Three days. It took three impossibly long days for Daryl to walk through that gate again. She didn't know what she would say to him - if she should even try to say anything at all to him - and if she should, where she would find the words. Maggie was the one who had alerted her to his presence, pulling her aside when she was just leaving the house.

"Daryl's back," she told her. "Thought you'd want to know."

"He... okay?"

"The pair of them are okay, and we'll be having deer for dinner."

"Thanks," she told her sister. "Gonna... inside..."

She had been shut up in the house since. It didn't matter that she had promised Morgan she would train, or Carl she would meet his little sister Judith. She didn't know how to face the man she had unleashed all her pent up anger at. Part of her knew it wasn't fair - but a bigger part of her, right in that moment, didn't care. Maybe most of her still didn't care. They had left her - they had, but it still felt like trying to convince herself - trying to absolve herself for becoming what she had became.

Outside the window, she could see Daryl speaking to Rick. He was whole and unhurt. In need of a shower and maybe a better meal or two, but still, he was alive. And himself. And she was a ghost haunting them all that maybe would've been better off left behind. A memory to keep, to turn over, to remember fondly, or even forget. Anything would've been better than this.

Daryl's sharp eyes turned towards her window and regarded her evenly. She didn't move. Didn't flinch. Watched him just as steadily in return. He said something to Rick, who in turn turned looked towards the window to smile, and turn back to him, hands gesturing as he continued to speak. When the pair finally parted, Daryl nodded in her direction - so slightly anyone else would've missed it - and walked away.

She turned away and walked into the living room, twisting her hands in front of her. Her thoughts were racing, mixing with fragments of recovered memories and dreams, making her sick to her stomach with nerves. She didn't know how to do this - had never fought with someone before, except for Morgan - and their fights weren't personal. Words didn't wound them, only sparked anger and pushed them further when they needed to go further. This though, was a tender bruise.

It seemed to happen unconsciously that she found herself standing in front of the bathroom mirror. She regarded her blue eyes - the blonde hair - her scars. She opened her mouth and shut it again. Tilted her head. Concentrated.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I... I'm sorry. Sorry. I'm sorry."

She growled, a frustrated sound. She hated speaking. How her words came out jumbled, hesitant - if at all. It made everything harder. Made her sound stupid. Slow. She knew it. She preferred the silence. Not getting close to anyone. Not having to say anything. No one asking you to say anything. But now she needed words.

"Was wrong. I was... wrong. Wasn't... wasn't... fair. You didn't... leave me on... on purpose. Accident. Bad accident. Not fair... to say things I... said. I said them. I'm sorry. Just... angry. So... angry. So angry. Don't want to be... like this. I wish... I want to go... back... sometimes. To her. Beth. To... me -"

She broke off, sobbing low in her throat, tears pushing past her eyes. She cried on the bathroom floor for a long time. Until her chest ached and it hurt to breathe. She heard Morgan outside the door, then Maggie, then nothing. For a long time there was nothing. And still she cried, mourning, grieving - wanting with everything inside of her to be different. To change.

"I wish..." she said quietly to herself, "... just change."

When the tears that had seemed like they would never stop finally did, she washed her face with cold water, feeling her eyes swollen and stinging. She looked worse than before. She took her hair out of its ponytail, brushed it back with her fingers, and pulled it back up. She knew she would have some explaining to do. Rolling her shoulders, she looked at her reflection once more.

"Sorry," she said to herself again, practicing. "I am... sorry."

When she opened the door, she was startled to see Daryl. He had been sitting next to the door, knees drawn up half-way, resting his arms on them. She felt a sharp pang of embarrassment, wondering how much he had heard, or what he had been told to get him here, sitting on her floor. He looked up at her, not moving to stand, eyes cautious.

"Y'alright?" he asked her.

"Sorry," she squeaked out, hating the way it sounded. "For... things I said. Before you... went... away. Sorry. Wasn't fair. Wasn't... right."

"Y'ain't gotta apologize to me," Daryl said. "You have your reasons for bein' pissed off. I shouldn'ta just taken off like that. I was pissed too."

"Sorry," she said again, sitting in front of him.

"Not at you," he said with a quiet huff. "At me. At everyone. At what happened - what we let happen. And y'were just gone. Like that. Again."

"I -"

"And I get it," Daryl told her. "Believe me. I get it. This place... it wasn't for me at the start - hell, it still ain't. I still gotta get out. Be out there. I still gotta fight - I can't pretend these walls will keep what's out there... out there. Not forever. I can't just play house. I can't blame everyone for wanting to, but I can't."

"Still... sorry."

"Alright. Then me too. I was just... worried about ya. I'm not great at the sharing thing either. Talkin' 'bout feelings. You got on my ass about it before, right up in my face, so this ain't exactly our first time chewin' each other out."

"I don't... wanna... be this way," she said, not looking at him.

"You're not so different," he told her, sliding his hand into hers and squeezing it gently. "Y'always were a force to be reckoned with. Just now, everyone knows it. Including you."

"Thank you... for..." she faltered, throat thick with tears again, "...coming back."

"Could say the same t'you, girl."