Notes: It's SUNDAY! And I think tonight we Finally Get Daryl back! YAY! *happy dance* So, I'm trying to get these out before tonight incase anyone else is going Daryl Dixon withdrawl crazy like me! Hope you guys enjoy it, about two more chapters hopefully will go up tonight if I can get them proof read again. ;)

Chapter Twenty-Seven

(Fin's POV)

I don't think it's right to be ungrateful for waking up alive…

Having said that from the moment I drift back into consciousness I immediately wonder if I might be better off dead. All the numbness from earlier is gone and it's been replaced by sheer agony. I feel just like I imagine a grasshopper would after someone tries to pull it's legs off.

I don't open my eyes, not yet. I can't. Just lying still and breathing without groaning is an accomplishment. Several minutes pass while I count breaths in and out, try to articulate one ache from another in my self-imposed darkness. When that fails I just lie still and try to figure out how long I've been out and who is around.

Maybe I can sneak away again before they know I'm awake.

Slowly the pain recedes enough that I can focus on the voices, the crack of firewood burning nearby…

The words are quiet, but there are also too many of them for me to move undetected much less sneak away in the light of day, which it is judging by the brightness behind my closed eyelids. So much for that option.

I shift, open my eyes after blinking a few times and stare up at the branches overhead. I can see Daryl; don't even have to turn my head to do it. He's sitting not two feet from where I'm laid out, in my own sleeping bag I note. I'm warm finally and still fully dressed, Thank God.

Since I woke up at all I can only assume that no one has seen my bite mark. As I wake up further I can feel the heat of the fire they've built warming the left side of my face, it's almost too warm, I turn away let my eyes slip shut again and drift for a few moments longer.

We're not moving. Judging by the fire they've been still for a while now, at least a few hours. They barely stopped for longer than a few minutes the whole night before; but now everyone is stopped…he made them stop for me. Despite the danger of the large herd of Walkers they still think may be out there.

He shifts when I move again. I can feel him watching me even with my face turned away from him to stare into the trees. I wonder if I can just get up, walk back into the tree line and disappear. I should have stopped before I got so tired, did something as stupid as leaving tracks in the mud or an arrow to tell him I was alive.

Now I'm stuck with very few options…if I'd been more alert he wouldn't have snuck up on me... I don't know what to say, what to do next, completely lost. But there's no use putting it off longer then I have to. I can't keep laying here thinking about what he might say getting more anxious by the minute. He knows I'm awake at least, even if the others don't. It's not like I'm going to find the right words anyway, I don't think they exist.

I roll to my side, push myself up with one hand; can't stop the wince or the harsh hiss when it pulls muscles in my shoulder, my back, increases the ache in the skin over my neck to a burning roar.

He's stopped fiddling with a stick he's sharpening and just sits there looking at me. Hunched over one of his elbows resting on his knee, he looks tired, it's been at least a few hours since he found me, since he carried my back here. It doesn't look like he's gotten any rest at all, has been sitting watch while everyone else sleeps. The small kids are laid out in my second sleeping bag now, fast asleep, the lady that lays next to them might be Tyreese's sister, or girlfriend; I have no idea. We didn't have time for introductions before. I sit up the rest of the way, take a moment to roll the long sleeves of Daryl's Flannel back up to my elbows.

I can feel the rest of them watching me, no one speaks. When I look up again I keep my eyes firmly on his; try to keep this conversation between us.

"I said, don't take me back."

He scoffs "And what? Leave your ass in the woods, fall'n over your so damn tired an' hurt..." He trails off. Scowls, digs his knife into the dirt, drags the blade through it making a trench.

"It wasn't your choice."

He stabs the dirt again punctuating his sentence. "I made it my choice." That quiet calm is back, this would be easier if he was yelling.

"I'm going to kick your ass when I get up."

He just stares at me, breath huffs from him in a quick rush; it almost sounds like the beginning of a laugh. "Not if I stomp yours first...The Hell didn't you come back?" He turns away from me, tosses the stick down, slides his knife back into its leather case below his belt. "You need to rest."

I shake my head. I can't not anymore…Certainly not with all the eyes on me now.

"Fin?"

I turn my head to look at who's speaking.

"You're Fin?"

I feel more like a raw piece of meat right now…

"Yup, You're...Glenn?" I take a guess, he nods at me.

"Maggie was worried about you, she'll be glad you're alright."

He blinks. "You saw Maggie?"

I shift my eyes to Daryl again. "You didn't tell them?" He's staring at me again. Nods once. "I mentioned it."

