Disclaimer: I don't own AMC's The Walking Dead or any of it's characters!

Notes: Sunday's chapter a bit early! Okay, it was my birthday Wednesday! And I have guests in town this weekend so not much getting done! But the good news is I go to visit family on the 20th which means lots of babysitters! XD Which means lots of writing time for me! (yay!) I'm hoping to get this entire thing done by the end of July; though that might be a tad too ambitious! (we'll see!)

This chapter went un-beta'd due to my time constraints! So any mistakes are totally mine and If you find them point them out so I can flog my muse (just kidding) and punish myself by fixing it and forcing myself to eat vanilla birthday confetti oreos! (the horror!) xD

Chapter 21

(Fin's POV)

It takes me at least ten minutes to unwind myself from Daryl's embrace. He's about as keen to let go of me pulling me back to his lips twice when I start to pull away. I honestly think I could stand here and kiss him for hours. But we have things to do, supplies to gather if we're ever going to make it back to the group. And I'm honestly not sure my fried synapsis could handle round two right now. My legs still feel a little shaky under me. I hope it's from endorphins and not dehydration.

"Guess we should get something useful done before it gets too hot." I'm not eager to romp around outside in the blazing heat if we can avoid it. Daryl lets me go so we can get redressed.

"I'll be right back." I tell him and head towards the bathroom to clean myself up as much as I can without running water. God I need a bath. At least the shorts don't cling to me when I pull them on after I clean myself up with a clean washcloth. I still feel gross, two days running through the woods doesn't help. I wouldn't turn down jumping in a pool or creek right now that's for damn sure

Daryl's still standing in the kitchen when I return. He's finally opened the other bottle we left sitting on the counter. I watch him downing half of it; mirroring my distaste for the flavor with his expression. I leave my previously emptied bottle on the counter moving back down the hall with Daryl following on my heels now. I gather my hair into a pony tail over the back of my head as I move preparing to deal with the rotten sun beating down on us as the day heats up.

"I should call Rick, I was supposed to check in the other night, totally forgot. I need to let him know I found you; Carol and Carl will be worried otherwise."

I didn't realize he was in contact with them, but it makes sense. Rick doesn't like anyone going out alone—I was kind of surprised Daryl wasn't with part of the group when he tracked me. I wonder how much of a fight Rick and Carol gave him on that front; or if there wasn't time after I took off, considering he followed me without any supplies that's a very real possibility. I could see Rick beating himself up over that decision after it was made. Daryl's like a brother to him.

"Yeah, you should probably let them know we'll be back in a few days." It will take us that long to walk back at least, and I don't know about Daryl; but I'm not in a real hurry to join the others. I miss them; but I kind of like having him to myself...

He holds the Walkie up to his lips watching me. "Rick? Are you there?" We're both quiet for a few moments, I wonder if maybe we might be out of range, or if the Walkie might be off on their end; though considering Daryl forgot to check in last night I doubt that very much. A few moments later there's an answer. "Yeah, We're here, you had us worried." There's a slight edge of reproach in Rick's tone, Daryl looks guilty for a moment eyes darting to me. "Sorry got distracted, I found her Rick."

There's a burst of static. "I was hoping that was the case. You want us to come pick you up?"

"We're pretty far out, don't think that's a good idea we're going to head back on foot and we'll let you know when we reach a better spot. No sense in you driving out on roads we don't know; you could get blocked in somewhere, or run into trouble."

"You sure you wanna go on foot? What if you run into Walkers?" Rick sounds uncertain, worried. He's forgotten what I can do; just like that. It's a little surreal.

"Yeah, we'll be fine it's a straight shot through the woods back to the highway." Daryl tells him. "Everything okay at home?"

"Yeah, Just ready for you guys to head back. Let me know when you get close, I'll head out with Michonne to pick you up."

I cringe a little inwardly. I threw a knife at Michonne during my escape. I missed on purpose; but still.

Daryl is watching me when I look up. I shake my head at him, dismissing his question before he can make it. "We'll call again tonight."

"You better." Rick sounds just like a parent when he says it. Daryl cuts off the Walkie to save the battery and sets it back on the nightstand.

I grab my boots and slip them on tying the laces while he slips on his sleeveless shirt and boots before picking up his bow and checking the lock.

I grab my belt, throw it on over my stolen shorts and take my machete before I start to walk back out of the room Daryl stops me with his question. "You're not taking your bow?"

