When Daryl walks into Henry's pub, he feels suddenly claustrophobic. There's not a spot at the bar and not a single free table. Half the tables have been pushed to the wall to create a dance floor, and two men and a woman have gathered in a corner to form a dance band with fiddle, guitar, and banjo. Dianne and Gunther are dancing like they're in their own world instead of just a few feet from a dozen other couples. Captain McBride is on the dance floor, but the woman pressing herself tightly against him isn't Cyndie. In fact, Cyndie's not in the pub, not as far as Daryl can see. She must be back at her cabin without the captain. Not that that's any of his damn business.

"No smoking inside!" Henry yells at Seaman Reedus, who has just lit up. "Back porch only!"

"You got candles in here!" The sailor points up to the lit chandelier that dangles from the ceiling. Along with the fire in the brick hearth and an oil lamp on the table behind the bar next to the metal cash box, it's the only illumination for the pub. That's probably for the best. Any candles on the tables or free-standing candelabras are bound to get knocked over. "So you must have ventilation!"

"It's not about the ventilation," Henry calls back. "It's about the stench. Outside with the tobacco!"

"Or what, kid? You'll sick your bouncer on me?"

"Hey, Jerry?" Henry calls. "A little help."

From a table in the corner opposite the band, Jerry stands up, his chair scraping back with a loud screech.

"Okay! Okay!" Seaman Reedus hastens toward the sliding glass door that leads out back.

At the bar, Aaron raises a hand – his only hand - in Daryl's direction. Daryl nods and weaves his way over. He's no stranger to bars – he went to plenty of biker bars with Merle – at least as dimly lit as this one – but they were never all that crowded. There was always plenty of room for a barroom brawl, and Merle almost always got into one.

Daryl squeezes between a sailor and Aaron at the bar. Aaron already has a half-finished pint of Jamestown brew resting before him.

"Hell ya doin'," Daryl mutters. "Told ya I was buyin'."

"This one was on the house. You can buy the next one." Aaron chugs his pint, slams it down, and calls, "Hey! Tavern keep! Refill!"

Henry, looking unamused by the joke, a little frantic, and clearly overwhelmed by the many customers, grabs Aaron's pint glass without a word.

"What I can I get you, handsome?" Madam Linda asks Daryl as she saunters up to his side of the bar. She was just serving someone on the other side.

"Thanks for helpin' Henry out."

"Oh, he's paying me. But remember - anyone who's fighting the horde tomorrow gets one shot of Jamestown shine or one pint of Jamestown brew, on me."

"Take the brew," Daryl says. "'N a shot of Candy shine on the side." If he doesn't order it now, he probably won't be able to get a bar tender's attention again. "'N put Aaron's pint on m'tab."

"Will do."

When Linda returns with the Candy shine – before Henry returns with Aaron's brew – Daryl shoots it. He needs it fast. This crowd is closing in on him. He hisses. It's white whiskey, strong as thunder, but strangely smooth. He pushes the empty shot glass back across the bar as Henry sets down Aaron's pint. A mere five seconds later, Linda is back with Daryl's pint.

"Fuckin' insane in here," Daryl mutters to Aaron.

Aaron jerks his head toward the sliding glass door that leads out back. "Let's go sit on the porch," he says over the sound of music and chatter. "There's almost no one out there."

Daryl grabs his pint of brew and follows Aaron out the sliding glass door. Aaron's right. There are seven folding tables on the back porch, but no one is sitting at them. There's a couple at left end of the deck – Seaman Lincoln and an Oceanside woman. The woman's leaning back against the rail, and the sailor has his hands down on either side of her as he nips at her neck and she giggles in encouragement. Seaman Reedus is standing at the opposite end of the deck, where he's trying to cajole an Oceanside woman into offering him a light for his cigarette. He leans his head forward, his cigarette between his teeth. She flicks a match, and as he bends his cigarette into it, she says, "I thought you sailors were always prepared."

His cigarette now caught, Seaman Reedus leans back and talks around it. "I just like the view when you're lighting it."

The woman rolls her eyes.

"Did you hear I won the gold in knot tying?"

"I'm not into that," the woman says coolly. She stubs out the last of her cigarette on the rail and saunters back toward the sliding glass door Daryl's about to close.

"Your loss, sweetheart," Seaman Reedus calls as Daryl slides the door shut behind her. The sailor turns his back to the door, leans over the rail of the deck, and exhales a cloud of smoke.

