AN: I realized that I forgot to put it in the last chapter, but you can pretty much consider it a universal warning for a while that there may be mention/discussion about domestic violence. I'll warn you if there's anything particularly graphic and detailed, but the overall idea is going to be there for a while still.

I hope you enjoy!

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"You cannot be serious with this list right now," Michonne said, taking another bite of pizza. She and Carol were both sitting on the floor in the living room. Michonne kept reaching over to wind Celine's swing so that the baby remained entertained by the lights and repetitive music. Anjelica had made herself comfortable sitting on Carol's lap and showing her repeatedly how exactly she made Mickey sing on the toy she was currently enthralled with.

"No, I am serious," Carol said. She had produced the list she was making to write pizza on it. Her intention was to pay Michonne back for everything that she used while she was there, just as soon as she had the means to do so. "I start work tomorrow, I'll be making money."

"Carol, an egg? How much does an egg even cost? And half a pizza?" Michonne asked. "You washed my dishes. I hate dishes. We'll consider that worth an egg and a half a pizza. It's not like I could have ordered only half a pizza anyway."

"No, but you would have leftover pizza if I weren't eating it," Carol said.

"No, I wouldn't. Normally that asshole Damion would eat it," Michonne said. She chuckled. "He's going to be super pissed when he finds out I changed the locks and didn't tell him. I'm going to break up with him eventually, but I haven't had time yet."

"Because I've kept you busy all day," Carol said.

"Don't worry about it. We're getting you on your feet," Michonne said. She was quiet for a minute, as was Carol. Finally she spoke again. "Carol, are you sure you want to start working tomorrow? I mean you could take a few days off…Amy's only working at the office until August. You could work for us there. You shouldn't have to take some shit waitressing jobs and be on your feet all day."

"It's not big deal," Carol said. "I waitressed before Ed told me I couldn't work anymore. I like meeting new people. Besides, I'm not just going to lay around your house all day. I'm going to start earning money so I can get a place of my own and get out of your hair."

"I told you that you're not in my hair," Michonne said. "I like the company…it's quality company, and the girls like you. You could watch them for me during the day. I'd pay you. I'd much rather pay you to watch them and know they're here getting attention from one person instead of pay Roweena at the daycare to watch them along with seven other kids."

"I don't mind watching them," Carol said. "I could do that during the days that I'm not working at Lula's, like tomorrow. You're not going to pay me, though. You can just put that toward what I owe you for everything."

Michonne tossed the crust of the pizza into the almost empty box, not wanting to think about how many pieces she'd already eaten. She wiped her hands on her napkin and leaned back against couch, watching Carol entertaining her oldest daughter.

"Do you know why I became a lawyer?" Michonne asked after a few minutes.

Carol shook her head and turned her attention to Michonne. Michonne smiled at her. The pain medicine she'd gotten that day was obviously doing a number on her because Carol looked as relaxed as if she were pretty well trashed on hard liquor. Her head sort of bobbled from time to time, out of her control. Michonne made a mental note that half was good for her if she was going to try to do anything besides lie around the house.

"I had a roommate in college. Her name was Jasmine. She was probably one of the nicest people I've ever met," Michonne said. Carol nodded her head at her. "Jasmine dropped out of school our sophomore year because she was going to marry this guy. She was totally head over heels for him. I didn't see her or hear from her for forever, but finally, about eight months after she got married, I made a trip out to where she lived to visit for a few days. Sort of a surprise visit. When I got there, I found out that Jasmine was being abused by this man. They weren't even married eight months and the asshole was already beating on her. She, like any good abused person, insisted that it was her own fault. She didn't have dinner ready on time, the laundry wasn't done, whatever the reason, there was always a reason."

Michonne stopped a moment. Carol was looking in her direction, but she wasn't looking at her any longer. Michonne knew full well that Carol was thinking about her own situation, and probably how many times the very same excuses had crossed her own lips.

"Well, I didn't know what to do about it, so I just let it go. It wasn't my place to do anything, you know? Her marriage, her life. So, just as I was about to graduate from college, with my English degree that I had no idea what I was going to use it for, I got this phone call. It was Jasmine's mom. It seems that the asshole that Jasmine was married to finally beat her with some sort of blunt object, I've heard it was a table leg or a baseball bat, but it really doesn't matter now, until she suffered brain trauma," Michonne broke off, taking a minute to try and separate herself from the memory.

After a moment, she noticed Carol looking at her again like she wanted to know the rest of the story. She cleared her throat.