I glance over my shoulder at him, finally admitting the full truth. "Why take it? I don't need it for Walkers. Besides it will be easier to carry things with both my hands free, we're coming back it should be fine here."

His lips pinch into a tight line but says nothing simply following on my heels once more. We exit through the front door, leaving it unlocked behind us, but pulled shut. I move down the driveway pausing on the street to focus for a moment before raising one hand to point. "There are Walkers in that house, that house and that house." I tick them off with my finger as I tell him.

His face twists up eyes narrowing slightly as he stares at me, like he thinks I'm pulling his leg. "You seriously know that?"

"Yup." I move toward the first house I indicated, he falls into step behind me again.

"Hell you doing?"

"I don't feel like breaking open windows all day." I cross the drive and make my way through the hip tall weeds to the front door of the first Walker inhabited house. I raise my hand to rasp my knuckles against the front door before pressing my palm against the metal surface, waiting. Daryl stands behind me watching silently, lips pursed in a tight thin line telling me he's uneasy with this scenario; is unsure exactly what I'm doing and wants to ask.

He raises his crossbow when the Walker inside rattles the door. I can hear him breathing behind me moving closer when it goes silent a moment later. I keep my palm against the door trying to focus—finding it surprisingly more difficult with his eyes on the back of my neck.

"Don't shoot me okay?" I glance at him and he scowls dropping his crossbow to his side narrowing his eyes.

"The Hell would I shoot you?"

Then he hears the lock tumble in the door, and watches the knob turn jerking his bow back up and snatching my upper arm with one hand yanking me back from the entryway snarling, "Look out!"

"Daryl…relax!" I have to grab his waist to keep my balance with him jerking me backward so fast. I turn back to face the now open doorway the Walker standing calmly in the opening like he might invite us in for a chat.

Daryl's bow is up; but he hesitates, eyes darting to me when the Walker just continues to stand still instead of lurching towards us. "Shit, are you doing that?"

I nod slowly, and it takes quite a bit of concentration I'm finding even with only one of them; maybe I should have brought my bow out. "You can shoot him now." I gasp with the effort to hold him in place with Daryl standing in plain sight; even for the Walker's terrible eyesight.

The Walker falls; eye socket pierced with an arrow and I sigh in relief. Daryl's trying to divide his attention between the open doorway behind the downed Walker and me. "You look pale, are you aright?"

I nod slowly, slightly dizzy. "Yeah, it's just harder to do sometimes. Come on let's check inside." If there was a dead guy in this house there's a good chance that something usable might have been protected by its presence.

I step over the fallen body with more ease then anyone should rightly have around the dead; sometimes I worry what this world has turned us all into…but I know what Daryl would call us; Survivors.

The air in the house smells terrible; it's foul enough to damn near water my eyes. Dead guy plus stale air and summer heat equals...well, I'm sure you can guess.

I move toward the kitchen. Daryl takes a moment to check the still empty street outside before following me inside as well leaving the door open behind us. He pauses in the doorway retrieving his arrow and reloading his bow while I quickly scan the front rooms. "Empty, I'm going to work on the kitchen."

Daryl nods. "Gonna check the bedrooms, make sure they're clear." He hefts his bow while I nod asking him to keep an eye out for clothes that might fit me better. His eyes flick over my shorts as he moves down the hall. "They fit fine."

I snort moving towards the kitchen. I start with the cabinets first checking them for cans and other dry goods that might still be salvageable pleasantly surprised at finding a few items we can actually eat. I work my way down the alley style kitchen opening cabinet doors on both sides before moving to the door at the end of the room near the fridge; guessing it must be the pantry.

I pull it open to find that I guessed sorta right. It's more a long pantry combined with a laundry room. Long wire shelves taking up part of the room, the large white boxy shaped washer and dryer pressed against the other wall under a plague proclaiming that who ever lived here wasn't a fan of ironing. I can relate to that.

The shelves are full of things to peruse. I step inside checking the first shelf about eye level in the low light coming through the open door from the small window over the kitchen's sink. It's mostly canned goods, which would be heavy to take with us but useful for right now, quite a few of them still in date I note picking one up and checking the label—and even the ones that aren't are probably still good. Most canned things last far longer than the date printed on them.

