I didn't sleep at all last night...I guess I drank WAY too much coffee at 11 P.M.! I'm wired for sound and watched The Walking Dead all morning! *bounces up and down* I can't freaking sit still, I feel like Norman Reedus in an interview will all my twitching and fiddling!

But I shall take this energy and pour it into another chapter, how about that?

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"Nuh uh! Not a chance!"

Daryl raised his hands and shook his head as he backed away from the conversation in front of him. Rick turned and glared at him dangerously.

"Daryl, are you questioning my decision making capabilities?" he accused.

"Rick, I'm tellin' ya, it's a bad idea!" Daryl replied, not intimidated at all. "That woman and I ain't gonna work well together!"

"You're just gonna have to LEARN to work together, aren't you?" Rick stated, folding up the map they had been viewing.

"Rick..." Daryl started to argue again, tiliting his head in that stubborn way. But Rick wasn't having it.

"Daryl, I've made the decision, it's final," he cut him off, "You wanna argue some more, go talk to that fence because you ain't getting no more of a reply from me."

Daryl watched Rick leave with fire in his gaze, glaring imaginary daggers into him as he left. The man had to be crazy sending him out with Michonne on a supply run.

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"Whose bright idea was this again?" Michonne complained as she slid into the passenger seat of Daryl's truck.

"Look, missy, I ain't exactly thrilled by the arrangement either but I ain't arguin' no more," Daryl said through clenched teeth, "So just do what I tell ya and don't get bit. In and out, quick and easy."

"That your motto for everything?" Michonne asked with a hint of mischief. Daryl only looked at her for a long moment through narrowed eyes before he turned the key and the truck raored to life. T-Dog opened the gate and they were off to the small town about eight miles to the south.

They drove in silence, both thinking of how their day could be better spent, until Michonne couldn't handle the tension anymore.

"So what exactly are we getting here?" she asked, nonchalantly.

"Pretty much a food and meds run," Daryl replied, strangely without contempt in his tone.

"Practical," Michonne nodded with approval.

"Best to be practical nowdays," Daryl agreed.

"So...what I said to you the toher day," Michonne didn't know why she was bringing it up, "I didn't mean to sound ungrateful for what you do for this group."

"Well, you're right," he said simply, shrugging and looking out the window as he started chewing on his thumb. "Not like I've been bringing a lot back lately anyhow. Animals are starting to hunker down for winter, game's gettin' thin."

Michonne was about to argue but the truck began to slow down and rolled to a stop just outside the town. Daryl left the keys in the ignition in case they needed a fast get away and grabbed his crossbow from the back, slinging it on his shoulder as he always did. Michonne followed behind him as he walked slowly, his eyes scanning for danger or anything out of the ordinary.

He must have felt satisfied that they were safe for now because he stood up straight from his hunter's crouch and let the crossbow point down as his arms relaxed and his grip loosened slightly. Michonne looked around at the ramshackled buildings on the outskirts of town and exhaled sharply, causing Daryl to jump and face her.

"Sorry," she whispered, "Just...thinking of something that made me mad."

"What?" he asked, not really sounding all that interested.

"My town I came from," Michonne replied anyway, just for the sake of having a distraction. "It was a pretty small town but people were good to eachother, you know? Until they got the disease and started ripping eachother apart, that is. Whole town went down in less than three days."

"Sorry t' hear it," Daryl stated, sounding almost genuine.

"It's the past," Michonne blew him off and pointed toward a drug store on the corner of what must have been the main street. They approached it cautiously and took down a walker that was behind the counter when they entered.

"Anything specific?" Michonne asked as she scanned the picked over shelves.

"Nope," Daryl replied, "Take it all, I say."

And so Michonne's bag was dedicated to being filled almost to the brim with boxes of pills, tubes of creams, bottles of caplets, lozenges, liquid meds and a few packs of cigarettes she found in what looked like an employee's secret hiding place. When they had satisfactorily cleaned the place out, they moved on to the next store. That next store was an antique shop.

"You know, most people would think of this place last," Michonne stated when they opened the door to find the place nearly untouched. "But all this stuff, if it works, could come in handy!"

They searched through the place and took anything of use, including some old cast iron pans Carol and Lori would be glad to see.

