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Notes: This is a long one! :P Big thanks to all the readers and reviewers! You guys are awesome!

updated: 2/27 fixed some typo/wordy issues; thanks to those who helped me find them! If you find anymore let me know! Thank you!

Chapter Thirty-Two

(Fin's POV)

I catch him looking at me out of the corner of my eye as I'm sliding my pants up over my hips, feel my cheeks heat. Which is ridiculous, especially after last night…and this morning…what he said…

I shouldn't blush just because I can feel him watching me. Somehow just his gaze moving up my bare legs still makes me shiver, reminds me of his fingertips sliding across my skin.

I turn my head watch him pull his shirt back on, distracted by muscles flexing and stretching over his lean chest and strong arms in the light of day. I have yet to really see him I realize; most of the visuals I have of him came from dreams; our encounters have always been in the dark 'til this morning and I was too distracted to really look.

But I know how that chest feels curled against me as I sleep, warm and safe…know exactly how it weight feels pressing down against me; tensing with each thrust of his hips. My body hums, still tingly and warm from my release.

I blush again jerk my eyes away when he looks up.

"Quit staring at me woman." He turns away, cheeks flushed to fidget and kick at the dirt around the long dead fire pit from the night before.

I drop my eyes to focus on my buckles, then take the time to roll up the sleeping bag, looping it's ties under my pack so I can carry it again. The muscles along my back and sides feel less strained today; still undeniably sore but simple movements no longer set my teeth on edge.

When I stand again I realize I'm tender in new places I wasn't before, it's a very different kind of ache, softer—strangely soothing somehow, reminding me of his touch. It's worlds different from the burning ache I anticipated roaring back full force, even after he got just a little rough this morning. I instantly want to make him do that again; feeling him simply react, lose that careful hesitation and let go of himself completely.

Tendrils of pleasure fizzle under my skin, make my stomach flutter just thinking about it.

"We could wait for a day, let the kids rest up."

His suggestion surprises me. I'd have figured he'd want to get back to Rick and the others as quickly as possible. I pause for a moment considering it. They have been pushing themselves awful hard…can't possibly keep that pace without a break. The trailer offers some protection from the elements and Dead at least; it has walls, doors.

I circle the area we slept, inspecting the ground while he does that same moving in the opposite direction. I find his knife first, crouch down to pick it up hold it out to him hilt first. He takes it without comment, tucking it back into the holder strung on his belt.

"We need to find transport if we can." Walking them all the way back to the others could take days; especially with the small children like Molly and Patrick. They can't keep moving at the same pace day after day. They won't have the strength.

My stomach rumbles.

And we need food.

"Feel like hunting?"

He looks up, nods. "Give me that, I'll tell Glenn to stay put."

I hand him my pack, follow him about two dozen feet closer to the house so I can watch him walk to the back door, rap on it softly before sliding it open poking his head inside and calling out to Glenn.

::Walking Dead::

(Daryl's POV)

Tyreese is sitting at the table with Sasha when he raps on the glass door, pulls it open calls out for Glenn to join them.

Glenn pokes his head out from the hallway across the room, raises his hands in mock surrender when he sees Daryl. "Hey, I was just teasing man, no big…"

"Shudup." He rushes on before Tyreese can ask; if he doesn't already know.

"We're going hunting. Keep an eye out for Walkers off the road. Keep the kids inside, noise down."

Tyreese nods. "Shouldn't be a problem, they're still passed out. Just checked them."

"How is she?" Sasha is watching him. He pauses not sure what she means exactly.

"She'll be fine, she isn't bit." Sasha slumps down in her seat, breathes a heavy sigh of relief before her face clouds over again, guilt taking over. "So the mark was from…" She doesn't say it looks down at the table top.

"That's great," Tyreese winces, "uh, I mean…"

"Yeah, I get it." He sets the bag against the wall, waves away Tyreese's slip. Eager to end this conversation before it shifts. "Kids gotta eat, an' so do we. Be gone a few hours at most."

"Daryl…"

He pauses, even though he doesn't want to talk about it anymore.

"What happened on that farm? To Kevan, and Betsy and the others…you know don't you; but you won't say..."

