Shall we do the disclaimer thing? Awww-you know I don't own the TWD or anything related 'cept mah OC's...

Did I lose you all after that last chapter? Gruesome, wasn't it? Well, it can't be all bunnies and lollipops for our gang of merry survivors...

Chapter 7

Aliya scrubbed until her skin was red, trying to remove every inch of dirt and molecule of scent still left on her from the day's work. She told herself that everything was going to go down the drain, along with the grit and stink. All the guilt. The fear. The sadness. She washed her hair carefully and shaved everything, taking as long as she could under the hot water. Her face was tender but the water felt good everywhere else.

Aliya changed into the loose cargo pants and thin sweater that Bridgette had found for Daryl. She towel-dried her hair, leaving it damp, and went back to Daryl's room, knocking on the door softly, grateful for the bath and shower in the basement. She didn't feel like much talking to anybody right now, especially not about what they'd done earlier that day. She opened the door slowly and found him sitting on the couch, sipping from the bottle.

She sat down next to him and he handed her the bottle. He thought to himself that she smelled a whole lot better than she had, but decided it was best to keep it to himself. Somehow, "Hey, you don't smell like burnt, rotting flesh anymore" was not something she needed to hear right now. Wasn't really anything anybody ever needed to hear, come to think of it. Aliya took the bottle and chugged down a good long drink and handed it back to him, growling as the alcohol burned her throat.

He looked at her and sat it on the other side of him. "Prob'ly not a good idea on an empty stomach."

Daryl looked at her as she sat there silently. Her hair was damp and curly, falling down her back and over her shoulders. She wasn't wearing any makeup, not that she wore much to begin with. A long fringe of dark lashes surrounded her dark green eyes. Those eyes. Pretty much the first thing he'd noticed on her, really noticed. Sad eyes, knowing eyes, eyes that by now he could read at a glance. Daryl's own eyes moved down to the thin navy blue sweater she was wearing. The way it hugged her body here and…there. The way the pants had fit loosely, showing off a little skin between the top of the waist and the bottom of her sweater as she had turned around to close the door when she came in. Stop it, Dixon.

Daryl knew that he was in dangerous territory now. Ever since Christmas he'd allowed himself to play a game of "what if." Ever since she'd said what she did about caring for him. He wondered if she meant anything more than she'd said. He didn't have the least bit of evidence that Aliya considered him anything more than a friend. Not when they'd been drunk, not on the occasions that they'd spent the night in the same room, not even at Christmas when the emotions were running pretty high, did they ever even so much as exchange a friendly kiss. He gave himself a swift mental kick. No, this isn't any different, he told himself. Stop torturing yourself. She's your friend. That's all. But he didn't think he was going to be satisfied with that much longer.

"Nope." she shook her head. "Prol'ly not. Getting' drunk is not what I need to do tonight."

"Nope." he mimicked her. "Prol'ly not."

She grimaced at him, screwing up the corner of her mouth a bit. "What I need is to go back to my own room and get some sleep."

Daryl nodded his head. "Good idea."

Aliya stood up and walked towards the door. She turned as she put her hand on the knob. "Thanks." she said softly, looking at him.

"For what?"

"Just thanks."

XXXXX

Aliya laid in bed, the room to herself. She didn't know where Bridgette was and frankly, she didn't give a rat's ass. Hopefully she was somewhere that would keep her occupied. All night long occupied. Aliya had been tossing and turning for hours. She rolled over to her side, the tears streaming down. She was as uncomfortable with crying as she was with not knowing why exactly she was still crying. Guilt? Collective loss for so many people-the people that were now ashes in the bottom of a pit? Realization that the world really had gone to shit and we, meaning she and the rest of the survivors, may not be at the top of the food chain anymore? Realization that it was her big idea to corral them into a pit and set them on fire?

She told herself all the things that Shane and Daryl had said trying to convince the others to do it in the first places. All the excuses. It was us versus them. We'd just be doing it one by one anyway. They're dead already. Now they won't be able to hurt one of us. She thought about Carl. Sweet, funny, all-seeing Carl who didn't miss a thing and was becoming his own young man. She thought about how she'd feel if one of them had managed to bite him and she started to cry harder. It was the right thing to do. Walkers were massing lately. Gathering together in herds. More difficult to deal with in larger numbers. It had to be done. But the logic didn't make it any easier to forget the smell. Or the idea that deep down, she was a monster. Just like the her Daddy. A killer. She just killed…walkers.

Aliya rolled to her other side and put a pillow over her head. It smelled, clean, crisp, like fresh air. She breathed deeply and began to choke, partly on her own tears, partly on a feint wisp of acrid, foul-smelling smoke that came from deep within her lungs. She thought about her family now. They were spared all this. A blessing in disguise, Momma would have said. It was. Their world had already gone to shit, long before the virus had ever started to mutate, spread, and envelop the whole world. They were all long gone. Aliya was alone then. She was alone now. She closed her eyes and sobbed into the pillow, holding it tight to muffle the sounds. She was fucking tired of being alone.

XXXXX

Daryl woke with a start when he heard the door open and close quietly. It was well after two in the morning and the whole house was quiet. He was aware of someone in the room with him, standing near the door. He could smell the clean scent of deodorant soap. "All?" he said in a whisper. He heard her draw in a breath. "What's wrong?" He sat up quietly.

She didn't move. "Can…" Long silence. "Can I sleep in here tonight?" she whispered, her voice cracking. Daryl swung his legs off the bed and stood up, reaching for the switch on the battery-operated lantern on the table next to the bed. He could see her, her back against the door, a blanket over her arm. Her hair was down and messy against the front of her large men's button-down shirt. She was looking down at the floor and he could see in the dim light that she was chewing on her bottom lip, eyes shiny.

