Just Married

"If ya spent half as much energy walkin' as ya did complain' we'd be there by now."

"Bite me," I snapped, shooting him the finger just in case my displeasure wasn't clear.

He grinned, "Took care of that this morning Mrs. Dixon." I rolled my eyes. Cocky bastard. "Come on, pick it up, got a long way to go."

"You're an asshole," I complained, struggling to keep pace with his huge strides. "Can you slow down you long-legged hillbilly?" My grandmother was right, you didn't have to like someone to love them. He stopped, looking at me with a thoughtful expression. "What?"

"Nothin', just the honeymoon phase is a bit shorter than I figured." My mouth dropped open. Oh. No. He. Didn't. "Don't worry Red, naggin' wife looks good on ya."

My already precarious balance failed me spectacularly, my feet slipping and sliding in the copious amounts of Georgian mud coating the saturated ground. My arms waved around frantically as I pitched backwards, but before I could fall, again, Daryl's hand shot out, grabbing my upper arm and stopping me. This was ridiculous. I was not clumsy. I was not uncoordinated. I was stealthy and sure-footed and goddamn graceful.

Just not today.

It was almost impossible to walk on the sloppy landscape and mentally undress my new husband. My normally reliable feet were as useless as the 'g' in lasagna when I attempted both tasks simultaneously. It only made it worse Daryl had the balance of the Flying Wallendas. Life was so unfair.

"Shit," I exclaimed, trying in vain to get both feet back under me.

Daryl sighed, grabbing both shoulders, his biceps bulging as he picked me up like a doll, setting me back on two feet and somewhat solid ground.

"Thanks," I said absently, admiring his muscled arms. "Tell me again why we're rushing to get back?"

The way I saw it we had a pretty good (outstanding) set-up at the cabin and no one was expecting us for at least another day, maybe two.

"Can't stay holed up in that cabin forever." He shot me a knowing look. "Much as I'd like to."

"Amen."

I held out my fist for him to bump and his eyebrows furrowed in confusion. I snorted, grabbing his hand and bumping it against my fist. He was teaching me redneck and I was teaching him how to be awesome. We were both struggling.

"Gonna take the better part of the day to make it back and we ain't got nothin' to show for it neither."

"Except getting married and wild monkey sex," I mumbled under my breath.

He rounded on me, pulling me flush against his hard body and my bones liquefied in an instant. I sank into him not the least bit ashamed to say I was panting.

"That don't feed nobody but ya and me Red." He leaned down, brushing his lips tenderly against mine. "While I ain't complain' 'bout that…" The thought of that made my blood rush, heart pound, and cock socket tingle. "Stop."

"What?" How did he do that?

He pointed at me, "Written all over yur face."

"OK, you're starting to freak me out. Turn off the Vulcan mind meld for a while. Let me fantasy in peace."

He shook his head, "We need to find some game. Got a lotta mouths to feed."

"When did you get all responsible?"

He tucked a stray piece of hair behind my ear, grinning at me before turning around. "Since Rick stepped down. Everybody's gotta pull their weight."

I kept my eyes glued to his ass, walking silently behind him. One, his ass was amazing and not looking at it was like not breathing, impossible. Two, I didn't want to have this conversation again. I understood Rick's decision to hand over the mantle of leadership. I even supported it. He was struggling. It was a minor miracle he was able to hold it together as long as he had after Lori's death, but now that the immediate threat from Woodbury had passed he needed time. Time to heal. Time to mourn. Time to figure out how to live without her. The strain of leadership on top of all that healing was too much. The group's decision going forward was to form a council to oversee life at the prison in all its facets.

"Still got a burr in yur saddle over it I see," he commented, glancing at me over his shoulder.

"I don't have a burr in anything unfortunately." I laughed at his stony expression. So far marriage was awesome. I had one special person I could legally annoy for the rest of my natural life. "I'm all for democracy. Viva la revolucion! What could possibly go wrong?"

