Part 6: Frustration

Steady, overnight rainfall left puddles everywhere. Daryl found resisting the urge to stomp his boots into a few of the smaller patches of muddy slush too irresistible. From the corner of his eye, he caught Dominick doing the same. The boy laughed when his mom warned he'd have to do his own laundry, but after a few more splashes under his belt, Dominick stopped and ambled toward his father for his afternoon lesson.

The hours alone inside the SUV with Sasha had been a special kind of torture. Daryl didn't know how it was for her, but being that close to her after washing her hair damn near killed him. Damn the girly melodrama, he thought, knowing that if Merle were alive, his brother would accuse Daryl of that and worse. The smell of her shampoo, the soap and just plain Sasha had consumed the Explorer—made him want to explore her. He'd tossed and turned most of the night. She'd muttered some. Of course, his agitation pissed her off, but he didn't know what to do. He couldn't remember the last time he couldn't think a boner away or at the very least handle it himself. And the pouring rain was no help. He suffered the whole night and crawled out at first light. Now, he was tired, still a bit horny, and only a game of puddle splashing worked a little to loosen him.

Lorenzo brought in a stack of twigs and branches and dropped them near the cold, slushy boar pit. Daryl walked over and observed.

"Grounds too wet."

"You think?" Lorenzo asked with laughter in his voice.

"Gotta have a fire, though," Daryl said.

In his early morning huff, he'd gone hunting and returned with a mess of squirrels and a rabbit. Dawn promised to fix her famous stew at which all the Cassidy men laughed. Daryl enjoyed the easy way the family had about them. Sasha's faint smile revealed she felt the same.

The thought of her seemed to work magic as it rekindled his discomfort. He hadn't seen her for hours, but he knew she had been holed up in the RV with Dawn. Breakfast had consisted of leftover boar and tin biscuits from the RV oven. While the men decided whether or not they should move and look for better conditions as another rainfall could lead to a flood, the two women discussed hair. From the bits that Daryl overheard, Dawn was itching to do something fancy with Sasha's hair and Sasha was all for it. He pretended not to notice or care, but he'd had his eye on the RV with mixed emotions.

Her hair concealed by a scarf, Sasha stepped out without a glance in his direction or any attempt to look for him. She carried a bundle stuffed under her left arm and her stick in her right hand. With her determined stride, she marched into the bushes. Daryl was moving to follow when Nash stepped ahead of him.

"Sonuvabitch," he mumbled under his breath.

Clutching his crossbow, Daryl ran after them. "Hey!"

Nash grew still. Daryl didn't see Sasha. The foliage was thick. He supposed she had gone deep into the bushes.

"What?" Nash asked. "Can't a man take a piss?"

"Ya got a RV," Daryl said, crossbow raised. "Do it there."

"I ain't got to do shit nowhere I don't want to," Nash said. "You just got here. You ain't running shit."

Daryl glanced around. He couldn't be sure where Sasha was, but he wanted to make sure Clay wasn't planning an ambush. Nash moved, and Daryl aimed the crossbow.

"Get back," he growled.

"What the fuck's wrong with you, man?" Nash asked.

"Go piss somewhere else," Daryl said. "You ain't pissing here."

"You're a real sumbitch."

Daryl nodded and kept the bow poised for action. Nash waited a second or two before he looked off into the woods and then trudged back toward the camp. After a few steps, he turned and said, "This shit ain't over."

"Better believe it."

Daryl waited until his heart rate returned to normal before he lowered the crossbow. Soon after that, Sasha stepped through the bushes with a roll of toilet paper in one hand while still clutching the stick with the other. She gave him a funny look.

"What're you doing?" she asked.

"I'm about to ask ya the same shit," he barked. "Don't go walkin' off by yourself no more. Ya know better than that! This ain't the prison."

"Don't to talk me like—"

"Dammit, Sasha," he said, stepping close until only inches separated them. "You ain't stupid so don't start actin' like it now! Wise up. Shit!"

