Step by step

Heart to heart

Left, right left

We all fall down

Like toy soldiers

Bit by bit

Torn apart

We never win

But the battle wages on

For toy soldiers

Trish didn't speak for the rest of the day. Memories she had suppressed came bubbling to the surface at the sight of LeAnn's mangled body. If it hadn't been for the bracelet…

She fiddled with it absently as she scanned the horizon from the roof of the roach motel they had settled into for the night. It was a beautiful piece of jewelry in its simplicity, but to her friend it had meant the world. A Christmas gift from her daughter. The little girl had picked out the charms herself, LeAnn had once mentioned, selecting her favorite marine animals from the aquarium she had worked at in Orlando. But now the menagerie of dolphins, otters, whales and sharks hung from Trish's wrist.

The sounds of footsteps crunching along the graveled rooftop gave Trish only a moment's pause. She didn't figure it was time for shift change, so whomever it was had come to talk. It didn't matter who. She wasn't in the mood for company so they wouldn't get any sort of response.

"I'm not good at apologies," she heard Andrea announce from a few feet away, "but Daryl said you knew that woman, so I'm sorry about yelling at you for hitting Shane."

Daryl's smarter than you give him credit for, Trish thought, but didn't say. It was uncanny, the way they could read each other. How he had been the only person in the group who had given her space once they were off the road for the night. But for now, he was just another checkmark on her list of complications.

"There's running water. It's not hot, but I could cover for you until he comes up for his shift." She was talking about Daryl. Was there any decent way to avoid having him run through her mind? "Nobody would blame you if you wanted to turn in a little early." It was probably just a polite way of telling her that she was a mess, but Trish decided to take it at face value. Reluctantly, she stood, and passed the binoculars to Andrea with a nod of acknowledgment.

Sleeping arrangements were pretty much the same as they had been, only instead of tents, they were all in hotel rooms. Daryl and T-Dog had gone to sleep hours ago, having decided that the three of them would rotate the night watch so nobody had to share beds. Trish silently hoped that they were passed out well enough to get an uninterrupted shower as she made her way down the ladder and towards their shared room.

She opened the door as quietly as she could. In the dim light, she could make out the silent lumps of her roommates, with Fish wiggling impatiently near Daryl's feet. Her heart melted at the sight of the little dog, and made a beeline for the pooch as soon as she finished locking up. When Trish picked her up, the warm ball of fur licked her face affectionately. She didn't know whose idea it was to tear Fish away from Carl for the night, but she silently thanked everyone.

There was a butane lantern in the bathroom next to a book of matches. The room lit up after the first strike, and Trish made short work of getting out the towels and soaps she would need before running back to the main room to rummage in her pack for cleaner clothes. Fish was curled back up on the bed next to Daryl, and she wondered briefly what he would think if he saw the "prissy little mutt" sharing his personal space.

As she closed and locked the bathroom door, Trish finally took a good look at the state of her appearance. Covered head to foot in blood and dust. Tear stains carved salty tracks down her cheeks. Her jacket was beyond saving. She peeled it off and watched it fall to the floor. Moments later, the rest of her clothes followed.

Fuck, me, she thought, taking a good hard look at her body. I'm just as scrawny as the rest of them. She placed her hands first at her protruding ribs, along her collarbone, on her hips, across her belly. A twinge of pain as she remembered the life that Lori was carrying. Finally, she removed the bracelets at her wrist and set them on the counter before moving to the shower and stepping under the water.

As expected, it was near freezing, so Trish made short work of washing as thoroughly as possible. The hotel's white washcloth was mottled brown and black by the time she was done with it, but the water served to cleanse more than just her body. While she rinsed her hair, Trish shed the last piece of the City Girl she had tried to cling to for so long.

Everyone from her past was gone. Friends. Family. She could accept that now. Her life…her future…now rested with this bedraggled group of survivors. And Trish would help protect them with her last ounce of energy if it ever came to it.

Daryl woke to the triple tap on his shoulder that marked time for his shift on watch. The faint scent of soap reached him before he cracked open his eyes to see Trish silhouetted by the lantern on the table. He guessed it to be the same outfit she had worn that first morning after they met. She probably didn't realize it, but the white shirt didn't stand a chance at hiding her figure from the light behind her. Their eyes met briefly, but she looked away as soon as it was clear that Daryl was awake and he couldn't read her expression.

Trish moved away from him to sit at the foot of the bed, but he had to pass by to get to the bathroom. They were both closer to the lantern, and he stopped in front of her. Something had changed in Trish when they found her friend on the road. An eerie, icy calm had been her constant companion all day, but now she was…vulnerable.

It took him a moment to realize that she had taken off the bracelets. He knew she wore them to cover the scars, but had never seen her without them since having met her. Without thinking, he reached for her arm to get a better look. His initial thought had been rope bindings, but now Daryl knew better. The lines were too clean. Too straight. Whomever had done this to her used handcuffs.

She didn't flinch at his touch, which he half expected. But that haunted look on Trish's face, etched with grief and anger, it was still there, hiding behind the curtain of hair. He dared to take his other hand and tuck it back behind her ear, tilting her face up to look at him. He knew she didn't want to talk about it yet. She knew he wouldn't push it. That was their understanding, spoken without words, in that single stolen moment.

It was gone as swiftly as it had come upon them. Daryl retreated to the bathroom to take a leak and Trish moved up the bed to crawl under the covers. By the time he had pissed, gotten his boots and jacket on and grabbed his gear, she had fallen into the oblivion of sleep.

Sunlight streaming through the window woke Trish from a dreamless sleep. The first thing she noticed was that nobody was in the other bed. The second thing she noticed was Carol standing in the doorway.

"We tried to let you sleep as long as we could," the older woman said softly, moving into the room. "Is there anything you need before we leave? It doesn't look like there's much packing to do, but Daryl didn't know what you wanted to do with the stuff in the bathroom."

"Just the bracelet," Trish managed to croak out as she sat up and stretched. Her shoes had been moved next to the bed. In fact, the only things left in the room were hers. Daryl and T-Dog had already cleared their belongings out. Carol had silently slipped into the bathroom while Trish tied her sneakers, and when the bracelet dropped into her hand, she noticed something else. It was wet. And cold. Carol had washed the blood from it without her having to ask. "Thank you," she whispered.

Trish had heard about what happened to Sophia, Carol's daughter. How the girl had gotten lost, only to turn up in a barn full of walkers. There was no way that Trish could even begin to compare her losses to Carol's. But there was a nagging voice in the back of her wall that told her this was an opportunity she couldn't pass. Carol was reaching out to her. The least Trish could do was reach back.

"The first walker I killed was my dad," she heard herself say, somewhat detached from the part of her that still didn't want to get close to anyone. Carol paused at the sound of her voice, then took a seat next to her. "It was martial law in Miami after the outbreak hit there. I got stuck downtown for three weeks until my friends and I decided to make a run for it. Papa had been…attacked…and locked himself in the shop. When I went back to get my bike…"

It all seemed like a lifetime ago. Perhaps, in a way, it was. The girl who had bawled her eyes out for two hours on the road out of Miami wasn't who she was now. Trish realized that with a sigh as Carol reached over and pulled her into an awkward embrace. Reluctantly, she returned it, but there was little comfort. Only shared grief.

But it was enough.

**lyric credit** "Toy Soldiers" by Martika