*Runs into the room and slides across the floor dramatically while doing jazz hands* I'M BACK! I promise I'm not running out on this story and I have some plans, but I had a big EMT test to study for and my other story had my attention diverted. Passed the test well and now I'm here to continue this story!

Let's get to it!

TWDTWDTWDTWDTWDTWDTWDTWD

Michonne yawned widely as she leaned over the railing of the guard tower, letting her dreads hang loose around her face as a chilly morning breeze blew through the prison yard. The sun was just coming up over the horizon and her shift on watch was almost over. It was such a dull job and she hated it so much, but she realized how important it was as well, someone had to be watching at all times...especially with their LIVING enemies being a possibility.

She thought back to how Andrea had opened her big mouth about her group, the sick feeling in her gut at the look on the Governor's face...she hadn't liked it one bit and she wasn't foolish enough to believe he had just let them go out of good will. He would find them.

Sighing, she lifted her head and scanned the area within her watch jurisdiction and her eyes fell on a figure emerging from the woods a ways off. Squinting, she identified the figure as that Dixon guy and she found herself watching him closely...probably out of the lack of anything else to look at. He had his crossbow slung over his back and his head hung slightly, his walk looked a little bit less cocky and purposeful than normal...but she was no expert on Daryl Dixon so how would she know?

Scoffing, she picked up the rifle that was leaning against the railing and aimed toward him, watching him through the scope. Yep, he definitely looked less peppy than normal if that was even possible considering he wasn't exactly a cheery person. Michonne felt her lips twitch into a half smile as she thought about how unpleasant the redneck could be when he was in a bad mood...she decided today would be a great day to avoid him.

But her thoughts were cut short when she caught a movement in her scope in the morning shadows of the woods and a glint of metal. She eyed the spot for a moment and just before she wrote it off to imagination, she saw more movement and a camo-clad figure with a wicked looking machete stepped out of the woods in a stalking crouch. Michonne felt panic rise in her throat. They'd found them.

She watched the figure carefully as it moved a little further out...and then she realized the true danger here. This stranger was alone...but he was planning on doing some damage here today. Daryl was completely unaware of the presence behind him as he stomped his way towards the prison. But he was too far away to be seen by any of the other watchers! This stranger was stalking his prey and his prey was their hunter.

Michonne didn't think, she just felt a surge of anger and fear flow through her and she knelt down, stabalizing her rifle on the bar of the railing, taking very careful aim. This shot would be difficult...she would have to aim over Daryl to reach the intruder behind him, it was going to be risky. But if she didn't take the risk, he would be dead withing seconds! So she took a steadying breath and squeezed the trigger while she exhaled, her eyes never straying from the scope...and fired.

TWDTWDTWDTWDTWDTWDTWDTWDTWD

The shot ran out and Daryl heard the bullet go by it was so close. Automatically, he dropped to the ground and looked around wildly, trying to spot the shooter...and he did.

"Bitch!" he snapped. Michonne stood up from her crouch in the tower and he played dead, maybe she would think she had got him...she was going to get a surprise in the form of a buck knife to the back of the knee if she came down here to drag his body off to the woods. Sure enough, she was coming down from the guard tower.

Daryl unsheathed the knife as slowly and with as little movement as possible and waited, his grip tight on the handle.

"Daryl!" Michonne's voice sounded...concerned? Wait, what? "Daryl, did I hit you too?"

Too? Daryl jumped up as she ran over and dropped into a defensive crouch, knife raised and muscles tensed to attack or defend.

"Come to finish the job, bitch?" he growled viciously, circling her as he tried to get her to let her guard down for just a split second.

"Look behind you, jackass," Michonne stated darkly.

"Nice try, shitskin," Daryl snapped back. "I wasn' born yesterday."

The racial slur made Michonne take a small step back and a flicker of hurt to pass through her eyes, but she remained firm.

"Listen here, Deliverence," she said calmly, getting her jab in while she was at it, "I'm gonna lay my weapons down and you're gonna do the same...and I have something to show you."

