"Ha!" Glenn said triumphantly.
"Ha," Sinclaire repeated dryly as she flipped him over and put her knees on his arms, pinning him much more securely than he'd pinned her.
"Damn boy!" Merle called. "How many times is that?"
"At least I'm brave enough to take her on," Glenn shot back. "You guys are just sitting there—"
"What ya draggin' me into it for?" Daryl asked. "I ain't said nothin'!"
"Ya ain't done nothin' neither," Merle said, punching him in the shoulder.
"I can kick your ass and that's enough for me," Daryl replied with a grin.
"Shit! One lucky punch! And I was goin' easy on ya 'cause I'd been thinkin' ya was dead."
"You're all heart Merle," Sinclaire teased.
"Ya know it sweetheart," he replied with a wink. "Ain't ya about done throwin' the chinaman around anyway? Gettin' hungry."
"So go eat. I'm not your personal chef," she answered as she stood up and tugged Glenn to his feet.
"Aw come on! Woman up."
Daryl laughed at Sinclaire's bemused expression.
"Take your brother," she said. "He's not doing anything."
"Hey! Maybe I'm a visual learner!" he protested.
"So come down here and take her on," Glenn challenged.
"Or take him on," Sinclaire suggested. "At least then you'd have a sure victory."
"That's it!" Glenn said dramatically. "I'll be in my trailer."
As he walked huffily up the steps Merle said, "Fix me somethin' to eat while you're in there."
Sinclaire shook her head and sat down on one of the lower steps.
"He really is fun to mess with," she said, giving Merle a smile.
"Yeah," he agreed. "What ya think he's gonna fix for lunch?"
"Soup," Daryl answered. "But he ain't gonna give ya none."
"Shit," Merle drawled as he stood up. "We'll see about that."
Once Merle was gone to look through the bounty of groceries Nate had brought back the day before, Sinclaire boosted herself up to the step he'd been sitting on. It was warmer out of Daryl's shadow in addition to the fact that Daryl was practically cozy warm all the time. She didn't know how he did it. Her mother had always sworn that Sinclaire was cold blooded in the most literal sense of the word. When the temperature dropped, Sinclaire added layers. Lots of layers. With the clothing shortage lately though there were only so many layers she could add short of wearing her sleeping bag. She wished she had a snuggie. Why the hell hadn't she bought a snuggie?
"Cold?" Daryl asked when she shivered for about the third time.
"Yeah."
"I'd've thought that ya'd work up a sweat tossin' the kid around," Daryl said as he pulled off his over shirt and handed it to her.
"You don't have to do that," she protested. He draped it over her shoulders anyway. "Oh sweet Lord you're warm. How do you stay so warm?"
He shrugged and said, "Merle's the same way."
"He wouldn't give me his shirt though."
"Can't argue that," Daryl agreed. "Guess I'm just a better person."
She laughed.
"I think you just take every opportunity to be sleeveless. Hoping Carrie will turn up again?"
"Oh God, not you too. She shows up I'm locking her in with Glenn and not lettin' her out."
"Good old fashioned Dixon matchmakin'," Merle said, nudging Daryl with the toe of his boot so he could sit down. "Remember Jimmy?"
Daryl chuckled and said, "Hard to forget."
"What happened with Jimmy?" Sinclaire asked with interest.
"Here," Merle said handing her a bowl of soup. "Don't say I never gave ya nothin'. Jimmy…"
"Just a damn second," Daryl interrupted. "Where's mine?"
"In the kitchen I reckon," Merle said.
"I'm your only brother! And I'm sittin' out here in a fuckin' wife beater!"
"I can give you your shirt back," Sinclaire began, feeling guilty.
"Hell," Merle drawled. "It ain't my fault that ya don't know that ya warm up a woman from the inside out."
"Oh good God," she muttered taking another sip of the soup.
Daryl stood up with a sigh and went to get something to eat.
"Anyway," Merle said as if they'd never been interrupted. "My cousin Mellissa had fell in love with a guy named Jimmy and he was sorta draggin' his feet about the whole thing."
"I can't imagine anyone not wanting to marry into the Dixon clan," Sinclaire teased.
"Mellissa felt the same way," Merle said. "So she did what every woman does when she wants to keep a man…she got knocked up."
"That's the most sexist thing I've ever heard you say," she informed him. "But now I'm curious so…elucidate."
"Jimmy wasn't real sure he wanted to do the right thing. Mellissa's daddy, my daddy's older brother, wasn't about to stand for his daughter's uh…"
"Virtue being spoiled?" she suggested.