I set the can back down at the same time I hear a rustling from behind me. I turn thinking its Daryl, opening my mouth to tell him we should come back with a bag for these items and gasp when boney fingers sink into my shoulders digging into my skin with a deep snarl. I jerk back in pain my own hands gripping the Walker's wrists sliding over rotted flesh trying to wrestle it's greedy fingers from my skin before it digs it's nails or what feels like exposed bone tips into my shoulder leaving me torn up and bleeding.

The broom that was leaned against the wall near the doorway behind me slides across the slick surface falling to the floor with a wooden thud that sounds like a gunshot in my head with the adrenaline racing through my veins. My back slams against the wall with a loud bang shaking the drywall so hard a few of the boxes on the nearby shelves rock and topple over.

I cry out in surprise not sure how I missed the Walker grappling with me; or why the Hell it's interested in me at all. I stop making noise knowing that will only keep his attention on me while still trying to pull out of its grasp. It snarls at me drawing air into it's dead lungs passed rotted black teeth that smell like death; it pauses, hesitating in front of me sniffing at the air in obvious confusion still not letting me go.

Then my assailant snarls again snapping his putrid teeth at my arm, and What the Hell? Is it just so starved that it doesn't care?

Then I suddenly realize I probably don't smell like me; I smell like Daryl. I'm about to get bitten and it's going to suck. But then it lets go of me so fast I nearly sprawl to the floor its attention drawn by the sound of Daryl slamming into the kitchen from the other room with a shout of my name about running into the counter with his hip, crossbow raised face intense with concentration.

"Get Down!"

I drop without arguing right before Daryl shoots the dead guy now stumbling toward him in the face. The Walker stumbles a moment head snapping back before crumpling backwards; and unfortunately sideways onto me his dead weight knocking me backwards into my ass on the floor. The back of my head clips the edge of the wire shelf sending cans clattering to the floor with a riotous amount of noise before rolling in all directions, scattering like frightened field mice.

I wince. "Ow."

Daryl pops over the broom handle wedged in the open doorway grabbing the dead guy and shoving him onto the floor on the other side of the pantry. He kneels down checking the back of my head where my fingers are feeling for a bump or blood. He pushes my hands aside continuing to inspect my skull. "You okay? Did he bite you?"

I hiss under his fingers. "I'm fine, it doesn't matter if he bit me…"

"The Hell it doesn't, just cause you can't get sick doesn't mean it wouldn't bleed like crazy; or need care."

And…he has a point. "Sorry, I'm good. No Bites. Just bumped my head is all." Though he left some welt like scratches on my skin, nothing bleeding too seriously though. I'm still not sure how I missed him; until I see the garage door wide open behind Daryl's back… He must have been out there when we came in. Maybe killed himself by running the vehicle still parked inside; barely visible in the grainy light it's driver side door flung open. It would have flooded the whole house with exhaust; killing them both.

The thought leaves me feeling sick, my stomach twisting with things I'd rather not remember.

"Can you get up?"

I nod trying to resist the urge to roll my eyes at him for being overly concerned again. "I didn't crack my skull open on a pantry shelf; it's a bump I'm fine."

Daryl helps me to my feet anyway before bending to yank his arrow back out of the dead guy's skull.

"Come on." He takes my hand like I'm liable to fall over any moment despite my protest hopping back over the fallen wooden pole still blocking the bottom foot and a half of the doorway instead of moving it. I do the same then pause, realizing what we just did. I stop twisting back around to frown down at the object still wedged in the doorway. Daryl's grip on my hand pulling him up short with me when I stop moving. I start laughing struck with an absurd realization trying to remember where I heard the expression a long time ago.

"What?" He's staring into the pantry like maybe we missed another Walker in the small space.

I glance at him shrugging. "I don't mean to alarm you, but in some cultures we just got married."

Daryl stares at me for a full minute.

"Jumping over a broom?" I explain.

He's still staring at me expression almost perfectly blank. Then his eyes narrow just slightly appraising me before his lips twist up with a slight hint of humor. "How hard did you hit your head?" he teases.

"Oh shuddup." I roll my eyes cheeks flushing pink.

"Makes 'bout as much sense as Glenn taking a ring off a Walker to give to Maggie. Shit, Guess I should have asked you first huh?"

I think I just swallowed my tongue.

Daryl takes in my expression lips twisting wickedly before tugging my hand so I follow him.

"Well, let's go. Lot's to do…Wife."