The urge to run out the back door fills him, but he can't do that. He owes them an explanation; he's just not sure how to give it. He frowns, turning over his shoulder to call her back to the house. This might take a while.

:: Walking Dead ::

(Fin POV)

What the heck is taking so long?

I'd go myself but he probably wouldn't take that too well.

I hear him call out to me from the open doorway. I hesitate a moment longer before walking across the cleared yard and up the steps to the small porch. Move to stand in the open doorway looking into the kitchen and dining area of the small trailer. They're all gathered there.

Well, the adults at least; the kids are somewhere else… at this hour probably still asleep.

I take in the expressions sitting at the table, my stomach knots.

Ah, so we're going to do this now; okay.

I don't step inside, the toes of my boots click on top of the cheap metal ledge of the sliding glass door track. I lean my shoulder against the door frame, look at him just inside the door. Keep my eyes off the others, his back is to the wall arms crossed over his chest, nervously fidgeting. Obviously not sure where to begin, what to say: difficult conversations are not his forte.

The shadows against the wall make the bruising on his shoulder look darker, angrier. He hasn't said one word about it, or given any hint that it bothers him at all; nevertheless it must hurt like Hell his skin is nearly black in some places.

"I'm glad you're okay," Sasha's voice is quiet drawing my attention, I glance at her not sure what to say. I feel like I should make some acknowledgement.

"Yeah,"

"I'm Sasha Williams, This is my brother Tyreese."

"I'm Glenn Rhee."

Going back to Formal introductions? Okay, I guess that's as good a place as any to start when you don't know what to say. Even if three of the people in this room have seen me naked on one of the worst days of my life…I cringe, try to cover it by looking down.

"Fin Chance."

"Sounds like a nickname, what's it short for?" Sasha seems to do most of the talking between the two of them, her voice is soft but steady.

"Seraphim,"

She blinks at me, must recognize the word. I shrug looking at the table top.

"My family was very devout…before…all this."

I haven't prayed properly since that day at the church, finding their bodies…searching for Tobin's among the ruins…blood splattered on the walls, the pews…spilling out into the aisle…

I can still see it when I close my eyes, so I stare at the ceiling instead afraid to even blink, I can't stand to see their torn faces even if it's no longer real…

A shudder rolls through me, Daryl shifts against the wall.

"Names with religious meaning were kind of a big tradition in my family."

I remember vividly helping pick the name for my little brother…sitting with Phil in his study for hours; my short eight year old legs swinging back and forth, spinning myself in his work chair while we read the Old Testament. The heavily worn book with its crinkly thin pages lined with gold fascinated me, it was like a nursery fable book for any other kid.

"That's an Angel right?" Tyreese is asking.

"Not just any Angel. A Seraph is one of the highest orders; messengers of God." Sasha answers before me, guess I'm not the only one that went to bible school.

"It means 'Fiery One' loosely translated…guess they picked it after they saw my hair."

No one speaks for a minute.

"Thank you."

My throat closes. I study the ugly linoleum patterned floor.

"Yeah, no problem."

"No, Really."

I don't look up.

"Thank you. You knew what they might do and you still came to help us."

I take a deep breath, nod staring at my boots, not sure I trust my voice yet.

"I feel like I should ask," Glenn pauses staring across the room at Daryl, he's looking a little green even for an Asian... "Why didn't you eat when you were there?"

I shift my eyes to Daryl, he didn't mention that, but knowing what he did how could he eat there? His jaw tenses. He shoves his hands farther under his arms, eyes locked on his feet. After a few tense moments I say it for him.

"The Peacocks were Cannibals."

Sasha stares at her hands on the table, Tyreese shakes his head. "No, Man No."

"Kevan, Betsy..?"

Glenn is up out of his seat dry heaving into the kitchen sink.

"They'd have eaten you and Daryl, Glenn... Parts of Sasha…"

"Hell you Mean Parts?!" Tyreese is up out of his chair with a shout. Daryl's standing in front of me a second later; like Tyreese might attack me…maybe he would—I don't know him; he looks ready to attack someone.

