Hey y'all sorry for the late update! I'm afraid there are some mistakes here and there I forgot to fix but oh well I wanted to get something up here for y'all.

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OceansAria :)

"You have to stay still," I whispered mostly to myself since my patient obviously wasn't listening. The red thread was hard enough to keep track of in the midst of all the blood even when he wasn't squirming. The rainstorm on the way here had been an answered blessing in a way, washing away much of the blood crusting around the wound, and hopefully stalling any kind of infection.

Frustrated, I ground out, "Daryl! Please."

He glanced at me, caught my mama bear expression, and did as I said.

"Thank you," I sighed. My hands were shaking enough between exhaustion and hunger, and with him throwing even more stress into the mix . . . it was taking ten times longer than it should have to fix his wound. The wound that wouldn't have happened if you'd just listened to him and left well-enough alone. Oh yeah. Guilt was tearing me apart too.

"So why were all y'all blarin' your damn horns?" Daryl questioned our captive. He'd been swigging a half-empty bottle of rum we'd found weeks ago but never touched for the past half hour. He held his liquor good; his words weren't even running together in slurs yet.

James continued to keep his mouth shut. He hadn't said anything other than lengthy curses the entire way to the sanctuary we chose for the night, a cave by the river just the right size to hold the three of us uncomfortably,. I'd torinqued James' knee with a few strips of cloth from one of our moth-eaten blankets; I knew it wouldn't smooth things over but I had to try.

"Hey." Daryl knocked his boot against James' injured knee. James bit his lip and grunted, glaring dangerously. "I asked you a question."

I'd stayed out of their uneven exchange for as long as I could. The cut in Daryl's shoulder stretched from his trapezius to his pectoral. Once we'd gotten settled, I'd helped strip him of his outer layers and shredded his shirt to use as bandages later. James had been knocked out at the time thanks to Daryl, who's left arm still worked perfectly.

"Answer me," Daryl growled. When James once again refused, Daryl kicked harder at his knee. "Punk ass bitch." He tipped the bottle back to take another swig but I grabbed it before a drop could grace his lips. We exchanged glowers until I dumped the remainder of the rum on my sewing.

Daryl gritted his teeth, bucking his hips and pressing his back into the stone wall. "Dammit, Beth!" he hissed.

"S-Sorry," I stammered. "Had to make sure it was sterile. It'll help numb it too."

"Yeah, well. Next time, warn somebody before you go burnin' the hell outta 'em."

I puckered my lips and set the bottle aside. James' own glare ironed into the side of my face as I continued on with my work. Steady hands there, Bethie. You're not gonna add anymore pain than what he's already got. Take your time but don't draw it out. See? You're doing great. Daddy's phantom encouragements at the back of my mind was the only thing getting me through the rattling process. That and the repetitive mantra I'd chanted since I began: Get it done and then Daryl can rest.

It took another teeth-gritting hour full of swearing before the wound was completely sutured. The two men had argued until I'd made them clam up—earning one look of respect and the other full of malice—and now that James had turned onto his side and faced the wall to sleep, getting Daryl to rest was the last thing on my checklist. He sat uncomfortably propped still, exhaustion-weary eyes locked on the enemy and injured arm cradled against his middle. Sinking to my knees, I offered my water bottle.

He didn't take it.

"Hey," I sighed, taking a sip and sitting by his side. "You need to sleep."

Crickets. Literally all I could hear were crickets and frogs aligning in harmony outside the cave.

"Daryl, I can hold down the fort while you sleep."

I'd cleaned up the blood as much as possible, but everything he owned was tainted by it. Once the rain stops, I can take his clothes down to the river and wash them. Maybe we can find him some new ones. As usual, I was cautious when it came to skin-to-skin contact with him; earlier it hadn't been so hard, that was life or death—but now, in the stillness, I wished to reach out to him like I had at Joy Willis' house. To let him know I was there, and to apologize.

My fingers skimmed his arm and he didn't jerk. I took that as a good sign. Extending my touch, I gained his free hand's fingers lightly.

