Disclaimer: I don't own them; except for Fin. She's the product of my crazy imagination and too many Nutella sugar highs imagining life in the universe of TWD.

Notes: Someone pointed out to me that it's Technically Wednesday morning where they live... : p

Bravo and perfect argument; Spaghetti Tuesday there; actual Tuesday here...I like it! You get a Chapter! ; D

Kudos as always to me Amazing Beta; Angelinaa. Without her your eyes would certainly bleed from typos and the grammar police would haul me away for remedial schoolage. *snort* Any mistakes left below are entirely my fault and should in no way reflect upon her gratuitous amounts of awesome.

Huge thanks to all the readers and reviewers; you guys make me feel super-duper special every time you hit that button! : P

Warnings: This chapter contains flashback memories/dreams of not nice things being done to Fin. If you are sensitive to that you may wish to skip the italic dream and go straight to the 'awake' bits.

This chapter is Rated M!

Chapter Seventeen

(Fin's POV)

They're everywhere; surrounding me on all sides. Far too many guns, and knives to keep track of at once, but it's the hard cruel expressions that I instantly recognize as the most dangerous threat facing me tonight. If they were going to shoot me they'd have done it already. Fear skates down my spine raising every hair on my body in a prickling rush of hyper-awareness.

Death is not their intention…at least not their first.

One of them licks his lips staring at me. Like some corny movie bad guy; it should be stupid and cliché. But the threat is real not done for show; I can physically feel it in the very air pressed against my skin surrounded by so many hungry eyes from every direction. It makes my skin crawl. My insides twist in revulsion and fear.

I bolt without warning, run as fast as I can diving for a slim opening between their bodies, and then racing between the trees. I'm breathing too fast, lungs burning with the same fire quickly eating the strength in my legs, my thighs ache almost instantly, shaking and threatening to give out with each stride. But I push harder, faster, tell myself to run, just run; don't stop. Don't even think about it. To stop is to die; and not a quick death either…no, this death would be cruel and slow. Having them catch me would be a one way ticket to Hell. I'm certain I would beg for death in their hands long before it came…

They're chasing me. I can hear them crashing through the woods all around me—behind me, but just barely so. I'm not increasing the distance fast enough… They yell to each other shouting encouragements and whooping with excitement as they hunt. Baying at the moon taunting me with their calls like wild dogs closing in on a kill.

There is only one of me, and a pack of them, because that's how monsters like this hunt; in packs. It only takes one of them to get lucky, it only takes one hand to grab me; one person to get to close…I run faster tears blurring my vision.

I can't breathe I gasp for air an invisible knife jabbing into my side threatening to zap what little strength I have left. I was exhausted even before I started running. Now I'm nothing but raw nerves, choking on terror so thick I can taste it in the back of my throat can barely draw air around it…

A hand comes out of nowhere ending my flight. I stumble as the hand of death becomes an iron grip—an arm around my waist.

I'm tackled mid-stride; driven into the ground so fast I don't even get my own hands up in time. I see stars when my chest slams into the ground the heavy body on my back driving the last of the air from my already spasming lungs. I taste blood with my tongue barely register the pain. My mouth is gaping open searching for my next breath my lungs seizing behind my ribs unable to draw in anything for the silent scream my body is desperately trying to make heard. I gasp and twitch under him like a fish struggling to return to water.

All those nature documentaries I ever watched suddenly flash before my eyes; I am not the lion or the cheetah…I'm the gazelle. And just like the gazelle no one will help me.

There are more of them when I crane my head still trying to breathe. They're jerking my arms behind my back painfully tight; but I can't cry out—I can't tell them to stop; that they're breaking my arms because I can't breathe.

And I doubt they care.

Something is looped around my wrists, I don't know what; it feels like rope or cloth. When I tug at it testing its hold I find it just as strong as the hands it replaced. They pull me to my feet coughing and sputtering for air, one of them claps me on the back like that will help. They force me to walk though it's more like a drunken stagger back to their camp and there's nothing I can do about it.

I try not to listen to the thick accents around me. Block out the words while they posture at one another, argue and bicker about which one of them gets to have a go first. That's apparently a bigger deal to them then who goes second, no one cares about that except me. My knees won't seem to lock, my legs feel rubbery and alien not completely under my control everything about this moment is just wrong. I still can't breathe right.

