HGRHfan35 - I honestly think Daryl is concerned about Rick, but the only way he knows how to address his shithouse rattery is to call him out on it. Maybe he secretly hopes if he points it out, someone else will deal with it. We all know how Daryl is about emotions and such. Also those apple-cinnamon muffins sound like pure bliss. I'll take forty of them. ^_^

ldyjaydin - Thank you!

Selbyzipper - I know. I skipped out on all the action on the inside...for a devious reason. Mwahaha!

Lilone1776 - I think, unlike Rick, the Lt. is better equipped to deal with the stress though. He was a soldier who saw action overseas afterall, think he's used to all the tips and tricks of the trade not to let things get too deep inside.

GG - Gotta love snipers. Give them a good perch and a decent rifle and they can take the world on. Next chapter is Caryl lovin' I swear! It'll be worth the wading through this one, I promise.

Axelrocks - Yeah, poor Rick. The man needs a hug, and then some lovin' in that order. I do so love the man, but I hate the direction he's going on the show, but at least it's realistic. Leading people can take a toll on one's mental health.

Brazen Hussy - Ah, ex-Catholic huh? Explains why you're drawn to the bad boy types. XD

Peta2 - Dary's working up to something...you notice he didn't reject the hug at all this go around. It was almost natural for him. Next chapter, Caryl goodness, promise!

skittletitz - Aw! How kind! You are too sweet! I'm glad that you're not a heart surgeon though...don't know if I'd like the idea of my updates causing trauma. ^_^ Still a sweet thought though.

MollyMayhem84 - I would never kill anyone...yet...*evil face* No, but honestly, I do like to like a character death great thought before committing to it. Daryl is crafty and the while process was fun for me, thinking up ways to kill walkers is a pass time of mine. Because I'm morbid apparently.

Violeta27 - Vi...you are most beloved. *hugs* And yes, where did all those walkers come from? Good question indeed.

Surplus Imagination - When you started that analogy I was scared, but it turned out hilarious. Thanks!

spygrrl99 - Yes, Rick needs a wake up call. The poor man. I just feel so bad for him...he's really losing it. Takes things to heart and it's not healthy.

AFishNamedSushi - You may have been completely right on Daryl's reason for being impatient. And the reason behind the red thing will turn up in a few chapters...because I wanted to write it into the story now that I brought it up...

Ah, sorry for this chapter, guys. It's Caryl-less. I apologize. But...stuff happens.

Chapter Thirty-Four: Arranger

**Old Missy**

Under the weight of a sturdily built abomination, she struggled, clogs sliding on the floor of her office as he tried to remove the dead corpse from the one room in on the whole property she had felt safe in.

The onetime man was too big and she was too small, but she pushed and dragged, trying to remove the thing from her haven.

Clean-up was the hardest part. They found new things ruined by the abominations, not just her beautiful garden that promised food for all of them, but icons knocked off their bases, things trampled under careless feet, windows smashed and blood and gore everywhere from walkers that trampled through the blood of other walkers and dragged the muck with them.

She was determined to get every inch of her convent back in top form again. Just because the devils wrecked her back gate and let themselves in didn't mean she couldn't keep their home civilized.

Tugging on the corpse's arm, she flailed backwards onto her ass as the limb pulled away at the socket.

Collapsing onto the hard stone floor with the arm, she sighed heavily and grimaced at the feel of slick, sticky blood that coated her from the separated limb.

"Good Lord," she sighed.

Eyeing the ceiling overhead, she recalled the day with Sister Gertrude and remembered that there was no point in invoking His name anymore. They were in this alone it seemed.

She wasn't sure if God had abandoned them or forgot about them or just plain didn't exist, but she had the distinct feeling that they were alone. That her prayers, her time spent in devotion to Him had been a waste of time and energy.

It made sense to her.

She wasn't a simple mind by any means.

If someone as pure and kind of heart as Sister Gertrude could become something ugly and wicked as an abomination, then surely there was no need for any of her vows, for any of her formalities.

