Hi y'all! Sorry this chapter took so long. It wouldn't unfold in my head as quickly as the others did. So like I said before, this one is a little more adult in theme, etc etc etc. The title song is "The Navesink Banks" by The Gaslight Anthem. Thanks to Haven14 and Leyshla Gisel for being my most consistent reveiwers, and to everyone else who read, reviewed, subscribed and/or favorited. Over 40 subscribers, that makes me smile. Keep it up y'all.

This chapter is in Daryl's POV. I apologize to any Kyra fans who may be reading this.

Any and all disclaimers apply. It's late and I don't feel like typing them.

Daryl heard the shot before he felt it. Searing pain racked his body, but he didn't scream like anyone else would. No, he was stronger than that. And frankly, he was quite surprised they hadn't shot him already. Took 'em damn long enough, and even then, he doubted they had really killed him. His vision blurred, and he scanned the small band of people gathered around him to stop the threat of walkers. His eyes rested on a lone figure, back a ways from everyone else with a long, glinting blade in her hand. (Kyra What is she doing here Get her out of here before something happens)

She had come to kill him too.

The edges of his sight went totally black, then closed in and left him in silent darkness.

Someone's hands were around his head. Wrapping something against his forehead. Maybe they were gonna strap him down to something before they shot him. Cowards. His eyes cracked a fraction, and he realized with some dismay that ther were not, in fact, going to shoot him. Rather he was in one of Hershel's guest rooms, and they were bandaging him up. Awful nice thing to do for someone they just used. Must want their resident coon hound in tip-top shape.

He tried to sit up, but a wide heavy hand pressed him back down to the mattress and an old man's told him he'd have to rest at least for the rest of the evening and the night, but he'd be fine to move later on, maybe tomorrow.

They must have drugged him too, because soon thereafter he fell back into the darkness, completely dead to the world around him.

His brother was shaking his shoulder roughly and barking out his name along with a command to get the hell outta bed. Daryl roused reluctantly and pulled his shirt over his head, before stomping out of his room to see what the fuck Merle wanted this time.

"Merle!" He shouted. "What the hell you gettin' at, wakin' me up like that? Merle? Answer me, dammit!"

No answer. It seemed that the ramshackle little house was as empty as a church on Monday morning. Merle was most likely just screwing with him again.

"Goddammit." Daryl grumbled, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes and reaching into his back pocket for the box of cigarettes. Much to his chagrin the pocket was empty. He'd probably left him sitting on his window sill again. If Merle'd snatched them up while he was asleep there would be hell to pay for the older Dixon.

Daryl shuffled back to his room, threw the door open and froze in his tracks like a deer in the headlights. Kyra was sprawled out on his bed, dressed in only a pair of black lace panties and one of his shirts, the top four buttons undone. She had the box of cigs; it was resting on her sternum. A lit one dangled from between her fingers.

"Been waitin' for you." She drawled slowly, turning her head to stare at him. God, she was getting him so horny staring at him like that.

"What the hell are you doing in my house?" He croaked. Those were the only words that would come out. She raised the cigarette to her mouth and took a long drag from it.

"You're dreaming, Daryl." She stated matter-of-factly. With skill he'd never have thought she possessed, she swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood, all without losing the ash from the end of the cigarette. That she promptly dropped out of her fingers and snuffed out beneath the ball of her bare foot.

Daryl winced as he watched her do this; she'd burn herself if she wasn't careful.

She must have heard his thoughts or something, because as soon as the thought finished itself in his mind, she looked up at him innocently. "It's only a dream, Daryl. It can't hurt me." A devious smirk crossed her face and she put her mouth close to his ear.

"So let's have some fun while we're at it." She whispered, her fingers working deftly at his belt buckle.

Back in the real world, a door creaked on its hinges. Daryl's eyes snapped open but he lay still, only turning his head to glance at the person intruding on his solitude.

(not Kyra not Kyra please dear God in heaven don't let it be Kyra)

It was only Carol, bearing a tray with a plate of food and a glass of tea on it. He yanked the sheets up closer about his shoulders in an awkward attempt to hide the scars that riddled his back. Carol set the tray down on the side table and turned to Daryl.

"Thank you." She said quietly. "You did more for my little girl today than her own daddy did for her in his whole life." She pressed a kiss to his forehead and added: "You're a good man.", before leaving the room.

Daryl watched her go out of the corner of his eye, and lie in thought a moment. Maybe he wasn't totally despised after all.

He ate the food slowly, chicken and rice with canned green beans, and drained the glass of tea. The amber liquid was cool and sweet on his tongue. It reminded him painfully of Kyra. He replaced the dishes onto the tray and fell back to sleep, this time without dreaming.