He sighed, "That ain't what I meant and ya know it." I ignored him, opting to enjoy the view. Was it just me or did his ass look better when my hands were on it? "They wanted ya on it."

"And I said no."

He stopped, facing me head on, surprised plastered on his face. I smirked, brushing past him with a raised eyebrow. Our lack of communication over the last few weeks meant he wasn't privy to my decision to turn down a seat on the council.

"Don't look so shocked. I don't play well with others." Just ask poor Pedro the Gate Guard.

In a few long strides he was back at my side, the two of us walking in blissful silence. I scanned the area for any tracks while Daryl thought so hard it made my eye twitch. Why he was shocked I turned down a seat on The Council of Elrond was mystifying. Why the other members of the group thought it was a good idea to even suggest my name was equally baffling. The only thing I did worse than compromise was diplomacy.

"You keep thinking so hard you're gonna break something," I commented, examining what looked like deer tracks. His only response was a non-committal grunt as he peered over my shoulder. "It's wounded." I pointed at the uneven tracks in the mud. "Favoring its right side."

He hummed in agreement as I stood up, wiping the sweat from my forehead with my hand. Between the old tracks and the lame animal it was a lost cause. Traipsing through the woods looking for a hurt animal that was most likely already dead was a waste of time. Walkers would find the carcass long before we did and without knowing what caused its present state we couldn't risk eating it.

"Ya really told 'em no?"

"I really told them no." I adjusted the rifle in my hands, eyes shifting to him briefly. "Besides, I think one Dixon on the council is plenty."

He snorted, bumping his shoulder against mine with a smirk. "Guess so."

My entire body flushed with excitement at the thought. I was a Dixon now, for real this time. It was a surreal feeling. When I left the prison this wasn't how I expected things to shake out. Yes, I was carrying around a wedding band, but never in a million years did I think our stalemate would end with us getting hitched. Yelling, screaming and bodily harm, sure. Marriage followed by enough sex to have me walking funny for days, no, not really. I liked this outcome way better even if I was forced to walk like I was riding an imaginary horse.

My soaring heart came crashing back to reality the moment it dawned on me there was more to marrying Daryl than getting to grope his ass anytime I wanted. My matrimonial bliss came with a side order of being related to Merle, for real. Hopefully people wouldn't immediately judge me on my relatives.

"Why ya look like a long-tailed cat in a room full of rockin' chairs?"

"Stop."

That was advanced redneck and I barely spoke basic. He was just being mean.

He grinned, "What is it?"

I opened my mouth, my tongue methodically rubbing my teeth in an effort to erase the grimy feeling I felt. It did nothing to lessen the implications of being in the same family tree as the eldest Dixon.

"Red?" he tried again, a slightly worried look on his face.

"I'm related to Merle," I whined. Daryl paused for a second, cocking his head to the side before a large smile lit up his face. "That's not something to smile about Neytiri."

"Kinda comes with the territory," he laughed, pointing at the ring on my left hand.

"Well, yeah, but…" I didn't have the words to accurately describe what I was feeling. "Ewww."

He chuckled, "If it makes ya feel better ya get used to it."

It didn't.

Daryl continued on, pushing a few branches out of the way so I didn't add concussions to the list of things ailing me. With no way to reconcile the new branch in my family tree I decided to ignore it, letting my mind drift back to the council. Daryl may not have known I was approached during the formation, but I knew he was offered a coveted seat. I also knew that unlike me he accepted, eventually.

Carol was crap at keeping secrets. All it took was the threat of withholding her beloved porn and she folded like origami telling me all the deets on the newly formed council. Who they considered. Who they asked. Who said yes. Who said no. Who said yes after being followed around and badgered by Carol for two straight days. I wasn't surprised they wanted Daryl and I wasn't surprised he accepted. He was born to lead whether he knew it or not and the council was better for having him on it.

I groaned at the sweat dripped down my face. It was still relatively early in the day, but the humidity was stifling. The storm's moisture lingering long after the weather had passed. The canopy overhead created by the trees provided some shade, but it did nothing to stop the rising temperatures. It was like walking through a never-ending sauna. I swear there was no good season in Georgia. It was either too hot or too cold. Was it too much to ask for a balmy 70 degrees with no humidity and a light breeze year round?

