AN: Here we are, another chapter here.

I have to say thank you to all of you for helping me out as I decide how to handle this story. Many people have weighed in, and I think that the overall consensus is that there's no way through the forest except forward. I think that's true. Even if I were to delete the chapters, the negative feeling remains, so it must be resolved if anything is to be done with the story. Hopefully, I'll be able to fix this, resolve the negativity, and get it back to what it was meant to be, and hopefully it won't take too long and I won't get too stuck (since I've been trudging through this forest since August and could do with a bit of sun here, LOL).

I have to give a special thanks to coreenfw for giving me the idea to help me get moving on the next little piece to fixing this.

I hope you enjoy the chapter! Let me know what you think!

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"A walk with the Wildman?" Daryl mused.

Ezekiel laughed to himself.

"If you don't want to do this," he offered, though he never really finished what he was going to say. He didn't have to finish. Daryl heard the end of it loud and clear. He could turn back. He could head back to the center of Alexandria—where there were people. He could cross his arms across his chest, plant his boots in the dirt, and refuse to budge—refused to even give an inch, literally or metaphorically.

But doing that wouldn't get anyone anywhere. Doing that wouldn't make Daryl feel better—and it certainly wouldn't make him feel like more of a man.

Ezekiel's request had been simple—just a conversation.

Daryl knew that Carol wanted him to have the conversation. He knew that Michonne wanted him to have the conversation.

And he also knew that both women were, at this very moment, trying to turn the house into something that made Carol feel comfortable and settled, and he knew that Carol had only moved to the house to make him happy. Daryl couldn't very well preach to Carol that he wanted her to relax when he wouldn't even try to relieve the tension in her life over which he had direct control.

So, he was taking a walk with Ezekiel.

"Where we goin'?" Daryl asked, letting that be his way of excusing Ezekiel's invitation to leave the conversation entirely.

"Just a little further," Ezekiel responded.

"Could use a lawnmower out here," Daryl commented. There were reaches of Alexandria that were still rarely used. Though they were already planning to expand in the spring and encompass more land for growing things and grazing animals, there was still a lot of living space that hadn't been fully occupied yet.

"Maybe I'll bring a goat or two out here," Ezekiel said with a laugh.

"That'll do it," Daryl mused. He felt the tension in his shoulders dissipating a little. It was nice to be able to simply talk about stupid things like overgrown grass and weeds and the goats that might munch the plants down and under control. It was nice to not have to argue. Daryl had prepared for an argument. Even though he hadn't done so on purpose, he could feel, now, the tension in his muscles that said he'd done just that.

Ezekiel pointed out the porch to one of the unoccupied houses, and Daryl followed him. They mounted the porch steps, and Ezekiel waved his hand to gesture for Daryl to sit wherever he wanted.

Daryl tested the strength of the chain on the porch swing and, satisfied that it was actually well enough preserved that it wouldn't snap, he sat down. Ezekiel joined him and put down the bag that he'd been carrying.

"Nice," Daryl said.

"I like the porch," Ezekiel said. "And it's quiet."

"Thought you liked fanfare," Daryl said.

"You thought wrong, then," Ezekiel said. He didn't really say it as though he wanted it to dig into Daryl. He said it with the same tone of voice he might have used to inform Daryl of any other fact that he simply didn't know.

"What about all the King bullshit?"

Ezekiel laughed to himself and shook his head.

"I fell into the King bullshit," Ezekiel said. He reached, unzipped the bag that he'd been carrying, and produced a bottle of whiskey. From the bag, he also produced some hard plastic cups that reminded Daryl of the kind of cheap cups they once gave away at certain sporting events. Ezekiel poured a little of the whiskey into each of the small plastic cups, and offered one to Daryl.

"Thanks," Daryl said. "Good brand for drinkin' straight."

"Found it in the house, actually," Ezekiel said.

Daryl lit a cigarette and offered one to Ezekiel. He took it, and Daryl passed him the lighter. He knew that Ezekiel didn't smoke—not even recreationally, as Carol sometimes did—but he was smoking now for the comradery of it.

"You are—Daryl Dixon," Ezekiel said. "From…well, my life experiences…I know that you are married to Carol Dixon, who you loved ever since you were dedicated to finding her daughter that was lost. I know that—you lost your brother. He died. Michonne speaks oddly highly of him, despite the fact that she very strongly highlights that he was a first-rate asshole."

Daryl laughed quietly. He wasn't sure what Ezekiel was up to, but the whiskey was good, it wasn't too cold outside, despite the nearing winter, and the air felt fresh. He wasn't exactly feeling too on edge.

