A/N: Just so's you know, we're nearing the end of this story. Only one or two chapters left. Stay tuned!

Disclaimer: I am making absolutely no profit off The Walking Dead. It's not mine!

Even hungover, Daryl got up earlier than most of the others. He looked at Lia on the sleeping bag beside him, her back to him, and felt a pang in his chest that overshadowed his throbbing headache for a brief instant. Despite her efforts to hide it from him, he heard her crying last night.

He got up and stumbled as quietly as possible for the exit. As soon as he staggered outside, he recoiled from the brightening sun and kept to the shady side of the meeting hall. He leaned against the wood planks and slid down until his ass hit the ground. His knees were drawn up and forearms rested on them while his head hung down. He might've stayed like that all day if the sounds of light footsteps and liquid sloshing hadn't gotten his attention. His aching skull protested as he forced himself to look up. His squinting, bloodshot eyes made out the blurred image of Nana Shino's petite form standing over him. Her right hand gripped the handle of a metal bucket full of water. She set it down beside his right foot.

"You may want to rinse off," she advised, not unkindly, "You smell like a distillery."

Daryl didn't respond, even with a noncommittal grunt. He just lowered his head again. Nana strode off without another word. A little while later Daryl mustered the energy to reach out and drag the bucket closer. There was a dipper inside and he used it to take several drinks. The water was clean and cold, probably fresh out of the tributary. Once he took care of his thirst he poured a ladleful over his head. He sat and watched the clear drops fall from the tips of his hair.

Others were starting to wake up and come outside. Most headed straight for the nearest mess tent for breakfast. Daryl received more than a few looks as they passed by. He ignored them. They weren't the ones whose opinions he cared about. It wasn't until he saw Lia from the corner of his eye that he felt ashamed of his condition. Then he remembered why he did this to himself in the first place and felt even more like shit.

Lia stood with Sally in her arms, the toddler rubbing at her eyes groggily. She looked at Daryl in his misery and wanted to go to him, but couldn't bring herself to take that first step. She told herself she needed to take care of Sally first, but quickly shot the excuse down for the cowardice it was. The thought that he might prove her fears true and reject her made her stomach clench in a painful knot. She didn't want to confront this, but knew that putting it off would only make it worse. Back when the walkers were only myths from cheesy horror films, Lia used to get so irritated at her girlfriends who fretted about their relationships, the misunderstandings and suspicions and tense silences. She wanted to yell at them, "Just tell him, dammit! How's he supposed to understand if you don't tell him anything?" More than one past boyfriend told her she was too up-front for her own good. That some things were better kept to herself. She always thought that was bullshit, and she still did. She never kept anything from Daryl, never left it up to him to figure out what her problem was. The sooner faced, the sooner dealt with.

But now she found herself scared to end the silence between them. She was afraid to know what he was thinking. It was easier to sympathize with her long-dead girlfriends now. Sometimes the most terrifying possibility was knowing for sure.

"Good morning." Lia's head jerked towards the source of the cheerful greeting and her shoulders relaxed slightly as Nana Shino approached her. The old woman smiled and placed a gentle hand on her arm. "Are you alright, dear?" she asked in that quiet way that made people want to open up to her.

Lia pursed her lips, glanced over at Daryl still slouched over the water pail, then let out a breath as she came to a decision. "Could you do me a favor and take Sally over to get breakfast?"

Nana smiled knowingly. "Of course." She reached for the sleepy toddler. "Come here, sweetheart. Let's go get something to eat together, hmm?"

Sally didn't protest as she was passed to the older woman. She wrapped her chubby arms around Nana's neck and gazed back over the old woman's shoulder as she was carried away. Lia smiled and waved at her, then she turned, took a breath to steady herself, and walked over to where Daryl sat alone.

Daryl's shoulders tensed as she drew near, but he kept his head down. He didn't want to see the condemnation in her eyes. He didn't want to face what was about to happen. This was so like Lia. She was never one to put things off for days or weeks. Instead of a prolonged death, she was going to break it off with him quick and clean. She would try to be kind about it - I'm sorry. I thought I could live with what you did, but I can't. - but no amount of kindness was going to make this any less painful than digging his heart out with his own knife.

Lia knelt down beside him. He didn't look up. She stared at his haggard profile, his damp hair plastered down, droplets clinging to the ends. She turned her eyes downward and took another steadying breath. "I need to say something," she said in the calmest voice she could manage, "I need to say it before I lose my nerve."

Daryl didn't respond. He stared down at the bucket and tried to brace himself for what was coming.

"I'm sorry," she murmured, "I'm so sorry for asking you to do what you did. I understand how wrong it was. But I didn't understand 'til it was too late. I don't want you to think that I...I blame you for anything. This is my fault. I know it."

He could hear the remorse in her voice, the sadness. He closed his eyes, but otherwise didn't move.

