Daryl glanced up from the arrows he was whittling by lantern light and stole a look across his tent at Liz. The girl was sitting with her knees tucked under her chin. Her long arms were wrapped around her legs tightly as she stared straight ahead; amber eyes hardly blinking. Daryl knew she wasn't looking at or seeing anything.

One, two. Relax. One, two. Exhale. Liz tried to remember what a Hollywood therapist had once told her about breathing through stressful times. Instead of smooth inhales, her breaths were ragged and uneven. Betrayal, loss, violation, and hatred swirled around her head in a dizzying tour of emotions. Shuddering, Liz dropped her forehead so it rested on her knees.

I's got to be damn near three o'clock, thought. Yet here the woman sat like a statue; unmoving, unspeaking, likely unfeeling after fighting off what would have been a sexual assault by her own brother. Daryl's lip curled at the thought.

Liz wanted to tell Daryl to go to sleep. The words had been at the tip of her tongue for probably an hour, but Liz couldn't bring herself to speak. Wearing the silence felt nice for a change. It made her feel safe. Being alone was a daunting thought, but talking it out was equally as terrorizing. Daryl's calm presence was perfect.

"My mom died when I was a kid," Daryl said suddenly.

Liz looked up. "I'm sorry," she said softly. "That must have been hard."

"Naw," Daryl continued. "She liked to smoke in bed. Lit the entire house up with her." He grunted and shucked another layer of wood off of the branch he was working on. "An uncle looked after Merle and me after that. 'We're family,' he'd always tell us before doing something..." he trailed off. He caught Liz's gaze and sat his knife down. "Being that it's family only makes it worse." He pulled off his shirt and turned slightly so the girl could see the long scars that covered his back. "Blood don't always mean family. Sometimes family's the ones you pick."

Liz rested her chin on her knees again. "I'm sorry."

"Quit being sorry for everything," Daryl mumbled. The end of the world had brought some interesting twists and turns, but he never thought this sort of shit would enter his life again. "Why don't you go to sleep?"

"Can't," Liz replied, watching his hands work.

"I know," Daryl said softly. He sat down the arrow and knife. "Then at least lie down." He tossed Liz his poncho.

Breaking her stillness by stretching, Liz nodded and yawned. "You're probably right." She glanced down at the sleeping bag she was sitting on. "Nothing will happen. It's over and he ain't ever going to bring it up or try it again." She nodded, suddenly defiant. "You don't have to stand guard all night. That sorry son of a bitch won't show his face in here."

Daryl stared at her quizzically. "S'all right. I'll stay up. It'll make you feel better."

Liz shook her head. "It'd feel better to just have someone close."

"I ain't-"

"No," Liz interrupted. "Just sleep here." She unzipped and spread out the sleeping bag and lie down on one side. "I trust you. You need to sleep. I'm not looking for someone to spoon. Just - someone real here to keep me out of my head." She pulled Daryl's poncho up to her shoulders and nestled in to sleep. Exhaustion hit her out of the blue, yet she kept an eye open to watch Daryl. "Please," she said softly. Her voice surprised her as it spilled from her mouth. She sounded young and timid, but also a weary old woman at the same time.

Grunting in agreement, Daryl reached out and turned off the lantern. As darkness fell, Liz heard him pull off his shirt and crack his neck before dropping onto the bag next to her. "Keep your weapons close," he murmured. "Mine are."

"Mmmhmm," Liz replied.

Another day in paradise. Daryl stretched and groaned. A heaviness at his hip caught his attention. As he blinked his eyes open and glanced down, the weight of the previous night settled upon him. Liz was in his tent, sprawled out and dead asleep; he legs somehow entwined with his and her long freckled arms slumped across his body. The fact they'd fallen asleep with a foot between them apparently didn't matter.

Shit. Daryl tried to slide out from under her, but when Liz started to stir, he lay still. Shane had completely lost his damn mind when he tried to rape her, and that was a truth the poor girl didn't need to wake up and worry about. For now he'd let her dream and continue to drool on his sleeping bag.

Studying the girl for a moment, Daryl allowed himself to grin. He reached for a book and enjoyed the moment, for when she woke, it would be a different story.

*****

Rick nodded to Glenn and Maggie as he crossed the yard. The day was young but his mind was already swimming with choices. They'd brought back and injured outsider after he and Glenn had found Hershel at the bar in town following the scene with the barn walkers. Now came the question of what to do with the kid. When Rick reached Daryl's tent, he cleared his throat and poked his head in. "Hey, Daryl, can I ask you-" Rick paused in shock when he realized Liz was there. "Oh," he nodded. "My apologies."

Liz opened an eye and quickly surveyed the scene. "Oh, geeze," she mumbled, drawing her arms and legs back to herself. "Sorry. Said I wouldn't do that." She blinked a few times and ran a hand through the wild snarls her hair had formed.

"S'all right," Daryl replied softly. He sat up and stretched. "Hey, Rick."

"Can- can I talk to you for a minute? I need your help with something."

As Daryl grunted a yes and turned to grab a shirt, Rick gave Liz a brief smile. She blushed and shook her head at him, mouthing, "IT'S NOT LIKE THAT."

Rick tilted his head and raised his eyebrows in return. "I'll be outside," he drawled before stepping out.

"Leave your stuff here," Daryl said as he reached for his crossbow. "I don't trust anyone else here to deal with Shane." He grabbed a knife and slid it into his belt. "Rick could, but he's got a family to worry about. I'll watch out for ya."

Liz started to protest, but Daryl scowled. "You want to put the others in danger? You want Shane crashing into Carol's tent looking for you? How about Andrea's? He's dangerous. Lost his damn mind."

Liz frowned, then propped herself up on her elbow. "You aren't worried what they'll think about me staying with you? I know you-"

"Don't give a shit," Daryl interrupted. He stepped out of the tent then called back to her, "We'll practice with your bow later, too."

Pushing aside her intentions to rise, Liz curled back up under the poncho. If she didn't get up and face the day, she wouldn't have to face what happened last night. The scent of leather and a manly musk lulled her back to sleep.