I chose to edit and post this instead of napping.

I hope you kids are happy.

Sorry for the cliffie (but not really).

CHECK OUT THE NEW COVER ART, KIDDOS! SPECIAL SHOUT OUT TO THE ARTIST, SKITTLETITZ. Go to my profile page for the link to her art blog, because her art is beautiful.

Hey, skittletitz, you are loved, babes.


Chapter Fifty-Three: De Nos Jours

**Daryl**

Beneath the wheels of the truck, the highway hummed, each bump breaking the silence inside the cab. Gripping the steering wheel tight, Daryl glared at the road that stretched out before them.

If they were racing the sun, he would have stopped the truck miles back and beat the shit out of a tree or a walker or hell even someone, he just felt that angry at the world.

Swerving he smacked the truck into a walker at high speed, not once slowing or hesitating as it crunched against the grill, tearing in half at the waist, both halves flew over the windshield, smashing on the road behind them with a splat.

Fuck it.

Fuck everything.

It didn't alleviate the rage inside him, but it didn't hurt either.

In the seat beside him Rick glowered darkly at the countryside as they drove, not flinching as they hit the walker, not saying much.

Daryl couldn't imagine how this would hit him. The man was already at his most vulnerable, all he needed was one push into Crazytown.

..-~-..


..-~-..

Four hours earlier.

**Rick**

"Get a light!" Glenn shouted. "Someone get me a fucking light!"

In the dark there was shuffling as people struggled to locate some kind of light on their persons, overhead the walkers were thudding and moaning at the hatch.

Patting his pockets for his lighter, Rick held it up, flicking it to life as others did the same, the Lieutenant pulled a small flashlight from within his many pockets to shine at Maggie who was pulling up her shirt to reveal a gash on her side.

"Is that a bite?" Tyreese demanded.

"Shut up," Glenn snapped, kneeling to study the wound up close as Maggie held her shift up with shaking hands, trying to see for herself.

It was hard to tell, the wound could have been a gouge or it could have been a bite, but whatever it was it didn't look friendly.

Rick felt that heavy feeling descend on his shoulders and he sighed, dropping his chin. He couldn't recall Maggie going down, but things were pretty crazy up there.

Standing up, Glenn cast Rick a pleading look, before turning to Maggie who looked pale.

Touching his hands to the side of her face, Glenn pressed a kiss to her temple. "You're okay," he assured her. "Everything will be okay." Pulling her to him, Glenn held Maggie tight. "You'll be okay."

She was already crying quietly, tears welling in her eyes.

"What do we do, Rick?" Glenn asked him.

Rick floundered for an answer, looking everywhere but at Glenn and Maggie. He couldn't lose another one, not Maggie, not anyone.

"Rick?" Glenn demanded.

He didn't know what to say, God he couldn't even move.

"Let's get into a secure area, find some lights or something," Daryl stepped in calmly, touching a rough hand to Rick's shoulder. "We'll figure things out from there."

"She needs to be put down," Michonne pointed out. "'If she turns in the dark here—"

"We don't even know if it's a bite yet!" Glenn snapped at her.

"She's a liability just waiting to pounce in the dark!" Michonne shot back. "I'm sorry, I know she's yours and you have feelings for her, but she'll turn and take every last one of us with her!"

"You touch her and I'll knock you dead," Glenn snarled, putting Maggie behind him protectively.

"Let's find us a secure area, then you can bash everyone's head in if it makes you feel better, Glenda," Merle snarled.

"Fuck you, Merle!"

"Fuck you back, Hop Sing!"

As Merle and Glenn collided, Daryl and Tyreese moved forward to stop the fight, Rick continued to just stand nearby quietly. He felt frozen, like his mind wouldn't even work properly. All he could do was just watch things unfold, an odd feeling of euphoria washing over him. He felt safer, happier just doing nothing.

The Lieutenant moved out of the darkness, heading towards Maggie, the back of his hand brushing over her forehead.

"Come on, honeychild," he whispered softly. "We'll get you somewhere safer, yeah?"

She nodded.