"You—had, perhaps, a difficult life prior to all of this."

"You can say that shit again," Daryl mused.

"But now you're a well-respected member of this community and, really, of any community that you choose to enter. You are a master bowman, a skilled hunter, and you have any number of other skills that contribute to our lives these days. You are a loved husband, a valued friend, a beloved uncle, and the step-father to my son. You are, also, a father-to-be, with a little one due probably in eight to ten weeks."

"You got a point or—we just relivin' my greatest hits?" Daryl asked.

Ezekiel smiled at him, genuinely amused. He took a drink from his plastic cup and considered it for a moment.

"These are the things I know about you," Ezekiel said. "What can you say you know about me?"

"You're Ezekiel," Daryl said. "King of the Kingdom. You got a damn tiger. You…" Daryl hesitated, but decided to push forward. "You married Carol. You loved her, but…she says it weren't never like that. You adopted Henry."

Daryl shrugged his shoulders and tasted more of his own whiskey. It was good. It was smooth—expensive, top-shelf whiskey. It didn't burn his stomach, but it was warm in his body.

"I guess I don't know all that much," he admitted.

"You don't," Ezekiel said. "My name is Ezekiel Andrews. I worked as a janitor at the zoo, and I lived in a single-wide trailer that I bought second-hand. When all this happened? I went back to the zoo. The animals there—they were my friends. I saw them every day. Talked to them. I didn't have a lot of friends before all of this, and animals don't judge. I wanted to make sure, I guess, that they were safe. I just wanted to know what happened to them. Many of the animals had been killed. Walkers had gotten, somehow, to their enclosures. Others had escaped or been released. Shiva was injured. Trapped. She'd starve to death and die if I left her there. So, I saved her. I knew there was a chance she'd tear me apart. I meant to let her go free—wild—like the other animals that had survived and escaped. I fed her what I could find. I doctored her wounds, and she didn't kill me. It was entirely Shiva's choice to become my companion. I never forced her into it."

Daryl's stomach twisted. The man sitting next to him, sipping whiskey, wasn't a king at this moment. He was just an ordinary man, sitting on a porch swing, sipping whiskey. A janitor, no less, who had owned a trailer that was probably not much different than the one that Daryl and Merle had been living in when the shit show started. And he had a tiger, but it was only by the tiger's choice that their odd friendship had been established—no different than Dog choosing Daryl as a companion.

"Sayin' somethin'," Daryl offered. "When a damn tiger likes to…you know…curl up at your feet."

"Shiva is an overgrown lap cat when she wants to be," Ezekiel said, laughing. "When I encountered the first people that were later to become members of the Kingdom? It was they who decided to call me a king. They decided that, because of Shiva's dedication to me, I must be something—not an ordinary man. The madness had only just begun. We were a few months into…confusion. I was desperately lonely. I had dreams of building something, with others, where we could somehow win this. I had dreams of building a place where we could have all we needed to thrive. The people I met were desperate. They were depressed. They needed something to believe in."

"And a janitor with a tiger, that they could call a king, was what the hell they needed," Daryl said.

"A fairy tale," Ezekiel said. "An escape. I gave them that. From the beginning, we all knew that it wasn't true. It was only make-believe. But, just as make-believe is good for children, I believe it's good for adults. It's good for the soul, sometimes, to escape the reality in which you're forced to live in order to spend a little time in the land of your own creation."

"Is that what you were doing with Carol?" Daryl asked.

"I love Carol," Ezekiel said. "I loved her then, and I continue to love her now. But—I cede to you. I knew that she never loved me. Not like she loved you. And I always knew that, if you were to ever decide that you wanted her for more than a day or two at the time, she would go to you—just as she did for a day or two."

Daryl leaned forward for the bottle. He helped himself to a little more whiskey and, without asking, tipped some more into Ezekiel's cup. He lit another cigarette for himself and wasn't offended when, this time, Ezekiel refused.

"When you put it that way," Daryl said, "really kinda—puts it into perspective what the hell I was doin' to her all them years."

"I asked you out here to apologize to you for—anything I said or did that might have put you in a bad place, personally or with Carol," Ezekiel said. "And I am sorry for that. I didn't intend to repeat the offense."

Daryl laughed to himself. He took a drag on his cigarette. The nicotine, mixing with the alcohol in his veins, gave him a slightly light-headed feeling. Normally, he didn't care for that feeling. At the moment, though, it didn't make him feel uncomfortable or out of control—it just made him feel relaxed.