"Daryl, I'm so sorry. You gettin' hurt was all my fault. I was stupid. I shouldn't have gone after those people—I should've listened to you. You've never done a thing but help me—"

Midsentence, he let go of my hand, not that he'd been holding on to it anyway. He hadn't looked at me since I sat but now his face was a complete one-hundred-eighty degrees turned from mine. I didn't let anything get to me; this was just the way Daryl was, an emotionless shell other than a few angry outbursts here and there, with the tiniest bit of compassion dashed into the mix when he felt like it.

I stood and made for the front of the cave so that I could keep one eye on our surroundings and the other on James. Daryl never lied down. He rested on and off until the sun cracked through the haze of furious storm clouds at dawn and I had to change his bandages.

"So what's the plan with James?" I dared to ask as I checked my stitching. Phew. It's still holding up. Thank God.

Daryl shrugged his good shoulder. "Ain't decided yet."

"We can't take him with us."

"We can't surrender him to his people either. They see us again . . . we ain't gettin' away so easy."

"Easy?" I scoffed, running my fingers over the shredded shirt I was using as bandages in emphasis. I didn't allow him to see the quiver that raced down my spine. "I'm afraid you're gonna have a pretty big scar."

His voice rumbled in his throat but didn't make it out his mouth. I glanced at our captive, fighting the urge to check his bonds. Daryl's heavy breathing filled the cave, along with the stench of perspiration, copper, and wet cloth. I dug around in my pack for the only remaining can of soup; retrieving my knife from my side, I split the can open and offered it to Daryl first. He accepted with his good hand and took a swig then passed it back.

We'd finished our meal by the time James lifted his head, the right side of his jaw painted black and blue from Daryl's boot, and eased himself into a sitting position against the opposite wall. He clutched his bandaged knee; the cloth was soaked through.

"Oh, good," he gasped. "Dinner time. I'm starvin'."

Daryl answered, "You ain't gettin' anything till you tell us about your camp and your people."

"Specifically what y'all were doin' ridin' up and down the roads," I chimed in. I'd seen the truck full of walkers, sure, but I was still curious as to whether they were doing it for good or not so good reasons.

James leveled eyes with us both. If I hadn't known better I would've sworn I was looking into the eyes of an electric eel. His bruised jaw clenched, the tendons popping out along his neck and temple.

"Then I guess I'll go hungry."

Tossing James against the abandoned sedan like he was a bag of trash made me feel better than I thought it would. He gritted his teeth and hissed in pain, clutching his shattered kneecap, cursing more colorful than I'd ever heard.

"Here." Daryl handed me a pair of zip ties from his pack and I set to work tying Jame's wrists to each of the car handles. It had taken three days for Daryl to heal sufficiently enough so that we could move on from the cave by the river. I'd used what we had left of the bandages to strap his arm to his chest so he couldn't move it and destroy the stitching I'd worked so hard to keep together. His crossbow rested adjacent over the bandaging; I carried both of our packs, which wasn't hard since we had no more food.

"Well color me impressed," James spat, his sneer close to my cheek as I yanked at the zip ties to make sure they were good and tight. "You're gonna leave me here—let some roamer rip into me like a mangy dog, huh?" His lips brushed my skin. "Never thought a sweet goody two shoes like you would let a man die so horrible, baby."

I glared at him as I stood; if looks could kill, I sure as hell wished mine would. "We would've taken you back to your camp but you wouldn't tell us where it was."

"'Cuz I didn't trust you," our captive snarked. "You really think I would trust you after what your friend here did to me?"

"We wouldn't have hurt anyone there," I declared.
"Unless they tried somethin'," Daryl said.

"They wouldn't have tried nothin'," James growled. I hadn't ever seen a human bare their teeth the way he did. "They would've put a whole freakin' magazine into you but that'd be about it."

Daryl touched my shoulder. "Let's go. They could pop up any second."

"We should at least give him some water or—"

"He don't deserve no water. He don't even deserve this."

"Thank you," James piped up sarcastically.

"Naw." Daryl shook with besieging rage from head to toe. "I meant I should've put that damn bullet through your damn brain." His upper lip and fists curled. He bent at the waist, face mere inches from James'. "I shoulda left your dumb lily-white ass there to rot."

James chuckled boldly, "Ooh. Think I pissed my pants a bit there, Legolas."