"Whatcha think 'bout takin' in more survivors?"

Movement to my right caught my attention and I brought my rifle up, squinting through the scope, nothing but a flock of birds. I sighed heavily, dropping the rifle with a shrug.

"I don't like new people."

He laughed, "Don't play well with others. Don't like new people. Ya ain't the most hospitable person I ever met."

"Yeah, I know, it's a real personality flaw." I grabbed a bottle of water from my pack, taking a few gulps before handing it to him. "It makes sense. If we're ever going to recover from this we have to start somewhere, but it makes me nervous."

New people meant new risks. I wasn't worried about myself. There wasn't a soul in that prison that could get within 100 yards of me unless I let them. It was the risk they posed to others that kept me up at night, mainly Carl and Nugget. I didn't want the new people around my niece and nephew. It was much easier to keep them away from Nugget. Once they were mobile you basically lost any semblance of control.

"Gonna start askin' them the questions b'fore we bring them in." Ah, the infamous three questions. If there was ever anything designed to give false hope it was those. "What's the look for?"

"There's no look," I lied. "I think asking people questions hallucinated by a grieving, unstable widower is genius." He pursed his lips, shaking his head slightly. That was Daryl for disappointed. "What's that look for? You can't tell me there aren't a few dozen holes in that theory."

"Best we can do," he contended and I scoffed. "Everybody ain't got a built in lie detector Red. It's better than nothin'."

No it wasn't. It was worse because it gave you a false sense of security.

"Uh huh."

Rick's parting gift as our resident dictator was a plan to identify good non-dead people from bad non-dead people. It consisted of three questions we were to ask anyone prior to bringing someone back to the prison. The origin of the three questions was sketchy at best, but involved the steam room and an inoperable phone so needless to say we were starting with a sizeable handicap.

How many walkers have you killed?

How many people have you killed?

Why?

The intent of the first question was to gauge a person's ability to survive post-apocalypse. Never mind the sheer fact they made it this far meant they obviously had some skills, be it killing or hiding. Both skills were beneficial in the world though I tended to lean toward killing being the more useful of the two.

The second question was designed to weed out the psychos. Again, by default, if you made it this far there was a better than average chance you killed someone, but there was a big difference between killing because you had no other choice and killing because it was a fun way to pass the time. Hello, Governor.

Thus we had the third question, deriving the why behind someone's decision to take a life. Intent made all the difference. It could make you a murderer just as easily as it could make you merciful.

"Ya don't like 'em?" He phrased it like a question, but it was a statement.

"I don't trust them," I confided in him, "People lie. You can't trust what they say. You have to look deeper than that."

Even then the ability to deceive was still there. I could lie my way through those questions blindfolded and strapped to a polygraph. I could deceive my way into someone's life, gain their trust, find the weakness in their defenses and use it all against them before they ever knew what hit them.

Sure, most people (no one) could say the same thing, but people rarely said what they meant or meant what they said. Body language, facial expressions, tone of voice, posture, unconscious ticks, those were the things that told you everything you needed to know. I would always trust what I could see over what I heard.

"Guess it's a good thing yur the one bringin' 'em back then ain't it?" His smile was decidedly smug.

"Yeah."

When the dust settled after The Governor debacle we quickly found ourselves developing a routine. There was a lot that needed to be done. We had to rebuild portions of the prison destroyed during the battle, plant crops, find livestock, raise livestock, hunt, house our ever growing numbers and the list went on and on.

The first order of business was getting organized which meant dolling out responsibilities. I staunchly refused to do laundry, cook, or interact with the population in general, save our core group, so my options were severely limited. It was quickly decided I would focus on hunting, scavenging and by virtue of spending most of my time outside the fence, recruiting. The solution suited me just fine. Anything that provided even a moment of solitude from the swelling numbers in the prison was a win. Daryl could add large crowds to the list of things I didn't like.