She laid her rifle slowly on the ground in front of her, then her katana, then her smaller knife and stepped back from the pile. Daryl eyed her cautiously, his eyes scanning her frame for more weapons. But he finally sheathed the buck knife and relaxed his stance a bit, allowing her to point behind him without the fear of losing her hand...or life for it.

Daryl moved off to the side so he could keep an eye on her while he also looked at what was behind him. When he spotted the pile of red stained camo, his shoulder dropped and his jaw went slack. He slowly turned to look back at Michonne and his face looked so horrified that Michonne almost felt sorry for him...almost.

"See, you ignorant hick?" she snapped, glad to able to get in his face without worrying about him stabbing her now. "I just saved your worthless white ass and you have the nerve to suspect me? I could have let you die, you don't mean anything to me! This is my group too now, I have nowhere else to go, so you better get used to the idea."

Daryl's eyes were wide and he was leaning back slightly as she got into his personal space, jabbing a finger into his chest.

"And if I ever hear you call me anything like that again...I'll kick your ass up to your eyeballs."

With that, she spun on her heels and collected her weapons before returning to her duty on watch, leaving Daryl to handle the dead body of the stranger.

TWDTWDTWDTWDTWDTWDTWDTWDTWD

Daryl watched her leave feeling very much put in his place, his chest hurt where she had poked him repeatedly and he rubbed the spot absentmindedly. Damn...the girl had spunk. He felt like an asshole as he watched her climb back up to the guardtower to resume watch duty, she had just saved his life and he had insulted her before she could even explain.

"Damn it, Dixon," he muttered to himself as he eyed the dead man behind him. "She really coulda just let you die..."

He wasn't sure what to do with the body, but he stripped it of anything useful. The machete he was carrying (that he was about to slice my head off with!), the camo jacket and pants, a smaller knife on his belt, and his combat boots were about all the guy had so it wasn't a huge haul.

Daryl approached the gate sheepishly but Michonne let him in without even a hateful look and his regret swelled in him like a freaking water balloon as he walked into the safety of the prison yard.

Dropping the stuff in his arms he swung up onto the ladder of the guard tower and climbed up. Michonne gave him an annoyed look when he lifted himself up into the tower, but then she just looked out the window and ignored him.

"Hey," he said lamely, wondering what exactly he had to say to her, "I...I guess thank you."

"I guess you're welcome," Michonne muttered back, unamused.

Daryl ran a hand through his radily lengthening hair, reminding him he was long overdue for a cut from Lori, and sighed heavily.

"Look...I ain't good at this apologizin' shit," he admitted, "But I owe ya one and I'm sorry I judged ya before ya could explain."

Michonne spun the seat around and leaned back against the desk, her eyes were cold as she looked at him with distaste.

"Your apologies don't mean much, Dixon," she said with a sniff like she had a bad smell under her nose, "You aren't worth anything more to me than a full stomach. But you're not even important for that as long as we have a steady supply of supplies."

Daryl felt a little twinge of a familiar feeling inside...his father had always said he was worthless too, and Merle had only driven that nail further into his already wounded self esteem. Hunting was the one thing he was best at, no one could track like he could...and yet, that was all he had over anyone else. He wasn't anything special.

Nodding in defeat, he backed slowly out of the guard box.

"I know," he whispered, not knowing why he even said it. Maybe he was only confirming it to himself. "I am sorry though. For the record, you ain't a shitskin...you're a real pretty color actually."

And with that, he swung over the edge and climbed down faster than Michonne's brain could register what she had just done to him. She felt guilt wash over her as she thought about the look in his eyes and the way he had backed up like he was cornered. She jumped up and almost called out to him, but she just couldn't quite find it in herself to want him to come back so she kept quiet as she watched him walk, head down, across the yard to the main building.

TWDTWDTWDTWDTWDTWDTWDTWD

Well...we're getting closer to them finding a mutual understanding. It takes a while to build a romance between two such very strong personalities, but I promise it's coming!

Reviews would be awesome to wake up to tomorrow (or...later today I guess since it's 4:30 A.M.) so dump your thoughts on me and I'll try to get these chapters up faster!