"Jasmine didn't make it. She just slipped away. And that asshole, through whatever loophole in the system that they found, walked away after only serving six months. It just didn't seem fair to me that one of the most beautiful souls I'd ever known was gone, and the person that did it was just as free as you please," Michonne heard her own voice crack and she cleared her throat again, pausing for a moment. "Anyway, it was then that I knew what I was going to do. I was going to make sure that if I ever had the chance, nothing like that was going to happen on my watch. It won't ever make it up to Jasmine, but at least someone else doesn't get that phone call."

Carol didn't look at her now. She was pretending to be focused on the toy she was manipulating her hands for Anjelica, but Michonne knew that wasn't what was going on.

"I'm sorry," Michonne said, finally.

"No," Carol said softly, "I'm sorry that you lost your friend that way, but you don't owe all this to me. I mean I just pop into your life after so many years and you've done so much already."

Michonne smiled.

"Do you remember in second grade when we both had Mrs. Locke?" Michonne asked.

Carol nodded her head.

"Do you remember that she would do those little birthday cupcakes for everyone when it was their birthday?" Michonne asked.

"I guess so," Carol said. "That was a long time ago." Michonne nodded.

"Well, she did, but she forgot my birthday. I was so upset about it that I cried at lunch time and you gave me your pudding cup," Michonne said. She smiled. "Consider it payback."

"How can you remember something like that?" Carol asked.

"Are you kidding?" Michonne asked. "It might not seem like much now, but a birthday pudding cup to an eight year old is a big deal."

Carol giggled at her and Michonne noticed that her eyes were getting heavy.

"It's time for me to get these girls to bed," Michonne said. "And you could use some rest yourself, especially if you're really thinking of going through with this crazy plan to work tomorrow night."

"I am," Carol said, yawning.

Michonne got up and walked over, scooping up Anjelica. She reached a hand out to Carol and helped her get to her feet.

"Then go to bed or else I'm not letting you out of the house," Michonne said. Carol nodded at her and patted the baby on the head.

"Wake me up in the morning. I'll watch the girls while you're at work," Carol said.

"I'll think about it," Michonne said, "but only if you're in bed before I get Celine to fall asleep."

Carol smiled at her and started down the hall, weaving a little as she went. Michonne stood at the end of the hall balancing Anjelica on her hip until she saw Carol close the bedroom door.

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Merle's boss still wasn't out of jail, but Daryl wasn't as pissed about it as he had been. He'd worked all day at the Greene farm, spending more time with cows than he'd ever hoped to spend with them, and now he was sitting next to Merle at his favorite spot at the Water Ho. Merle had put cheeseburgers on Ed's tab, though, so Daryl was feeling a little less cranky about things.

Loretta appeared to be off for the night, as far as Daryl could tell, but Andrea was hustling about, laughing and talking to the regulars and carting tray after tray of liquid courage to the already drunk men who took every opportunity they could to pinch her ass or offer tips with the intention of slipping them down inside her exposed cleavage.

Daryl sat quietly and ate his burger, thinking that Lula's Diner really did have the best burgers in town if this was all they had to compare themselves to. Still, most of the people that would eat in an establishment such as this one were too drunk to know the difference and it was a free burger which beat the hell out of a great big dinner of nothing that he would have had at home.

Everytime Andrea passed back through the bar area she looked impatient, checking the time on the neon clock above the bar provided by some beer that probably tasted like piss.

"What's tha mattah, sweetcheeks?" Merle asked finally. "Got'cha a hot date or somethin'?"

"No," Andrea said, blowing out the breath she was holding in a puff. "Supposed to have a new girl in here tonight and she's ten minutes late already. I'm supposed to train her to work nights when either me or Loretta's off, and she can't even get her ass to work on time the first night."

"Can't find good help these days," Merle said. Daryl rolled his eyes, thinking how ironic it was that such a statement should come from his brother of all people.

"Sure as hell can't," Andrea said. "Finally!" She called after a while.

Daryl had finished his burger now and was smoking a cigarette, leaning on his hand. A small framed woman walked in and came straight to the back of the bar. She was wearing long pants, a long sleeved button up shirt, a scarf, and sunglasses. Her hair was curly and auburn, but most of the rest of her was hidden, at least from his angle. She looked almost humorous standing there near Andrea in a tank top that very nearly exposed everything she had and shorts that were shorter than most people's underwear.

"What the hell are you wearing?" Andrea asked as the woman ducked to put her purse in one of the cabinets behind the bar.

"Loretta said there wasn't a dress code," the woman said softly. Andrea put her hands on her hips and Daryl almost laughed. She was pissed.

"There isn't a uniform, but you dress for the job you work," Andrea said. She walked over and sat two large, empty glass mayonnaise jars on the bar in front of Daryl. "We work for tips around here, your check isn't going to cover the taxes on your tips. Drunk men pay big tips, but they want to see some ass and titties to do it," Andrea said.