The sound of moans and hissing made me freeze, my hand grabbing Daryl's forearm, one finger against my lips. His body tensed immediately, crossbow raised even as his eyes critically scanned the area. A very human cry for help came from our right and I stalked off in the same direction. We moved carefully. Someone obviously needed help, but the saturated vegetation made it difficult to judge the number of walkers. There was a fine line between helping and suicide.

Daryl raised a single hand, a signal to stop, quickly motioning to his right as he ducked behind a tree to his left. I shifted over, concealing my body behind a huge pine tree, peering around the trunk just in time to watch a man sprint by in front of me.

"Help!"

He slipped in the mud, going down in a heap of arms and legs. He dug his hands into the soft soil, his feet running though he never made any forward progress before he face planted in the mud. I could sympathize with that situation.

Daryl motioned behind the man and I groaned when I counted 12 walkers slowly surrounding him. My husband gave me a pointedly look meant to convey be careful or else. I gave him a look that conveyed whatever.

Slinging my rifle over my shoulder I snagged two knives from my sheath, twirling the one in my left hand, impatiently waiting for the signal to attack. The man gave up on running, his body propped up against a tree as he cried his way through his way through his last rites. I shook my head. God was busy at the moment, but if you left a message he would be sure to return your call.

Daryl held up his hand.

Three.

The group of walkers shuffled closer, their snarls making the prone man shutter in revulsion. He curled into himself, burying his face in his hands. Ah, the ostrich defense.

Two.

I turned to face them, digging my feet into the soft ground. If this ended with me face down in the mud there would be hell to pay.

One.

They were only a few feet away now and the man stopped praying, opted instead to just cry quietly while he awaited the inevitable.

Go.

I sprang from behind the tree slamming a knife into the head of the closest walker, sending up a a silent hallelujah when my coordination decided to come back from vacation. The mechanical whirl of an arrow sounded behind me, but I was already moving, jumping over the dead body at my feet. I ducked under the outstretched arms of a walker, coming up behind her and sinking my blade into her temple.

Daryl fired two more arrows in rapid succession, the wet plop of bodies hitting the ground music to my ears, but there was no time to celebrate. Three walkers were bearing down on me. One from the right, one from the left and one head-on. I ran at the one charging me, adrenaline racing through my veins. His jaw snapped repeatedly the closer I got, drool spilling out of the corner of his mouth in anticipation of a meal. He opened his arms wide like we were going to hug, eyes huge, white sockets, but I pushed my feet out from under me, using the wet ground to my advantage for once. I slide under him and between his wide spread legs with an amused laugh. And here I thought leaving cabin meant no more fun.

I popped to my feet behind the walker, plunging my knife into the soft skin at the base of his skull. He dropped instantly and I spun to my right throwing a knife before turning quickly to my left and repeating the action. The velocity of the blades caused the walkers feet to fly out from under them, sending them down hard on their backs where they stayed.

I didn't bother wasting time retrieving my knives, opting instead to draw two more. The fight was far from over. I saw Daryl in my peripheral slashing and striking with a knife of his own having abandoned his crossbow in such close quarters. Between the two of us we dispatched the walkers with ease. I was almost disappointed when only one remained. Fun at the cabin lasted much longer than this.

"Ahh!" the man screamed, turning sideways and curling into a ball.

A lone walker shuffled towards him. One walker with only one arm and a fairly noticeable limp courtesy of her right leg which was was dangling by a thread or a sinewy piece of muscle as it were. Daryl and I looked at each other than at the man with a sad shake of our heads.

"This guy," I huffed, flipping my knife around to hold it by the blade.

"Please lord, help me!"

I glanced at Daryl, "You think JC's taking requests?"

"Just…" He waved a hand in the man's general direction, massaging his forehead.