After they had hit the grocery store at the other side of town, their bags were filled and they made their way back to the truck, incident free.

"You know, I don't think we did so bad together, do you?" Michonne asked, wondering if he was still as bitter about being partnered with her for te run as he was earlier.

"You ain't so bad, I guess," Daryl admitted grudgingly.

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On their way back, Michonne pointed off to the side of the road. A car was in the ditch that definitely hadn't been there when they had come through earlier.

"Maybe someone's hurt," Michonne stated as Daryl pulled the truck to a stop up on the road. She jumped right out and headed for the car. She heard the truck door slam behind her and Daryl let out a small string of curses before she felt a firm grip on her elbow, yanking her back before she could reach the vehicle.

"Get your stupid ass back," Daryl's growl was a little frightening as he planted himself squarely in front of her, glaring. Michonne, with all her stubborness and strength, felt her determination crumble under that icy blue look and she stepped back slightly and nodded. "I'll check it out, but don't fuckin' jump the gun again. You're my responsibility right now."

"I'm perfectly capable..."

"Didn't say ya weren't," Daryl cut her off sharply, "But as long as yer out 'ere with me, I'm callin' the shots. Call it...seniority."

"I doubt you're that much older than me," Michonne challenged, in no mood to be treated like a child.

"It don't matter," Daryl replied as he turned to make his way to the car, "This is my group you're gettin' into, so I'll make the calls."

Michonne crossed her arms and watched in silent anger as the redneck approached the car with his crossbow raised to his shoulder, his body took up that defensive stance again and she found herself admiring the silence with which he moved, like a cat stalking a bird. He was good, she had to admit, he knew what he was doing.

Daryl eyed the driver's side door with suspicion, the window was shattered and glass was all over inside but there was no sign of any driver or passengers. Doing a quick sweep of the back seat and under the car, he slowly opened the door and leaned in carefully to reach the glovebox. It only held typical things like the title to the car, insurance papers, napkins, stuff like that so he shut it and backed out, looking around the nearby area in confusion.

"I don't get it," Michonne called to him, "They couldn't have gone far, and they naturally would have made their way towards the town if they went anywhere."

Daryl nodded and turned to face her, his mouth open as if he was about to speak when his words, whatever they might have been, were transformed into a terrified holler and Michonne watched in horror as a walker emerged from beneath the car, it's dead grip around Daryl's left ankle. Daryl freaked out and threw himself backwards into the car, right hand grippinf the steering wheel and left hand spread out behind him to steady himself, he yanked his leg from the walker's grip and pushed himself back to the passenger side just as Michonne beheaded it with one swift swing of her katana.

She stood there looking at him with a sneer on her face.

"Told you they couldn't have gone far," she stated snippily.

But Daryl didn't react the way she expected, with a glare and returning sneer, no he was looking at her with wide, frightened eyes, panting in panic. Michonne scanned over him and saw the blood staining the seat beside him.

"You're bit, aren't you?" she asked numbly.

"No, not bit," Daryl hissed through his tightly clenched teeth, he raised his left hand to prove it and Michonne covered her mouth with a hand to bite back the gasp she felt coming. Definitely not bitten, but a huge shard of glass was embedded deep in his palm just under his thumb, several good sized chunks glittered under the steadily oozing blood and Michonne automatically grabbed his arm to check his wrists. There was a nice sized cut there too, she didn't see any glass remaining in it, but there was a steady stream of blood and she though he may have nicked something important.

"C'mon, hayseed, let's get you back before you bleed to death," Michonne gripped his right arm and pulled him up from where he had laid back on the seat, he groaned in pain but he didn't fight and stood up easily, although he swayed slightly at the change of position.

"I ain't gonna bleed ta death," he stated darkly, pulling the greasy rag out of his back pocket, he went to wrap it around his wrist.

"Don't!" Michonne yanked the rag away, "That thing's disgusting! It's got animal blood, grease and who the hell know what else on it and you'll get yourself a nice infection if you're stupid enough to use it as a bandage!"

"Well, then maybe I will bleed to death," Daryl snapped back, clearly trying to sound more macho than he felt. She could see the pain in his eyes and the way his face was twitching.