I could see the muscles flare up in Daryl's back and arms. It was always instant—the tension, the nagging urge to beat something senseless—when something provoked him. With his good hand, he grabbed James' by the soiled collar and yanked him up until the plastic zip ties sliced into the man's wrists and ripped curses from his throat.

"We're leavin' you here because Beth wouldn't let me leave you in that cave. We're leavin' you here outta mercy. If I had it my way, I woulda found a herd of walkers and thrown you to 'em myself."

I knew he wouldn't hurt James . . . too much, but I didn't tug at him this time or tell him to come on. He slammed James back against the metal, finished with his rant, and rolled his good shoulder.

"C'mon, Beth. We've wasted enough daylight on him."

I consented with a small nod that went unseen, for he'd already taken off north down the highway. The fiasco with our captive had set his wound to bleeding again; the crimson blood staining his bandages a beacon for walkers all around. I looked at James, who in turn glowered up at me. I returned the favor with a flip of the bird.

He snorted. "Go on, sweet thing. Do as your boyfriend says."

Forget looks—I wished I could strangle the very breath from that man without a single regret.

I had to force Daryl to rest several times throughout the day, which, of course, slowed us down efficiently. We hadn't made it six miles by the time he announced we should find somewhere to make do for the night. We never did get to rest that night—Jame's people's cars started to race up and down the highway in the early evening, possibly in search of him, drawing walkers from out of the darkest, deepest parts of the woods. By the time morning came, Daryl had bled through three sets of bandages, all of which had been used prior and washed hastily before using again. His stitches hadn't torn too much in the mix but they were holding together by sheer will.

"I gotta get you somewhere safe so I can redo these," I told him when we finally had a second to catch our breath. "And get more bandages. Maybe some medicine."

"Thought you gave me medicine already."

"I did. But aspirin ain't goin' to stop your wound from getting infected out here. Just numbs the pain a little."

He chuffed, "Not much."

"We need to find another town. Somewhere to stay until you get better."
"I'll be alright." He shoved off the boulder we were using as a bench then, pulling his shirt over his exposed shoulder. "First things first—we need food. You stay here, set up camp. I'll find us some grub."
"Daryl." I stuffed the soiled bandages into the emptier pack, slinging that over the other. "You can't hunt right now. You do anything, anything to mess up your stitches or get infected, and I don't know if I'd be able to do it again or—"

"Like I said, I'll be alright."

I stomped my foot. "Why don't you listen to me?"

"Why don't you listen to me?" He held out his crossbow to me. Hesitant, I took it gently from him. He smirked, drawing his knife. "I'll be fine. Set up camp near that creek we passed a ways back. Keep an ear and an eye out for James' friends. Should be back by noon."

"Daryl—"

"You need me, scream bloody murder, you hear?"

I had to fight a smile; that phrase made me think of Joy Willis' house, and the way his face had fallen when I'd used those words in the same context.

"I will."

Worry ate at me while he was gone. I made do with what I could to set up camp: got a fire going, strung up what few cans we had around the perimeter, boiled water, set up our tarp and bedrolls. Engines purred and roared in the distance, etching the anxiety deeper into my gut and enmity boiling under my skin. I got the feeling that James had been found. I also got the feeling that if we didn't find somewhere to hole up a ways from the highway and James' people's territory, they would find us and do much worse than zip tie us to a Buick.

Daryl returned with a couple of squirrels slung over his shoulder in the afternoon. When I asked him how he'd gotten them without his bow, he modestly answered, "Threw the knife, is all." He skinned and I roasted, and we ate quickly. The meat did little for my stomach but at least I didn't feel lightheaded anymore.

"Can hear 'em."

"What?"

"Walkers."

I lifted my head from the worn fabric of my bedroll. The tarp blocked out the chilling autumn air, but not every noise the woods created.

"They close?"

"Not yet."

"Should we pack up?"

"Naw. Stay put."

"Okay." I resettled, curling my knees further into my body. "Think they'll come after us?"

"Maybe."

"We should find somewhere, Daryl."

"We're fine right where we are."

"No. We should find someplace safe until this blows over."

I thought he'd left, passed out, or simply ignored me—but then he obliged to a reply.

"We'll find something tomorrow."