I threw the knife, the blade hurdling end-over-end, striking the walker in the back of the head just as she leaned down to take a bite out of the scaredy-cat. She collapsed on top of him and his shouts for help reached levels only previously achieved by foghorns. Daryl stomped forward, grabbing the walker by her tattered shirt and pulling her off him, dropping the lifeless body to the ground. The trembling man flinched, eyes wide as he stared at her.

"Oh my god. Oh my god."

He kept repeated it over-and-over, eyes frozen on the dead walker, face pale. I walked around retrieving my knives, wiping the blood and gore on the walker's clothes before placing them back at my waist. Once I was done I made my way over to Daryl.

"Guess we can skip to question two," I joked. He gave me an unimpressed look and I grinned. "Piece of jerky says he's some kind of scientist."

He rolled his eyes at me, using the toe of his boot to nudge the man's leg and draw his attention. "Ya bit?"

"No, no, I'm not bit. They didn't…I ran…there were so many…oh my god, oh my god."

"Here we go again," I mumbled, hands on my hips.

Kneeling down in front of him I looked him over. He was in his early to mid-thirties with a scruffy, full beard and dark hair that fell into his eyes and covered his ears. His clothes were ripped, filthy and hanging off his tall frame. It was obvious he'd lost massive amounts of weight and recently. He was living on the road and having a hard time of it.

"What's your name?" When all he did was continue to stare at the walker mumbling incoherently I slapped him across the face. He squeezed his eyes closed briefly and when they reopened he looked slightly more lucid. "What's your name?"

"Caleb," he answered, his voice still shaky. "Caleb Subramanian."

"That's a mouthful," I chuckled and he swallowed hard, eyes darting back-and-forth between us. "I'm Alex. Robin Hood over there also goes by Daryl, but prefers Katniss." I could practically hear Daryl rolling his eyes and smothered a smile. "Think you can stand up?"

He nodded mutely, using the tree behind him. His legs visibly shook, eyes frantic taking in our handiwork. If he liked this he was going to love when I cleared the fences.

"Did you…did you kill them all?"

"Yep." He swayed to the side and I reached out to steady him. "Easy."

Daryl frowned as he watched the man and I already knew what was coming.

"Ya been on yur own for a while?"

"Y-y-yes."

Daryl nodded, "How many walkers ya kill?"

Now it was my turn to roll my eyes. Answer, not many.

"Walkers?" he asked, confused. I pointed at the dead walker beside him and he shuttered. "Oh, uh, a few. I don't keep count. I mostly try to run and hide."

You don't say. I didn't need an internal lie detector to know that was the truth.

"How many people ya kill?"

I narrowed my eyes, watching him closely. His face went slack with horror, mouth dropping open as he sputtered like a fish out of water for a few seconds. He shook his head wildly before he was able to verbally answer which was unnecessary. We got the picture.

"None," he said, outraged. Daryl glanced at me and I nodded. Truth. "Who are you people?"

"Alex," I said pointing at myself then my husband, "Katniss."

"We got a community, somewhere safe. Yur welcome to come back with us if ya want," Daryl said blowing past my introductions like I never spoke.

He was better at this part. I could tell you if someone was lying or being truthful, if their intent was to harm or heal, if they posed a genuine threat to our way of life, but explaining our setup and making them feel comfortable walking away with a stranger, yeah, not my thing. I tended to just leave and they either followed or they didn't. Coaxing someone with kid gloves was a skill I had yet to develop.

"I'd like that." He looked equal parts relieved and wary.

"Fantastic," I said dryly, "Let's go Submarine."

"It's Subramanian," he corrected.

"What'd I say?"

"Submarine."

I pulled my rifle off my shoulders, scratching the side of my head. "Same thing."

"It's not actually…"

"Come on Submarine. All your screaming probably has every walker in earshot headed this way," I called over my shoulder. He sucked in a ragged breath practically sprinting to keep up.

If Daryl thought our progress was slow when it was me falling all over the place it was nothing compared to Submarine. The man had two left feet, moved with the urgency of a lobotomized sloth and had the stamina of an obese elephant with type 2 diabetes. At the rate we were going we'd be lucky to make it back to the prison before winter or ever.

