Notes: A bit more about Fin's background in this chapter, pretty short one, Chapter 11 is pretty much all M material so it was easier to break it here. I hope you enjoy it! Thanks for reading!

(Updated 4/3 for typos/wording)

Thanks Guys! :D

Chapter Ten

(Fin's POV)

I wake enfolded in someone's arms. Warm heat envelopes my whole back from shoulder to knee. Daryl is wrapped around me like a coat, draped around me, both arms circling my body. My head is tucked under his chin, each puff of air as he breathes moves the short red gold wisps of hair that have worked their way loose around my face.

I lay still trying to separate reality from dream in my mind. Blinking the world into focus.

I've occasionally had wild dreams. I spend a lot of free time reading romance novels; what else could I do?

When everyone you meet eventually tries to kill you or runs screaming away from you it doesn't leave a lot of room for social interaction.

My sex life was beyond dead.

Not that, uh there's been much of one to begin with.

I sit up. He wakes up the second I pull away. The air feels colder this morning again. I grab my boots, silently not saying a thing.

"It's no big deal you know." I stop lacing my boots, wonder if he wasn't actually that clueless last night after all. Heat flushes my cheeks, he continues.

"Even I get nightmares, Hell you should have heard Rick's after Lori died."

I take a shaky breath. "Let's just get going,"

We need to move. The faster we're done with this the quicker I can hide my face in a book at home and avoid him as much as physically possible until my brain works through whatever particular brand of insanity it's employing lately. Maybe if I didn't have to sleep two inches from him I could relax and get over this foolishness.

He helps me pack everything up again, quick and efficient; and I'm grateful for his silence today.

The last thing I want to do is talk about it.

:: walking dead ::

We've walked up and down the stretch of highway east and west of the creek bridge for most of the day, and found nothing.

I'm tired, and cold. The wind has picked up, whips my hair around my face. The air feels heavy on my skin.

It smells like rain, but the chill in the air tells me we might be in for worse when the sun sets.

"Daryl!" I have to shout, but my voice is still mostly carried away by the wind. No response. I turn stare down the stretch of empty road. Turn again, same thing. He's nowhere in sight.

Great. Hell of a time to lose him.

We are way too close to the Peacock farm. It's just north of here by a few miles. I tamp down the dread bubbling up in my stomach and head off the road and into the woods, bow off my shoulder in an instant, arrow nocked just in case.

I find him, finally, down a small crease in the bank near the creek.

He's looking at tracks in the mud. Foot prints: though whether they were made by the dead or the living I can't tell from here.

He looks up sees me and jumps up raising his bow, eyes wary; scanning the tree line.

"What is it? What's wrong?" He climbs up the steep rise boots slipping just a bit in the soft ground.

"I couldn't find you."

He stares at me.

The wind whips through again so hard I'm actually pushed forward a step caught off guard. Daryl steps into me, hand coming up to brace my weight, leans into me so I can hear him over the roaring of the wind in my ears.

"We need shelter now. It's about to get ugly."

I nod, I'm not only one that's noticed the weather turning sour. He leaves my side again, jumps back down towards the river slinging his bow over his shoulder. He stoops back down and grabs some of the red berries off the bush near where he was crouched previously. He holds a hand up to me. "Sumac."

I take a handful, look at it carefully, taste one with my tongue. Yup, Sumac. "Going to find some cover." He nods to me and I walk away from the bank. We'll need ground between us and the water, if it rains the way it looks like it will the water could quickly rise and become dangerous.

I find a stretch of trees banked by half dead kudzu vines. Start pulling out the gear to set up camp. Daryl is only gone a few more minutes, he's picked most of the berries from the sumac bush, hands me more of them while we work. They're tart on my tongue and probably the only thing we'll have to eat tonight, it was a good find.

He helps me unroll and hook clasps together, waits on the ground as I climb, not nearly as high as yesterday. I want as much of the kudzu wind break as possible with the weather moving in. Small flutters of icy sleet trickle down between the branches as I work. I have to keep flexing my fingers to keep them useful, the bark tears at my cold hands making this much more difficult than usual.

I slip on a wet patch coming back down the trunk, still a good ten feet from the ground. I'm lucky Daryl is standing close enough to half catch me before I fall backwards and smash my head on the ground. "Be careful." He sets me on my feet, hands jerking back to his sides while he steps quickly backwards.

"Right." I answer nervously moving away from him as well. Icy drops dot my cheeks, melting on my skin. I can see the tiny ice flecks on my eyelashes. My hands are aching and red by the time I finish tightening the last tie. I hope to God Maggie and Michonne aren't out in this with the baby, if something went wrong and they're out in this weather they'll probably freeze to death, immunity won't save Judith from the cold.

It's starting to rain now. Large snow chilled drops mixed with the sleet as we climb up into the tent, my bag still over my shoulder. There's no time to hang it right now. We do not want to be wet in this weather. Daryl follows right on my heels, moves into the tent with the boosted confidence of one positive that being outside is far worse at the moment.