"We saw you, go off the roof, you fell into the Walkers…How did you get away?" I turn away from him to stare at the man who must be Tyreese for a second. I'm not sure how to answer that still.

It didn't take us long to get straight to the point…

"I got lucky." I push the sleeping bag cover off my legs; swing them around so I can get up.

"You must have the devil's own luck," Tyreese mutters.

He has no idea…

I push up to my knees keep my palms flat on the ground for a moment so I don't lose my balance while my muscles screech in protest.

"Hell you think your do'n?"

"I'm going to check for Walkers. You should get some sleep." The longer we sit around talking the weirder this is going to get. They were all in that room the other night, none of them will look me in the eye, even Daryl stares at me without making direct eye contact.

Forget the complications of being bitten: Just This is too much right now.

"Daryl you should get some sleep, we can wait a little longer to go right?" Glenn again.

Daryl's shaking his head, ignoring Glenn and the others. "Lay your ass back down."

"I can't." The need to move, do something is itching just under the surface of my skin.

"I can't do this right now." I stand up, proud that I keep my balance even though it hurts like hell. He's on his feet beside me a second later crossbow already in his hand.

"Fine, You want to scout, than let's go." I'm not going to argue with him in front of the others, and at least it gets me away from Glenn and Tyreese's guilty faces. I can't take much more of that.

I have to look around for my bow, spot it on the ground behind his feet, next to several straight sharpened sticks he's been whittling down to make new arrows. Bending over to pick it up is going to hurt like hell, but I can hardly walk into the woods without it. He's also standing right on top of it. He knows I'm in no shape to even pick it up.

I hesitate a moment too long.

Daryl steps forward with an agitated noise puts a hand behind my back and pushes me towards the trees away from the others.

Seems he's not anymore keen to do this in front of Glenn and Tyreese then I am.

I take a few quick steps moving ahead of him, he lets his hand drop to his side. We're probably still within earshot when he snarls a soft "Hell were you thinking staying out there like this!"

I was thinking there was no way they'd accept that I might be alive, that there was no way I could face him after what happened the other night…

His fingers wrap around my wrist, pulling me to a stop, when I try to keep walking. I turn to face him, ready to jerk my hand back and get the shock of my life when his other hand comes up, fingertips trace over the split in my lip. "I'm sorry."

He leans into me; arms pull me to his chest I try not to think about his heartbeat, or his breath against my skin as he says it again, repeats it over and over whisper quiet.

"I'm fine." It's a reflex, out before I can process it.

He tenses against me, pulls back enough to take my hand, traces his fingers over the cuts on my exposed forearms where Kyle decided to ask me again in private if I knew where Caleb was.

His fingers shake when he moves to the other arm, traces it the same way.

"You're not fine, look what they did to you…" He stops. "What else did he do?"

I'm not going to give him a list to torture himself over. He was there, and he's not responsible for me.

"I don't want to talk about it." He stares at me for a full minute, maybe longer; I keep my eyes focused on his chest.

"I'm going to go." I turn to leave but his hand on my shoulder tries to stop me.

I react without thinking it through; try to jerk away and end up hissing out in pain when my abused joints and torn skin protest my movements. But instead of letting go when I cry out he jerks me back, wraps his other arm around my waist.

I lash out blindly hitting him even as he pulls me back against his chest. He has to lift me up holding me pinned when I kick out with my feet cursing at him. His other arm wraps around my chest his voice is trying to calm me.

But I don't want to be calm; I don't want to deal with whatever this is. I kick backwards, strike his leg and we both crash to our knees; if it wasn't for his arms around me yanking me back against his chest I'd probably have landed on my face.

I twist, getting nowhere, realize that somehow I'm sobbing complete nonsense, it only gets worse the second I notice it. I'm not even sure what half the words are, if they are words, or where they came from, they're just pain tearing out of me.

I slap at his hands, punch the one leg I can reach cursing him, cursing them, all of them till I can't get air into my lungs around the choking sobs. Just sit there violently gasping for air, letting him hold me up. I let my fingers encircle around his forearms, still holding me tight to his chest, squeezing them as hard as I can when I feel his forehead press against my shoulder.

We're both shaking and I can't seem to stop it.

My shirt must have shifted when we moved, because I hear him utter a sound so broken that the tears start all over.

I squeeze my eyes shut hide in the darkness as his hand moves to the flannel shirt collar against my neck. He's pulling it away and I know exactly what he's seeing when he makes that sound… and it's so much worse than I could have ever imagined because instead of shoving me away like he's suppose to he's wrapping around me tighter, face pressed to my neck another broken sound I've never heard before, don't ever want to hear again rips through him and it only makes me cry harder.

