Whew, sorry this took so long! I've been super busy with homework and my sleep schedule is so messed up right now, I can't even...it's just crazy messed up.

Oh, and to Melissa: I'm getting an outline of Ireland on my right ankle with the word "bhaile" which is "home" in Irish Gaelic in the center. Because, even though I was born in America, my heart is Irish and it is my real home...I'm moving and changing citizenship in two years if all goes according to plan!

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Michonne tapped her fingers on the desk, a bad habit she had when she was deep in thought, and wasn't even really paying much attention. In fact, she was so deep in thought that she wasn't really keeping watch like she was suppose to be doing. She couldn't help it, her eyes were trained on the figure down in the yard, shooting arrows into a target made out of a walker Andrea had taken down on patrol the other day. Her mind was running full speed as she watched him walk over and yank the arrows out of the walker's skull, all six had hit within the head and she smiled to herself in admiration at his skill.

"You're good, redneck," she murmered out loud, shaking her head slowly.

It had been a few days since their talk outside the gates and he had slowly begun to talk to her more civally and semi comfortably again, she even got a twitch of a smile out of him the other day when she made a joke about Glenn and Maggie's exploits in the storage shed.

One thing was certain, her attitude and opinion of the man had changed somehow, although she wasn't going to agree with the ridiculous part of her which claimed this to be affection. Affection, maybe, but only an affection as a member of this tight knit group, not any type of romantic attraction. No way.

But if there was no attraction, why was she watching him all the time? Why did she admire the movement of his lean muscles beneath the tan skin of his arms or the paler skin of his shoulders? Why did she find it hard to meet his bright blue eyes when he looked directly at her? Why was his thick drawl suddenly endearing instead of intimidating? Why was he suddenly more than just a redneck, but instead a provider and protector and important member of this group to her?

With an annoyed growl, she leaned back in the rotating chair and spun it in a circle to clear her mind. She did a quick walker scan before she stood, grabbed the rifle, and walked out onto the overlook to get a better view of his practicing. She watched as he raised the crossbow to his shoulder and let a bolt fly with no hesitation, which hit right in the left eye socket, then reloaded as swiftly as possible to let the next one go. He shot off all six within ten seconds and Michonne found herself thoroughly impressed at his speed and accuracy.

"He's great at that, isn't he?" a voice interrupted Michonne's studying and she turned to find Maggie standing beside her, ready to take over watch duty. "Didn't like him at first when they came to our farm, but he turned out to be a pretty good guy. Never gave up on that little girl."

Michonne's interest was piqued.

"What little girl?" she asked, her eyes flitting between Maggie and Daryl down in the yard.

"Carol's daughter, Sophia," Maggie explained, "She was separated from the group on the highway near our farm and was lot in the woods. Rick's son was injured and he came to our farm for help and he, Lori and this one guy, Shane, were too concerned with Carl to worry about Sophia."

Michonne scoffed angrily.

"I know, I know, but can you blame them?" Maggie justified, "Well anyway, they sent out small search parties occasionally, but Daryl was out there every day, all day searching for her. He seemed like the only one who really cared, to me..."

"Did he...?"

Maggie shook her head sadly.

"No," she replied with a sigh, "Well, yes...but not alive. She had been bitten and turned and he completely broke away from the group for a while, but Carol wouldn't let him go. She stood up to him and told him he mattered to the group and he slowly came back. But I know he still thinks about...sometimes he just gets this look in his eyes that just scream 'I could have done more', ya know?"

Michonne felt her chest tighten painfully. What a heavy burden to carry? But, then again, he'd done all he could so why would he feel so guilty?

"If you want to get him heated, just ask him about it," Maggie offered, "I think he NEEDS to get it off his chest, ya know? Like...therapy."

Michonne nodded silently, her eyes going back to Daryl who was now sitting on a picnic table cleaning the bolts with that nasty old rag he kept in his back pocket.

"Have a good watch, Mags," she said, handing off the rifle, "I'm gonna go give that boy some therapy."

Maggie took the rifle with a grin and nodded.

"Good luck."

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Michonne plopped down on the opposite end of the picnic table and pulled her katana from it's sheath and laid it across her knees. She pulled the whetstone from her pocket and ran it down the blade, loving the sharp metal scraping sound that issued from it. Daryl just looked up at her from under his brow and nodded a greeting.