There is less room than normal, since I've set the roof low enough it will overlap the tent base by several inches trying to keep out as much of the biting wind as possible. I use the hooks from my pack to securely attach both our bags to the ceiling rope near the foot end of the tent. I'm closing the tent flap as tightly as possible when the uneven drops on the roof change from a gentle tap, to a more aggressive rhythm.

"Just in time."

I nod in agreement glancing at him in the small space. Daryl can barely sit without his head touching the roof.

I pull the sleeping bags out of my pack—I didn't get a chance to put them down before we were both inside trying to escape the incoming weather. He pulls his boots off, we trade items I hang his boots and then mine near the packs. It's still light enough to see, sunset shouldn't be for at least three more hours, the small world under our roof is grey washed between the dark clouds and the tarp roof filtering the light.

Daryl unrolls the sleeping bag working to lay it down underneath him in the small space. He lifts his hips scoots onto it and rolls it towards me, I grab the end and do the same till we're both sitting on the soft material. I open the second bag unraveling it at my end. I then zip the two ends together where our feet will be tonight; start to zip the sides together. It's going to be dangerously cold I can already feel it in the air.

I look over my shoulder at Daryl, leaned back on his forearms, legs stretched out beside where I'm sitting. He's watching me. I'm positive he has no idea how he looks in the low light reclined back as he is—he looks almost relaxed. Which conflicts with the tightly guarded expression in his eyes. The black fleece jacket he finally bothered to put on this morning suits him. More so since he's left the zipper partially open at his throat, now one side has folded down against his collarbone showing the corded muscles of his neck. I swallow mouth suddenly dry.

"What?"

I turn away blushing. "Just surprised to see you wearing something that you haven't ripped the sleeves off." I don't want to lie down, not yet. Not with him looking like that. The memory of my dreams from this morning color my cheeks further. I unwind my hair from its now loose braid. I need something to distract me from imagining my lips tracing over the opening of his collar, nipping at his ear; sliding my hands under the jacket hem to feel the muscles of his abs.

I close my eyes; focus intently on my breathing and the movements required to un-tangle my hair. I finger comb the wavy crimps into a loose curtain I temporarily hide behind.

The tent moves as Daryl shifts. I keep my back to him. Pretend not to be aware of his every movement.

His tone is hesitant when he speaks, like he's picking his words carefully; searching for safe conversation to fill the silence. "I didn't realize your hair was that long."

"That's why I keep it up." Unfastened my hair falls almost to my waist, maybe two inches short of my belt. It's too long to leave down; not just because it would be a nightmare to untangle it after something like running through the woods but I know from experience it's far too easy of a handhold for someone trying to grab me.

I should have cut it long ago; but it's one of the few things I have that still reminds me of who I used to be.

Sometimes it's nice to forget what I've become.

Daryl shifts again, sliding one leg to straddle either side of where I'm now sitting cross-legged. With his legs sprawled on either side of me I feel a bit trapped. He shifts again popping his feet under the sleeping bag that I can't pull up further with where I'm sitting.

"Feet cold?" I ask glancing at him. He grunts in response, and I try to ignore his legs framing me in. I scoot back enough that I can pull the sleeping bag over his knees and mine while I sit. I try not to think about the length of his thigh pressed against mine. Focus on getting my hair back under control.

I split my hair into two halves, twist the wind-blown locks that frame my face back into a tight twisting braid down behind my ear, crowning my head with two auburn ropes. Then I begin weaving the two into a single braid at the base of my neck. I work quickly to the ends. Secure it with a tie and then begin wrapping the braid's length back around the two sections at my nape repeating the elaborate knot I've perfected without a mirror over the last two years.

At least like this it's harder for someone to grab; though still possible. Daryl has been quiet the whole time watching me work.

I twist looking at him over my shoulder. He's still propped up on his elbows, expression dark. I try to think of something to say, something to do other than imagine how his mouth would taste. How it would feel if our positions were reversed with him cradled between my thighs.

I jerk away, raise unsteady hands to tuck non-existence fly-away hairs behind my ear. Taking in two slow deep breaths; I can't sit here forever. I pull the straps off my harness, slide it off my hips and loop it over the tent rope. Then I move to lie down next to him.

The roof is so low I have to essentially crawl across him from my current position. His hand comes up lightening quick when the tent sways with a particularly brutal burst of wind. The gentle taping rhythm on the roof becomes a roar of white noise as the skies open up. I feel sorry for anyone without shelter tonight, this weather is dangerous.

The inside of this tent isn't feeling much better.

He doesn't let go of my waist instead pulls me up and practically shoves me across him to the space I've slept the last few nights. I barely manage to avoid landing on top of him.

"Lie down and quit fidgeting, Jesus." He lays back staring at the roof in tense silence.