"Can we…take a…break," he wheezed already plopping to the ground.

"Isn't that what we're already doing?" I asked Daryl who rubbed his hands over his face in frustration.

I dropped my pack to the ground, digging out a few protein bars and a bottle of water. I tossed one of each to Submarine then handed the others to Daryl.

"Need to eat," he said, breaking the bar in half and offering it to me.

"Taste like dirt mixed with sawdust." I'd rather swallow my own spit.

"Guess I could rustle up a possum." I snatched the bar from his hand with a glare. Dirt and sawdust it was. He sat down beside me, our arms and legs touching. "Whatcha do b'fore the turn?"

I grimaced as I chewed on the dirty sawdust which unfortunately reminded me of Maggie's "cooking". Deciding it was best to just chew and swallow I broke the bar into manageable pieces I could easily wash down with our lukewarm water.

"I was a doctor," he muttered, "Am a doctor."

"Ha!" I pumped a fist in triumph. "Pay up Hillbilly Deluxe."

He scoffed, "Doctor ain't no scientist."

"Yes it is. That's about as sciencey as it gets."

"Hell no Red, ya ain't pullin' that shit on me."

"I'm not pulling anything," I huffed, "I won fair and square."

"Ya said scientist." He pointed at Submarine, "Man said he's a doctor."

"Po-ta-to, po-tah-to Legolas. I want my jerky."

He was giving it to me or I was likely to have a significant emotional event all up in his face.

"Want in one hand, shit in the other, see which one fills up first," he smiled.

"Don't steal my sayings. You have enough redneck jargon without dipping into my pond and you aren't getting off on a technicality."

"How long have you two been married?"

"What?" we said in unison, our heads snapping to Submarine.

Daryl's hand discreetly covered mine, stopping me from drawing my PPQ even as his hand curled around his crossbow. We hadn't said we were married, hadn't even said we were a couple. Neither of us spoke for fear of revealing more than we apparently already had, but his astute observation put us on edge all the same. Information was power and power was dangerous.

He raised his hands in surrender, "I'm sorry. I just assumed. The way you are together, it reminds me of myself and my wife." He trailed off, eyes distant.

"She gone?" Daryl questioned.

He nodded jerkily. "Yeah, a few years ago, cancer."

"Sorry," Daryl offered.

"Thank you," he sniffled, "Never thought I'd say it, but it's for the best. I'm glad she never lived to see this world."

Well, I couldn't argue with that. I relaxed, somewhat, even as I continued to watch his every move. Truth was it wasn't Submarine that bothered me. Pacey the Gate Guard could take this guy with one hand tied behind his back and that guy peed his pants whenever I entered his zip code. It was the realization of what Daryl and I had done, what we were to each other that unnerved me. He was my greatest strength and weakness all rolled into one. The mere thought of something befalling him was enough to steal the air from my lung. I couldn't let that happen. I wouldn't, but we were tied together now, for better or worse and apparently there was no hiding it.

"A while." Daryl's voice brought me back to the conversation and it took enormous willpower to keep my face carefully blank even as Submarine frowned in confusion. "Asked how long we've been married."

Submarine nodded, a shaky smile on his tired face. Daryl's answer was deceptively casual, but you would have to be dead to miss the undercurrent of warning that screamed the subject wasn't up for further discussion. It was a blatant lie, but misinformation was a useful tool. I didn't know his reasons for allowing the doctor to believe we'd been married "a while" when, in fact, we'd hardly been married a day, but controlling the narrative was always better than falling victim to it. Plus, we were fake married for months so that had to count for something. Prisoners got credit for time served. A fake marriage was basically the same thing.

"That's what I figured."

My head swiveled to him so fast I would probably have whiplash tomorrow. This convo was all kinds of weird. My mind tried to work out his end game, his angle, but it was painfully obvious he didn't have one.

It was a constant battle reminding myself not everyone was a liar, a spy, or a thief. Not everyone was like me. My training demanded I snuff out hidden agendas that threatened our safety even when they didn't exist, like now. The entire exchange was making my head hurt and defensive nature flare so I stood up, brushing the sawdust crumbs from my mud spattered jeans.