The thought of losing something so beloved brought tears to her eyes and she bowed her head to weep.

But that voice in the back of her head told her to 'stop it' and she did, sniffing back her sorrows. One didn't get places by weeping like a schoolgirl and it only proved to upset the others.

Clearing her throat, she eyed the corpse, tackling her task once more with vigour.

"Come on," she groaned. "You're leaving one way or the other, mister. I want you out of my room," she ordered, tugging on the back of his collar instead of on a limb, "out of my home," she managed to get him moved a few inches, "out of my convent and out of my life." Her hands slipped their grip on the shirt and she fell onto her ass again.

Sighing heavily, she brushed sweat off her brow with the back of her grimy hand. "You are a wicked dog," she declared.

"I thought I was the wicked dog."

She glanced behind her at the doorway where Lafayette settled smugly.

"Some more than others," she replied softly.

Chuckling, he stepped inside, gripping the corpse where she had, tugging him up and out of the room for her.

Climbing to her feet, she grabbed hold of the arm and followed.

The Lieutenant placed the man just outside in the hall for the time being, turning around to collide with her.

She ducked her head and placed the arm on the body quietly, before hurrying back into her office, Lafayette at her heel.

Dropping to her knees, she surveyed the bloody damage the creature left on her floor, deciding the rug was safe, but the stones would need a good scrubbing later with the stiff brush.

He dropped down beside her on his hands and knees.

She noticed three of his knuckles on his left hand were bloody, seemed they were freshly cracked and bleeding again. Looking from the wounds to his face, she felt like crying again.

"Did I do that?" She asked gently.

He beamed at her and held up his hand. "What? These? Naw, I jammed them in the door."

She studied his eyes and felt like breaking down all over again. "You're lying."

"Am I?" He inquired.

"I can always tell when you're lying."

"Even when I—"

"Especially when you," she replied, dropping her gaze from his. "I've never hit anyone before."

"You're under a lot of stress," he said. "I'd imagine you're losing a lot of faith in the man upstairs."

"That's hardly a reason to become so violent." She stated, getting to her feet.

The Cajun popped up as well, still grinning at her. "Well, if it makes you feel better, I've had worse."

"It doesn't." She admitted, moving to her desk. Using her scissors to cut off a few strips of cloth from her once white blouse, she motioned him over.

Taking the Cajun's large, long fingered left hand in hers, she began to repair the damage she did to him, bowing her head in repentance to him. She felt so foolish. Never in her life had she ever drew blood from a human being with malicious intent, never would she again. Not after the shame she felt over it.

"I'm sorry." She whispered. "For being so hard on you lately."

"Aw, I don't mind you being a spitefire, I'm used to strong women."

Tying the tiny strips of cloth tightly around his knuckles, the woman made a small sound.

Ducking his head, he peered up at her. "Are you alright?"

She offered him a small smile. "Oh, good heavens, I'm fine, Lafayette. I'm not breaking down on you, I'm just…thinking."

His pointer finger curled around a few of her own delicate digits. "You should think less and act more." He advised. "It's better for you."

"Coming from a man who does his thinking with his mouth?" She shot back.

"Hey, I do some of my best work with this mouth," he teased.

Looking up, she tried to decide whether he was being purposely flirtatious with her or just oblivious, at the look of shock that hit him, she figured it was the latter. Hell, she was a nun and even she knew what he was aiming at when he said what he said.

"Ha, well…" he muttered.

She tugged her fingers out of his grip. "Um-hm?"

"What can I say? Sometimes the charm just spills out unexpectedly."

"Oh, that was charm? Sounded more like sexual innuendo to me," she replied, moving towards her shattered window and drawing the curtains open completely to let more light in. "Close the door, Lafayette."

"Being dismissed already? Must have really embarrassed myself," he shot back.

Glancing away from the damage she was surveying, she smiled a little. "I didn't say I wanted you on the other side, honey."