I can't even tell myself that this isn't happening, because it is. Everywhere I look there are more of them and it's inevitable—I already know it. I know what they're going to do to me, I'm not stupid.

I can hear them, and even if I couldn't the leers and the hand grabbing my ass as I stumble forward is a pretty obvious clue.

These are not nice men.

These are monsters.

It is one thing to be eaten by the dead; at least that would be relatively quick; impersonal. I think I would prefer that death to the one that is coming. I don't know how long it will take them to rape me to death; but since there are more of them then I can count; I will most certainly be dead before they are done. And if by some chance they leave me alive…it will not be a blessing; just one more cruelty. Just from the snatches of conversations I've tried not to hear I know I'll be too damaged to do anything but lie still in horrific agony and wait to die.

They kick my feet out from under me when I reach their camp, winding me all over again when I was just beginning to recover, now I'm fighting painful spasms and terror as I gasp and cough soundlessly, jerking against the ground in horrified agony my lungs burning when they roll me back over. My hands trapped behind my back bent at a painful angle that only gets worse—more unnatural as they shift me with too many hands. My shoulders are tearing from their sockets, and I can't even sob because I'm still trying to breathe and there are hands pulling at my clothes already.

I jerk away, hands twisting and yanking uselessly behind my back. I struggle to move away from them. I'm not ready to die, not like this… I kick out catching someone in the chest but it has become a team effort I have no real hope of escape.

Horror claws at me, tears fall while I shake my head panicking finally, eyes clenched shut gasping for them to stop with what little air I've gathered into my lungs. I twist and thrash crying silently because knowing what they're going to do and experiencing it are two very different kinds of torture…

"What's wrong Pretty? Don't want to watch?"

The sound of his belt buckle clinking has me twisting no longer feeling the protest of my arms, lashing out uselessly, rough hands press to the bare skin of my hips, oddly my brain focuses on the fact that there's a sharp jagged rock or a stick digging into the small of my back…

"I've got something for you gorgeous, bet you're gonna love it."

I start to scream and never stop.

I thrash and try to jerk away but there are too many hands…too many eager horrifying faces…taunting me, grabbing and touching my struggle only exciting them further.

I sob and scream back arching in agonizing pain, when the second one starts ignoring me still begging them to stop! Please Stop!

Kill me… somebody please…

If there's even a God left somewhere up there

just make it stop…

"Babe! Fin! Wake up!"

My eyes are open but I'm still blind.

I jerk, twist; lash out at the hands holding me down—at whoever is hurting me now with the darkness pressing blindly against my eyes robbing me of even shadows to grasp movement by. A broken sob rips from me, tearing and clawing against my already raw and burning throat with its exit.

I don't recognize the sound—it isn't mine.

It belongs to a stranger; someone else.

It can't be me.

I refuse to be that broken.

My fist connects with something—or someone judging by the sound.

It's the sound of pain; a startled hiss when I make contact with some body part I can't name in the dark. I do not recognize the body pressed to mine, certain even in my fear-muddled state that I was alone when I feel asleep...still not wholly certain that I'm even awake…

I can't think around the white noise of panic in my head. I don't know how he got here, or even how I did in my terrified state; part of me still convinced I'm lying in the woods surrounded by inhuman monsters pretending to be men, just waiting for their turn to hurt me.

I draw up my knee ready to kick out in the narrow space between us that whoever it is attacking me right now has left open. I have to press even this little advantage if I'm going to defend myself; get away—but they move in the same instant that I do; anticipating me perhaps, or maybe just luck.

A solid weight that feels very male drops against me for a split second before twisting us both so I'm no longer pinned on my back; his arm sliding around my waist while I arch and thrash shoving at a hard chest with my hands screaming.

The arm tightens around me pulling me closer when it should be obvious everything in me is hysterically fighting him to get away. I claw out with my hand aiming blindly in the dark for what should be a face. Strong fingers lock around my wrist keeping my arm raised over us in the air struggling for a moment while a low voice is shushing me; saying something I can't focus on over the sound of someone sobbing…I'm sobbing I realize. I clamp my lips over the sound afraid to draw more of them to my struggle.