Sasha has her hand on her brother's arm. No one speaks for a moment, the only sound Glenn's continued retching into the sink.

"They'd take her legs so she'd have no chance to escape, maybe her arms too; keep the parts they found…entertaining."

Sasha's chair crashes to the floor, she races to Glenn's side, retching in the sink while Glenn pats her back, still looking like he might be sick again.

Daryl's back tenses when Tyreese points his finger at us.

"Why didn't you tell us man?"

"I wanted to; I was trying to get us out of there! If I'd said something; then What? Shoot out at the OK corral time? Like we'd walk away from that." They stare at each other across the table, I'm suddenly very grateful It's there; have a feeling if it wasn't they might be at each other's throats...

Daryl's voice is quieter when he continues. "I was try'n to get us out quietly…as many of us as I could—Alive."

"He's right, it would have been the Prison all over again, but on their turf, and out numbered…we'd all be dead." Sasha's voice from the sink seems to take the air out of Tyreese. He slumps back into his chair, face buried in his hands.

"You okay Man?" Daryl's looking at Glenn by the sink.

He gives us both a shallow nod, "yeah, I'm just never going to eat again…" he offers Sasha a paper towel for her mouth.

"So they were like Walkers, that's why we had to kill them." Tyreese curses, jerks around to face her. We all turn.

Lizzie is standing at the doorway to the hall; it must lead to whatever rooms the kids were sleeping in; we must have woken her up with the shouting; though it seems she's been listening to the conversation for longer than just the shouting bits to know that.

Something about her makes my skin crawl—and I don't think it's just because she tried to shoot me in the head.

Everyone just stares at her for a minute.

"Lizzie, sweetie," Sasha leave the kitchen, "Let's go check the others, Make sure everyone's okay."

"They're fine, I just left them. You're just trying to get rid of me; but I'm not a child."

Sasha stops just a few feet short of her, "No, none of you are, Why don't we get you cleaned up then; child or not this is still a private conversation. I don't know about you but I feel pretty grungy."

"Why are you all just waiting for her to get sick? How is that fair to anyone? You should just kill her already."

"Lizzie, She's not sick, because she wasn't bitten by a Walker." Sasha's voice is quiet, she's probably not comfortable mentioning my torture with me in the same room.

"If you believe that you're an idiot. You're all idiots." Lizzie spins around "I'm going back to my room."

Sasha watches her go stunned into silence. "Wow, if that's what teenagers are like I am glad I don't have any kids." She comes back into the kitchen. Daryl is still standing in front of me, though he's more to my right now—he shifted when Lizzie came out of the hallway so I can actually see Tyreese and Sasha sitting at the table.

I wonder if he even realizes he's been putting himself between me and whatever he perceives as the biggest threat in the room. I ignore the stupid flutter that thought gives me to focus on the more important point: I'm not the only one who thinks Lizzie is a danger.

"Look this might be a problem bigger problem." Tyreese speaks up again, voice lowered. "When we were attacked at the prison Lizzie shot two of the people that had me pinned down—she probably saved my life…" he winces, shakes his head looks up at Daryl.

"But the girl didn't even flinch, shot one lady right between the eyes." He glances at me around Daryl's side. "She nearly killed you, there's something off about her…it's not just survival…she gets this look sometimes…" he shudders looks down at his hands on the table.

This world has a way of making people hard if they want to survive it. It sand blasts them with hardships and impossible situations till all but their most basic instincts and principles are left over…makes them choose over and over how far they'll go, how much humanity they can cling to. Morals, Ideals all have a way of sliding off; becoming inconvenient painful reminders of what we've all lost…it hurts to hold on to them; stings worse when you let them go. You let enough slide; take enough rides with the devil and pretty soon you'll let him drive and not even notice.

Kids like Mika and Molly, Carl and Lizzie; are almost blank slates in a harsh new world; what is right and wrong when you're just trying to survive in a cruel world? Where the monster's aren't under the bed anymore they're real and three times your size and think you look like a snack…

It's a tricky tight rope most adults fall off of from time to time; scramble to get back on—how the hell should we expect kids to navigate it with any success? Kids like Mikka and Molly; who's first instinct is to run when they're in danger or cry are far more human than kids like Lizzie…

Lizzie is becoming a predator; playing loose and fast following a twisted rulebook that could quickly make her a nightmare to handle.