"You ladies ready?"

Daryl smirked. Submarine groaned, but pulled himself to his feet. It was amazing he made it this far considering his current state. A measly protein bar and bottle of water was hardly enough, but the two of us traveled light when we were outside the wire. Not to mention I could have a honey ham stashed in my pack and it wouldn't even begin to touch the level of malnourishment plaguing him.

We were an hour from the prison if we really turned on the afterburners. I didn't think Submarine came equipped with afterburners so we were probably looking at three hours, assuming he didn't continue to fade. I walked in the lead with Daryl in the rear. The doctor tucked safely between us so we could protect him or kill him should the need arise. The longer we walked the harder he panted and I worried less about him trying to kill us and more about him dropping dead. We didn't speak. Mainly because Submarine could hardly convert oxygen to carbon dioxide and Daryl didn't do small talk. The doctor's labored breathing irritated my already frayed nerves as I guided us cautiously back to the prison. Was it too much to ask him to suffer in silence?

A half mile from the prison I held my hand up, a signal to stop, but Submarine kept on walking, right into my back. His sweaty body colliding with mine sent me stumbling forward into a nearby tree. I shot him a withering glare, Daryl's massive hands wrapping around his arm in part to steady him, but mainly so he could run interference should I fly off the handle

He opened his mouth to apologize, but I silenced him with a wave of my hand. How he heard the moans of the dead over his mouth breathing was one of life's great mysteries, but I knew the moment he did because his eyes got wide with fear. I sighed in annoyance, peering around the tree and quickly counting the walkers. Turning around I started taking off my pack, wordlessly handing it to Daryl whose hand was already waiting. My rifle was next and I gave him the same look I did every time I handed over my baby. Now it was his turn to sigh.

"How many?" Daryl asked, slinging my rifle over his shoulders and shoving my pack into Submarine's trembling arms.

"Five." I snatched two knives from my waist, checking their position once again before adding, "30 seconds."

He snorted, "Ain't no chance in hell Red."

One of these days he was gonna learn to stop underestimating me. Not today obviously, but someday.

"Wait, you're going to…" Submarine trailed off and I looked at Daryl, silently telling him to deal with it. He gave me a not so subtle shake of the head and stepped away from the wheezing doctor. "Why don't we go around them?" His voice was getting higher and progressively louder so I stepped forward, putting a firm hand on his shoulder. "You said we were close. We can just run for it."

There were so many things wrong with that plan it was laughable. I choose to focus on the only one that really mattered.

"It's because we're so close that we can't leave them. They'll pick up our scent no matter how far we skirt them and follow us back to the prison."

We already had a daily pile up on the fences we struggled to contain. I refused to leave a trail for five more to follow. Why put off till tomorrow what you could kill today? Daryl nodded his head to the side and the two of us stepped away from the doctor who was so terrified he didn't even notice.

"I'll go," he offered, biting his thumbnail.

"I would literally rather shoot myself in the foot than babysit him."

"Why's it always gotta be you?"

He wasn't talking about now. He was talking about all the times I jumped off of buildings and faced off with the un-neighborly types. Why was I always putting myself at risk was the real question.

"Because it's what I do." Everyone had their calling. Some were good at leading, others healing, some kitting. I was good at killing. It was my version of knitting. "Besides its five walkers, that's easier than a porn star." He gave me a dull look. "Come on, that was funny."

"It wasn't funny and that ain't the point."

"It was too funny." His eyes flicked to mine, lips pressed into a thin line. "How about this, double or nothing?"

The easiest way to distract someone from something they didn't like was to dangle a bet whose payoff included jerky.

"You're on Dixon."

I grabbed his shirt, pulling him to me and brushing a chaste kiss against his lips. "Get my jerky ready, Dixon."