The fingers around my wrist let go when I go silent and I push my hand up and out to find someone's throat, press there with the heel of my hand trying to drive them back from me… but instead of letting go even when my actions must make it difficult to breath gentle fingers smooth my hair back from my forehead, a warm palm cups the side of my face, thumb sliding across my cheek finding the tears on my skin; brushing them away while I twist my head find myself burying my face in someone chests trying to retreat from his touch.

The voice against my ear raspy and thick finally sifts through the fog of mind-numbing terror, becomes a name I recognize at the same instant my panicked brain manages to focus on the words.

"It's okay Babe, it's me…you're safe…I've got you."

Daryl

A soothing calm I can't put into words washes over me; wiping out every last tendril of fear still curling through my insides, haunting me. The heat of his skin against mine, the feel of his breath against my ear whispering my name and shushing my tears uncoils the tension trapped in my muscles like the release of a spring, erasing all the unease and pain hounding my senses until there's only him.

I'm instantly drawn closer, like a moth to a flame. It's an undeniable compulsion the instant I recognize him; I couldn't pull away if I tried. I curl against him hide my face against his neck feeling the soothing heat of his skin against my cold damp cheeks and breathe him into my burning exhausted lungs with each gasping sigh. My hand that was only moments before pushing into his throat jerks loops around the back of his neck the fingers of my other hand fist in the soft worn material of his shirt suddenly under my palm holding him in place as if he were the one trying to escape moments before not me.

"You're safe…" He pulls me closer, tighter, pressed chest to chest. His arms wrapped tightly around my waist, fingers cradling my head holding me to him while I tremble and fight the urge to cry harder for some stupid reason my breath catching in tight high and thready gasps; fighting the wicked spasm of my own lungs to draw in enough air to ease the ache.

"Babe, it's okay…breathe." He leans back from me just a little in the dark; uses his hand against the nape of my neck to guide my forehead to his in the dark our noses touching.

"Breathe, you're safe. No one's ever going to hurt you again."

God I want that to be true.

"Daryl." I whisper it into the dark; bring my fingers up to trace over his temple, down his rough cheeks, the pad of my thumb slips over his bottom lip.

"I'm here, it was just a nightmare; you're safe. I promise, just breathe."

Fear no longer claws at me, now it's been replaced by confusion. I know for a fact that he wasn't here when I feel asleep. I was running from him, but here he is like I never left. I half expect to turn on a light and find myself back in the warehouse; tucked away safe in our bed. Mika and Carol down the hall, we'll wake up and join our family laughing and talking like it never happened; Carl will be teasing me, throwing cereal at my head and Michonne's over breakfast… My chest constricts aching with a breath robbing bone deep pain.

I tremble wondering if I'm still asleep…if my nightmare has simply shifted into a different kind of torture I'm not sure which is more cruel…

"I'm dreaming aren't I, how are you here? I was running from you…" I stare at him even though it's pitch black around us, my eyes now just barely adjusting to the lack of light so that I can make out the barest hint of his form against the dark. His frame nothing more than a rough outline in the hint of moonlight through the glass and gauzy curtains moving in the breeze.

His breath is a soft huff of amusement against my lips fingers sliding down the side of my face, curling warm and gentle against my hair. His thumb brushing over the soft short wisps that always escape my braid to fall in front of my ear.

"You think you can tell me you love me and then run? I'd track you to the ends of the Earth Woman." I shiver and he pulls me closer, tucks me tight against his chest with his other arm, his next words making me tremble harder, drive the ache in my chest deeper. "There isn't anyone in this whole world I want the way that I want you. Don't matter what you can do, or what anyone else might think. You belong with me, you're mine."

Only in my dreams would Daryl say something so perfect to me… I breathe his name into the space between us, it's more sigh then sound feeling his fingers slide back through my hair his forehead leave mine, he's tilting my head; lifting his chin and then…

I rise to meet him melt against his mouth; moan my approval as his tongue curls against mine echoing his. His lips sliding over mine, retreating for only a moment to drag his teeth over my bottom lip before plunging into me again; hungry and possessive. His arm tightening against my waist, pulling me closer even as he twists; shifts so that I'm laying over his chest; instinctively knowing just as he always did not just in my dreams that I need to feel in control after such a nightmare.

