Secrets

Felicia watched a tense exchange occur between Glenn and Maggie, the former accepting a large basket from the latter (for unknown reasons). He shuffled awkwardly up to Felicia, who was sitting on the ground, searching herself and Teeth for ticks, and offered her a peach. She accepted this gladly, biting into it and ripping a small chunk off for her dog.

Glenn proceeded to offer some to Dale, Rick, and Shane, who were strategizing for the day's activities. There was a nervous expression on his face, and he had been acting twitchy and on edge the entire morning.

Andrea emerged from Daryl's tent later, looking like she had accomplished something to be proud of. Ingrid was walking rigidly around the camp, eyes darting to where Daryl was every few seconds. It was getting obnoxious, but seeing as they were both struggling with the same thing, Felicia couldn't snap at her for it.

Later in the day, Shane gathered up the farm workers, women, and Carl to have them start gun training. Ingrid whined the entire way there, but shut up once she had a rifle in her hands. Not even she could complain about feeling more protected than ever before.

Felicia ran a hand through her hair, getting frustrated at her lack of progress. She had been unable to hit her makeshift target any of the times she tried, even after Shane suggested moving closer. Discarding her used up magazine, she reloaded (not without some difficulty), and aimed again, gripping the stupid gun with both hands this time. She fired, finally getting used to the kick of the weapon. The tin can shifted slightly as the bullet whizzed past it, but otherwise remained unaffected.

"Here," said a voice over her shoulder. She turned to see Shane standing uncomfortably close, moving closer and placing his hand below hers. "Line up your line of sight with the gun," he said, moving so that he could help brace with his other hand. She became very aware of how close he was, and although this didn't exactly qualify as an embrace, she couldn't help feeling a tad panicky. "Deep breath," Shane instructed, not letting go of her hands. Felicia did as she was told, and on the exhale, she pulled the trigger. The top half of the tin can exploded into teeny metal fragments.

"Wow," Felicia breathed, turning her face to his. He didn't change his position, instead looking at her the same way. Heart beating loudly, she felt the rest of the world stop moving as she prepared to lose herself in those complicated dark eyes.

Their lips were practically touching when the moment ended, Shane licking his lips, glancing down, and, as if realizing what had almost happened, cleared his throat. "There you go," he said, releasing his grip on her hands. "You just have to get the feel of the gun," he added, stepping backward.

Felicia already missed the extra support he'd been giving her, but as he turned away, she stopped him with, "Shane?" He turned to look back at her, expression hard again. "Thank you," she said quietly.

Shane, for his part, wasn't feeling any less confused than Felicia as he helped Andrea begin training with a moving target. Burying the heat he'd felt in his gut when he had almost kissed Felicia beneath a stony façade, he worked to get Andrea riled up, shouting at her until she finally gave him a disgusted look and marched off. Realizing that he'd pushed her too far by bringing up her late sister, he followed her in his car, apologizing and offering to take her into the suburbs to look for Sophia.

What the hell was happening to him?! Why was he losing so much self-control lately? First Lori, the married, not widowed mother and group's queen bee, and now Felicia, the insightful city girl who somehow managed to see much farther into him than anyone else. Lori, Felicia. Felicia, Lori. Damn it. Was it possible to love two different people?

But it was different for each woman. There was Lori, the pinnacle of the unobtainable, something attractive only because it was off-limits to him. He thought he had a chance when Rick was in the hospital, a chance to finally rise up to his friend's position after years of comparing himself to Rick. He wanted to be the knowing leader, the dedicated husband, the father… He wanted the group members to look at him the way they looked at Rick.

And then there was Felicia. He hadn't even known her that long, and yet whenever he saw her he felt like his head was going to explode. She had bumped into him at the CDC. She had driven all this way with him. She was the only one in this group who wasn't either demanding something of him or chewing him out for something he'd done. And she understood a lot more than she let on. That was unnerving.

After the mishap with the horde of Walkers in the neighborhood, he found himself having sex with Andrea, of all people. But it wasn't her he imagined touching and kissing in his car in the middle of nowhere.

"I don't need a damn babysitter," Daryl snapped at Ingrid when she entered his tent for the millionth time that day, this time with more antiseptic (which she had "borrowed" from Hershel) for his healing wounds. Each time she left his tent, she found herself thinking of another reason to go back and see him, much to his annoyance.

"But-"

"Haven't ya got anything better to do?" demanded the hunter.

"Actually, no," Ingrid snapped back, sitting on the floor and readying the alcohol-soaked rag she had brought. "Hold still," she commanded, in what she hoped was her most authoritarian voice.

She reached forward to touch him, and he jerked away, something not easily accomplished in this small space. "I said I don't need a-"

"Well, that's too damn bad," Ingrid interrupted, scooting closer, arm still extended. "You're stuck with me, whether you like it or not."

Daryl still tensed up when she began cleaning his wound. "You're s'posed to be lookin' for your sister."
"I'm not gonna."

"I don't need your help!" Daryl's voice was louder, and this time he got what he wanted.

Ingrid's eyes narrowed. "Fine." She stormed out of the tent, catching Glenn's eye as she emerged. "Stupid, stubborn son of a-"

"You all right?" Glenn asked, approaching her.

"Yeah," answered Ingrid bitterly, stopping so she could stretch. "But I think Daryl wants to kill me."

"I know how you feel," Glenn responded. Ingrid gave him a questioning look, at which he looked around frantically, backpedaling and giving a stilted excuse, and hurried off. Ingrid took a moment to wonder what had gotten into him, but she could only keep her temper at bay for so long before her thoughts returned to Daryl. Kicking at the grass and dirt beneath her feet, she marched off toward her own tent. Served her right for thinking she could get through that barbed wire outer shell. But she knew better than to push it with Daryl.

And besides, he really had looked like he wanted to kill her.