"I didn't say I was pissed," Daryl said. "Hell—maybe I said some shit that…you know…I shouldn'ta said." He laughed. "To be honest, I don't actually remember what the hell I said. I don't remember what the hell you said. Just the gist of it all."

"I accept your apology," Ezekiel said, laughing quietly before taking another sip from his own cup.

"Fucked up thing is—I never meant to hurt her," Daryl said. "But—I guess…I have. Damnedest thing is that, some of the shit I did to try to…to not hurt her? Prob'ly where I fucked up the most."

"Are you suggesting that—the road to hell is paved with good intentions?" Ezekiel asked.

"Guess I am," Daryl said. "I'm tryin' to put it right, though. Give her everything she needs. Be everything she needs."

"I believe that Carol might have believed you were everything she needs already," Ezekiel offered.

Daryl considered the amber colored liquid in the bottom of the white plastic cup. He took another draw off his cigarette.

"I said it before, but…I really did mean it," Daryl said. "I do thank you for…everything. I mean…lookin' out for Carol. Takin' care of her. Especially when I weren't there like I should've been."

"It has been my very distinct pleasure," Ezekiel said.

"I guess…it's prob'ly hard, sometimes, to get a wife these days with…your…condition…and all…" Daryl said. As soon as he said it, he was certain that the whiskey had loosened his tongue, perhaps a bit too much. Still, to calm his body's natural response to realizing that his mouth had released words that his brain hadn't approved, Daryl downed a little more of the whiskey. "Shit—I shouldn'ta said that. I'm sorry. That was an asshole thing to say…an' I prob'ly shouldn't even know that shit…but I swear, I ain't gonna tell no damn body."

Ezekiel was laughing. He was also tipping more of the drink into both of their cups.

"My condition?" He asked, far more amused than Daryl might have imagined any man should be when talking about the fact that he had a permanently limp dick.

"You know…with your…"

"What condition is that, Daryl?" Ezekiel pressed.

Daryl's whole body felt warm, and only part of it could be blamed on the whiskey in his system.

"I started it," he said. "So, you gonna make me finish it." Ezekiel was wholly amused, and he nodded. "Fine—that'cha can't…get it up. And I'm sorry I know that shit—and I'm sorry I said it. But you got some, I don't know, scout's honor that I won't say shit to nobody."

"Say what you want," Ezekiel said. He drew more of the drink into his mouth and held it for a moment, clearly enjoying the taste of it before he swallowed. "It isn't true."

"Carol said…"

"All part of the fairy tale," Ezekiel offered. "I didn't want her to feel that there was an expectation or an obligation that she didn't want to fulfill. She wouldn't have wanted to be with me in that way. But—she would have felt, perhaps, that she owed me something. She didn't owe me, but if she was going to pay a debt that she believed existed, I preferred her genuine affection and appreciation over physical acts that she felt obligated to perform."

"So, you lied to her," Daryl said.

"I prefer to think of it as acting," Ezekiel said. "If I had told her the truth, she would have felt guilty. As it was, I spared both of us that discomfort."

"Sounds to me like—you'da caused yourself a lot of discomfort," Daryl said, snorting involuntarily. Ezekiel hummed somewhat in agreement and laughed to himself.

"It was difficult to hide, at times. I had to become the earliest riser I've ever been to ensure that I was never caught in a compromising position. Still, it was worth it," he offered. "And—I had times of respite, when the Fairy Queen visited the Wildman of the Woods."

"Asshole," Daryl said, laughing sincerely.

For a long moment, both of them simply sat. They sipped at their drinks and sat. The silence was comfortable but, like most things, it had to come to an end. Ezekiel broke it.

"I want Henry to have the fullest relationship he can with his mother and his sister."

"We got that in common," Daryl agreed.

"He is old enough to understand things—entirely. I think he would understand things better if we all spoke to him together."

"OK," Daryl agreed.

"I would like to be able to tell him that there's no animosity between us," Ezekiel said. "That's true on my part, but…the rest is up to you."

Daryl considered the words and their implications. Ezekiel gave him the time and the space to do so.

"I think—we both want the same things," Daryl said. "In a lot of ways. It'd make more damn sense if…we were workin' toward all of it together."

"I'm glad you see it that way," Ezekiel said. "I think—Henry could only benefit from having you in his life and from learning all the things that you could teach him. Things…I can't teach him."

Daryl found himself oddly struck by the statement. It settled like a warm spot in his belly.

"Don't count yourself out too much," Daryl said. He laughed quietly, and Ezekiel caught the laughter without even really knowing what it was that Daryl was about to say. "Lot to be said about some damn body who can turn a tiger into a lap cat without so much as tryin'."