"How'd you get so good at that, Hawkeye?" she questioned, pointing at the crossbow sitting on the table between them.

"Had t' hunt if I wanted t' eat," Daryl offered simply, "It was get good or get skinny."

Michonne laughed lightly, but that statement made her a little wary. Had to hunt if he wanted to eat? Where were his parents?

"So you've been hunting your whole life then?" she asked, conversationally.

"Since I was about six," he replied, not looking at her, "My pa used t' take me out, but then it turned into a way t' get out by myself, like a hobby. But not really because we ate everythin' I brought back, I don' hunt fer sport."

"Well that's admirable," Miichonne said kindly, "Hunting for sport always made me sick. I mean, they're just freaking antlers, what's the big deal?"

Daryl looked up from his arrows with an honest to God smile on his face.

"Status symbol, I guess," he stated.

"I guess..." Michonne muttered, "Pretty dumb one if you ask me."

"About as dumb as gang tattoos or ankle hugger pants," Daryl replied, intentionally referencing a common negro stereotype.

"Touche, Pa Kettle," Michonne said quietly.

They sat in silence for a long time while they took care fo their weaponry and then Daryl stood suddenly and shifted weight uncomfortably from one foot to the other and cleared his throat, not meeting Michonne's questioning eyes.

"I gotta go on patrol," he said, low enough to where Michonne had to turn her head to catch it. "Ya can come along if ya want."

Did he just open invite her to tag along with him? Did the secluded Daryl Dixon actually desire her company? Michonne nodded with her mouth slightly open in surprise and stood up, resheathing her sword. He jerked his head toward the gate and they headed in that direction.

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"Damn, another one," Daryl whispered, pointing towards a fallen tree where a walker was aimlessly leaning against it, moaning softly. Daryl raised his bow and shot it clean in the skull without so much as a flicker of regret. "They're fuckin' eatin' all the game, and there ain't that much t' begin with what with winter comin' an' all."

Michonne saw his point, she hadn't even seen a squirrel since they started this patrol.

"Yet you almost always manage to bring something back," she commented graciously, trying to make him feel better about it.

"We'll see how long that lasts," Daryl muttered as he yanked his bolt from the walker's face.

Michonne fell silent again as they walked the edge of the river bank, she was trying to think of a way to bring up the little girl and maybe get a glimpse of the side of him Carol and Maggie could see.

"You're a good tracker, I hear the others say," she said suddenly, Daryl looked at her out of the corners of his eyes and nodded.

"Yeah, I'm not too shabby at it," he said.

"I hear you were a big part of trying to find Carol's daughter?" Michonne decided that Daryl Dixon was a man who appreciated blunt honesty so she dove right into the subject she wanted addressed. Daryl froze midstride and she saw his eyes narrow before he even turned his angry gaze on her, and when he did she almost stepped back it was so fierce.

"Who tol' ya abou' tha'?" he growled, his accent even thicker in his anger.

"Maggie," she stated confidently.

"She don' know shit," Daryl muttered darkly, "Damn nosey..."

His description of what exactly Maggie was died down and he hung his head slightly with a sigh.

"Yeah," he said quietly, "I looked for her."

"It was really important to you to find her," Michonne observed, her head cocked in sympathy "Why?"

Daryl looked up at her with a nervoud look on his face and she hoped he wouldn't bolt like a frightened horse..but he didn't, he just lifted his head and looked off to his left, his eyes took on a distant look.

"Because...she deserved t' have someone lookin' for her," he said softly, Michonne stepped a little closer so she could hear him better. "When I was a kid I got lost in the woods. I was out there nine days and no one even realized I was gone. Came home and found my pa and my brother just sittin' in the kitchen and they didn't even look m' way. She didn't deserve to be abandoned like she was."

Michonne felt that tightness in her chest again at his words. That explains where his parents were that he had to hunt for himself.

"Maggie said you were out there every day," she commented.

"I went out as much as I could," Daryl admitted with a nod, "Shit, no one else was gonna do it."

Michonne fell silent for a long while as she looked over at the distant spot he was focusing on. She tried to formulate words to help give him something to chew on and think about.

"Do you think you did everything you could to find her?" she asked.

Daryl sighed heavily, but nodded.