Aaron and Daryl sit down at a table as far away from the necking couple as they can get. The pub shakes with noise, and Daryl's glad that walker horde is three miles away, where they can't hear the sound. Oceanside will draw nearby stragglers tonight, though, no doubt. The community has dug a one-mile-long moat outside its front gate, on the land side of the peninsula. They've laid a covered bridge over the moat, with a gate on the far end that they lock up tightly when they aren't using the bridge so nothing can walk over. They have to clean their moat the way Jamestown cleans its fences. The women spear the walkers like fish, and if the bodies start to pile up, they drag them out with hooks. The Skins' horde, however, would quickly pile up in the moat, the first five dozen forming a bridge that the next several hundred would walk right over.

Daryl's glad when the necking couple parts at the rail. The sailor takes the woman's hand and tugs, and, smiling, she follows him around the deck and toward the path that leads back to the cabins. Seaman Reedus throws them a jealous glance and returns to his cigarette.

"Well, at least someone's getting laid tonight," Aaron mutters.

Carol told Daryl Aaron was going to need someone to talk to about the breakup. He supposes Carol meant that someone was supposed to be him. But he doesn't know what the hell to say about it. "Gettin' laid's overrated," he ventures.

Aaron draws his pint glass closer to himself. "Does Carol know you feel that way?"

"Meant with strangers." Daryl winces. That wasn't helpful. Jesus was no stranger. "Shit, man, dunno what to say. The fuck happened?"

"With Jesus, you mean?" Aaron sighs. "If I knew that, I think it would be a lot easier."

"Well somethin' happened."

Aaron takes a sip of his brew and then sets it down. "I got a little jealous."

"Who the hell of?" Daryl doesn't know any other gay guys at Hilltop or Alexandria, not that he would know if they were. He doesn't pay much attention to that stuff. He didn't realize Mitch was attracted to him until Carol told him so. Aaron must have used the word boyfriend a dozen times, but Daryl was still more than halfway through his spaghetti at Aaron and Eric's house in Alexandria before it really dawned on him those two were fucking each other. It's just not something he thinks about.

Aaron laughs slightly. "Well….that's where it gets kind of silly."

"Silly how?"

Aaron glances at the smoking sailor, who stubs out the last bit of his hand-rolled cigarette on the rail and then slips back into the pub. For a moment the laughter and chatter and live music inside grows terribly loud. The glass door slides shut and the sound recedes to a pulsing murmur again. "Tara."

"Tara! The fuck?"

"It sounds really stupid when I say it out loud like that."

"Yeah," Daryl agrees.

"It's just, in my past experience, some people will tell you they're gay when they're really kind of bi. Or at least bi for the right person. Anyway, Jesus and Tara were spending a lot of time together. A lot. I mean…a lot." He sighs. "So, you know, I asked. Are you interested in her? Are you attracted to her? And he got angry at me for not trusting him. And he's right. I should have trusted him. He didn't give me any reason not to trust him, but also…" Aaron shakes his head. "I don't know. I felt like I wasn't his best friend anymore. I felt like I hadn't been for a long time. For months. We just…drifted apart. I guess I wanted there to be a reason. A someone. Anyone. I didn't want to be losing him to no one. Because if I was losing him to no one, that would be like saying I'm not even better than nothing."

"Damn," Daryl mutters. He sips his beer because he doesn't know what to say. It hurt when Carol chose Ezekiel, but at least they weren't a couple then, and at least she chose someone who loved her, someone honorable. If she were to walk away now because she just didn't want him anymore? Not even because there was someone else she loved? "Fuck, man."

"So, yeah. That's what happened."

Daryl sets his pint glass back down on the table. "Jesus is a twat anyhow."

Aaron laughs. "A twat? That's not a word I'd expect to hear coming from you."

"He is, man. Used to walk around without any weapons. Oooh….look at me. I'm a pacifist! So damn pure." Aaron snorts. "He stole me and Rick's truck full of supplies. Who the fuck does that? 'N then shows up in Rick's bedroom, unannounced, and checks out his naked girl?"

"I don't think Jesus was checking out Michonne. He was probably checking out Rick, though."

"Anyway," Daryl mutters. "Twat. He ain't yer type. Never knew why ya got together with 'em."

"You're just trying to make me feel better, aren't you? You don't actually despise Jesus, do you?"

"Nah. Course not. Think he'd have m' back in a fight. But he ain't the kind of guy I'd wanna sit down 'n have a beer with."

"Why not?"

"'Cause he's a twat."

Aaron laughs harder this time. "He's not a twat." He picks up his beer. "Okay, maybe just a little bit of a twat. Sometimes."

Daryl raises his glass. "To bein' rid of twats."

Aaron clinks his pint glass with his own, and they both sip.

