A/N: Well, it took some doing, but I finally got around to writing another chapter. There were several factors in this delay. My dad's birthday for one, writer's block for another. But now I'm back at it. Hope you all like this chapter. And as always, thanks for the reviews!

Disclaimer: This story is brought to you by my imagination. No copyright infringement is intended in the making of this fic. It's all just good clean fun.

Everyone stayed close to home. No excursions into the city, no hunting forays in the woods. The lookouts gazed through their binoculars with greater intent. Yet luck remained on their side and the next few days passed without any sign of the crazy Mad Max cannibals.

Daryl chafed at his confinement. His body had recovered from its battering quickly and the many bruises faded from angry purple to sickly mottled green-yellow. His personality seemed unchanged from the ordeal he'd survived, though Lia was awakened more than once late at night by his restless tossing.

She found him one morning almost a week later pacing restlessly some distance from where the youngsters played, but still well in sight of the building. His crossbow was slung across his back and his eyes were continually drawn to the distant wilderness.

"You okay?" Lia asked.

Daryl uttered a frustrated noise. "I'm sick o' waitin'. All them kids runnin' around, yellin' and stompin'. Drivin' me fuckin' nuts."

Lia came up beside him and rested a hand on his arm. With the mornings getting frosty, Daryl finally started wearing shirts with actual sleeves. Lia joked that she hardly recognized him with his arms covered.

"I know you want some time to yourself, but it's just too dangerous to go off alone."

"I know that!" he snapped, "Christ, you think it slipped my mind what those fuckers did t' me?" He pulled down the collar of his shirt to reveal the healing bruises around his neck.

Lia pretended to be unaffected by his harsh tone. She knew it wasn't personal. "It's been a week. Might be safe enough for you to go hunting with a small group."

Daryl snorted. "Ain't up fer playin' scoutmaster. Probably piss off the kids enough they'll wind up shootin' me 'n' callin' it a huntin' accident."

"Okay, so no kids. How'd you feel about me coming along? You can hunt while I keep watch."

Daryl hesitated, temptation in his eyes. "Think that'd be a good idea, leavin' the kids on their own?"

"They won't be," was Lia's confident statement, "Nana will be here, and the older kids have gotten pretty capable. Besides, we can't hide away forever." She smiled at him. "C'mon," she coaxed, "Just a few hours to take the edge off your cabin fever."

Daryl exhaled through his nose. He felt he ought to protest, being a responsible adult and all, but in truth he was anxious to get away for a while. He liked the kids well enough, but his patience for any group of people, regardless of age, had limits. He needed time to collect himself. Recharge, as it were.

"Fine," he sighed, "Better not expect much conversation, though."

Lia grinned. "'Kay. Lemme go get my bow and let everybody know we're heading out."

Daryl watched her jog off, then continued with his restless pacing. Lia returned a few minutes later with her bow and the two of them wordlessly headed for the woods. Daryl felt the tension seep from him as they passed the first trees. No more chatter, no more thudding feet, no more unnamed pressures. Lia moved so silently beside him he could almost pretend she wasn't there. He was surprised at how comfortable he felt with her tagging along. He'd expected to feel some resentment; he wanted to get away from people, after all. Apparently, she didn't count as "people".

He didn't actively search for something to hunt. He let his eyes wander until they lit upon a faint trail purely by chance. Something small, probably a rabbit. He followed the line of displaced grass and disturbed soil, heavy boots hardly making a sound. Relaxed and alert.

Lia followed close behind him, eyes scanning their surroundings for any hint of danger. Once in a while she would shoot a quick look Daryl's way. She enjoyed watching him. As silly and archaic as it sounded, she liked seeing him all rugged and manly. Lia had to suppress a giggle at her mind's choice of words.

Daryl suddenly froze. At first, Lia thought he might have caught a glimpse of his prey, but then she saw the tension in his jaw and a sense of alarm rose in her. She looked in the direction he was staring, but couldn't make anything out beyond the waist-high undergrowth.

"What is it?" she whispered, so low she could barely hear it.

Daryl responded, equally quiet, "Listen."

She strained her ears. She heard the rustle of something in the tall grass, then the distinctive, messy sounds of feeding. Noisy slurps and gulps and chews. Lia didn't need to ask what it was.

Both of them readied their weapons and Daryl led the way through the thick undergrowth towards the source of those sounds. It wasn't long before they came upon a tiny clearing where the grass had been trampled flat. A walker crouched with the gory remains of the unfortunate rabbit Daryl had been tracking clutched in its hands. Its face and hands were soaked in gore. The walker tore away another mouthful of flesh, oblivious to its audience.

Lia's eyes widened, not at the grisly sight, but at the walker itself. She recognized it. In life the creature had been one of the men who tried to kill Daryl, the one Lia had shot in the shoulder. It seemed the guy had a run-in with one or more walkers not long after charging off into the woods. The injured shoulder was a ragged open wound, white bone gleaming dully.