"Then you need to stop carrying that around on your shoulders," Michonne stated firmly, but gently. "You did more than anyone else, you did everything possible. If I heard correctly, she was bitten long before you found her. It wasn't your fault, and you did the right thing."

"I know it..." Daryl said darkly, "But see if that changes anything. It sure as hell doesn't. The kid's still dead."

"But not because of you," Michonne insisted, turning to face him now to make her point stronger. He looked at her with something close to weariness if she could read his expressions correctly.

"I guess not," he agreed, "I just...wanted to find her. Alive."

"I'm sure you did," Michonne nodded, her eyes remained locked on his. "I'm sure everyone did. But it seems to me that you were the only one who actually tried their hardest to make that happen. So the blame is not on you. So stop feelin' fuckin' sorry for yourself!"

Daryl's eyes widened slightly and his lips twitched into a half smile.

"Well ain't you just bossy as shit," he said with amusement.

Michonne shrugged.

"I just know what I'm talking about here," she stated simply. "So...I take it from what you said that your family wasn't the greatest?"

Daryl's amusement was gone from his face in a flash and Michonne wished she could take that question back. His eyes got dark and his lips went tight with angry silence.

"You could say that," was all he said before he turned on his heels and walked on, continuing their route around the prison. Michonne trotted to keep up with his long, raging strides.

"Sorry, didn't mean to bring up a touchy subject," she said regretfully.

"Yeah ya did," Daryl said, his voice was flat, "That was the whole point in the first place. Ya wanna know, don't ya? Everybody always wants t' stick their noses in that subject. Ya wanna see 'em? Fine."

Michonne was stopped suddenly when he turned around and dropped his crossbow to the ground. He shrugged his winged jacket from his shoulders and pulled his shirt over his head before she could even register what was happening, then he put it arms out, palms forward, at his side and did a slow turn. Michonne's eyes scanned over his torso and back, taking in the wicked pattern of scars that covered them.

"Take a good look, get it outta yer fuckin' system," he growled, but it was a tired growl. "Don't be shy, c'mon, get over her and touch 'em if ya want, freaking do what ya want but this is the last time. I don't wanna hear another word about it after this. So say whatcha gotta say this time."

Michonne stood in stunned silence at his outburst and her eyes shifted from the hateful lines on his skin to the deep cobalt depths of his eyes. She could almost see the anger rolling off of him in waves but she remained firm and fearless on the outside as she stepped up to him, her hands reaching out slowly, almost afraid to make contact with him. Her fingertips finally came to rest on the particularly noticable scar under his right collarbone and she gently traced it, her eyes remained on his.

But the curiosity that she wished she could tuck away somehow made her look down and follow the trails her fingers were leaving. She walked around him, full circle, and examined every inch of exposed skin and noted that some of the scars continued under the material of his jeans. How far did these scars go? Was there anywhere untouched by the cruelty she was imagining in her mind at the appearances of each scar. She wondered what had caused each one. Finally, she returned to the front of him and he grabbed her hands with his to stop her exploration of his skin.

"Satisfied?" he whispered grimly.

Michonne wasn't exactly sure at this point. When he released her hands, she suddenly missed the warmth they had been in contact with and she bit her bottom lip as many thoughts about the way his body moved as he pulled his shirt back on jumped into her brain. She almost felt bad that he had covered up the creamy expanse of his body and she mentally kicked herself for the thought.

"I'm sorry, Daryl," she said quietly, looking down to the ground at her feet. She felt like an idiot now. "I just...I was curious about you. You're so...different from everyone else."

"I know," Daryl agreed sullenly, "Believe me, I know."

"It's not a bad thing, you know?" Michonne stated, meeting his eyes again.

Daryl looked at her with an odd, unreadable expression for a moment before he stepped forward, his right index finger curled under her chin and held it steady as his eyes flicked bewteen hers. He looked like he was debating something in his mind and Michonne almost swore he leaned forward ever so slightly...but then he gave her a light chuck on the chin with his knuckles and smiled, going back to himself.

"Well, at least we have that in common," he stated, "We're both a little different from the rest."

He picked up his crossbow and headed toward the prison fence and Michonne felt air expell heavily from her lungs, a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. Holding her breath? What exactly for?

It's wasn't like he was really going to kiss her, right?

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Ok, I'm going to bed now...bless me with reviews when I awaken! *falls over into a dead sleep*