"Daryl—"

"Not right now." He shook his head. "I don't wanna hear no sorry ass, stupid excuses. Ya need to take a piss come get me. Don't come out here by yourself. Got it?"

Her eyes narrowed. She looked ready to spew venom and Daryl was ready to spew it back. Just the sight of her fired him up in ways he'd never been lit before. He knew what Nash had on his mind. What if Daryl hadn't seen her walk off or Nash following behind? What if she had been out here on her own? The questions reawakened the moments where he'd been helpless and had no one to defend him. He hadn't liked the feeling and for damn sure didn't want anyone he cared about to experience what he'd gone through. Just looking at her and knowing her ignorance made him burn. With anger, confusion, and sadness.

"Come on," he said, taking her wrist. She resisted at first, but he refused to let go. "I ain't leavin' ya out here."

"You watch how you talk to me," she snapped. "I don't like being manhandled."

Daryl loosened his hold. He drew in a breath and slid his hand around hers. "Better?"

She stared. Her dark brown eyes screamed the anger that her mouth had yet to share. Seconds passed before her breathing evened. Her gaze dropped to where their hands connected. Her fingers flexed against him, but she didn't tug free. Daryl waited and prepared for her wrath. He was surprised by her quiet tones when she finally spoke.

"Was it Clay or Nash?"

"Nash," he spat the name like a curse.

Her full lips thinned into a firm line. She glanced toward the bushes where she'd relieved herself and then followed the trail back to camp. "I didn't hear him."

Another tirade scorched the back of his throat, but he swallowed it down. The troubled look on her face created lines that her girlish conversations with Dawn had erased. If he could wish the serenity back to her face, he would. Instead, he held her hand as they walked back to camp.

$%^&

Michonne had the first restful sleep since they left the two-story house. Despite the threat Lee and Aaron represented, she didn't have the edge from before like when the Governor was still out there. The occasional eye contact and faint smiles from Rick intensified the sensation of peace. The only thing that disrupted that feeling was Carl.

Since leaving the row house, he'd made certain to keep her between him and his father. A scowl darkened his young face and his gaze was ever watchful. Nothing moved without his acknowledgement. Hours of walking hadn't relaxed him. Attempts at conversation fell against a wall of silence. She supposed being damn near schoolgirl giddy over a kiss at the face of potential kidnappers was out of place, but after years of being angry and tense, she wanted to bask in something going right. She needed to.

"There's another sign." She pointed at the map to Terminus nailed to a now useless telephone or power line pole. Whatever service the pole once served was pointless now. Except for posting signs and leaning against when endless walking tired the living.

"They're all over," Rick observed. "The last one was about 2 miles back. If they're legit, they're serious about helping."

"You keep saying 'if.'" Carl kicked a loose pebble across the road. A squirrel paused mid-flight before disappearing up a tree. "Dang it. We could've had that one."

"There'll be more," Rick said quietly. He headed toward the map.

Michonne followed him. Carl pressed against her other side. She rested her arm on his shoulder and she felt his muscles relax.

"Change your mind?" she asked.

Rick shook his head. "Nah, we'd better stay off the tracks and away from that place."

"I think we should go," Carl said. "If those assholes are looking for us, they're probably headed that way."

"Watch your mouth," his father said.

"I-I…but Dad, you heard what they said about Michonne."

Rick touched her hand. He slid his fingers along hers. "I heard."

"We should be hunting them down," Carl said. "It'll be the Governor all over again."

"No, it won't," Michonne told him.

"We need more ammo," the boy continued as if she hadn't spoken. "We don't even know if they have guns—"

"Carl, stop it," Rick cut in. "You're getting worked up."

"Why aren't you?" Carl asked. "We've lost Mom, Judith…ain't losing Michonne, too! I'm not gonna do it!" Carl stormed a few feet away back to the road.