"Come on," he urged, taking her by the elbow like a gentleman. "The armory is down this way."

Rick felt like he should follow them, but his legs wouldn't work. He knew he wasn't being sane, wasn't rational, but his mind just blocked those feelings from registering with the one part of his brain that functioned as a survivor.

He was so warm and comfortable at the moment that he felt a nap beneath the bleating walkers would be a wonderfully blissful idea.

Barely registering Michonne's face as it entered his vision, he blinked when she spoke to him.

"Rick?" She shook him a little.

Inhaling deeply, he snapped out of his little moment of euphoria. "We'll treat it as a wound, keep an eye on her, see what happens," he commanded, pushing forward, following after the Lieutenant and Maggie as they headed for the armory.

..-~-..


..-~-..

One hour later.

**Daryl**

Whether it was unknowingly done as a form of punishment or not, Daryl couldn't just sit across from Glenn and Maggie until the woman turned. It had to be a form of torture on him to witness that.

Hell, he didn't like to just sit around on the laziest of days, never mind watching as Glenn and Maggie said things that they felt needed to be said before she expired.

If she expired.

Fidgeting with his hands, he perched on the edge of a table that sported military helmets and a variety of gloves, watching as the others tried hard not to be in the room they were holed up in.

There was only so much he could take.

It didn't help that when he looked at Glenn and Maggie all he could imagine was how he would be if that was Carol. It was hard enough when she disappeared into the prison and they didn't find a single part of her except for her scarf, he wouldn't be able to handle watching her die, seeing her turn.

It made him physically sick to think of it.

Hopping off the table with a heavy sigh, he picked up his crossbow and headed for the door.

"Where you off to, cabri?" The Lieutenant asked from his spot on the floor in the corner, hunched over, his forearms on his knees.

"Can't wait in here forever, gonna head up see if I can clear out some of the walkers, we can load up and be out of here by nightfall," he grunted.

Pushing to his feet, the Cajun nodded. "Makes sense, I'll head up with you."

Merle and Tyreese joined them as well, leaving Rick and Michonne to watch over Glenn and Maggie on the floor.

Daryl paused by Michonne before heading out the door.

He eyed her for a moment, hesitant, before speaking, "if she turns and Glenn can't do it—"

"I've got it under control," she replied calmly.

He nodded his appreciation and took to the door.

..-~-..


..-~-..

Two minutes earlier.

**The Lieutenant**

Those condescending jerks at the counselling services counter in the local health centre had told him there were five stages of grief.

Of course he couldn't recall all of them. How could they expect him to? He had just come from the funeral home where he had to identify Eloise and the funeral director had recommended him to the centre.

But he could recall the most important stage; acceptance.

That little bastard was his favourite stage.

Glenn, it seemed, was in the anger stage and everyone was in his sights.

The Lieutenant could only imagine he was pissed off at the world, and he couldn't blame him. His own anger stage was directed inwards, still was some days.

It was Maggie who had his heart breaking in pieces. The poor young woman was trying so hard to look so strong and stalwart in the face of uncertain death, but he could see the fear, the absolute unabashed fear that flashed behind her eyes now and then.

Squatting he draped his arms over his head and hunched in on himself, trying hard to get over the fact that this was all his fault. If he had pushed for them to walk the fence, they wouldn't have missed that tiny little hole and those uggies in the jeep. He knew it was his mess and he'd have to clean it.

So when Daryl said he was heading up to clear out the uggies, he volunteered to go with him, he needed to make it right somehow. He had to at least patch the wound.

..-~-..


..-~-..

One hour later.

**Maggie**

"I'm fine, Glenn, stop feeling my forehead," she growled, gripping his hand as it made another trip to her forehead.

He winced apologetically. "I'm sorry."

"No you're not."

"Maggie," he huffed.

She smiled a little. "Settle down, walker bait."

"I told you not to call me that," he insisted.

"Yeah, but I like it," she teased.

Taking her hand in his, Glenn moved in close to her, pressing a kiss to her jaw, just by her chin.