Aliya kept looking down until Daryl was standing right in front of her. She slowly moved her eyes up his frame, noticing that he was wearing nothing but a pair of knit boxers slung low. She could see the scar near his hip where the arrow had come out from the back, a through-and-through wound, through the front and back, the same bolt from his crossbow. She could also see a tattooed name over his heart. She eyes worked her way up to his and she unconsciously held her breath, still biting her lip.

She dropped the blanket as Daryl reached out his hands and pulled her to him suddenly, forcefully. His hands moved to her back, pressing her against him, moving through her hair. Aliya had her hands on his chest and closed her eyes. "I don't want to be alone tonight." she whispered.

Daryl didn't answer with words. Everything he told himself earlier about being friends had gotten covered up in the depths of his brain by a great big yellow Caterpillar backhoe burying his common sense. He moved his hands down and wrapped his arms around her waist, picking her straight up as her arms wrapped around his shoulders. He held her in mid air for a second, eye level now, and studied her face. It was still flushed from the heat of the fire, soft, glowing pink across her cheeks and nose. Her eyes were dark like coals, the little bed-side lamp a tiny speck of light reflected in her pupils.

Aliya opened her mouth slightly and Daryl moved his lips to hers, stopping a millimeter before touching them with his. He could feel their warmth, feel her breath escaping from between them. He brushed them lightly with his, feeling their softness, a tiny whimper from her told him what he wanted to hear, what he needed to hear. He walked them backwards, still holding her up tightly, until he reached the couch, and sat her down as he did, pulling her on to him.

Daryl's hands moved to her ribs, pulling her to him like a rag doll. He kissed her hard, his mouth covering hers, half-holding his breath. He stopped and pulled back, looking at her, moving the long strands of hair out of her eyes with his hands. He was suddenly aware that all that was between them was his ragged boxers and some dead guy's business shirt that she'd been sleeping in. He was also aware the smoothness of her legs against his and the warmth of her hands on him.

"No." he said, sharply.

"What?" she said breathlessly.

"No. Not like this." he said, shaking his head. "Yer' upset. You been cryin' all night. Ain't right." He loosened his grip on her waist, but didn't let go totally. She was still sitting on his lap, her legs bent underneath her, her hands on his chest. Daryl was now painfully aware that certain parts of him could contradict what he'd just said, if he were not careful.

"You don't want to?" Aliya was baffled. Between the door and the couch, something happened and she had no idea what.

"Not like this. Feel like I was takin' advantage."

"So…" Aliya looked at him, her eyes wide. "I'm really confused. I thought at the door, we…" she dropped her hands and folded them nervously, "You don't want me?"

"Din't say that." Daryl took her chin in his hand. "I want you. This ain't you t'night."

Aliya climbed off of him and moved to the end of the couch. "Wow." she sighed. She put her hand to her mouth and leaned on the arm of the couch.

"Lookit, I didn't say I didn't want ya'. I just don't want there ta' be any…regrets." he sighed. "I don't need the 'I made a mistake, we just need ta' be friends' speech tomorrow morning'." He moved to the end of the couch with her. "I'd rather not do it. Ever. Not if it's gonna' change things 'tween us." he said quietly.

She closed her eyes, turning her head away from him and nodding. She let out a ragged sigh and said "You're right." He could see her breathing slowly, deep measured breaths, trying to maintain her composure. Aliya was letting it all settle in. After a couple minutes, she took a deep breath. "I never in a million years thought…" Daryl cut her off mid-sentence.

"What, ya' never thought I'd have a conscience?" he said, his voice tense.

"No, stupid, I never thought I'd be glad a guy turned me down." she said flatly. She looked at him blankly, waiting for his response.

Daryl shrugged and rubbed his upper arm with his other hand, looking down at his feet. "Din't exactly turn ya down." he grinned. "More like, asked for a rain check. Yer' still sleepin' here t'night."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." he said. "N' I still get ta' kiss ya." Daryl moved quickly down the couch to her and pulling her on his lap once more.

"Nope. You don't get to do that now." she grinned, tracing her fingers over the tattoo on his chest. Daryl became embarrassingly aware of every scar and mark on himself. He also became embarrassing aware once more of what little there was actually between them still.

"Now yer' just bein' a fuckin' tease." he said, burying his face in her neck. He laid a slow, lasting kiss on her carotid, feeling her pulse on his lips. Her heart was beating fast. Aliya dipped her head and rolled her shoulder, letting out a uncharacteristic little giggle.

"Nuh-huh. I'm not the one who put the brakes on." she said quietly. She book his face between her hands and stared into his blue eyes, dark in the dim light of the tiny lamp. "We don't need to rush this, do we." Aliya sounded more like she was trying to convince herself than Daryl.

"No." he said.

"No." she repeated. "So I should let you put some pants on, huh?"

"Definitely." he said, Aliya still holding his face. She looked at him and drew her mouth to the side in a little smirk, nodding her head slowly, slightly.

She removed her hands and climbed off him, moving to the other side and turned her back to him.

"Ok, I can't see nothin'."

"Seein' weren't tha' problem." Daryl snorted as he walked to the end of the bed and sat down facing her, pulling on a pair of loose fatigues and a sleeveless t-shirt. He walked back over to her and kicked her foot lightly with his. "We good?" he asked.

Aliya looked up at Daryl from the couch. "Yeah. We still good." she nodded.

"Good. Then ya'll forgive me for this." Daryl said, picking her up swiftly and throwing her over his shoulder, moving to the bed and tossing her down on her back with a bounce and a squeal. He plopped down on the bed beside her and turned out the light before he turned to face her. "Now, shut up 'n let me get back ta' sleep." he said, drawing her to him, one arm over her hip, his face buried in her hair.

"Daryl?" she said a minute later.

"Shut up, woman." he said sleepily.