Michonne was torn. Part of her wanted to run after Carl. Hug him. Reassure him with promises that she'd be alright. Another part didn't want to lie. The boy meant too much for her to fill him with words that she longed to honor but might not be able to. Then, there was his father. The tortured look on his face rendered her immobile. As much as she wanted to comfort his son, she ached to pull the father into her arms, too. The kiss answered questions, while creating more.

Acknowledging their growing interest had been long overdue, but neither of them was the impulsive type. At least not regarding relationships. Not after everything. After losing so much, she had to be sure before she dared risk finding out if Rick's lingering stare meant more than idle curiosity or the usual male appreciation for her shapely ass. Admitting they meant the kiss helped, but she didn't want to hurt Carl. She wasn't sure he was ready for this change between her and his father.

"Michonne?" Rick's tone was quiet, intimate, and yet firm.

She met his gaze and realized he must have been staring at her for a while. "Yeah?"

"He's scared—"

"I get that," she cut in.

"Let me finish," Rick said. "He's seen more than I ever wanted him to. The last thing I want him to see next is anything happen to you."

"I'm not afraid of them," she said. "We can track them and take care of it."

Rick cocked his head to the side. He moved in until their personal spaces became one. His blue eyes darted around them, checking on Carl, the landscape, and finally returning to her. "That's what you want to do?"

She looked back at Carl before she answered. The Deputy's hat on the boy's head marked his age although the pistol on his hip told a different story. When he slept, she could almost see the child he used to be. His deepening voice cracked at the oddest moments. They laughed at the same corny jokes. She loved that there was still a boy beneath the layers of all that he'd witnessed and participated in.

"It's not what I want to do," she said.

"Are you scared?" he asked.

She answered honestly and without hesitation. "No."

Rick released a short, humorless laugh. "Of the three of us, you're the only one."

She frowned.

He reached for a loc and gently tugged. "I want to hurt them before they can hurt you. I'm scared of what kind of man that makes me. I don't want that for my son. Carl's right. We've lost…too much. We ain't losing you."

"You're a good father."

"I want to be good to you, too."

Michonne took Rick's hands and held them between hers. "You are."

"What do you want to do?"

"Keep walking," she said. "Find something to eat and a good place to lay low for the night. What about you?"

"Kiss you again," he said with a faint grin. "Kiss you a lot."

She giggled low enough for him to hear. "Rick…"

"You asked." He raised her hands to his mouth and kissed her knuckles. "That'll have to do for now."

"Come on." She patted his beard and headed toward Carl. "Okay now?"

The boy shrugged. "It ain't wrong to protect the people you care about."

"No, you're right," she said, feeling Rick coming to stand beside her. "We protect each other. Don't worry, okay?"

Carl's eyes narrowed as he regarded her. "You're not scared?"

She smiled as she shook her head. "Not even a little bit."

"We'd better get moving," Rick said. "Light'll be gone before we know it."

When they started walking away, Carl moved to Michonne's right and Rick claimed her left. Michonne withheld any commentary about their swift maneuvering and enjoyed the gracefulness of their skills.

$%^&

"You didn't squat in some poison oak, did you?"

Sasha frowned at Dawn's question. "Huh? What did you say?"

"You've been quiet since you came back," Dawn said. "You could've used the toilet here."

Sasha shook her head. "I needed to stretch my legs. Besides, my uncle had an RV. The toilet clogged and was the worst headache. I avoid bathrooms in RVs. It's automatic."

Dawn gestured for Sasha to shift around so that she could start on the left side of Sasha's head. An eclectic mix of Miles Davis, Keb Mo, Johnny Cash, Janet Jackson, and Patsy Cline played from the speakers of an iPod Touch. The music offered small assistance in settling Sasha's nerves. After their blowup, Daryl tried. Well, he was quiet on the walk back to camp and even walked her to the door of the RV. Their hands entwined the entire time had proved a major distraction. As Sasha reclaimed her chair at the table inside the RV, she forced herself to engage with Dawn but her heart hadn't been in the conversation as it had before she left to urinate. In less than five minutes, too much had happened.

