Through the clouds of dust Merle spied three figures coming toward him – Sandra, the short-haired woman who had been assaulted earlier tonight, and someone they were supporting between them. Hadn't the gray-haired woman told him she had been in the admin building with Daryl when it had blown? His heart sped up and his mouth went dry, and not just from the dust, as he dared to hope. Could this be …?

He stumbled twice as he ran toward the three survivors and his hands were bleeding from catching himself against sharp-edged glass shards and chunks of the ceiling by the time he stopped in front of them. His brother looked terrible. His clothes were spattered with blood, his left leg looked wrong and his left arm was obviously broken, dangling down over the gray-haired woman's shoulders. Blood was seeping from cuts all over his face, arms and chest, shining a bright red amid the pasty dust covering him from head to toe.

But he was alive.

.-.

Daryl slowly raised his head when they stopped. He could feel cool air on his face and hoped they would be out of this apocalyptic landscape soon, preferably before the building caved in completely. Chunks of concrete were still crashing down behind them, but right in front of his feet he saw a line of glass shards rising out of the marble like a shark's teeth – the remains of the glass wall that had blown out in front of them.

Someone was standing in front of him, and he could sense the turmoil in Carol as they stood facing this person. Raising his head further, mindful of the pain, he blinked the blood away and found himself looking at his brother.

.-.

Looking from one man to the other, Sandra carefully slipped her left arm out from under Carol's right on Daryl's back and held his arm up as she stepped away from him, relinquishing her place at his side to Merle who accepted it wordlessly. Fascinated, Sandra watched as Merle, infinitely gently, slid his arm around his brother and briefly touched Daryl's shoulder with his left cheek before taking on his weight.

At the same time, Daryl suddenly relaxed as if he were in the safest place in the world, instead of a burning building with the roof crashing down on him and the floor collapsing under his feet. Daryl was very obviously used to his brother taking care of him, associating him with safety and comfort even now, after all that had happened to him tonight.

Heaving in a lungful of air as if he were forcing it into his lungs against a huge weight pressing down on him, Daryl allowed his head to drop down on Carol's shoulder, even as his good hand tightened around Merle's arm for support.

.-.

"Carol first", Daryl coughed when they reached the ambulances waiting at a safe distance from the burning building. Merle stared at him in disbelief, but relented when he saw the look on Daryl's face. It was a look he had seen before, when Daryl had learned to walk again after nearly losing his leg in the wake of getting himself thrown off a roof. The pain of moving his healing leg had almost forced him to his knees, but he had kept on fighting, unable to give up. His brother was made of tough stuff – and he had proved it again tonight. Over his com, he had listened in on reports very similar to those on the headquarters, but they had been about the spaceport, an hour out from New Atlanta.

From the reports he'd heard, nearly all of the small atmospheric patrol ships had been destroyed in an attack on the spaceport carried out at the same time as that on the base, along with the weapons emplacements on the large generation ships with which the Feina had arrived more than thirty years ago. The huge transport ships were still spaceworthy, and the trained pilots had not been attacked. With the small ships taken out, which had been the backbone of their hold over humanity, and the generation ships still capable of lifting off and escaping Earth's gravity, the New Atlanta contingent, left to its own devices, would have been forced to leave Earth. But to Merle's knowledge there were other spaceports and other bases like New Atlanta.

Merle had to hand it to his brother and the group that had to be in on this – this attack had been excellently planned and executed. The Feina in New Atlanta had been hit with catastrophic effect, their base damaged sufficiently to force them into abandoning it. But of course help would come from the other bases as soon as they heard about this.

And after that, they would retaliate.

.-.

Carol relented at Merle and Daryl's insistence and allowed a paramedic to help her into an ambulance first. Heavily leaning on Merle, Daryl managed four steps – or rather, hops – toward the ambulance to ask where she would be taken. When the paramedic gave them the name of the hospital, he cast a pleading glance at Merle who nodded back.

When a stretcher was lifted out of the second ambulance for Daryl, Merle made sure that they would take Daryl to the same hospital before he helped him lie down on it and allowed him to be loaded in. Looking back toward Shane, who was organizing a search of the building, he waved him over. "I'm going to the hospital with my brother", he told his partner, and Shane nodded, clasping his hand with both of his and wishing him good luck before joining Andrea and the Asian again in the search for suvivors.

With a heavy heart, Merle climbed into the ambulance and hunkered down next to the stretcher with Daryl on it who had mercifully lost consciousness now, watching as the paramedic pulled the doors closed and then banged on the wall separating them from the driver, signalling him to get moving. Next, he fitted an oxygen mask over Daryl's mouth and nose and started picking IV bags, syringes, needles and bandages from the various compartments in the wall. Merle closed his eyes, unable to watch again.

.-.

Carol woke up to a white room, and to Hershel sitting at her bedside. She felt bandages over the cuts on her hands, and she felt a soft pillow under her head. The weight of the blankets covering her was nearly unnoticeable, but she didn't feel cold. The high-pitched whine in her ears was gone.

She didn't feel Daryl.

