Disclaimer: Until I win the lottery, The Walking Dead and its characters ain't mine.

They woke to frantic little fists battering their door. The incident of the previous night was still fresh in their minds.

Lia and Daryl disentangled themselves from each other and hastily threw on some clothes. From the sounds of things, something big was happening. Perhaps an attack. Daryl threw open the door, revealing an agitated Bobby.

"They're back!" the boy exclaimed.

Both adults tensed. "Those guys from th' woods?" Daryl asked.

Bobby shook his head, long hair flopping into his eyes. "Naw, the others! Carl an' Sophia an' the grownups! Enrique saw 'em coming!"

Lia's jaw fell open, but she quickly regained her composure. "Are you positive it's them?"

The boy danced in impatience. "Yes! They got that big camper thing an' Daryl's old pickup."

The two adults shared a look. It might very well be Daryl's former companions, but they couldn't risk taking that for granted. "Make sure everybody's got their bows, just in case," Lia cautioned. Bobby nodded and raced off to spread the word while Lia and Daryl went to retrieve their own weapons.

"Think it's them?"

Daryl shrugged, grabbing a quiver of arrows to hang from his belt. "Won' know 'til we see 'em." The grim expression he wore made Lia wonder if he hoped it wasn't them. He'd grown more comfortable with himself once the others had left. If they returned, he would once again feel the burden of their judgmental attitudes. At least, that was how he saw it.

Armed, the couple left their room and hurried downstairs to the lobby where the majority of the kids were gathered. Most of them murmured in excitement over the thought of seeing their friends again. Some of the older kids, as well as Nana, looked worried. Of them all, Marilyn looked the most frightened. Until recently, her experiences with meeting people hadn't gone well for her.

Lia hurried to one of the front facing windows, Daryl at her side. She nudged the heavy curtain aside just enough to peer through. It had snowed again during the night, this time leaving over an inch on the ground. The vehicles, which now numbered only three - Dale's Winnebago, Daryl's truck, and the white van - were brought to a halt less than a hundred yards away. A raggedy figure exited the RV and staggered towards the building, alone and obviously unarmed. Even when he was close enough to make out the details of his face, it took Lia a moment to recognize him as Rick Grimes. He looked as if he'd walked through hell and barely made it out the other side. His clothes hung loose and tattered on his skeletal frame, his hair grown out and unkempt, and his lower face all but concealed beneath several weeks' worth of scraggly beard. He staggered to a halt several paces from the locked door and waited.

Lia didn't hesitate. She hurried to unbolt the door and step through, followed closely by Daryl. While she was grateful for his solid presence, she wondered if he saw the former sheriff's deputy as a threat. Grimes certainly looked desperate, and desperate people often did things they would never condone in better circumstances.

"I'm sorry," Rick spoke up before either of them could say anything, "We don't have anywhere else to go."

"What happened to you?" Lia asked, bow hanging forgotten in her grasp. From the way the man was swaying, she was afraid he'd topple over any second. Either that or shake himself to pieces. The jacket he wore was far too thin for winter. "Is everyone okay?"

For a moment it looked like he might cry. "No. It's Shane, he...he's dyin'."

It was worse than the first time the group had come here. Starvation almost killed them. Several of them were too weak to even stand and had to be carried in on makeshift stretchers. The two children, Glenn, Carol, Lori, Dale. Shane was wounded, shot in the abdomen. While they managed to stave off infection, the lack of food prevented his body from healing. The once burly man was a wasted ghost of his former self, lost in a delirium of hunger and pain.

No one wasted time with questions over how they'd come to be in this state. Nana and a couple of kids hurried to heat up a massive pot of broth while Lia organized the others into gathering up blankets and medicine. The refugees (for there was no other label that fit them) were given broth and some of the precious vitamin pills they had stored away for emergency. Those with fevers were given aspirin. A bevy of kids were recruited as nurses to watch over the weakest individuals round the clock in shifts.

Shane was carried upstairs and placed in a room of his own. Nana tended to him with Marilyn's assistance. Daryl hovered in the door, stone-faced and silent. It was hard to tell if it was concern or something else that compelled him to watch. His expression didn't change at all as Nana peeled away the old bandages to reveal Shane's wound. There were no ominous smells or discolored veins to signify infection, but it was still nowhere close to healing. The wound's edges were pale and bloodless, the skin gone gray. Nana pursed her lips into a thin line. She held out a hand. "Antiseptic."

When nothing was forthcoming she looked up at her assistant and snapped, "Focus!"

Marilyn jumped, shaken from her wide-eyed staring, and quickly grabbed the bottle of antiseptic and some sterile gauze. Nana accepted them with a terse nod and proceeded to clean the wound, then applied fresh bandages. All through her ministrations Shane lay with his glassy eyes staring up at the ceiling tiles, awake but not aware. He didn't even react when the two women lifted his head up to try and get him to swallow some penicillin. He sputtered a little as water was poured into his mouth. Much of it wound up dribbling over his chest, but enough went down for him to swallow the pill.

