thought.

"I didn't have some broken home, you dick." She bared her teeth agitated from her slip of tongue. "My dad was a great guy. He was a lot like Grimes. Very principled and upright. Only difference was, he was more practical. He understood the broader picture and was prepared to make sacrifices if needed. He raised me to never rely on anyone that wasn't worth the struggle."

In other words, he raised her to face the world alone and without crutches. The result was staring him right in the face and Daryl couldn't complain. It was a huge difference from being just another person that needed help all the time. This was one of the things he respected about her.

Her father had probably been strict. Lawmen always were, especially if they had daughters. That coupled with boot camp mentality and law enforcement rules had turned her into one mean and headstrong woman.

"You never said nothin' about your ma." Never once had she mentioned the existence of a mother and it made him curious.

She seemed to retreat from the conversation as she erected that wall that exasperated the hunter on occasion. "We're all allowed to have our skeletons…"

In other words, mind your own business.

Silence reigned between them. It wasn't awkward or tense, just simple neutrality. This was better than her usual icy disposition towards him.

"You know, I never quite figured this out, but…" She stared shrewdly at him. "What were you doing before the virus? How did you live?"

Daryl shrugged. "Don't matter."

"So I get to spill the beans, but you don't?" She huffed, mildly indignant.

"I ain't obligated to."

This time she scoffed derisively.

And with that their time together came to an end as Samara rose from her languid position and started getting dressed. Daryl watched detached as she went through the motions, every now and then his interest peaking when she reached different—more enjoyable—parts of her body.

As Daryl watched those nimble fingers move around it dawned on him that something was amiss.

Something was missing from her hands. What was—

It then clicked.

Her ring was missing.

"You lost it?"

She turned confused.

"What?"

He pointed towards her naked finger void of the shiny golden symbol of holy matrimony.

She stared in reflex at her hand before shrugging casually. Too casual for his taste.

"No, I took it off."

Again, the hunter was left confused. She had been wearing it almost like a tattoo all this time. Seeing her without it…

It left Daryl wondering.

So, I kinda rushed the baseball scene because one: I don't know anything about baseball. We don't have that in my country and I have almost zero interest in sports. Sorry about that, but you get the gist of it. I was more interested in the relationship part of it and the funny side.

I think I rushed the whole chapter to be honest. Right now, I'm writing off my IPad and it kinda sucks because I'm used to the PC. Unfortunately, it died on me after ten years. Rest in peace, you beautiful piece of junk. *lights up a lighter for a moment of silence*