"I just...I don't want you to hate me," her voice wavered. She struggled to maintain control as she forced the words out, "I know I might be asking too much, wanting you to forgive me for this. But please, if you feel there's anything left that we had before, if you still care about me even a little, please..."

This is it, he thought, She's gonna tell me t' go without makin' it hard on her. Just walk away.

"...don't leave me."

Daryl's eyes flew open and he finally looked at her. And instead of the harsh judgment he expected, he saw his own fear and grief reflected in her gaze. A tear escaped and rolled down her left cheek. "Please don't leave me," she repeated.

Daryl's mouth opened. It took several tries before his voice worked. "I thought...I thought y' were gonna tell me t' go."

Lia blinked in disbelief. "Why'd you think that?"

Daryl swallowed. "'Cuz of what I did."

"I asked you to!"

"I didn't know. After I did it, I thought," he looked away, biting the inside of his lip, "maybe y' meant sumthin' else. I thought ya'd hate me fer murderin' him."

A mournful sound escaped Lia's throat as she scooted closer and threw her arms around him. "I'll never hate you," she whispered fiercely in his ear, "Never."

"You f'give me?" he asked in a small voice.

"I forgive you. Can you forgive me for making you do this to yourself?"

"Y' didn't make me," he told her, "But yeah, I forgive ya." He put his arms around her. A strange numbness had come over him. He'd been so focused on what he believed to be an inevitable scenario, only to have the exact opposite happen. He didn't know what to feel at that moment. He couldn't even feel relieved.

He tilted his head and winced as pain flared in his skull. "M' head hurts," he muttered.

Lia drew back to gently cradle his face in her hands. She placed featherlight kisses along his brow and Daryl's throat tightened at the loving gesture. "It's alright," she soothed, "I'll take care of you."

For whatever reason, those words brought a surge of emotion in him. Everything Daryl had been through over the past weeks - the torture, the escape, the fighting, the killing - all came boiling up at once, overwhelming the fragile control left to him. He buried his face against Lia's chest as the first sobs broke free. "'M sorry," he choked.

This was not how a man was supposed to act, weeping like a scared little kid. Daryl wanted to hide this humiliating weakness, but couldn't bring himself to let Lia go. He clung to her with a desperate strength that was sure to leave bruises, not that Lia cared. She hugged him back just as fiercely, her face pressed to his damp hair. "It's okay, baby," she murmured, "Let it all out."

Passersby who glimpsed the embracing couple quickly looked away. They didn't say a word about what they saw to anyone. It was none of their business.


Dave Wilson regained consciousness three days later. He woke to the sounds of guitar music and opened his eyes to see Carol, of all people, sitting in a chair beside his bed playing the guitar that once belonged to Hess. She was singing along, her voice a tad rough, but there was no doubt she loved the words.

"I am a poor wayfaring stranger

Traveling through this world of woe

Yet there's no sickness, toil or danger

In that bright world to which I go

I'm going home to see my father

I'm going home, no more to roam

I am just going home to Jordan

I am just going over home..."

"My gramma used t' sing that," Dave croaked.

The guitar twanged as Carol's head jerked up in surprise. "You're awake! Oh, thank God!" she jumped up from her seat and hurried to her side, a bright smile on her face, "People have been volunteering to sit by you all hours, just in case, but I honestly didn't think you'd wake while I was here."

Dave frowned. His memory was foggy. He remembered Shelby dying, her funeral... "What happened?"

Carol's smile faltered. "Um, I'll go get the doctor. He'll explain everything to you."

A beaming Doc Lawton entered the room moments later and proceeded to give Dave a thorough examination. While he looked him over, he filled Dave in on what happened. Hess's attack, the posse made up of locals and Rick and Daryl, then Daryl killing Hess in self defense. Dave listened to it all with a sort of bewildered acceptance. Part of him was relieved to hear that Shelby's killer didn't get away with it, and yet the whole situation felt unreal. Maybe if he remembered Hess attacking him, it would be different, but that memory seemed to have been knocked out of him.

"Me 'n' the rest of th' Elders finally decided t' let the refugees stay," Doc finished, "They already moved outta the meetin' hall an' set up their tents. Guess they're all tired o' livin' cozied up together. Pretty soon they're gonna start buildin' their cabins 'long with everybody else."

"They're all stayin'?" Dave asked. Somehow, he couldn't imagine Daryl or Lia wanting to stick around, given their experiences.

Doc shrugged. "Their group's mostly kids, after all. They wanna settle down, find some stability. I think our town can hold 'em. They've already been pitchin' in with the day-to-day work, makin' friends with their new neighbors. I think things'll work out alright."

Dave certainly hoped so, for everyone's sake.

There was no shortage of visitors once word got out that he woke from his coma. Doc made sure they came in singles or pairs, and stayed no more than a few minutes so they didn't wear the patient out. Lia was among the last.

Dave smiled at her. "I hear yer man's a hero. Tracked down Hess 'n' took him down on his own."