I pull back from him just enough to whisper against his lips, my fingers trailing over the rough stubble lining his chin, feeling the scratch against the pads of my fingertips in vivid detail. I sigh against him, breathing him in. "This is a good dream." I've had enough horrifying ones to last a lifetime these last few weeks…

He moves, shifting against me, twisting us once more against the mattress before pulling me closer to him; one hand catching mine at his waist pushing it up to press down into the soft fabric of the pillow now under my head, his other fingers catching my chin tilting my lips against his for a few languid moments before he pulls back to stare down at me so intensely I can feel his eyes watching me even with the darkness pressed around us.

"'s not a dream girl."

His words work their way into my sleepy muddled brain tugging at my conscious setting alarm bells off inside my head finally snapping me into focus inciting a violent split second reaction more vicious than one would get dumping a bucket of ice water on a sleeping cat.

Daryl reacts the same second I do—expected it; aware as he was all along that this wasn't a dream. His hands lock around my arms tight enough to bruise shoving me back down to the mattress when I twist and curse in absolute horror, panic and outrage flashing through me all over again in one expounding heart stopping instant.

"Daryl No!"

"Relax, Shit Relax! Damnit Girl—Quit!"

I twist, manage to get a leg underneath me and buck my lower body up off the bed completely turning with the movement trying to throwing him off me. But he doesn't let go…too many Goddamn sparring sessions over the last few months—he's more than an even match for me most days, my sleep dazed panic not helping my cause.

His calf locks around the back of my knee pulling me with him. He snarls and curses when we hit the floor hard enough to drive the air from his lungs still rolling wrestling for the upper hand somehow smacking my elbow into the dresser.

I hiss involuntarily in pain and he coughs and curses again twisting us back the other way managing to pin me under him now straddling my waist sitting up so he's outlined in the light from the window both my wrists pinned beside my head in an iron grip.

"Quit before I hurt you Damnit!" His voice is raspy and rough still fighting for air.

"Let me go!"

"So you can bash me over the head? Not until you calm the Hell down!" I push against him only to get nowhere, he grunts with the effort to keep my wrists pinned in his grasp fingers tightening painfully over my skin trying to keep me still even as I continue to twist trying to yank my arms free. He shifts over me pressing me down into the carpet under my back with all his weight now; obviously afraid I'll get loose with my persistent struggling. He's hissing at me in the dark a second later. "Hell you think I'm gonna do?"

I have no idea and I don't want to find out. I have to get away from him before he pulls his knife, or gets his hands around my throat or—Kisses me…

My brain flounders, slams to a complete stop stumbling over the sensation of his lips suddenly pressed against mine, my whole body going still beneath him. I can't even breath… he pauses pulls back just enough to speak, but close enough that I can still feel his breath warm against my skin making my stupid traitorous stomach flip behind my ribs when he whispers my name so reverently.

He keeps his grip on my wrist rolling off of me wrenching me up off the carpet in the same movement; jerking me over him so I have to lurch up; I stagger sideways on one bent leg; falling towards him with his pull; failing to gain any leverage before I'm half dragged across him one palm pressed to his shoulder for balance most of my weight still on one leg now lying trapped bent flush against his side; the other sprawled half over his body so my other foot is left in the empty air with me partially sitting over his chest.

And he just gave me the advantage—no; he just gave me everything if this was an actual struggle…and then confusing me further his hands let go of my wrists completely a moment later…

I don't react when his hands release me. I just keep sitting half on top of him in astonishment, trying to understand him giving up everything when he just so clearly had the upper hand—it doesn't make sense.

I'm breathing too fast—heart racing in my ears, pounding in my throat. I watch him move his hands slowly to his sides, flinch feeling his palms slide over my legs before stopping just below my hips—not grabbing; making no demands of me; just resting on the thin material over my skin.

"It's on the nightstand." His voice is rough and yet somehow calm.

I blink at him, struggle to understand, trying to catch up with a conversation I feel like I've joined half-way through. "What-?"

"My knife, it's on the nightstand. Go ahead, you want me to let you go; you'll have to kill me."

My inhale catches in my throat; locks there strangling off in a choking gasp while I shake my head in absolute horror. "No…"

His back jerks off of the carpet his hands tightening over my hips sliding me further into his lap so I'm straddling his thighs facing him fully my hands gripping his shoulders now; I'm not sure what he's about to do—I only know I can't hurt him; the idea alone jabs at my insides with a physical pain that steals my breath.