My side tingles where his fingers touched me. This is ridiculous I need to get my head on straight. He has no idea how twisted my thoughts have gotten. Every nerve ending in my body has become finely tuned to his every movement. I need another distraction, my whole body feels like a bow string ready to snap.

"I'm not going to hurt you, fuck, just relax. You're so wound up I'm getting a headache." His tone is gruff, pulls at my insides twisting them into anxious knots. I roll away, turning my back to him and stare at the wall, hide my face in the crook of my elbow. I'm glad he doesn't realize just how far from harm my thoughts are.

Daryl huffs, shifts his weight. I can tell he feels trapped in the small space. Doesn't like it. He rolls to the side mirroring me like the last two nights.

"I'm sorry. People can be assholes." I know he speaks from personal experience, the way he flinches away from even the most casual touch, he was obviously raised with more than just a heavy hand. I can't imagine anyone raising a hand to him now though. He's like a tightly coiled spring—a caged tiger all pent up aggression and animal instinct.

What would he have grown into if he'd been raised in a family like mine? The first hint of bad I'd ever had was when the world went to shit. What was worse? I wonder, the shock and lingering ache of losing safety and love in a few gut wrenching days; or the horror of never even knowing what love felt like before the world changed? Made it impossible to find...?

"I'm sorry too." I take a deep breath.

"I'm not going to touch you." His words are tight, he shifts against my back.

My insides clench. I sigh. Of course not, not like that. I've been flinching away from him all day thanks to the unease of last night's dream. I can't help it; every time he touches me I burn. He's obviously noticed; misinterpreted my unease for fear.

"Daryl." I exhale; realize I can see my breath already. The temperature has dropped drastically in the last thirty minutes and the sun isn't even down yet. "You have to."

He stays silent.

"It's getting colder. I need your body heat so I don't freeze to death." Losing fingers or toes to the cold is certainly not my idea of fun; I imagine he would agree. He shifts, turns around, his movements slow like someone trying to catch a frightened animal; certain to dart away or snap at his fingers.

I grab his forearm not touching bare skin. And shift back till my body lies flush against his chest, drape his arm over me, and pull the blanket up higher to tuck it under my chin. I wiggle my toes trying to warm them. Daryl's hand drops to my thighs, pushes my legs back till my feet are trapped between the worn pants material covering his calves. He brings his arm back around my waist, breathing tense.

"If you want me to stop, tell me."

God if only that were the case. I shake my head. "I'm okay, it feels nice." I blush, "you're warm." I rush to add.

"I guess we try to sleep." He mumbles the words, half to himself I suppose.

I'm not sure I can with him curled around me like he is. My heart is hammering in my ears. I can feel each beat of his heart, each inhale and exhale of breath. We lay there in silence for a while the only sound the pounding of the rain, I'm starting to wonder if he might actually be asleep when he speaks. "When was the last time you were with someone?"

I freeze, breath catching in my throat, I stutter, "I haven't…" I start then trail off blushing furiously tipping my face down into the crook of my arm once more biting my lip. I can't believe I almost answered that, What the Hell is wrong with me? What is it about Daryl that sets me so on edge? Makes me want to be honest with him when I know I can't...not about everything, not if I want to live.

He pauses, "Who's Abby then?"

Oh, he didn't mean…of course not. I wonder if it's possible to die of embarrassment? I might find out tonight. I swallow tightly, staring at the side of the tent trying not to think about the heat of his chest pressed against my back. "Abby was a friend. I met her after my first group fell apart." When they found out what I was.

"She didn't make it through the Summer." I add. I'm grateful my eyes don't tear.

"And Thomas?" He asks.

Jesus. Just how much have I said in my sleep? I inhale slowly, trying to decide how to answer; what's safe to say and what's not. "I met Thomas after Abby. He was traveling with a group of families. I was with them for part of the first winter." It didn't last for very long. Thomas had reminded me of my cousins; maybe a little bit like my uncle. I'd been desperate for anything that felt like family. But he turned on me too. I can still remember the fear in his eyes as he asked me what the Hell I was.

I still don't know.

"After that?"

"I was alone for most of the Summer. I met some nasty people. Decided it was just better to avoid anyone after that; safer that way."

"The more desperate people get the more cruelty they excuse." His words are quiet, maybe for himself.

"Sometimes they were cruel to begin with." My mind slips back to that night in the woods…the screaming…

He's silent so long I wonder if he's fallen asleep.

"Fin."

I tilt my head back waiting.

"How do you pronounce your name?"

Ah, so he was reading the inscription in my book.

"Seraphim." I listen to him breath in the near dark, wonder what else he's might ask.

"You have a beautiful name, you should use it."

"Thanks. But I don't think I can; I don't think that girl exists anymore." My voice sounds sad even to me.

I close my eyes and wait for sleep.

Note: Seraphim is pronounced (Ser-a-fim) or (Ser-a-fem) depending on who says it. :)