"You and Daryl okay?" Dawn asked.

Sasha stiffened. "Um…"

"I'm not trying to be nosy even though it may sound like it," Dawn explained. "It's just… If you want to talk about it, you can. If you don't, that's cool. I mean, I get it. Adjusting to these circumstances isn't easy and then maintaining a relationship… Shit. I love Nik, but there are times I wish I could go to the mall and just chill."

"I've been informed that pissing on my own is no longer allowed," Sasha confided.

"I figured as much." Dawn chuckled. "You should've seen the looks on your faces. Both of you. Hot damn."

"We're cool."

"Good." Dawn worked through the sections of Sasha's hair as she spoke. "My vibe about y'all is that you'll make it. The Alphas can drive you crazy, though."

"Alpha?" Sasha asked.

"Alpha male," Dawn explained. "Nik is definitely Alpha and so is Daryl. I spotted that right off with the way, he picked up on Clay and Nash and has kept his eyes on you. Alpha men are sexy, but I'll admit there are times when I want Nik to dial it down. Then on the other hand, that's who he is and it's kept our family safe."

Sasha smiled as she listened to Dawn's description. Daryl Dixon was not afraid to get into the mix. She had witnessed that side of him too many times to count. In this changed world, the motto seemed to be: Be Alpha or be dead. As much as his over-protectiveness annoyed the hell out of her, she knew it came from a good place. But in the heat of the moment, the good place wasn't recognizable. She only saw red.

Later at the evening meal of rabbit/squirrel stew, which wasn't too bad, Sasha stayed close to Daryl. They didn't speak much to each other. His focus was Clay and Nash, and hers was Daryl and the stew. Around them, the Cassidy family discussed the possibility of leaving. The lake had risen and the heavy humidity promised another rainfall. They didn't expect to stay more than another day. Before a decision could be made, the clouds opened as if on cue.

Everyone scrambled. Sasha and Daryl headed for the Explorer. She crawled into the back with the sleeping bags. He folded into the front seat where he'd spent a restless night the night before. Sasha pulled a flashlight out and flipped the light on, holding it at an angle.

"Hey," she said.

"Hey yourself," he said in his trademark growl. "Save that light. We might need it later."

She turned the flashlight off and rolled onto her stomach. From this position, she could make out his outline. Even without seeing his face, his body language screamed misery. "Come back here. You can stretch out better."

"I'm alright."

"C'mon, Daryl," she said. "There's plenty of room. You can crack the windows and not worry about getting wet. Or wetter."

"Funny."

"Well," she said with a faint laugh. "Pillows."

"What? Pillows?"

"Yeah, pillows and it's drier than up there," she said.

He grumbled and muttered under his breath. Finally, she saw him move toward her. She shifted over to give him room. Once he was there, she realized the space wasn't as roomy as she thought. At least not for an Alpha. The idea of it made her giggle.

"What?" he asked, his voice low and raspy.

"Nothing. I didn't thank you before—"

"Stop," he said. "Don't do that. I said some shit I shouldn't have said and thankin' me just makes it… Just call it square."

"Fine. We're square." She rolled onto her side to give him room and he mirrored her movements. Soon, they were facing each other. The patter of rainfall sounded in time to their breathing. Sasha wished she could see his face. "Daryl?"

"Somebody else here?" he asked, teasing.

"Ha ha," she said.

"What, Sasha?" he said. "I ain't sleep. I'm listening."

"What do you think about that place…Terminus?" she asked. "Think there's really a safe haven?"

"Hard to say, y'know?" He spoke in a near whisper. "I think they were calling over the radio, but I can't say for sure."

"The radio?" Sasha rose onto her elbows. "Are you sure? What radio? When?"

"Back when ya'll got sick and we went on the run. Somethin' came over the radio and then a herd tore through. I had forgotten about it 'til now."

"Well…if they're broadcasting…"

"Still don't mean they're legit," Daryl muttered. "Could be bullshit. Look at what the Governor done. Woodbury looked pretty, but a fox set up the henhouse. I ain't about takin' that kind of chance. Are you?"