They sat there for a few minutes in silence. Maggie wasn't sure if she was feverish, but she was feeling like a nap would do her some good and being underground she wasn't sure if she was unnaturally cold or if everyone was feeling it.

"How does your wound feel?" He asked. "Is it irritating you or…?"

"Glenn, it's a wound, it's stinging and it's bleeding and hurts," she replied. She linked her hand with his, grinning at him. "You remember that time in the gas station? When the others were loading the truck and you found that ugly little stuffed gorilla?"

Glenn smiled a little. "Yeah, I didn't know you were scared of gorillas. I never fully understood that fear…"

"I never fully understood it myself," she said, sliding in to lay her head on his shoulder. "I love my daddy and Beth," she added softly. "You make sure they know that. You tell Beth to watch out for men, they're heart breakers, but most of them are worth it."

"Maggie—"

"And tell Rick that he's doing a good job leading us, that I'm glad we followed him." She went on stubbornly.

"Maggie, please, don't do this, okay?" He protested, looking anywhere but at her.

She nuzzled against his neck. "Just in case," she whispered. "Tell Carol that I wish I got to spend more time with her. And tell Daryl that he needs to stop being such a big tough guy as just tell Carol how much she means to him. Women like to hear it out loud. Tell Carl that he's on the right track, but he shouldn't put up a wall around his heart."

"Maggie—"

"Glenn, I might die," she said. "You need to deal with this."

He looked sharply at her and stubbornly stuck his hand against her forehead. She could see the realization in his eyes, even though he denied it with his face.

"You're not dying," he argued weakly. "Don't be dramatic."

"Glenn," she stated. "You're the sweetest man I've ever had in my life who wasn't my daddy. You need to know that."

They looked up as Daryl and the others entered, covered in more walker blood.

"Road's clear," Daryl announced gruffly. "Let's get loaded up and get the fuck out of this hellhole."

"What about the missiles?" Michonne demanded.

"We unhooked two more," Tyreese said. "We have enough, just need to load them up."

"I'm not going anywhere," Maggie said. "I don't want to my daddy or anyone back at the convent to see me if I turn."

"Glenn?" Rick began.

"I'll sit with her until we're ready to go," he replied.

"Glenn," Rick began to protest.

"It'll be okay, Rick." Glenn insisted. "Don't worry."

..-~-..


..-~-..

One hour later.

**Daryl**

They were grabbing armloads of army ration containers in the kitchen's underground storage when the shot echoed off the walls of the tunnel, coming from the armory.

Everyone stopped what they were doing. They froze in their spot like a bunch of animals caught in the sights of a hunter in the forest.

Glancing over at Rick to see what his orders were, Daryl found the man looking like another breakdown was on the horizon, so he turned to the Lieutenant who looked calm and centred, like he expected nothing less.

Handing his armload of food off to Michonne, Daryl began the solemn trek down the tunnels towards the armory.

Stepping into the doorway he found Glenn holding Maggie, sobbing uncontrollably and he backed out quietly, waiting just out of sight until Glenn was done mourning.

The absolute pain in Glenn's sobs twisted Daryl's guts and he screwed his mouth, trying hard to keep his emotions in check. He had hoped that the wound was just a gouge, that Maggie would be just fine, that no one had to face the loss of another one of their numbers, but somehow he knew that hope had fucked them over a barrel again.

Suddenly the urge to just go back to the convent and hold Carol came over him and Daryl hung his head, punishing himself for letting the group down by forcing himself to listen to Glenn's sobs.

"De nos jours," the Lieutenant whispered, stepping out of the dark to slump against the wall beside Daryl, "la vie est courte, ainsi faites de lui ce que vous pouvez, alors que vous pouvez."

Daryl sighed.

"I'll take full responsibility for this," the Cajun said. "I was put in charge of this mission and it was me who lost her to the wolves."


The Cajun Dialect

De nos jours – In our time, today.

De nos jours la vie est courte, ainsi faites de lui ce que vous pouvez, alors que vous pouvez. – In our time life is short, so make of it what you can, while you can.