"Well I don't know what we can do about it until we can all talk about it together, I'm not comfortable making a decision like this." Glenn is still standing by the sink, but he keeps his voice low breaking into everyone's reflection.

I remember they use a council to decide issues and make decisions for the group…I wonder if one day they'll be arguing my fate…

"Well, until then I'm going to be out there." Away from Lizzie and the rest of them, even if it wasn't for Lizzie I don't know these people; I'd just started adjusting to Daryl's presence, to the idea of Rick and Carl's…Beth's…There are more people in my life now then I've known in years.

"It's not safe out there by yourself…" Glenn starts.

"She won't be alone." Glenn's mouth snaps shut over whatever he was about to say.

Daryl isn't looking at him, or anyone actually. He's staring down the ugly rooster wallpaper opposite him, shifts uncomfortably with everyone's eyes on him.

"We should go. We're wasting daylight." And my stomach is still growling twisting in knots that at the moment at least have nothing to do with Lizzie or Daryl. I turn away from the open doorway head down off the porch. He follows me shortly after.

We walk for a while, put some distance between us and the trailer, away from the road.

"Going to be tricky." I don't think he's talking about hunting.

I don't respond, wait to see if he'll talk it out on his own; give me some idea of what he's thinking instead of clamming up.

"Rick sent Carol away about two weeks back, it was just before the Prison got attacked, He said it was because she told him she killed two of our own—part of our group that had gotten sick. But that doesn't sit with me." He holds a branch back for me to walk around. "It didn't then, and it don't now."

"Is Carol Lizzie's mom?" He's never mentioned her before this, no one has; not that there's been a lot of time for trips down memory lane.

He frowns down at me, "No, Carol's daughter Sophia died last year."

I stop cold, something about that name, the way he says it tugs at me…

"What's wrong?" I shake my head, "Nothing, so why would Carol cover for Lizzie?"

He pauses, stares at me like my saying it out loud just made it real for him.

"Shit. She's been taking care of Lizzie and Mikka…if Lizzie did it…"

I shoot him a look, I don't know this Carol—but I'd bet my imaginary farm that it was Lizzie not her if people ended up dead in their group. He keeps talking.

"..then Carol would cover for her—one of the ladies killed—Tyreese was sort of…dating her I guess you'd say. He didn't take it so well, Rick an him came to blows over it, hell I got in it too…That's why Rick told Carol to go; thought Tyreese would kill her…didn't realize it was the damn kid the whole time…he should have. Killing two sick people. That aint her way."

I mull that over, my brain circling over the thought of Tyreese 'sort of' dating someone…where did people go on dates these days? The idea is ridiculous and obsolete... people don't date anymore.

They either like each other enough to do something about it…or they don't.

What's a date after the apocalypse? I glance at him then look back down at the ground, watching where I place my boots; trying to be silent thoughts spinning round my head…

Does a hunting trip alone count as a date? How about a rescue mission for days in the forest… oh boy, better to get off that subject.

I focus on the 'Lizzie Issue'…several things about the Carol situation bothers me, feels wrong…

"So, Rick sent Carol away, alone. And she doesn't tell him before that point that it was really Lizzie?"

That seems incredibly stupid to me—loyal? Yes, but loyalty to what, to whom?

She had to know that Lizzie would kill again, that she couldn't protect her; or stop her…unless she's just deluding herself—couldn't see it for what it was.

Daryl's mouth is a hardline. He stops walking, I pause looking up at him. He looks away from me, something else clicks; stings when it does, something I won't analyze.

"Carol; She was your friend?"

He blinks, nods after a few tense moments.

More than friends? I'm not sure now. Feel my cheeks heat.

"Yes, she was my friend." He says it in a rush, like its painful; uncomfortable, not something he's never said out loud—Hell that's probably true. He's probably had few friends in his life he counted on.