"Dawn wants us to go with them if they head out," Sasha said. "They're not sure about Terminus either. But they're right about this place flooding. After this rain, we'll have to leave tomorrow."

"I ain't keen on staying with 'em if Clay and Nash are still hangin' around."

"They weren't saying much at dinner," she said.

"I noticed. Still don't mean they ain't thinkin' about it," Daryl said.

Sasha recognized his point. As she considered their options, she saw a shadow of movement in the corner of her eyes. Then she felt his hand on her hair. For just a brief moment, he ran his fingers through before the back of his hand grazed her cheek as he pulled away.

"Your hair looks good. Dawn did that?" he asked.

"Yeah," she said softly.

"It ain't like Michonne's," Daryl said. "I saw when you came out the RV, but I couldn't tell for sure. What she do?"

"Two-strand twists," Sasha said. "Michonne has dreadlocks. I can undo the twists."

"Yeah?" he said. "It looks pretty on you. The dreadlocks would, too, I guess."

"I would say thanks, but…"

He laughed. "Don't say it." He drummed his fingers on the sleeping bag in time with the rain. "It's gonna get colder now. We go off alone shelter's not guaranteed. If we stick with 'em, maybe. I don't like those cousins."

"Me either, but they may not come."

"Maybe," he said. "Did you call me back here to talk my ear off?"

"No. Goodnight, Daryl."

"Goodnight, Sasha."

The sudden quiet made her intensely aware of his presence. Their pretense of being claimed by the other called for both to be hands on in public. Hand holding, touching and whatever felt strange the day before, but now, Sasha was getting used to Daryl's awkward caresses and found them familiar, comforting. Her thoughts wandered to their argument and their walk back to camp. They held hands when the situation didn't warrant it. She could've pulled away, and he took her hand instead of just releasing her altogether. Dare she make something of it or just let the moment roll away? Tyrese had often accused her of being too analytical. Maybe he was right. But damn. Why did the thought of her brother make her throat constrict?

"You okay?" Daryl asked.

She mumbled what she hoped was an affirmative response.

"Don't sound like it."

"Fine." The word came out strangled. She rolled onto her side away from him although in the dark SUV, she doubted if Daryl could see the tears streaming down her cheeks.

The Explorer rocked with Daryl's movements. Finally, he touched her shoulder. "You ain't got to worry 'bout those rednecks. I got 'em."

"I know."

He pulled away. "Oh…"

"Just go to sleep—"

"Don't be telling me what to do, woman," he snapped, but gently in a mocking tone. "I sleep when I want to."

She laughed in spite of the sadness that had crept in. "Fine. Don't sleep—"

"There ya go again!"

"Daryl…"

"Damn, is somebody else here?" he asked. "Where they at? Who the hell is it? If it's more than me and you, how the hell do they fit?"

She turned onto her back and adjusted her position to see what the limited light would allow. He appeared to be on his back, too, with his right knee bent and his left arm angled behind his head. He turned his head toward her when she moved.

"What?" he asked.

Sasha didn't use words to thank him. Instead, she leaned over to kiss his forehead, lingering longer than necessary. She caught his quick intake of breath and how he stiffened. His reaction didn't surprise her. What did surprise her was her own instinct to kiss him. When she lay back down and listened to their uneven breathing, she knew that sleep wouldn't come easy for either of them but still, at least they were together. There was comfort in that.

$%^&

Rick smelled them before he heard them. Another heavy downpour had left the air free of the usual scent of decay and neglect. Purity lingered in the aftermath and reminded him of better times. When life was easier. When finding an old ransacked shack didn't seem like he'd won the lottery, but since it would provide shelter for his family, he'd take the shack and be glad to have it. The roof leaked and the floorboards wore more rot than wood. Still, Carl and Michonne managed to make do and Rick told him he'd get wood for a small fire for the fireplace. He was no more than a stone's throw away when the men's scent reached him. He dropped the twigs and branches and crept back to the cabin.