Nana dried him off, then reached for the steaming bowl sitting on the floor beside her and passed it to the younger woman. "Get him to take some broth," she instructed, "Let him sleep for a few hours after that, then wake him and feed him some more. Just keep doing that and try to keep his fever down."

Flustered, Marilyn took the bowl from the older woman. "You want me to look after him?"

"Yes. Right now I need to help with the rest of them."

The younger woman's eyes widened in panic. "B-but..."

Nana grabbed her shoulders and stared intently into her frightened eyes. "I have every confidence in you. Now, pull yourself together and take care of him."

Marilyn swallowed, nodded. Nana got up and hurried out the door, squeezing past Daryl without a word.

Kneeling at Shane's bedside, frightened and unsure, Marilyn looked up and met Daryl's steady gaze. Neither of them spoke of what happened the night before. In light of what they faced now, the incident seemed unimportant. Marilyn visibly drew herself and took a breath. She gave a slight nod, which Daryl returned before he walked away, leaving her a lone with the injured man. Marilyn propped Shane up with some extra pillows, then set about trying to get him to take some of the broth.

"Fort Benning's gone," Rick said in a dull monotone, "Everything's gone. We just kept drivin', lookin' for someplace safe."

Things had calmed down enough for Lia, Nana, and Daryl to ask him for an explanation. The former deputy sat on one of the couches, a cup of broth cradled in his hands which had yet to stop trembling. His wife and son lay on cots a few feet away, both having fallen into a heavy sleep soon after they managed to get something into their stomachs. Carl was especially heartbreaking, his little body so thin he looked like a pile of brittle twigs. Sophia was little better, lying curled up with her mother in a different part of the crowded lobby. Despite the numerous people gathered together, the place was as quiet as a hospital, a description not far off from the truth.

Rick continued, "We ran outta gas pretty quick. Couldn't scrounge up enough for all the vehicles, so we had t' leave a truck 'n' Shane's jeep behind. Ran outta food. Low on ammo. We shoulda been more suspicious when we ran into those folks at that farm. They were...too accommodating, y'know? But I was too busy thinkin' about how hungry my family was. And those folks looked so well fed." A haunted look came to his eyes.

Lia placed a gentle hand on his arm. "What happened?" she prompted.

Grimes took a deep breath, let it out. "They took out guns and locked us in the barn. We weren't the only people in there. There was maybe half a dozen others, all of 'em half dead. They starved us, y' see, so we'd be too weak to fight back. Two of 'em would come in, one would hold a shotgun on us while the other dragged some poor bastard out. Then a few hours later we'd smell meat cooking."

"Jesus," Lia muttered. More cannibals. What the hell was it about the end of the world that brought out such lunatic behavior? Were they driven insane? Was it desperation? Or was there something intrinsically wrong with them to begin with and no longer having to fear any consequences brought it all to the surface?

"They were too cautious for us to do anything at first," Rick said, "It took some time before they got cocky. By then they'd already finished off the last of the people who'd been locked up before us." He fell silent for a moment. "Shane, T-Dog, and I let on we were worse off than we really were. Then, when the man with the shotgun let his guard down, we jumped 'im. Killed him and the other guy. Then we fought our way back to the vehicles. Thank God they never got around to draining the tanks. We all still had enough strength to run, though just barely. Carl fell down at one point, and Shane ran back, bullets flyin' everywhere, scooped the boy up and carried him to the RV. None of us realized he'd been hit 'til we were on the road. Thought he was gonna bleed to death that first night."

"That's when you decided to come back here?" Nana asked.

Rick nodded. "I just... There was nowhere else...nobody else we could trust."

The old woman patted his shoulder. "We said you were always welcome here and we meant it. You don't have to worry anymore. We'll take care of you."

A few stray tears escaped and ran down his gaunt cheeks, disappearing into his beard. Rick wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. "Thank you."

Daryl abruptly turned and walked away. Lia frowned, glanced at Nana who nodded that everything was under control, then got up to follow him. He wound up leading her all the way up to the roof. Lia shivered in the cold, watching him stare out into the distance, still as a statue. He seemed impervious to the biting wind. The lookouts glanced at the two adults in curiosity before returning to their duties. Lia walked over to Daryl, shoulders hunched, arms wrapped around herself.

"You okay? You haven't said a word to any of them," she smiled, "Not even to be a smartass."

"Nuthin' t' say," he stated, eyes still gazing straight ahead.

"Having them back makes you uncomfortable." It wasn't a question.

Daryl lowered his gaze to his feet. His boot scuffed at the thin layer of snow on the roof. "Maybe things woulda gone different if I hadn't stayed here."

