A/N: Just a short chapter this time. Something I whipped up in a couple of hours. There's a fun little scene between Daryl and Glenn, and some more on the rising intimacy between Daryl and Lia. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: Nope. Nuh-uh. Not mine.

Rick's people were packing their things, as well as stocking up on supplies. This would be their last day at the old office building. They planned to leave early the next morning to continue their journey towards Fort Benning.

Glenn finished loading the last case of canned goods onto Dale's Winnebago and decided to take a breather. He strode down the line of parked vehicles, cap tilted back on his head and hands in his pockets. Towards the end he found Daryl leaning over the open tailgate of his pickup. As he got closer, Glenn saw he was carving something into a plank of wood.

"Whatcha doing?"

Daryl didn't answer with the usual hostility. Instead, he straightened, rolling the kinks out of his shoulders, and took a step back. Glenn sobered at what was revealed on the plank: MERLE DIXON. Everyone had learned about what happened to Daryl's brother. Obviously, the surviving Dixon wanted to make sure the grave Merle rested in was no longer unmarked.

Glenn cleared his throat awkwardly. "I'm sorry about your brother, man."

Daryl squinted at the young Asian. His eyes were still red-rimmed from hours spent crying the previous day. "No you ain't. You 'n' all th' others hated Merle."

Not like he could deny this; it was true. "Yeah, but...I mean," Glenn waved his hands around in search of the right words, "We like you...kind of," he added lamely, "and none of us wanted you to hafta go through losing him like this."

Daryl didn't say anything, but he didn't seem all that pissed by Glenn's awkward sympathy, and that was something, the kid supposed.

Daryl picked up the plank and blew the sawdust away, scrutinizing his handiwork.

"Are you gonna stay here?" Glenn asked.

"What for?"

"Well, your brother's here-"

"Merle's dead. Don't make no difference to him where I'm at."

"-and Lia."

Daryl's head slowly swiveled towards him. "Th' fuck's that supposed t' mean?"

"Nothing!" Glenn said quickly, "Just, y'know, you two seem to be getting kinda close."

The plank slammed down on the truck bed. Glenn staggered back a step as Daryl suddenly loomed over him, his face once again its typical mask of fury. "Lissen, you little slant-eyed pissant," he snarled, "I don't give a shit 'bout that half-breed. She killed my brother. She c'n rot in hell for all I care."

The younger man visibly gathered his courage. "If that's true, why'd you save her when the geeks attacked? Why didn't you just leave her to die?"

Daryl's scowl grew even darker. He turned away and picked up the wooden plank once again. "I don't gotta explain myself t' you," he mumbled, staring down at his brother's name.

Glenn didn't know where the hell he found the nerve, but he found himself saying, "You're such a pussy."

Daryl looked at him, and now his eyes had that same deadly gleam Glenn remembered seeing in Merle's when the man held a gun to T-Dog's head.

"What'd you call me?"

"You heard me!" Glenn retorted, grateful his voice didn't squeak from terror, "You keep spouting that racist crap 'cause that's what your brother wanted to hear, but I never once saw you actually treat me or T-Dog or Jacqui any different from anybody else in the group." Granted, Daryl treated everybody else like shit, but it was still a valid argument. "You don't care that Lia's half Indian. You're just using that as some lame-ass excuse to keep her at arm's length. You don't wanna admit that you care about her-"

A large pair of hands slammed into his chest, knocking him to the ground.

"Shut th' fuck up!" Daryl shouted.

"Hey!" Rick approached from further down the line of vehicles, his expression stern. "What the hell's goin' on here?"

"Nothing," Glenn said, still sprawled on the ground, "I just tripped is all."

Rick eyed Daryl suspiciously, the other man panting with suppressed rage. "You sure 'bout that, Glenn?"

"Yeah." Glenn sat up, dusting his hands on the knees of his jeans. "I'm sure."

Rick nodded, his eyes still on Daryl. "Alright, then." He slowly turned and walked away.

Daryl looked down at the Asian. His initial anger seemed to have faded a little. After a moment, he grudgingly held out his hand. Glenn blinked and took hold, letting the bigger man haul him to his feet. "Thanks."

"I oughta beat the shit outta you. If Merle were here, he wouldn't 've thought twice, tellin' me I feel anything for some woman who ain't even white."

Glenn sighed in frustration. "That shit means even less now than it did before. There's only two kinds left: the living and the dead. And in case you haven't noticed, those of us living are in the minority. We're an endangered species. If we don't put aside all those stupid prejudices, we're gonna wind up just like Jenner said we would. Extinct."

Daryl stared at him, surprised by the kid's impassioned outburst. Then his mouth slowly twisted into a smirk. "Pretty damn deep thinkin'."

"Yeah," Glenn snorted, "For a Chinaman."

"Yer Korean."

The kid shrugged. "Whatever."