With his smile dying fast, the Cajun obeyed her, moving to close the door.

She eyed the window again, the bottom three panes on the floor to ceiling length window were broken, she'd have to board them up before critters came in and started making her office into a den of reproductive purposes.

"Go to my chair," she commanded, folding her arms and turning to watch him awkwardly stand before her chair. "Sit, honey."

He took a seat, hands resting nervously on his knees, as though he were afraid to settle completely in her spot.

"My name is Grace Harper," she said. "I don't…I don't think I have the right to be Mother Superior Philomena, anymore."

His brow puckered and he got that lost little boy in a department store look that he got when perplexed.

"Just thought you should know."

"Are you sure?" He asked. "That's a big decision."

"Influenced by a lot of hard evidence and long nights of horrifying thoughts."

He shifted in his spot. "Alright, as long as you thought this through, I'm behind you one hundred percent."

"I don't want you backing me, honey. I want you to take over for me." She moved across the room to stand at his side.

He eyed her for a moment, before shaking his head once. "No."

"Lafayette, please…"

"No. You lead; I follow your commands. That's the pecking order."

"Not anymore."

"Yes, now and always. I'm not fit to lead anyone."

"Lieutenant…" she urged.

"I'm going to sit here in protest until you renege that offer." He stated firmly.

Folding her arms, she stood quietly at his side. "Are you going to be childish about it all day?"

"Yep."

"You're stronger and smarter than me, Lafayette. I think you'd lead the sisters of this convent better than an old heretic ever could." She whispered. "We are so far removed from reality, because I removed us from it. I was the one who hid everything from the others, I knew…when the others didn't come back, when planes stopped flying overhead, when you showed up, one soldier on our wall alone, I knew. And I kept selling them on God and the belief that He'd provide, I kept throwing sand in their eyes and reassuring them that He would lead us to safety. That paradise was just around the corner. But they were lies. The only person who acted, who provided, who protected us was you. You armed us on the walls and at the gates, while I prayed to a being that may or may not exist. Who…even if he does exist doesn't care about us enough to prevent Sister Gertrude from…" she finally broke, there was no way she could stop the tears now. "There was so much blood…and the smell, Fayette! And the sounds that Sister Mary Monica was making…those…death rattles…she was struggling so hard for life…how could God do that? To them? They were such pious, kind women and He…we are alone…this I know now. He's abandoned us!"

A strong, rough hand slid around her waist and she was pulled into his lap like a child, where she buried her face into his chest and heaved sobs. She had promised herself she wouldn't break down again, but…it was so hard not to. The past week came rushing at her and she would have crumpled anyways if it wasn't for the Lieutenant.

She felt him tugging off her clogs, pulling off the socks she wore inside them and sniffled a half choked laugh, wriggling her bare feet.

When she was a little girl, her mother used to rub her bare feet whenever she was nervous or anxious. It was why she had sometimes liked to wander about the convent without shoes or stockings on under her habit, it was a comfort of sorts to her and of course the Cajun knew about this quirk of hers. He was anything if not observant.

He ran his calloused hands over her bare feet gently, calming her as she lay collapsed against him.

"Okay," he whispered into her hair. "If leading them is playing this hard on you, I'll take over some of the duties. But I still think you should be the one calling the ultimate shots around here. I think you're smarter than me by about eighty IQ points, which doesn't seem like much, but actually means the difference between Einstein and Forrest Gump."

Again she breathed a half sob, half chuckle against his throat.

"I may have failed you all today," he whispered, stroking her hair tenderly. "But I will make this place safer, stronger. I won't fail you again."

She looked up from his chest to find his face hard, determined. Afraid of that hard look it had, she reached up and ran a hand over it, hoping to smooth out the edges. "You haven't failed us, honey. You saved us. All of us. That was you."

Grey eyes studied her for a moment, before he smiled. "Can I have a breakdown too?" He asked softly, "Because I think I'm due for one."