After what felt like hours he heard the door opening again and awoke slowly. He heard a sigh—one of the women, it sounded like—and then the words:

"Well, at least he ate."

His heart dropped and shame washed over him in cold sweats. He hadn't wanted her to see him like this: so vulnerable and helpless and… weak. He hadn't wanted her to see the scars.

Daryl felt her eyes on him, and then heard the quiet shuffle of feet leaving the room. He noted with some displeasure that she hadn't closed the door.

He sank farther beneath the covers, praying desperately for her to leave him be, just this once.

More footsteps, approaching this time. Daryl feigned sleep, knowing who it was without having to look and see. She stared at him for another moment—what was she thinking while she stared down at him, he wondered—followed by the scrape of chair legs on the floor, and then the rapid turning of pages. She was sitting in a chair by his bedside, reading a book.

He couldn't fake it forever, he decided. He rolled over and let the sheets settle at his waist, staring up at her with as best a blank expression as he could muster, given the circumstances.

She was totally absorbed in her book, almost as absorbed as she was when she drew. The book she was reading was paperback, black with red writing on it, and the title "Plagues and Peoples".

Merle had said something about her… the words suddenly appeared in his mind like he'd just heard them a moment ago…

"And what about that broad… what's-her-name, Cara, Karen, Carly…"

"Kyra." Daryl croaked in answer.

"Yeah her." The older Dixon's face was suddenly creased with protective worry. "You really think she's gonna care about you 's much as you do her, little brother? She's just in it for the ass. She don't care a rat's ass about you, man. Why the hell do you think she ain't been seen with you yet? Hmm? Because she pities you, you're nothin' but a simple, backwards redneck. An easy lay and then she's outta here. She's only gonna hurt you, little brother. You listen to ol' Merle. He knows."

His stare hardened as the words echoed in his memory. He knew it then. Merle was right, as always. She'd only…

His train of thought dropped off when she glanced up from her book and smiled warmly on seeing him awake.

"Welcome back to the land of the living." She quipped, closing her book and regarding him closely. "How you feelin'?"

"Fine." He grunted in reply. Whatever he'd been thinking before was now lost to him.

She arched her eyebrows. "A likely story." She turned her head and glanced at the clock on the wall. It was maybe one thirty in the morning? Neither could really tell.

"In all seriousness, though, Daryl. How are you?"

The look on her face bespoke concern. He noticed suddenly that she was wearing black shorts and a button down shirt. "Told you, I'm fine." He avoided.

"I'm sure you think you are. Hershel told me to tell you if you woke up that you're gonna have to dial back on huntin' for Sophia for a day or so, 'til your side has healed up and all."

Frustration flashed through him. "I can't do that. I gotta find that girl, Kyra, you know that. I'm the only one that will. If I give up because of my side hurtin' a little I might as well be agreein' that she's dead along with the rest of y'all!"
She sighed heavily. "Daryl, I'm not asking you to stop altogether. Just one day. Maybe not even that long. Alright?"

He glared at her. "You gonna sit here and play guard dog all night then? Make sure I don't get up and run away off into the woods?"
She straightened up; he noted with some satisfaction that he seemed to have struck a nerve. "As a matter of fact I am going to sit here all night."

"Uh huh." He replied sarcastically. "So why'd you agree to watchin' me then?"

"Because I for one care what happens to you. Who do you think ran and got Hershel when Andrea shot you?"

He didn't reply. She had to be lying. She had to be. There was no way she could be telling the truth. Yet he remembered seeing her face, and remembered the shock and anxiety writ across her features.

He didn't acknowledge her comment. She took the silence as incentive to continue.

"I did. Who the hell do you think volunteered to watch you all night? Hm? Because Andrea damn sure didn't."

She was trying to get a rise out of him, he knew it. He would shut her up good enough.

He rolled over and glared blackly at her. "Woman, who the fuck do you think saved your scrawny ass when you passed out in the middle of the fuckin' driveway?"

She bit her lower lip. "Touché."

"Thought so."

They lapsed into tense silence, he glaring at anything that wasn't her (right then it was the ceiling) and she absently rubbing her ankles and staring out the window.

"Why did you kiss me, Daryl?"

The question startled him. That had been a week ago, why had she waited until now to bring it up? He racked his brain for an answer that wouldn't make him seem like a pig. There was no way he would let himself tell her how he really felt, no one could be allowed to know that. No one. Not even Merle. Especially not Merle.

He still wouldn't look at her. She clicked on the lamp on the side table to get a better look at him.

"Fuckin look at me when you talk to me, okay?" She demanded. The indignation (and hurt) in her voice was brutally apparent.

Still he wouldn't answer. She took it the wrong way, of course. Women always did.