Daryl tucked the wooden plank under his arm and walked away without another word, but Glenn thought he looked as if he might be mulling something over. And that was something.

Lia found him at his brother's grave, as she thought she would. She approached just as he finished reattaching the wooden plank at the head of the grave, now etched with Merle's name. Daryl looked at her as she drew near, his gaze oddly wary.

Lia nodded at the improved grave marker. "Nice work."

Daryl shrugged and straightened, stepping back from the grave. "Need sumthin'?"

Lia held the bottle of 30 year old scotch out to him. "Never got around to paying you for teaching me to hunt."

Daryl hesitated, then took the bottle from her. It felt warm in his hands, like captured sunlight.

"Don't suppose y' brought any glasses?"

Lia smiled. "No offense, but you don't strike me as the kinda guy who drinks from a glass."

"Not usually," he admitted, "But this's th' good stuff, not some cheap-ass Southern Comfort."

Lia chuckled, beckoned. "C'mon. Let's see if we can find you something that isn't plastic."

They returned to the office building walking comfortably side by side. Lia sneaked quick glances at her companion. He looked tired and sad, but he also looked as if a weight had been lifted from him. No longer burdened with guilt over not finding his brother. No longer living under his shadow.

Ten minutes of persistent rummaging in the kitchen produced their goal. "Aha!" Lia held aloft a dusty tumbler in triumph. She gave it a quick rinse at the sink and handed it to Daryl. "There you are, sir."

Daryl accepted the glass with a smirk and set it on the counter. He uncapped the scotch and poured a generous measure into the glass, set the bottle aside, and picked up the tumbler. Lia watched in amusement as he held the glass up to catch the light from the window, swirled the liquid inside, sniffed it appreciatively, then took a generous sip, holding the whiskey in his mouth and letting it slowly trickle down his throat.

"Good grief," Lia laughed, "You're like a connoisseur. Next you'll be wearing a smoking jacket and sitting in front of a fireplace with a dog at your feet."

"Shouldn't laugh at a man fer appreciatin' th' finer things in life." Daryl held the glass out to her.

Lia blinked in surprise.

"Go on," he urged, "Try it. Your dad gave it to ya, right? Only fair you at least give it a taste."

Hesitant, she took the glass and sipped, trying to do as Daryl had and let the liquid slide down her throat rather than abruptly swallow. It didn't burn like she expected, but left a trail of warmth as it went down. It pooled in her stomach, spreading a pleasant glow through her. "Nice," she said, passing the tumbler back.

Daryl took another sip without a qualm. Didn't even wipe the rim. After he swallowed he offered it to her again, and Lia accepted. They passed the glass back and forth between them, refilling it more than once. They didn't get drunk, just took enough to get a pleasant buzz and relax their inhibitions a little. They leaned against the kitchen counter and talked about nothing in particular, still taking occasional sips from the glass.

When a lull fell in the conversation, Lia stared at Daryl's face, head slightly tilted. "There's something I've been wanting to do a while now."

Daryl tilted his own head, teasingly mimicking her posture. "What's that?"

Lia reached out, one finger extended. Daryl drew back a little when she neared his face, but a challenging grin from her stilled him. Her fingertip pressed against the mole next to his mouth. "Beep."

Both of them busted out laughing. Daryl shoved her hand away and moved the tumbler out of her reach. "You had a-nuff."

"I think you're right," Lia giggled. She tossed back her braids and smiled at him. "What about you? Any silly impulses?"

Daryl's eyes turned upward. "Maybe."

"Well?" Lia arched an eyebrow. One stray braid dangled next to her left eye. Daryl grinned and reached, twisted the braid around his finger and gave it a tug. "Ouch!" Lia laughed, "What're you, five?"

"How come you got your hair like that anyway? Y' ain't black."

"Oh, so only blacks can wear their hair like this? I'm brown-ish, doesn't that count?"

Gold, Daryl thought, You're gold, not brown. He shrugged. "So, how come?"

Lia's smile turned wistful. "My mom died when I was eight. Pancreatic cancer. One of my strongest memories of her is sitting between her knees while she brushed out my hair. It was, I dunno, our thing. Something for just mother and daughter." She paused for a moment in thought, then sighed. "Anyway, once the damn world ended and me and Nana were trying to get everything organized here, my hair was just too much hassle. But I didn't have the heart to cut it, either, because of Mom, so I braided it." She shrugged. "It works well enough. Doesn't get in the way much, and I don't have to mess with it like this."

They fell into heavy silence. Daryl's eyes wandered down to her mouth, to the healing split on her lip and discolored bruising. He touched it lightly, surprising Lia with his gentleness. "Sorry," he murmured, and she knew he didn't mean for invading her personal space now.

Lia pursed her lips. "It's okay. I deserved it."

Daryl's expression hardened. "No you didn't. Don't ever talk that kinda stupid shit."