Placing her cheek against his collar bone, she nodded. "I think it's okay, if you want."

He beamed, wrapping his long arms around her tighter. They were like steel cages around her small frame and she would be lying if she said she didn't enjoy the feeling of them encasing her. The man was just made to hug.

"I'm going to have to schedule one in for later, though." He said, hands moving soothingly over her back. "I have to get back outside and clean up more bodies."

She pulled away to eye him for a moment, suddenly very aware of how close they were, how hard his lean body was under her. "Sorry," she said slipping out of his lap to stand, "I didn't mean to keep you. I should get back to work too."

He nodded, still sitting in her chair. "I'll get the fellow by your door when I go."

"Thank you, he's awfully big." She replied. "I don't know what I'm going to do about that window." She added, nervous under his gaze as he continued to sit and eye her. "Any reason you're not leaving, Lieutenant?"

"My Mamere's name was Grace." He admitted quietly.

She blinked. "Really?"

"It's kind of odd for me."

"Why?"

He shifted uncomfortably in the chair. "Well, you know…it's not…you know?"

"Not at all," she moved towards the door, opening it for him. "You never call me by my name anyways, honey. Now let's get going. Back to work."

Leaping out of the chair, he beamed, stopping her from leaving before him, with a hand on the door frame. "You know, I'm not much of a holy roller...I don't pray or any of that, but...we all survived one hell of an uggie attack. All of us, not a single loss. Maybe it's small miracles, but...I wouldn't say you should hang up the habit yet."

"Honey, between miracles and luck, there's not much difference."

He nodded. "I know, but...it was one hell of a blessing not to lose anyone." Flashing her a shy grin, he dropped his arm. "My girls are safe, that's something even I'd thank the good Lord for."

Touching a hand to his chest, she smiled. "I know you're trying hard, honey. But the fact is even if it was a miracle performed by God himself, my days of putting no mortal man above him are over. The only creatures on my mind now are those on these convent grounds, they come first and foremost and this is something a good nun doesn't ever do. I'm not mad at Him, I'm not hateful or resentful, I just feel that my path has shifted and that it's no longer the simple dirt road a Benedictine nun would walk, but a treacherous, dark road that a secular woman needs to walk in order to survive this world." Removing her hand, she slid the simple gold band off her left ring finger and handed it off to the Lieutenant with a small grin. "So, take this, because I have no use for it and stop worrying, my mind is made up and my heart is at peace with my decision."

Holding up the ring, the Cajun smiled. "And what am I supposed to do with this?" He demanded. "It won't even fit on my pinkie finger," to prove his words, he slipped it on his little finger. It went on just fine. "Well, it does...but..." he tugged on the ring. "It...okay it's not coming off. Honeychild!" He began to panic, tugging and pulling at the ring. "It's stuck!"

Touching a hand to her mouth, she buried a laugh in it, face flushing hot with amusement as the soldier struggled like a cat with it's head stuck in a box.

"Does this mean I'm married to Christ?"

Too busy laughing at his terrified look, she shrugged, unable to coherently answer him.

"No, what does this mean, cher? Is this bad?" He demanded.

Still unable to much but laugh at the faces he was making, she shrugged helplessly.

Inhaling deeply, he stopped struggling. "Okay, naw, it's fine. It'll cut off my circulation, then my finger'll fall off, then I'll get the ring back to you...stop laughing!" He laughed with her. "It's not funny!"

"I..." she couldn't finish that, still laughing at how wide his eyes got when he first realized the ring was stuck.

He laughed with her. "It's a punishment, isn't it?"

Finally calming herself, she dropped her hand from her mouth. "Let's try pumping some cold well water on your finger, honey. It's probably just all that..." she broke off giggling again, "struggling."

"You look very pretty when you laugh," he pointed out on their way down the hall towards the kitchen.

"Honey, I'm joining the secular world, but I'm not taking applicants." She stated.

"It was just an observation," he added quickly.

The Cajun Dialect

Arranger – To fix; to repair.