Michonne and Carl had laid out their small stash of food in his absence. Carl jumped at Rick's sudden entrance. As father and son stared, Carl's face changed. He cast a worried frown toward the back door.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"Folks headed this way," Rick said. "Where's Michonne?"

"Peeing." The boy looked embarrassed at the admission. "She wouldn't let me go with her."

"You're fine," Rick assured his son. "I'll get her. Which way she go?"

"Not far. Just behind those bushes. I watched her duck down."

Rick nodded. "This ain't fortified like we need so get our stuff and be prepared to move. I don't know how it's gonna turn out."

"You think it's those guys?" Carl asked. "Lee and Aaron found us?"

Rick moved quickly to the back door as he answered. "I don't know. Could be friend or foe. We'll get Michonne and we're out."

By the time Rick stepped outside, Carl had packed their things and was right behind him. Their movements failed to disturb the twigs on the ground. The smell of the men was less apparent in the back, but Rick still sensed that others were nearby. He wanted to get Michonne and get moving. Running from a fight had never been his first choice, but protecting his own made him rethink things. He'd keep Carl and Michonne safe no matter what was required.

They reached the cluster of bushes and found them empty. Rick forced himself not to jump to conclusions. There was no sign of struggle and only one set of footprints. The image resembled her boots. He signaled for Carl to follow. They found her picking berries from a bush.

She smiled at them until Rick shook his head and pressed a finger to his mouth. The berries fell from her handkerchief as she lifted her hand to reach for the katana. In the distance, walkers grumbled. The noise could have been a small herd or more. Rick had no way of knowing how close the moving dead were; he was too concerned about the living.

"They found us?" she asked when she and the Grimes men had reached each other.

"Don't know. Someone's here."

"We could say 'Hi,'" she said.

"Not funny," Rick said, unwavering.

They'd slept in the cabin the night before and managed to avoid most of the rain. The plan had been to stay another night if possible. The arrival of the unknown had put a serious kink in their goal for shelter.

"The mud will make our tracks clear," she said.

"Don't know how many or what they have," Rick said.

"We're wasting time," Carl chimed in.

They headed deeper into the forest. Rain still clung to leaves and branches. Their steps made squishing noises on the muddy floor. They moved as quietly as possible, using hand gestures to signal. Rick was certain they were headed back toward the road and maybe another town would be nearby. At this point, holding up anywhere would be a godsend.

"Whoa!"

The trio stopped short at the loud voice.

"Looky what we got here," the man chuckled. "Dammit, if this don't beat all."

Rick moved in front of Michonne and Carl. The man's face wasn't recognizable, but Rick remembered his voice from the two-story frame house. Four other men joined him. Two carried guns, one had a knife, and the other had a big stick.

"Joe, you're damned good tracker," said a skinny man wearing a bandana tied around his head. "You said we had 'em. Here's the pack of smokes."

"Don't ever bet with a gambling man," Joe advised.

"What do you want?" Rick said. Michonne and Carl moved in close, standing with their backs against his. They formed a triangle, preparing to defend themselves if it came to that.

"It ain't about what we want," Joe said, his expression blank yet sinister. "It's about what's fair."

"Fair?" Rick spat the word. He had his weapon drawn. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"You took one of our own," Joe said. "We aim to even the score."

A/N: Thanks for reading, following, favoriting, reviewing, and leaving kudos. With the semester ending soon, I hope to update more frequently. But enough about me! This chapter is back to the original format. Thoughts? Too long or nah? Although Rick and fam have run into The Claimers, Lee and Aaron are still on the loose. Danger lurks everywhere in the ZA. Still debating if throat ripping will be an issue in this fic, so thoughts are appreciated in that regard, too. Tonight's the big night. Midseason finale and someone dies. My money is on more than one will be checking out and I'm hoping that my guess isn't wrong. Anyway, thanks much for your patience!]