Lia nodded, her smile wan. "He did what he had to."

"How's he takin' it?"

She blinked. It was the first time anyone really asked her that. It didn't seem to occur to anyone that Daryl's bouts of sullenness and short fuse had anything to do with killing Hess. They all assumed it because of the torture, and it certainly was a factor. Hardly a night went by that his nightmares didn't wake Lia with his thrashing and cries. She'd taken more than a few bruises while trying to wake him, but she never told Daryl about that. He didn't need the added guilt. He did insist, however, that Sally sleep in Nana Shino's tent, a precaution Lia agreed with.

"He's getting through it," Lia replied, her voice solemn, "We both are."

Dave nodded in sympathy. "I know it's gotta be a heavy burden for him, takin' a life, even in self defense. Tell him my prayers are with him."

Lia couldn't suppress a smirk. "Thanks, though I kinda doubt he'll give them much value."

"Well," Dave smiled, "I'll be prayin' for him anyway. And fer you."

"Thank you," she said, and her gratitude was genuine.


Daryl was seated on an overturned bucket in front of their tent, making new arrows for his crossbow. The quick-load crossbow designed by Edison was already being duplicated and given out to those willing to learn how to shoot, but Daryl stuck to his old bow. He knew all its quirks and could fire it with such accuracy it was like he didn't even have to aim. He wasn't about to get rid of it, just because it took a little longer to reload.

He looked up at the sounds of footsteps drawing near and saw Lia approaching. She picked up an empty plastic bucket, turned it over, and sat down beside Daryl. She picked up some of the arrow building materials and got to work on constructing more. "Dave's doing good," she said, even though Daryl hadn't asked, "Doc thinks any brain damage he got might be minimal. He seemed normal enough when we talked."

Daryl grunted, eyes on the half-finished arrow in his hands. The head was made from salvaged metal, beaten into shape and honed to razor sharpness, which meant plenty of nicked fingers if he wasn't careful. The fletchings were made from chicken feathers. Daryl found those a lot trickier to get right. If they weren't done just so, the arrows could fly way off target.

"Dave asked about you," Lia continued, her eyes on her work. Her mouth quirked in an amused smile, "He said he's praying for us."

"Sonuvabitch!" Daryl bellowed as an arrowhead sliced into his finger. He jumped to his feet and flung the incomplete arrow to the ground with a curse, sucking on his wounded fingertip. A couple of people walking by paused at his outburst. "The hell're y'all lookin' at!" he snarled, waving his other hand dismissively, "Move th' fuck on!"

There were angry mutters as they continued on their way. Daryl sat back down, glaring at his bloodied finger. Lia sat calmly through the entire episode. Daryl lost his temper a lot easier lately, and she knew the best thing to do was simply wait it out. Now that he'd quieted, she reached out and gently took his hand, bringing it closer so she could examine his wound. "We'd better clean that. I'll get the first aid kit."

Daryl watched her go to the tent and rummage inside. When she bent down, her shirt rode up to reveal a dark bruise on her back. Daryl felt a fresh surge of guilt at the sight. He knew she got that bruise from him during one of his nightmares, but if he asked about it, her only response would be "It doesn't matter." And it didn't. To her.

But it mattered to Daryl. Seeing that bruise on Lia reminded him of the bruises that always covered his mama's skin. It reminded him of the tiny scar on Lia's lip from the one time he struck her in anger, before they even fell in love. She forgave him for that, just like she forgave him for the bruises now, because she knew he never hurt her on purpose. It didn't make him feel any less of an asshole for it, though. Sooner or later, he knew, she would run out of forgiveness. Daryl wasn't sure he could handle that. It was selfish, but he needed her. The only reason he could even bear the thought of sleep was because he knew she'd be there to wake him when the nightmares were at their worst.

She always made him talk about them, the nightmares. It was hard. Talking about his fears went against Daryl's nature. He spent most of his life learning to suppress everything. And he didn't want to constantly expose Lia to the horrible things he went through night after night. But she was persistent. She patiently coaxed the words out of him, no matter how long it took, and he always felt less haunted afterwards. Daryl had no doubt that he would've gone insane without her.

Lia returned with the kit and opened it between them. She cleaned his cut with hydrogen peroxide, blowing on it to ease the sting just as she would one of the kids, then taped it up with the largest size band-aid she could find. While she worked, Daryl's eyes were drawn to her mouth, to the faint white scar on her lower lip. He reached up and brushed the pad of his thumb against it. Lia's eyes came up to meet his and she smiled. "What?"

"Nuthin'." Daryl twisted one of her braids around his finger and gave it a tug. Lia laughed. It had been a while since he did that. She leaned in and kissed the mole beside his mouth.

"I love you," she said, "Tantrums and all."

Daryl smiled, despite the thickness in his throat. She was better than his sorry ass deserved. But that didn't matter to her, either.