He smirked at the mention of his, now our, last name and my heart fluttered. I had a feeling that would never get old. I let go of his shirt, smoothing out the imaginary wrinkles as an excuse to feel him up. He sighed, but made no move to stop me until my hands drifted to the back of his jeans. He swatted my hands away and I smothered a laugh.

"Killjoy."

"Crazy."

"Prude."

"Slut."

I put a finger in his face, "You love that one."

"Get on with it will ya," he chided, the corners of his lips turning up in a barely there smile. "He ain't gonna stay upright much longer."

"You better not cheat on the 1-Mississippi's this time." He glared at me as Submarine looked between us like we were nuts. "Thirty seconds or less. Time starts when I throw the first knife."

It was a good thing Rick wasn't there. He didn't approve of our game. He argued it was dangerous. I argued he had a giant stick up his ass. So far we had yet to reach an accord.

"Uh huh." He didn't sound the least bit worried for his jerky. That was a mistake. "Keep it quiet," he added.

"Really? Kill the walkers with as little noise as possible? Thanks honey, that's great advice. What would I do without you?"

He ignored my sarcastic rant, mumbling under his breath something I didn't catch and that was probably a good thing. Turning around I made my way towards the walkers, crouching down and using the brush as cover. The five of them stood motionless in a semi-circle grunting and snarling like they were awaiting stimulus. Their figures were gaunt, starving, bodies heavily decayed. The smell alone was enough knock me on my ass and I pulled at the fabric around my neck using my face shield to cover my mouth and nose. It didn't help all that much with the smell, but at least it would keep their cooties off me when I killed them.

Once I moved from behind the bushes the two furthest from me would see me immediately so I would need to be quick. My eyes scanned the group, assessing the angles, looking for the best approach and calculating risks in a matter of seconds. I grinned, a maniacal plan forming in my head. Oh man, he was gonna be so pissed. I could practically taste the jerky. I jumped up from behind the bushes, sprinting at the walkers in a flurry of control aggression.

Without breaking stride I threw the knife in my left hand, my eyes immediately finding my second target as I threw the knife in my right. The blades collided with the walker's skulls one right after the other, the two of them dropping to the ground without so much as a grunt. I drew another knife, throwing it at the one in the center, the knife impaling her in the back of the skull. I reached forward grabbing a handful of greasy hair as she collapsed, straining to keep her upper body semi-upright and thanking my lucky stars she was petite. I was bigger than this in Kindergarten.

The remaining two walkers growled and I yanked the dead walker's head sharply to the right, drawing my PPQ with my left hand. The dead walkers body shifted and I eyed the two remaining walkers. I pressed the barrel of my PPQ against the walker's shoulder, squinting as I adjusted the weapon to line up the shot before squeezing the trigger. The walker's body acted as a silencer suppressing the sound of the gunshot. The bullet slammed into the walker's head, a mist of blood and brain matter exploding into the air like seeds from a dandelion scattering in the wind, only way nastier.

I pulled on the walker's hair again, readjusting her body while simultaneously moving the barrel of my gun to her right shoulder and firing again. The impact of the bullet snapped the walker's head back with a sickening crunch. Neck bones and vertebrae were crushed when his head wiped back violently, a bullet hole where his left eye was only seconds ago. I let go of the walker's hair and she dropped to my feet.

"Time!" I yelled spinning around.

Daryl looked thoroughly annoyed and I smiled. That boded well for me.

"Twenty three seconds," he replied with a scowl.

"Yes!"

I threw my arms above my head, a victorious smile on my face as I did a Dab to cement the win.

And just like that Submarine's eyes rolled into the back of his head and he fainted at Daryl's feet.

So there is a big time jump between seasons 3 and 4 where a lot happens (people are brought in, the prison is upgraded, the council is formed, etc.) and we don't get to see any of it happen. The next few chapters will fill in some of those blanks. I like seeing how things changed and then coming up with plot lines around how that might have happened. It's fun to write because anything is possible and I have some great things planned or at least I think they're pretty great :)

Hope you guys are excited to see how our favorite people spent the months between defeating The Governor and settling into prison life.