His right hand leaves my waist raises to cup my face stilling in the air for a moment when I jerk away from his touch drag my teeth over my lower lip nervously my voice trembles barely more than a whisper. "Daryl, what are we doing?"

He doesn't answer at first; simply slides his palm over my jaw slips his fingers back through my hair so his thumb rests against my temple while his other hand comes up and does the same against my other cheek. "Shit, aint been that long…"

"Daryl..." The one time I need him to be serious…

"I think they call it making up…"

My fingers wrap around his wrists—I don't remember consciously moving them until I feel his pulse racing under my thumb, beating frantically under his skin.

"Hell you so afraid of Girl?"

He leans into me, pauses waiting patiently while I exhale in a nervous rush pulling back just an inch before giving in; leaning into his hands and letting my eyes slip shut feeling him move closer—press his mouth to the corner of my lips before drawing back, then returning the same attention to the other side while my lips part in another shaky exhale that sounds even to my ears like his name while my hands slide down to his elbows; slip from his arms back to his waist…

This moment, each timid uncertain touch tugs at my memories, flooding me with the same powerful wash of emotions I lost myself in a what feels like a lifetime ago…the hesitant brush of his lips over mine just like our first kiss; only tonight I'm the one trembling with indecision, whimpering torn between running away and kissing him back despite the gentle rational in his words.

"You can't hurt me, how could I hurt you?"

My stomach flutters and my pulse races with something other than fear feeling his mouth slant over mine; just the briefest caress before drawing away again his withdraw halted by the sound that escapes me, by my own fingers wrapping around the back of his neck pulling him close whimpering his name and then he's kissing me.

Really kissing me.

And it's glorious and beautiful and messy and perfect and so good I can't breathe or I forgot how to and I don't care; air can wait…the whole world and everything in it can stop spinning so I can expand this one moment, lose myself in it for all time.

I'm suddenly pressed against his chest flush shoulder to thigh; my hips dragged tighter against his lap straddling him with my legs anchored behind his back with my ankles crossed. I can feel him pressed against me hot skin on hot skin, taunt muscles bunching and flexing under questing fingers and the most perfect distracting bulge in just the right place pressing tight against me making my insides ignite in a searing mind numbing fire and my breath catch and a groan slip out against his lips when he grinds me against him one strong arm wrapped tight around my back holding me in place effortlessly.

He pulls back from me eventually breaking the kiss both of us gasping for air while he presses his nose into the crook of my shoulder breathing me in; palm moving in slow circles against my back voice rough and thick when he speaks against my skin making me shiver.

"You can't really think that I would hurt you, what kind of monster you think I am?"

"I thought you would be afraid." Who wouldn't be? I'm afraid… I can't stop trembling.

"Not possible. Only thing scared me the last few weeks was losing you."

My insides summersault again at his words. I wet suddenly dry lips he groans arms tightening around me when the flick of my tongue accidently touches his skin where my face is pressed against his neck.

So I do it again slower this time, lingering over his pulse. Daryl says my name with a hint of warning, "Stop, 'fore I rip off your clothes," I slide my fingers over his back leaning against his chest failing to see the problem with that scenario.

"and that's…bad?"

"not right now…You need to rest, you have to be exhausted...shit I'm exhausted…"

I am too…unbelievable tired—achy and sore from the last few days exertion but I also want to feel him pressed against me skin to skin; moving inside me. Touching him is a powerful drug I can't get enough of, a high like nothing else. I ache and throb with need just from his kisses my core fluttering with a liquid rush of maddening desire just thinking about it, need pounding through every limb carried further with each press of my pulse racing fire through my veins.

"I want you first." He groans against my neck shaking his head in objection even as his fingers tighten unconsciously against my hips telegraphing the exact opposite to the fire under my skin.

"Not tonight, I'm so exhausted I'd probably embarrass myself and you need sleep…how long have the nightmares been that bad?"

I grip his shoulders tight hide my face against his collar even though he can't see more than a rough outline in the darkness surrounding us. "Since I left you."

He's silent for a long moment, hands moving in slow deliberately soothing circles over my spine slipping under my shirt to press against tight muscles and tense knots seeking them gently with his fingertips while I groan and lean into him relaxing against his chest under his skillful touch.