His anger surprised her even more than his touch. "But I killed-"

"Don't." His tone brooked no argument.

Lia's eyes looked down. She ran a tired hand through her braids. "You're right, I've had too much. Never could handle the hard stuff." She started for the door, paused. "In case I don't see you tomorrow morning; goodbye, Daryl." And then she left.

Daryl tossed back the last of the whiskey in the glass, then picked up the bottle as if to pour himself another. He was strongly tempted to get shitfaced drunk and pick a fight with someone, maybe that asswipe Shane. It was an old pattern he'd followed whenever he felt depressed. A tried and true method of sublimating anguish with rage. It was one of the many flaws he and Merle picked up from their old man. Thinking of his father stilled Daryl's hand. Instead of taking another drink, he screwed the cap onto the bottle, then left the kitchen with it tucked under his arm. He stowed the bottle in the cab of his pickup, out of sight and immediate temptation.

Evening set in. The heat of the late summer day finally abated. A cool breeze stirred the curtains at Lia's window, bringing the scent of concrete, greenery, and beneath it all the vague lingering stench of the walkers that still hadn't completely faded. Lia sat cross-legged on her mattress-bed, head bowed over a book in her hands. A solar-powered lantern, originally intended for outdoor lighting, cast a warm glow over the room. A plate with a few leftover crumbs lay on the floor a few inches from Lia's knee. She hadn't eaten dinner in the lobby with everyone else. She hadn't wanted to see the faces of the people who would be leaving all too soon. It was hard enough just thinking about having to say goodbye to them all in the morning. Especially...

Lia turned her thoughts away from him. Thinking about him only brought a confusion of emotions. Their strangely intimate moment in the kitchen sure as hell didn't help matters. Lia wondered if she would ever find her stability again.

A knock at the door. One of the kids with a problem they thought only she could handle. "Come in," she said absently, turning a page in her book.

The door opened. The footsteps sounded far too heavy to belong to one of her kids. She looked up and tensed when she saw Daryl standing just inside her room. He didn't look any more certain as to why he was there than she was. "C'n I come in?"

Lia hesitated, then gave a slight nod. Daryl shut the door behind him and stood with his hands in his jeans pockets.

"Have a seat," Lia offered.

Daryl glanced around the decidedly chair-less room. Lia scooted over and indicated the available space on the mattress. After a pause to consider his options - cushioning mattress or hard floor - Daryl seated himself beside her, forearms resting on his knees. Lia tried to look busy reading, though in truth she found it difficult to focus all of a sudden. A second later the book was snatched from her hands. "Hey!"

"Whatcha readin'?" Daryl scanned the cover, ignoring Lia's glare. He frowned. "Modern Guide to Roof Gardening?"

Lia yanked the book back. "It's the safest way. Marauders won't be able to get to it. There's plenty of space up on the roof and none of the gardening supplies in any of the stores have been touched. We can drag up dozens of huge garden tubs, bags of potting soil, seed packets, and raise all kinds of food for ourselves. Plus, we can supplement whatever we grow with foraging and hunting in the woods."

Daryl shook his head in dismay. "You ever take a break from thinkin'?"

Lia laughed ruefully and rubbed the back of her neck with one hand. "I wish. I worry about everything. I worry about when the plumbing's finally gonna give out. I worry about something happening to me and Nana and the kids'll be left on their own again. I worry that all the condoms we got saved up won't be any good once the kids turn into horny teenagers."

"Jesus!" Daryl chuckled, "You're worse 'n Grimes. Always frettin' about stuff. Doncha ever just have fun?"

"Fun?" She sighed and stared off into the distance. "Oh yes, I remember fun." She set the book aside and shifted to face him. "There's something that's been nagging at me for a while."

Daryl shifted his position as well so they looked directly at each other. "And what's that?"

Lia bit her lip, avoiding the healing cut with her teeth. "When we were trapped in the van," Daryl's face sobered at the memory, "and the walkers busted in, you shot the one in the lead."

"Yeah..." he said, wondering where she was going with this.

"You only shot once," Lia stared at him levelly, "You told me there were two bullets. One for each of us."

Daryl's eyes looked down in abrupt fascination at his shoelaces. "So?"

Lia scooted closer to him. She didn't know why she was letting herself do this when it would only lead to heartache later, but he was here with her, despite all her efforts to keep him at a distance. He was in her room, and she didn't want to run from this anymore.

Her hand reached up to touched the scabbed-over cut on his temple he got from his scuffle with Shane. Daryl shied away at first, then held himself still as her fingers traced the edge of the wound. His eyes remained downcast. They closed when Lia leaned in and replaced her fingers with her lips. It was the softest, most intimate kiss he'd ever received. And it wasn't even on his mouth. At that thought, Daryl turned his head and met Lia's lips with his own.

A/N: Sorry to leave you guys hanging. I promise to get to the really good stuff in the next chapter. ;-)