Lia's expression became one of understanding. "You feel guilty that you weren't with them when they needed help."

"Didn't say that," he growled.

She leaned against him, shivering, and linked her arm with his. "Things might have gone differently," she agreed, "You might've been killed."

"Or I mighta kept 'em from gettin' caught." He looked down at her, his blue eyes filled with turmoil. "Couple more days 'n' at least some of 'em woulda been dead 'fore they got here. If I'd been there they wouldn't 've had t' starve. I coulda hunted." He swallowed thickly. "Them kids can't even move, they're so weak."

Lia put her frozen hands to his cheeks and rested her forehead against his. "None of them blames you for staying when they left," she said, stroking his thin beard with numb fingers, "And I'm grateful every day that you did. They're here now. They're alive, and we'll take care of them. You have nothing to feel guilty about." She drew back to meet his eyes. "Okay?"

Daryl stared at her for a moment, then gave a faint nod.

"Okay." She kissed him gently. "Now let's get back inside before my fingers fall off."

Daryl smiled and took both her hands in his own. His hands were large enough to engulf hers completely, and when he blew a warm gust of air in the shelter of his palms, Lia's fingers tingled. She smiled. He put his arm around her shoulder and the two of them walked together to the door leading inside.

Shane was lost in his delirium, a nightmarish flow of imagery, both memory and dream, without pattern or logic. He wasn't aware of the young woman who knelt at his side and washed away his fever-sweat with a cool rag, or of any of the others who nursed him when she got too tired and the hours passed into days. He did not notice whenever Rick came to visit, sitting at his side and sometimes holding his hand. While his friend and former partner visibly recovered over the ensuing days, Shane's health remained precarious. He began to babble, incoherent at first, but gradually the words made themselves understood, as if they had a will of their own. Much of what he said made little or no sense. Some of it made too much sense. Confessions of the wrongs he'd done, events and misunderstandings and jealousies that festered like open wounds.

Sometimes he screamed and railed against the injustices heaped upon him. Sometimes he wept from the guilt he carried. Guilt for things he'd done and almost done to people he cared about most. While his body sweated out its fever his mouth released the infection of his soul, until he was finally left drained and cleansed.

The first thing he saw when he woke to full lucid consciousness was a pair of amber-colored eyes gazing down on him. Eyes that were set in the elfin features of a young woman who smiled at him shyly. Shane found himself staring at the freckles across her nose and cheeks.

"Hi," the girl said, "You're fever's broke. How d' you feel?"

He gave it some thought. "Hollowed out," he croaked.

"You thirsty?"

He nodded. The girl helped him sit up, propping him with pillows, then she picked up a cup with a straw and brought it to his lips. Shane took a few sips through the straw, the cool water soothing his throat. "Thanks." He looked around. "Where am I?"

"It's an old office building. You and your friends have been here before, back in the summer. Remember?"

He nodded.

"That was before I came here, obviously," she smiled, "I'm Marilyn. I'm the one who's been takin' care of you, mostly."

A horrible thought occurred to him. He grabbed her arm, his grip so weak she could easily have pulled away. "Are th' others okay? Carl-"

"He's fine," Marilyn assured him, "Everybody's fine. You're the one who was worst off. We were afraid you might not make it."

Relieved, Shane let his arm drop to his side and leaned back into the pillows. Marilyn stood. "I'll be right back. I'm gonna see if Nana can make you something to eat."

"Thank you." He smiled up at her, and damn if she didn't blush before she hurried out the door. His mouth quirked in amusement. Guess I still haven't lost my touch.

Marilyn's arrival in the lobby made everyone's head turn. There were only two reasons she would have left Shane's side. Either he'd taken a turn for the worse, or...

"His fever broke," she beamed, "He's awake."

Relieved smiles and laughs all around. Rick approached her, his own smile more subdued than the others. "Think it'd be alright if I went up to see him?"

Marilyn nodded. "Okay, but not too long. He's still awful weak."

Nearby, Lia overheard and suppressed a grin. In the few days she'd cared for Shane, Marilyn's timid nature had waned as her confidence increased. Having someone else to look after proved to be good for her. Hopefully, these changes in her would last once Shane was on his feet again.

Grimes nodded and headed for the stairs. Within moments he stood outside the open door to Shane's room. His friend noticed him standing there and gave a weak smile. "Hey."

"Hey, yerself."

"Well, come on in. I ain't gonna bite ya. Can barely even lift my head."

Rick smiled and entered the room. He seated himself on the floor beside the mattress where Shane lay. "How're you feeling?"

"Like shit. How long've I been out?"

"'Bout three days. Pretty touch and go for a while."

"Yeah, that's what my nurse said." Shane grinned. "You see her? Pretty little thing, ain't she?"