The sliding glass door opens again, and Mitch comes out with a shot of white whiskey. He slides the door shut and leans back against it with a sigh. "It's crazy in there."

"This is m' huntin' partner, Mitch," Daryl tells Aaron.

Aaron nods. "Yeah, we met earlier. At the fair. He beat me at long range rifle. Which I probably shouldn't have wasted two bullets entering, but I thought, in prone position, with the mount…" Aaron shrugs.

"Hey, you got the bronze, though," Mitch says.

"Only because Carol and Rosita didn't compete."

"They should really have given you a handicap," Mitch says.

"The apocalypse doesn't hand out accommodations," Aaron replies. "Want to join us?"

"Ah…I don't want to be a third wheel. Don't want to interrupt anything."

"Well, Daryl and I were about to play tonsil hockey, but, other than that, you wouldn't be interrupting."

Mitch laughs, Daryl glowers, and Aaron pulls out one of the extra chairs at the table. Mitch sits down and sets his whiskey glass on the table.

"Candy shine?" Aaron asks.

"No. I took my free ounce of Jamestown shine. It's too bad it wasn't the Candy shine that was free."

"So that means you're joining us to fight the horde tomorrow?" Aaron asks.

"Jesus talked me into it. He said you need marksmen."

Aaron's jaw grits at the mention of Jesus.

"Sorry," Mitch mutters, "I know you two used to…you were together, right?"

"We were."

"I know what that's like. I got dumped not that long ago. It gets better. So I'm told."

"Why'd she dump you?" Aaron asks.

"He. And…uh…I think I was just too old for him."

"You can't be more than thirty-five," Aaron insists.

Mitch smiles. "You flatter me. I'm in my forties. But more to the point, he was in his twenties."

As the conversation continues, Daryl gradually begins to get the impression that Mitch is not the third wheel here. He quickly drains the last of his beer and stands. "Think 'em gonna head back 'n fuck m' wife. I'll take care of the tab on the way out."

As he slides open the door Mitch says to Aaron, "That's one hell of a way to exit."

"Quintessential Daryl," Aaron replies.

[*]

Carol's curled in the big papasan chair, reading a book by the fire, when he gets back to Dianne's cabin. She lowers her book. "You weren't gone very long," she says suspiciously.

"'S fine. We talked."

"You couldn't have talked much."

"Talked the right amount. Trust me. Was good." He walks over, takes the book out of her hand, bends down the corner of the page, and tosses it on an end table. He leans over her in the papasan, with his hand on the rim, and kisses her. "Wanna fool 'round?"

"With Sweetheart in our bed?"

"She ain't gonna wake up." He nips at her neck.

"What's made you so randy? Is there an aphrodisiac in the Candy shine?"

"How ya know I had Candy shine?"

"I can taste it on you." She kisses him. One of his hands slips from the rim of the papasan and onto her breast. He squeezes gently through her shirt and then slides half on top of her. She feels good beneath him. Damn good. He thrusts against her. She giggles.

"C'mon," he says. "Wanna make love to m' beautiful wife. Pretty please?"

"Well…since you asked so nicely…I don't think Michonne's coming back tonight. Were Dianne and Gunther still at Henry's when you left?"

"Yeah."

"Then lock the front door."

"We're doin' it in the papasan?"

"Either that or you bend me over that end table. I'm game either way."

Daryl smiles. "Damn. I ain't the only one's horny."

"It's been a fun day."

"'Bout to get more fun," Daryl says, walking backward. He turns, strides quickly to the front door, and slams the latch closed.

They stumble to bed after their fun and go pretty quickly to sleep with Sweetheart sandwiched in the bed between them. Carol awakes to a loud rapping on the door. "Shit," she mutters. They forgot to unlock it again when they were done.

She pulls on her pants – she's still wearing her tank top – and hurries to unlock it. "Seriously?" Dianne asks. "Locking me out of my own cabin?"

"Sorry. It was an accident," Carol says.

Dianne laughs. She might be a little buzzed. Gunther puts a hand on the small of her back and ushers her inside. "See you in the morning," he tells Carol, and they've soon disappeared into Dianne's bedroom.

Daryl stirs awake when she crawls back into bed.

"We forgot to unlock the front door," she says.

"Shit," he mutters.

"It's okay. Dianne was buzzed."

"'M. Good."

"I hope we can fight this horde tomorrow with half our soldiers hung over."

"Ain't nobody can afford to get too hung over. Not at Henry's prices for shine."

Carol chuckles. "It's good to hear he took Linda's advice, then." She slings an arm over Sweetheart, rests her hand on Daryl's hip, and fades back to sleep.