"Use your slee...oh, damn it," Michonne rolled her eyes, "Why can't you wear sleeves like every other person on this planet."

"Get in my way," he stated simply.

"Well then use your shirt," Michonne stated simply.

It was a simple suggestion and it made perfect sense, but Daryl eyed her nervously, almost...distrustful. His eyes seemed to search her face for some hidden motive or something, Michonne wasn't quite sure what was going through his mind. Finally, he hung his head in defeat and nodded before pulling the shirt over his head.

Michonne couldn't help it, she let out a little gasp of shock as her eyes took in the angry discolorations that were spattered over his entire torso. Pink, puckered lines and faded silvery lines and one exceptionally dark, jagged line just under his collarbone. Good Lord, who had done this to him?

"Now ya know why I didn't wanna do this," Daryl said quietly as he ripped a few strips from the material and began wrapping his wrist.

"Who...?"

"Don't matter who," Daryl's patience had run out, and his pain tolerance was dropping by the second as the sharp throbbing pain shot up his arm with each heartbeat. "Jus'...let's get to Herschel."

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Michonne leaned against the doorway as she watched Herschel examine Daryl's injuries. He tsked a little when he saw the cut on his wrist and Maggie immediately went to the cabinet and brought back a needle and stitching thread. Daryl eyed it with trepidation and his features pinched in fearfulness as Herschel threaded the needle.

"This is gonna sting, not gonna lie," Herschel stated, "Michonne, can I borrow your hands for a minute?"

"Sure, doc," Michonned pushed off the doorframe and slowly approached, avoiding Daryl's gaze. "What do you need?"

"Can you just stabilize his arm there?" Herschel pointed to the crook of Daryl's elbow and Michonne carefully placed on hand on the clenched muscles below it and one on above on his bicep. She shouldn't have liked how he felt, but she couldn't help but admire the raw strength under that pale, tight skin. Daryl looked up at her, nervousness etched in his face, to avoid looking at what was happening to his wrist. When the initial thread pulled through his skin, Daryl's eyes squinted shut and he sucked in a sharp hissing breath and held it for a moment before exhaling with a whimper of pain, Michonne felt herself wince.

"That's the worst part," Herschel stated, "Like that first shock when you get a tattoo."

"That don't feel nowhere near as pleasant as a tattoo, doc!" Daryl moaned as the thread pulled tight. "Trust me."

Michonne's eyes scanned his body at his words and she spotted the implied tattoos quickly. On his right shoulderblade, two winged demons with outstretched wings rose up and under his arm, a third peaked out. His right hand was clenched tight on the arm of the chair and she noticed a tiny black star above his thumb. She reminded herself to ask him about them one day.

"Fuuuucccckkk..." Daryl growled as the final stich pulled through, closing the gash and significantly redusing the bleeding. Maggie handed Herschel a guaze pad and medical tape and he secured it over the stitches.

"Ok, halway there," he stated as he handed Maggie back the needle and thread.

"Halfway?" Daryl groaned.

"Gotta get this glass out," Herschel said calmly and simply.

"I can do it, doc," Michonne found herself speaking up and she wanted to smack herself.

Herschel looked up at her with confused look and Daryl looked out of the corner of his eye with doubt.

"I...have medical experience," Michonne confirmed.

Herschel looked skeptical, but he nodded and went over to the sink to wash the blood off his hands. Daryl got a panicked look on his face when he and Maggie left them alone, he eyed her carefully as she washed her hands and started looking through drawers in the medical cabinet.

"Just, uh, how much medical experience ya got?" he asked quietly when she turned around again, her hands held some sharp looking things.

"I was a military medic," Michonne stated, her eyes challenging him to make something of the situation. "Graduated second in my class."

"Well where's the guy who graduated first in your class?" Daryl asked, his voice getting slightly higher as she sat in front of him and lifted his hand back up onto the stainless steel side table.

"Probably dead," Michonne stated humorlessly, she eyed the glass pieces to decid which to pull first. Smallest to largest would be best so she could wrap him up as soon as she got that big one out that was bleeding the worst.

"Why didn't you just let Herschel do it?" he asked quietly as she laid out her tweezers, gauze, tape, alcohol and needle and thread just in case that big one went deep than she thought.