He doesn't seem overly chummy with most of the group; Functional yes, but not completely comfortable with interactions beyond the basics of day to day interactions.

I'd say he seems closest to Rick out of all of them; and that's come off as more an allegiance, an obligation, it has a working partnership and respect feel to it more than a 'close friendship' vibe.

I don't doubt he cares for the members of his group; they're his only version of a family. I just don't think he spends much time thinking about it or talking about it out loud.

Probably has a lot to do with the flinching he does when he forgets to control it.

He's been silently staring off into the woods. "She's a good person." His voice is quiet. I notice he doesn't use the past tense.

"I'm sorry she went away." Especially for something like this, it obviously bothers him that she's gone.

We start walking again.

"Maybe we can go back out and find her after we take the others back?" My heart is in my throat even as I suggest it.

What if he wants to look alone?

What if she comes back and they're more then 'friends'?

I have no right to feel sick, I don't even know how long I can keep up this charade before it all falls apart, I might be gone in a day, a week…

"She wasn't at the prison when it all went down; she had a better chance of survival on the road alone than in that death trap."

He's quiet for a while. Didn't really answer my question. Maybe it's time to change the subject before we're both more uncomfortable. Something Carl mentioned comes back to me.

"Did they really have a tank?"

He glances at me, "Carl tell you?"

"Yup."

"Yeah, they had a fuckin tank, till I blew it up with a grenade."

"Where the Hell did you get a grenade?"

His mouth quirks, "Long story,"

"Some other time then," He nods and I stupidly feel better, lighter. Pretending there's going to be more time than what we have right now is foolish.

"So you killed a tank, and yet a girl too young for a training bra has got us all locked in a stalemate."

Morals…right and wrong…it's all a fucked up mess.

We don't speak for several minutes.

"Look I'm just going to say this once." He visibly tenses, glances at me.

"I've seen this before. Though not this young…Lizzie's killed two people right in front of Tyreese; and you could chalk that up to survival, but we can be pretty damn certain she killed those other two from your group long before it was necessary, and that Carol covered it up. She shot and threatened me. Most adults feel something when they end a life, it's what keeps us human. I get the feeling Lizzie's feeling something when she pulls that trigger and it isn't regret. Looks to me like she can't wait to feel it again."

This world has put a girl who would probably have been a cruel bully and tactless self-centered adult on the fast track to being a pre-pubescent serial killer.

"Yeah," He takes a deep breath, started to relax while I was talking, maybe he thought I was going to bring up something else?

"But she's twelve."

"If she was twenty would it make a difference, really?" This is a no-win-scenario, no matter the age she is; it's going to turn into a complete shit show.

"We can't leave her, can't shoot her." He pauses, looks up at the sky taking a calming breath.

"I know, I can't believe half the conversations I've been forced to have the last few years either." Some of them more than others…

"So we watch her closely, keep you separate 'til she realizes you're fine. And we hope being with a group in a stable environment will even her out."

I give him a look but bite my tongue. Somehow I don't think that governor guy would have been a teddy bear after the apocalypse no matter how many warm fuzzies people covered him with.

When the shit hits the fan Lizzie will be stripped down to exactly what she is inside.

It's her basic coding; base instincts—she's a little monster that will probably grow into an even bigger one because we're all too human to do something about it.

No one wants to take that step—talk about it even…we're clinging to that tight rope again.

Rick sent Carol away though—maybe he will do it, make the decision to send her away too. A thought occurs to me.

"Do you think Carol is looking for Lizzie and Mikka still?"

He halts. "What?"

"Well you said Carol was caring for them; she obviously lied to protect Lizzie from the rest of the group-took the blame for something terrible she'd never do herself…seems to me if I went that far to protect someone I wouldn't stop just because I got sent away, not after that kind of commitment."

He's still looking at me when I turn back to him, his eyes slide away to the trees.

"We going to hunt or stand around?"

My stomach rumbles so loud I think we both can hear it. "Hunt. I think we should split up." He glances back at me looks like he wants to say something then changes his mind.

"Be careful."

Yeah, this is the safest I've been all day, away from everyone else.

"You too."

:: walking dead ::