Rick chuckled. "You are feelin' better if you're talkin' like that."

"Long as I can admire a pretty lady I know I ain't dead."

Grimes sobered a little. "You talked a lot when you were in your fever."

Shane snorted. "Must've heard some crazy shit."

"Some of it," his friend nodded, "Some of it was more like you were tryin' to confess everything before you went. Like the time when you were a kid and you shaved the neighbor's cat."

Shane uttered a weak laugh. "Aw hell, I forgot all about that."

"There were other things, too."

"Yeah?" Shane turned his head towards the window, staring out into the cold winter day. "Like what?"

Rick stared at him. "You don't remember?"

"I don't remember anything since I passed out in the RV," his friend answered.

Rick swallowed. "You told me about you 'n' Lori."

Shane was silent for some time. "What're you talkin' about?"

The silence stretched between them. Shane continued to stare out the window, waiting for something, an accusation, a plea that it was all a delusion, something. But Rick just waited. It was an old tactic they'd used on suspects, back when they were still cops and the world made sense. Silence was oppressive to the guilty. They always felt compelled to fill it. Shane knew this. He closed his eyes. "You were dead, man. I mean, I never would've left you there if I thought you were still alive. But I didn't know... There were walkers everywhere, and soldiers were shooting people out in the halls, and the power went out and all those machines you were hooked to went quiet. And I couldn't hear your heartbeat," his voice cracked, his chin began to tremble, "I thought you were gone."

Rick touched his arm. His friend drew away, eyes still closed. "And Lori was so alone. She was takin' care of Carl and hatin' herself for fighting with you and she...she missed you. We both missed you, man. And I was alone, too, y'know? We just...we didn't have anybody else."

Tears leaked from Shane's closed eyes and left a damp spot on the pillow beneath his cheek. "Then, when you came back," he sniffed, "she blamed me for leavin' you behind. She blamed me for what we did, like I lied to her. How could she think I'd lie about that? About my best friend."

Rick didn't say anything. He sat with his arms resting on his knees and stared down at his boots, listening to his friend's confession. It hurt to hear these things, but they needed to be said. He remembered all too vividly the desperate, pleading look in Shane's eyes at the height of his delirium, as if his guilt were eating him alive. Had he learned of these sins in any other way, Rick would have been hard-pressed to forgive Shane. But seeing him close to death, caught in the throes of an illness brought on by a wound he received while saving Carl, Rick couldn't bring himself to hate his friend for what he'd done.

"I tried to explained it to her," Shane continued, unable to stop now that the floodgates had lifted, "When we were at the CDC, I found Lori alone and I tried to explain what happened at the hospital, how I believed you were dead. But I was drunk and...and so angry and...I missed what we had. I didn't mean to hurt her, I swear, I just-" Shane was overcome with sobs that wracked his frail body, unable to continue.

God, Rick remembered the next morning after their drunken celebration. The scratches on Shane's neck and the way Lori tensed at his presence. Rick had seen, but he hadn't really understood. He hadn't wanted to.

He put his arms around the other man and gently cradled Shane's head against his shoulder. "Shh. It's okay, brother. I forgive you."

"I'm sorry," Shane choked.

Rick held him until his sobs gradually subsided. Shane then drew away, wiping his eyes with the heels of his hands. The two men sat in silence for a few seconds until they noticed Marilyn standing in the doorway with a laden tray in her hands. The young woman stared at them uncertainly. "Sh-should I come back later?"

"No," Shane said, "It's alright. Come on in."

Rick got to his feet. "I was just leavin' anyway." He shared one last understanding look with his friend before he left the room. Marilyn hesitated, then went to kneel beside Shane. She set the tray across his lap. "I brought you some soup."

Shane smiled. "Smells good."

Marilyn stared at his tear-stained cheeks. Noticing this, Shane's expression sobered. "Guess you heard some o' that."

The young woman lowered her eyes. "I...I did some bad things before I came here."

"Not as bad as what I did, I bet."

The look in her far-off gaze turned sorrowful. "Worse."

Shane looked at her and saw that she wasn't lying. He reached out and touched her hand. "Hey."

Her large eyes met his. Shane was struck by their amber color, as well as the memories they contained. Memories someone so young shouldn't have to carry. He curled his fingers around hers. "Thanks for takin' care of me, Marilyn."

Marilyn smiled. "You're welcome, Shane."

A/N: I'm well aware that this is totally different from how things played out in the graphic novel and how they'll probably play out in the TV series, but darn it, I like Shane and I plan to keep him around. So I figured, since his guilt is what's driving him so crazy, why not let him get it all off his chest so he can go back to being the cool guy we all remember from the pilot episode.

And if you don't like it, just keep telling yourself "It's only a fanfic." Or, better yet, write one of your own! ;-D