"I figured I should keep up on my skills," Michonne stated simply. She slid her under under the back of his and gripped gently to steady it as she dabbed a cottonball in the alcohol. "This is going to sting like shit."

Daryl groaned deep in his throat when she dabbed the wet cotton on his palm, his eyes clenched tight and his left leg started bouncing up and down rapidly as he tried to diffuse the pain. Michonne smiled at that, it was quite a different way of coping.

"Sorry," she said apologetically, "But we don't need you getting an infection."

"Funny you say that considering we're all already infected with the worst disease possible..." Daryl muttered with absolutely no humor. Michonne looked up at from her bent over position.

"Don't think that way," she stated softly, "It doesn't really matter anymore, does it?"

"Guess not," he replied, not meeting her eyes.

Michonne set down the cotton ball and picked up the tweezers. She saw Daryl's entire body tense as she brought them down to the pad of his hand, just under his ring finger.

"You need to calm down a little or you're going to pass out from lack of oxygen," Michonne observed, she laid the tweezers down and took his hand in both of hers, her thumbs rubbed the skin where it wasn't cut and her fingers ran along the back of it in an effort to calm him down. He just looked at her with an odd expression and a wince now and then if she got too close to a cut. "Better?"

"A little," Daryl's voice sounded gruff, porbably from all the strain.

"Ok, here we go," Michonne talked to him like she was soothing a scared horse, but it was working so she kept it up. She pulled the first chunk out pretty easily and the smaller ones with no problem. There was a good sized sliver between his thumb and finger that got a sharp yelp out of him when she pulled it. Finally...they came to the last one.

"That one's in there deep," Michonne commented, "This is not going to be pleasant."

"Just get it the fuck out of me," Daryl said sadly, his shoulders slumped.

"I will, chill," Michonne said with annoyance, she moved his hand from the table onto her thigh, laying it flat out as she leaned over, blocking his view. His leg started bouncing at top speed and she heard him whimper from the fear of not knowing what she was doing to him. Michonne carefully gripped the large chunk of glass and gave it a firm yank, pulling it out clean.

Daryl let out a chocked yell that was halfway mixed with a growl as he leaned forward and clutched his hand, curling into an automatic fetal position, which brought his forehead right into Michonne's shoulder as he steadied his breathing and rode out the waves of pain. When he leaned back, he looked at her with eyes that glistened with unshed tears.

"Let me see," she demanded and he slowly released his hold on himself and raised his palm to her with a look Michonne could only describe as a puppy with a thorn in his paw. "Well you won't need stitches, so that's a good thing."

"Fuck yeah, it is!" Daryl said with a pained chuckle. Michonne smiled slightly as she pressed the sterile guaze pad onto his palm and began wrapping the tape around it. She eyed it with satisfaction when she finished and laid the tape on the table with the other things.

"Other hand," she demanded, realizing she hadn't even bothered to examine the rest of him for injury.

"It's fine," Daryl stated as he held it out, flipping it up then down then up again. "See?"

Michonne saw that he was not at all injured but she found herself grabbing hold of his hand anyway. She ran her thumbs up and down his long, thick fingers and traced his calloused palms with her fingertips, admiring the strength his work hardened hands displayed. Little scars were present there as well, and she traced then gently, her eyes scanning the creases of his palm as she flipped it over. She ran her thumbs over the veins in his wrist and he suddenly yanked his hand back, making her jump in surprise.

"Told you it was fine," he stated, eyeing her with confusion.

"Just double checking," Michonne lied. Honestly, she didn't know what had just possessed her.

"Well, thanks, but I've got things to do," Daryl stood, looking highly uncomfortable, his still bare chest twitched slightly as if he only just rememberd he didn't have his shirt. "Thanks for the patch up."

Michonne just nodded as he walked past and she began picking up the instruments to clean and disinfect them. But she heard the clomping of his boots hesitate by the doorway.

"Michonne..."

"Yeah?"

"Thanks for havin' my back today."

So, right in the middle of writing this, I crashed so...it's a little later than planned.

I got this idea at 3 A.M. and I think it's a good step towards their trust building. REVIEW, my awesome readers :D