She looked at Daryl. He stood motionless, his crossbow pointing at the walker. He was frozen not from fear, but overwhelming rage. Here was one of the men who'd beaten and hanged him, who'd planned to eat him once he died. Daryl didn't want to simply shoot him. The fact that he was no longer truly alive didn't matter, an arrow to the brain was too good for this fucker.

The walker finally noticed them. It grunted and dropped the remains of its meal. They splatted when they hit the ground. "Gnnahhh!" the creature groaned as it rose to its feet and lurched towards them, bloodied hands outstretched.

"Daryl," Lia rasped.

Daryl ignored her. His features were twisted in hatred. He glared at the approaching walker, the crossbow forgotten. All he wanted was to tear the geek apart with his bare hands. He felt Lia grab hold of his arm and angrily shook her off. She persisted, grabbing his wrist. Daryl was two seconds away from turning on her when he felt something placed in his hand and looked down to find himself clutching Lia's club. He turned to Lia in surprise. She wordlessly took his crossbow from him. Daryl felt a surge of gratitude towards her, but there was no time to say anything. The walker was almost upon them.

Daryl roared and swung the aluminum club. Its weighted end smashed into the side of the walker's head, creating a noticeable dent. The creature reeled from the blow, but didn't fall. It groaned and hobbled unsteadily towards him once again. Daryl took another swing, this time succeeding in knocking the walker to the ground. Before it could even try to get up he ran over and pinned it down with his knees on its chest. He brought the club down on its skull again and again, his face contorted in a hateful grimace. A strangled cry escaped his throat each time the club impacted. His surroundings faded as his vision narrowed to the disgusting thing beneath him. All the restless nights, the bad dreams, the flashes of memory at dangling helpless from that tree branch while those bastards taunted him, all came out in a spate of uncontrollable violence. Daryl didn't stop until long after the walker's skull was nothing but a mass of featureless pulp. He finally rose shakily to his feet, his breathing ragged. Rancid gore spattered his face and clothes and dripped from the club. Later it would occur to him how lucky he was none of it got into his mouth or eyes.

A light touch on his arm drew his attention to Lia and her worried gaze. "I'm okay," he said. He might've been more convincing if his voice weren't raw from shouting. He pulled a rag from his back pocket and wiped the mess off the club before passing it back to her, taking his crossbow in return.

Lia returned the club to her belt loop. She glanced down at the walker's remains and pursed her lips. Daryl stepped closer and brought his hand to her cheek. He touched his forehead to hers. "I'm okay," he repeated more calmly.

Lia covered his hand with her own. "I hate seeing you in pain and not know how to help you."

Daryl smiled. And here he thought he'd frightened her. "Yer helpin' now," he told her and drew back to press his lips to her forehead.

It was then that they both heard a rustling and jumped apart, bringing their weapons to bear on the waving shrubbery. A pair of dirty hands slowly rose straight up in the universal sign of don't-shoot-I'm-unarmed. Neither one of them lowered their bows, however. Just because this newcomer was apparently alive didn't mean they weren't dangerous.

"Come out where we can see you," Lia commanded.

The raised hands wavered as the unseen stranger wended a path through the foliage and stepped into the clearing. Lia's face registered surprise. "I know you."

Daryl glanced at her. "Who th' hell's that?"

"She was with those crazy cannibals. I tried to get her to come with us when I rescued you, but she wouldn't leave."

The raggedy woman trembled under their scrutiny. "P-please," she stammered, "don't kill me."

Daryl was very much against bringing the woman home with them. "How d' we know she ain't gonna bring the rest o' them assholes once she finds out where we live?"

"Look at her!" Lia indicated the poor wretch to sat slumped against a tree, well away from the walker's grisly corpse. "She's half starved and battered. We can't just leave her out here."

"The hell we can't," Daryl growled.

Lia glared at him. "What if I'd taken that attitude towards your group when you all showed up?"

A muscle in his jaw twitched. "Fine," he snapped, "Bring yer stray home. But if she does anythin' I think's suspicious I'm kickin' her ass out, got it?"

Lia nodded. She went over to the woman and knelt before her. "What's your name?" she asked in a gentle voice.

The woman eyed her warily. "Marilyn."

"I'm Lia. That charming fella over there's Daryl. We live in a building not too far from here. It's safe, and there's plenty of food. Why don't you come with us?"

Marilyn shifted. "Whadda I hafta do?"

"Nothing," Lia said, "Really. You don't have to worry about us making you do things to earn your keep. Nobody's gonna use you or hurt you, I promise."

The woman pondered her slim options while Lia watched calmly and Daryl fidgeted in impatience. Finally, Marilyn gave a small nod that looked more like a cringe. "'Kay."