"Did you have them before, I don't remember them at the warehouse," I shake my head once against his chest breathing slowly, momentarily lost in the feeling of his hands kneading the knots under my skin releasing the last of the tightness coiled in my muscles.

"So you only have them when I'm not around. That makes perfect sense." I hum my question against his neck turning my face to breathe in his skin feeling the rough scratch of at least three days of unmanaged facial hair under my fingertips now skating down his jaw with a mind of their own; I don't even remember moving them. I sigh against him eyes slipping shut. "You need me to fight the monsters while you sleep, can't live without me then." He sounds just a touch smug I feel my own lips twist in response, my fingers closing over the front of his shirt.

That's not the only reason I don't want to live without him.

His hands move possessively down my back circle my waist rocking me against his erection making me gasp and bite my lip all over again. "As much as I want to take all night to show you exactly what you do to me; I'm tired as shit—and you're beat… we have all day tomorrow, we don't even have to leave this room." I like that idea, I like how warm he is… "Stand up."

"Don't wanna," I could just sleep right here…

"On the bed, now." And that simple command; and quiet confident tone shouldn't flood me with a hot flash of desire but it does. Daryl taking control of me always has that effect.

I push away from him backing up a few feet only to have him grab my arm when he climbs to his own feet. I move to the bed, lay down feeling ridiculously selfconscious with him watching me, my pulse racing when he slides over me, a flickering wash of disappointment flooding my senses despite my frayed nerves and exhaustion when he settles beside me with his back to the wall. I feel him slip under the sheets lying next to me in the low light.

He presses a single soft kiss to my lips in the dark before twisting me with one strong hand on my hip telling me to turn onto my side, so he's pressed against my back, the reassuring weight of his arm draped over me. I should close my eyes and sleep, but I can't help myself with him so close. I press closer to him, gasp at the sensation of heat zipping down through my belly pooling low and tight at just the feel of his rough jaw line scratch against my skin as he leans over me his chest pressed tight against my back so he can whisper in my ear. "Quit wiggling your damn ass around before I change my mind."

I hum only half listening sliding my hand down his side in the dark to press over his obvious arousal pulling a curse from his lips. His fingers wrap around my wrist, pulling my hand away, trapping it with his against the sheets in front of us halting my quest. he growls something against the side of my neck when I press my body back against him still not releasing his grip on my hands. His hand on my arm pulls me back against his chest he presses his face against my hair, breathing me in thumb sliding over the soft pale skin under his touch; grip softening turning into a slow soothing caress that's also deliciously possessive, and does wicked things to the heat gathering in my belly.

"Seraphim, don't make me tie you to the bed."

Dear God.

I hold my breathe biting my lip before leaning back against his chest. I can't help myself that thought kills me...I'll never sleep now… "Promise?"

He huffs sounding equally exasperated and just as turned on by that idea, cursing and practically quaking against me obviously warring with himself suddenly.

"Babe, sleep; Now. You're going to need it tomorrow, don't think I've forgotten all your little notes the other day." The last part is a low growl that makes my heart race.

I bite my lip wondering which notes he's referring to exactly. The desire fluttering under my skin thrumming through my center with each heartbeat doesn't want to sleep; it wants to talk about it now; it wants to be sated...

But my eyelids also feel too heavy to keep open wrapped in his arms; his breath is warm against my ear, his lips pressing to my shoulder suddenly feel comforting—soothing if only slightly less erotic then before. The vivacious need clawing through my core gradually quiets…ebbs to a gentle hum that's almost always present in his embrace.

I'm unexpectedly aware of how safe I feel just from the shelter of his arm; the feel of his chest pressed warm and firm to my back so close to me I can feel each inhale; each beat of his heart echoing mine. I feel safer then I have in days…weeks really. I only now realize just how on edge I have been every moment of every day without him.

I feel like I've come home.

I sigh relaxing into him, pulling his arm tighter around me. The soothing quiet of sleep starts to pull me under after only a few short moments of listening to him breathe behind me, feeling his arms firmly wrapped around me; with his presence sheltering me from the darkness I pass safely into the first dreamless night of sleep in weeks.

:: Walking Dead ::

Oh don't worry; they need their sleep; I'm NO WHERE NEAR done with the 'make-up' bits! ; P