"Yeah that's it," he answered with a grin. "So what Uncle Dan did was lock 'em in a room in the trailer and tell Jimmy that he wasn't comin' out till he knew right from wrong."
"Is that what he actually said? Those were his exact words?"
"Yep."
"Your family's terrifying!"
"Yep," Merle said complacently as he finished up his soup. "Warm yet Yank?"
"Getting there," she admitted.
"All this cookin' made me tired," Merle said with a stretch. "I think I'm gonna go to sleep."
"You're getting old."
"Fuck you."
Daryl walked out with his cup of soup as Merle walked inside.
"He don't wanna associate with me no more," Daryl said as he sat back down. "Brought ya somethin'."
She smiled when he held out a blanket.
"Is this your way of insinuating that you want your shirt?"
"Nah. It's good thing ya ain't back home, ya'd freeze to death."
"That's probably true," she agreed. "I hadn't thought of that. It's probably snowing up there by now. I wonder how the zombies would handle snow?"
"That's a good question," Daryl said, thinking about it. "I ain't so sure their blood circulates. If it froze they wouldn't be able to move…maybe we'll have a colder winter and we can see."
"It's pretty much the only reason to wish for a cold winter," Sinclaire said.
"I'd make sure ya stayed warm," he said without really thinking about it.
She didn't know what to say to that, an obviously off the cuff remark that shouldn't have made her think anything at all. It was the kind of remark Rick or Glenn or even Merle might have made. It was a Southern guy type of statement. It was…she was over analyzing it and now Daryl was starting to realize what he'd said. It was about to get awkward…
"Walkers!" Carl gasped out, running up the steps, dragging Sophia behind him.
"Where at?" Daryl asked, jumping to his feet.
"How many?" Sinclaire demanded at the same time.
"Over there," Carl pointed to the left.
"A lot!" Sophia answered as she gasped for breath.
"Get in the house," Daryl ordered her. "Get yer dad," he said to Carl.
Sinclaire dropped the blanket and pulled her vest on as she yelled for Merle.
"What?" he yelled back.
"Zombies!"
"Fuck!"
Shane was the first to get out to the porch, his shotgun braced on his shoulder, his eyes scanning the horizon.
"About fifty," he said as Glenn and Rick showed up. "We oughta just shoot from right here…"
"We can't," Sinclaire interrupted. "Our range won't be good enough and there's always the chance that they could swarm the porch. This won't hold forever."
"Fine," he answered in a clipped tone that told her he knew she was right. "Then let's get out there."
Sinclaire took a deep breath as Rick and Shane headed down the steps. Daryl followed, his crossbow slung over his shoulder, a colt 45 in the waistband of his jeans. She hadn't faced a hoard in a while. She felt a hand on her shoulder and turned.
"Let's go get 'em Yank," Merle said with a slight grin. "But don't bother to count yer kills 'cause I'm gonna have ya beat pretty bad."
"Fuck you Merle Dixon! I could beat you with my eyes closed."
"Then let's get out there," he said. "We'll see who's the better zombie killer."
"Damn straight," she said, borrowing one of his expressions and giving him a smile over her shoulder as she went down the steps.
She aimed and fired the first shot. A zombie in a tattered print dress fell. The rest of the herd picked up the pace at the sound. She saw Daryl aim and fire a bolt, dropping another. As he reloaded she called, "Use the gun!"
"Not 'till I have to," he called back. "What's it to ya anyway?"
"I don't want to see you get eaten," she answered. "It's slow!"
"Slow?" he questioned incredulously. He barely took the time to aim as he dropped his next Walker. "How ya like that?"
She shook her head, taking down four more in quick succession.
"I like that better."
He drew back the bow one more time, shooting the Walker closest and then switched to the gun.
"Fine. That better?" he asked when they began falling like dominos.
"Much."
She glanced around for Merle and found him still going strong.
"8!" he yelled.
Damn. She'd forgotten to count.
"Ya got five," Daryl said. "Better catch up."
"Shit."
To her surprise and immense relief no one died. Merle beat her 20 to 14; it was pretty humiliating.
"So all this proves is that I coulda beat ya with one hand behind my back," Merle drawled. "Ain't nothin' to get upset over."
"I am not upset," Sinclaire snapped.
"Ya sound upset."
"Fuck you bow hunter."
Daryl just laughed and pulled one of his bolts out of a zombies head with a squelching sound.