"Okay." Lia smiled. She helped the woman to her feet. "C'mon, it's not that far."

Marilyn trailed after them as the couple backtracked, careful to leave some distance between herself and them.

Daryl threw a sour look over his shoulder. "Actin' like a whipped dog."

"You're not too far off the mark," Lia said, "Those bastards treated her like a slave."

"'N' she let 'em," he muttered.

Lia gave him a reproachful look. "You know how abuse works. They probably had her convinced they were doing her a favor. That she'd die without their 'protection'."

Daryl lapsed into sullen silence and chewed the inside of his lip.

Their arrival with this new addition caused quite a stir. Dozens of children clustered around them to gawk at the newcomer. "She's dirty!" a little one declared before an older kid shushed him.

Nana Shino cocked an eyebrow in silent inquiry.

"Her name's Marilyn," Lia explained, "Those men forced her to do all the work at their camp. She got away from 'em and we found her alone out in the woods."

"Well," Nana declared evenly, "I suppose a meal is called for. Not to mention a good scrubbing." She gave the filthy woman the once-over. Marilyn ducked her head, either ashamed or simply fearful. Nana took her by the shoulders and gently led her indoors, not the least put off by her less than pristine condition. "Come along. Let's get you taken care of."

Marilyn went without protest. Lia and Daryl exchanged a look, then followed the others inside. Neither of them said a word, mainly because they didn't want to argue about this anymore.

Sometime later Marilyn's belly was full for the first time in days and she was washed to within an inch of her life. Nana made a valiant effort to untangle the woman's rat's nest of hair before she finally gave up and brought out the shears. Clumps of matted hair fell away until Marilyn was left with a close-cropped, naturally spiky do. The remaining hair - now thoroughly clean - was a rich chestnut color. Her eyes were light brown, almost amber colored, and her skin was pale and dusted with freckles. It came as a surprise that she was actually quite young, no more than in her early twenties. Her body was painfully thin, each rib and knobby vertebra jutting through her skin. Numerous bruises in different stages of healing stood out against her light skin. Lia shared some of her clothes with her, Marilyn's old clothes having been promptly burned. The borrowed clothing hung from her thin frame like a tent.

"There," Nana smiled, admiring her handiwork, "Don't you feel much better?"

Marilyn nodded, throat working. "Th-thank you." Her large eyes stared at the floor. "How long can I stay?" she asked in a tiny voice.

"As long as you wish," Nana assured her, "You're more than welcome to make this your home."

The young woman's chin trembled, tears welled in her eyes. "I...I did things. Bad things. I ate..." She hugged herself, looking small and vulnerable.

Nana put a comforting arm around her narrow shoulders. "It's alright, sweetheart."

"I was hungry," her voice cracked, "They wouldn't give me nothin' else."

"I know. It's alright. We've all done things since the world ended that we regret and even hate ourselves for. Sometimes that's the only way to survive."

Marilyn sniffed and wiped her eyes with the heel of her hand. "Thank you. I won't be any trouble, I promise. I'll work really hard. You won't ever hear me complain."

"I'm sure you'll do just fine here," Nana smiled, "I like to think I'm a fair judge of character. I can tell you're one of the good ones."

The younger woman looked doubtful. Nevertheless, she offered a weak smile in return.

Nightfall. Daryl lay on his back, gazing up at the ceiling. In the dim light of the lamp his eyes traced the edge of a shapeless yellow blot, one of those mysterious stains that seemed to manifest out of nowhere. He heard Lia shuffling about in the room, changing into a T-shirt and sweatpants, making sure everything was in its place before sliding onto her side of the mattress and pulling up the covers. Inevitably, their bodies shifted towards each other, as if drawn together by magnetism. Lia rested her head against Daryl's shoulder, her fingertips tracing patterns on his chest. "You still peeved about Marilyn?"

Daryl sighed. "Don' like havin' someone around t' remind me o' those pricks who tried t' kill me."

"She's just as much of a victim as you were."

Daryl scowled. "I ain't a goddamn victim."

Lia kissed the side of his neck. "Marilyn's not as strong as you. She needs protecting."

"The weak only slow us down." Merle's words. Daryl felt a stab of sorrow thinking of his brother.

"Who says we're going anywhere?" Lia reasoned, "Besides, you don't seem to feel that way about the kids."

"Only 'cuz yer so damn attached to 'em."

She smirked. "And you're not? What about Sally?"

"What about her?" Daryl retorted. But he knew he was losing the argument.

Lia's hand crept down and slipped under his T-shirt, fingertips trailing over his belly, tickling him. Daryl fought the urge to squirm.

"What about me?" she whispered in his ear, pausing to nibble his earlobe, "Do I slow you down?"

Daryl turned his head to face her, his eyes meeting hers. "You ain't weak."

Lia smiled. "Only because I have you to lean on." And her lips met his, soft and wanting. There was no more talk that night.