Frantic, she sat up, ignoring the dizzy spell that had her weaving from side to side at once. Eyes wide and panicked, she stared at Hershel who had been smiling at her but now seemed alarmed at her agitation, reaching out with one hand to get her to lie down again. "Where is he? How is he? Is he alive?" She hated the way her voice was shaking, and the way she kept avoiding his name, afraid that saying it might doom him, when she longed to say it out loud to him for the first time.

"Carol, calm down, please", Hershel begged her. "He's in the room next door, and he's doing fine. Merle is with him." He gently smoothed down a few strands of hair standing out from her head at a wild angle. "I don't sense him either – he had surgery two days ago and he's probably asleep. They're not sedating him any longer – he's asked them not to."

"I need to see him", she panted. "Please, I need to see for myself that he's not locked up, and that they're taking good care of him." Her tired blue eyes pleaded with Hershel. "I have to see for myself that he's better."

Hershel looked doubtful. "Well, knowing Daryl … I'm not sure how he's going to take that. Let me ask him first, okay?" She nodded, and he rose from his chair, putting an arm around her shoulders to help her lie back down again, careful not to touch her bruises which were painful to even look at. "Can you do me a favor?" She nodded, her face a mask of doubt and fear. "Try to calm down for me, please. You're too agitated, that isn't good for you. He'll be angry with me if you don't rest."

This coaxed a smile out of her, and he allowed himself a sliver of hope as he left her room.

.-.

Merle was fast asleep in his visitor's chair, as was Daryl in his bed.

Several clear tubes were running into his right arm from the IV bags suspended above him. A ventilator stood next to the bed, but he was no longer on it. His left arm was bandaged and splinted, the surgical incisions hidden. The cuts on his face, chest and arms were red from the disinfectant that had been sprayed on them, but some of them weren't even visible in the bluish-black bruises blooming on his skin all over his body. He had sensors attached to his arms, neck, and chest for monitoring his vital signs which were displayed on a screen at the head of his bed.

A light blanket covered him from the chest down, insufficient to hide the bulky cast on his left leg which rested on a foam support. His chest rose and fell gently, and Hershel was relieved to see that he was breathing deeply and regularly now. He had six fractured ribs which, along with his other injuries and bruises, had made breathing painful and difficult during the first two days after he'd been admitted the night of the mission. His doctor had had him on the ventilator until the night before when Daryl had demanded to be taken off it, and refused further sedation against the pain.

Stepping up to Merle's chair, Hershel carefully touched the former policeman's shoulder. Merle jerked awake and looked up at him with bleary eyes. "'sup, oldster?" he asked after a quick glance to make sure that his brother was okay.

"She wants to see him", Hershel whispered.

Merle shook his head at once. "Ain't gonna fly. He didn't allow anyone but me into his room the first time. Won't allow it this time either."

This was the answer that Hershel had expected, but he didn't want to give up without a fight. "Won't you at least wait until he's awake so you can ask him? Maybe he'll make an exception for her? She was his partner on …" He trailed off, aware that the subject was highly sensitive with Merle and that the police might still decide to investigate the explosions. None of the others that had taken place worldwide were being investigated so far, though – the Feina were too busy loading what remained of their gear and their people onto their ships to leave Earth to force the issue.

"That's gonna be his answer. This is Daryl we're talking about", Merle stated adamantly. "He ain't gonna want her to see him like this, especially if she was his partner."

"But … how can you be so sure?" Hershel asked, desperate.

"Did you see him after the first time?" Merle asked.

Hershel lowered his head. „Just once, after he came out of surgery." The circumstances of Daryl's injury had been suspicious enough to catch the attention of the authorities, and the only thing that had kept him from being dragged off to a cell in the admin building's basement at the time had been the fact that his face hadn't been recorded by the security cameras in the building he'd investigated. The continued police presence in and in front of his hospital room had kept all potential TE visitors away - and Daryl's refusal to see anyone that showed up at the hospital had driven everyone else off.

"See?" Merle asked triumphantly, still completely oblivious after all this time about the reasons why nobody had even attempted to see Daryl after some time. "He's ashamed about being in here, about gettin' injured … he don't want anybody to see him like this."

A moan from the bed interrupted them, and Hershel didn't hesitate. "Daryl!"

Daryl turned his head on the pillow, ever so slowly, to look at Hershel from bloodshot eyes. The bruises and cuts on his face made for a stark contrast against his pasty skin, and his old mentor winced inwardly. For just a moment Daryl's eyes flicked to his brother, acknowledging his presence and thanking him for being here with him. Then he opened his mouth and drew a ragged breath. "No visitors", he rasped. "Especially her. He's right." His eyes closed again.

Hershel reached out with one hand and gently touched Daryl's right wrist. Then he nodded at Merle and turned to leave. Just as he was about to reach for the door handle, he heard Daryl coughing again and looked back over his shoulder to make sure he was alright.

Daryl was looking back at him, his stitched-up left cheek resting against the pillow. His eyes looked incredibly blue as he held Hershel's gaze.

"How is she?"