"Oh so that's it? It was a fluke? It meant nothing to you? Nothing?" She was standing now, pacing across the floor. Daryl could hear her bare feet shuffle across the hardwood. "Am I just another piece of ass for you, Daryl? Is that it? Have I finally hit the nail on the head?"

"Wasn't a fluke. You ain't no cheap whore." He muttered finally. "Thought you coulda guessed that by now."

This seemed to deflate her just a little. She pouted and chewed her lower lip, turning away from him and pacing still. She was making him antsy moving around like that so much, acting like a caged tiger that wants to be set free.

"Could you sit, Kyra?" he asked finally. "Stop pacin' like that, it's makin' me nervous."

She shot a glance at him and complied, flopping down into the chair. He found it highly confusing how her emotions could so easily flit from one end of the spectrum to the other so rapidly.

"Yeah." She mumbled, almost too low for him to hear. "Sorry 'bout that, then. Didn't mean to bitch."

He sat up and shrugged, swinging his legs over the end of the bed so his feet touched the floor. He leaned on his hands and watched her carefully, as if he was on babysitting duty and not she.

She was sitting crosslegged in the chair, picking absently at her fingernails. Every now and then she would sneak a glance at him and then look away suddenly, a shy, private smile stealing across her features. She was acting like a school girl, he thought. He found it quite cute, though.

"So it wasn't a fluke then." She murmured, more to herself than to him. Now she seemed almost delighted. He was sure that if she were to actually look at him the look on her face would be positively radiant.

"Nope."

The chair was close enough that their knees were almost touching. Daryl could smell the faint odor of dish soap, still lingering on her hands. She looked at him from under her eyebrows and he was confused. The radiance was gone. Something else, something pensive and brooding, had taken its place.

She yawned hugely and rubbed her eyes, passing a hand through her hair. She looked for all the world like she felt about a thousand years old.

"You tired?" Daryl swung his legs back up onto the bed and scooched away from her, leaving an empty patch for her if she wanted. He wasn't about to let her sleep in a chair, for Chrissake's. No way in hell.

"Yeah a little." She glanced at the patch of bed he'd cleared for her and filled it without a second thought.

But instead of snuggling up to him like he'd hoped, she just laid on her back and stared at the ceiling, her hands folded neatly on her stomach and her eyes locked on the fan. There was a good six inches of space between them.

She looked almost uncomfortable. He wondered if it was his fault.

"I ain't gonna rape you or nothin'." He put out, in an awkward attempt to break the silence.

For a moment her hazel eyes flickered to him and then were glued back to the ceiling. "I know." She answered quietly.

He flopped down and buried his face in the nearest pillow, trying to hide his frustration with the woman. Why the fuck couldn't she just settle on one emotion and stick with it for the rest of the goddamn night?

"And I mean," She continued, almost as if talking to herself, "Even when—if we do have sex, I mean, it's not like it's… it won't really… I don't know. I mean, we kinda can't deny that we're attracted to each other but we don't know what would… not that it would matter…"

He rolled onto his side and folded his arms. "Woman, what the hell are you getting' at?"

She sighed forcefully and closed her eyes. "In a weird, roundabout way I'm trying to say that I can't have kids. And that I don't know how that will affect our relationship or whatever the hell this is at all or what." She blurted, the words pouring forth like water from a bottle.

Silence hung between them like a curtain. Daryl broke it.

"You think I care whether or not you can have kids?"

She shrugged. "I dunno; just thought I'd tell you."

"It don't mean you ain't whole or nothin'."

"Daryl, I…" She trailed off, unsure of how to finish her thought.

"You what?"

"I… I think we're in love with each other. We just don't wanna show it too awful much so we won't have to acknowledge that it's real and that we stand a chance at losing it, if we ain't careful."

He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her against him. "Sounds about right to me." He kissed the top of her head and held her tightly. "Now hush. You need to sleep."

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In the morning, Hershel poked his head in the door to check on Daryl and relieve Kyra of her watch duty. He felt his face redden at the sight before him.

They were curled up against each other, both of them fast asleep. It was obvious to Hershel that they hadn't had sex; rather, they had simply wound up sleeping together in the most innocent sense of the phrase.

Daryl's arms were around her and it seemed to Hershel that for once in her life, Kyra looked happy. Really, truly happy.

He caught himself smiling and withdrew from the room silently, leaving them to sleep in peace.

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Alright, so that's that done. Don't know what I'm gonna do now that S2 is over… poor Jimmy haha… Don't forget to review! Feedback makes my day. Please and thank you.

Chapter… seven, I think the next one will be? Will be up sometime before season 3 starts… God willin' and the creek don't rise. Night y'all.