I can't stop my nails from digging into his arm keeping him around me when I should be pulling away, running as fast as I can. But I'm not, I can't. I just sit there and savor each breath he takes against my skin, each heartbeat against my back.

Any second he's going to shove me away; pick up that crossbow and end this, if I don't run now I'll never have a chance. Except he's mumbling words against my neck, ridiculous words that tear me apart, make him different then every other person I've ever come across…I turn my head to stare at him as he closes his eyes and lets his face press to my hair.

"I'm going to lose you," it's so soft I'm not certain I didn't imagine the words for a moment 'til he keeps speaking "I can't do this."

"Then don't."

God what am I doing?

"I'm okay, it's not what you think." He shutters against me, fingers slide up the other side of my neck turning me to look at him.

He'll never accept this, can't possibly… His lips press against mine, hands pull me impossibly closer while my fingers fist in his shirt. I'm just starting to hope, feel the ache loosen in my chest when he pulls away.

"Daryl, I'm okay. I'm not sick…" He shakes his head, his fingers moving down my cheeks then drop to his side. He doesn't believe me. How could he? The faint hope that I might survive is laughable to anyone else in this world, any sane person at least.

"I'm okay," He nods but his eyes are far away. I pull away from him, sit a few feet away wiping my eyes, waiting for my breathing to stop hiccupping and catching every few seconds. My whole body trembling too hard to even attempt to stand.

I've lost him.

::Walking Dead::

(Daryl's POV)

He's never felt more exhausted and cold in his life.

The shock rips through him incinerating every blind hope he hadn't even admitted to himself since he found those footprints, found his arrow in that corpse.

She survived the fall, she was alive…

Except she wasn't,

isn't….he doesn't even know what the right word is. Doesn't give a shit.

All he knows is the world he exists in is a more fucked up version of Hell then anyone deserves. She's right there in front of him, telling him she's alright, and she's not…

He can't look at her, doesn't need to when the torn flesh marking her death sentence has imprinted itself on his eyes. He sees it everywhere he looks, the ground, the trees…he can't escape it, can't blink it away.

He must have done some terrible fucked up shit in another life to earn this…except this is just what happens now, this is life, he tells himself. Everyone dies; they just do it a lot quicker and more violently these days.

He still has dreams about Dale's eyes staring up at him as he pulled the trigger. It was supposed to be the right thing to do, he tells himself it was, everyone else did too, but they couldn't do it...

He'd stepped in when no one else could, when Rick's hand fell on that farm what feels like a lifetime ago…it might have been the right thing to do, but it still haunts him at times. There's something darker, more haunting about ending someone's life before they've stopped breathing…even if the bloody terrible end is inevitable…it's still death by his hand; death of a friend, a good person… right or not that face still tears at him, haunts his dreams.

There's no way he can do it now.

The thought alone sends him into a panic. The thought of Tyreese or Glenn doing what he did for Dale, stepping forward to end it before she becomes one of those things fills the back of his throat with burning acid.

He can't do this….and she's still telling him she's fine…Hell she even looks fine somehow, maybe it's just too soon…

She stands up, doesn't look at him. Tells him she's going to leave and he's on his feet again, hand stopping her even when he can't look her in the eye, can't look at her at all…

He'll do it.

He'll just wait till she's gone and then he'll do the right thing.

He can protect the others, keep them all safe…

"You said you wanted to check the woods," She doesn't look at him still, simply starts walking again, her back straight, shoulders tense…maybe she expects him to shoot her in the back, but he can't do it, not yet. He isn't ready.

When they circle back to camp everyone is awake, even the kids, they're all watching them. Glenn keeps swallowing staring at the fire. He's wearing the same look he had when Maggie and him came back from Woodbury.

They know, and how could they not when they were just shouting at each other in the fucking woods. Sasha is the only one that speaks when he sits down, but he can't focus on the words, they all blend together.

She's still telling them she's fine, but she never fixed her collar, and they can all see it now, they at least have the tact not to shy away from her.

She's saying something about leaving again, telling them how to get to the road.

Maybe he should let her go,

That way he doesn't have to see her-cold and dead.

He can lie to himself; pretend she's still out there somewhere…

Just like Carol...

He's staring down at his hands still when the gunshot splits the air.

He jerks on instinct reaches for his bow shouts a warning that's far too late, because she's just lying there while someone screams.