"Hear, hear!" Merle said, raising his shot glass before downing it. Andrea winked at him before returning her attention to the woman who was apparently a starlet afraid of being recognized.

From the look of the mayonnaise jar Andrea wasn't doing too shabby for the time of evening that it was. Daryl wondered if he could get a job that paid that well.

"We split tips around here, so that means tomorrow you better fuckin' dress like you're trying to earn some money and not like you're a nun. This is a bar, not a convent," Andrea said.

"I'm…I'm sorry," the woman said. Andrea sighed, her hands returning to her hips.

"Do you have anything on under that shirt?" She asked. The woman shook her head.

"Well, shit," Andrea said. "Fuckin' lose the glasses, and the scarf and unbutton that thing at least. We're not making much tonight, and it's going to be your fault that I lose half of the shit I put my ass out here to earn. Get to work. Your job is to serve and entertain, you think you can handle that, princess?"

The woman nodded. Daryl watched as Andrea put the mayonnaise jars back under the bar and resumed smiling, gathering up another tray of drinks and walking around to make sure that all the resident drunks were well lubricated.

"When ya get settled in there, sweetness, how 'bout ya just dig 'round under that bar there an' get me another bottle," Merle said.

The woman standing awkwardly behind the bar nodded. She turned her back to them, facing the cabinet where she was stashing her belongings. She peeled off her scarf and sunglasses and stood with her back to them unbuttoning her shirt. Daryl was just wondering to himself what kind of person wore fucking long sleeves in heat like this, but then she turned around.

"Sweet Jesus!" Merle growled under his breath. Daryl didn't miss it. Daryl had never seen a woman so black and blue before, even though he'd seen his share of shiners. He didn't say anything, though, realizing that the woman probably felt pretty self-conscious about it as it was. There wasn't any way that she wasn't aware of what the damage looked like.

The woman pasted on a smile and stepped in front of Merle.

"What can I get you?" She asked. Daryl could see her chest rising and falling and he recognized the rhythm. He had a problem with panic attacks in situations where he felt really out of control of his elements, and she looked just luck she was on the verge of one herself.

"Whiskey," Merle said. His tone of voice had changed, and Daryl noticed he wasn't wearing the same shit eating grin that he'd been wearing the whole evening.

"OK," she said, smiling at him again, despite the fact that Merle wasn't wearing a smile. She fumbled around under the bar and came up with a bottle of whiskey, sitting it in front of Merle and sweeping away the empty one that he'd been draining for a while. The woman turned to Daryl and smiled then. "Can I get something for you?" She asked.

Daryl couldn't find his tongue for a moment. He was caught off guard first by the overall appearance of the woman. It would be impossible not to be shocked by the condition of her face, or by the obviously finger shaped bruises that encircled her throat. On top of that, though, Daryl was struck by how soft she seemed. She was soft spoken, very unlike Andrea, and she almost seemed far too delicate to be in a place like this, despite the fact that her markings would say otherwise.

"I'm good," Daryl finally stuttered out.

"Are you done?" She asked, gesturing at his plate. He held the plate toward her and she took it, disappearing for a moment.

"Holy hell, lil' brothah, I hope ta hell she got that from gettin' caught bumpin' uglies with some hell cat's old man," Merle drawled when the woman was gone.

"Ain't no woman that done that," Daryl said finally. "Look at her neck, son of a bitch's hands were bigger'n mine."

"Still coulda been a woman, lil' brothah," Merle said. Daryl could see on his face that he was trying to crack a joke, but it was only halfhearted. There was nothing that boiled Merle's blood quicker than seeing a woman wearing bruises like that.

The woman came back around the bar and walked around to a few tables. Daryl watched as she smiled at the bar's patrons, took orders, and carried drinks, trying to imitate Andrea, but she wasn't very good at imitating her. The two were cut from different cloth, that much was clear. He stayed at the bar longer than he normally did, watching the woman and accepting shots from Merle.

Sometime later, Andrea came back over to the bar with the quieter woman at behind her. She heaved up the mayonnaise jars again and dropped the bills she had crammed into her pocket in one of the jars. The quiet woman deposited a few bills and coins into her own jar.

"Well that's just great," Andrea said. "It's going to be a slim damn night tonight. Remember, Carol, your job here is just as much to entertain as it is to serve drinks. Shy doesn't make money."

Daryl watched the woman as she eyed the tip jars for a minute. Beyond the mask of bruises that she was wearing, he could see that she was an attractive woman. She had some of the bluest eyes that Daryl had ever seen, and right now she looked like the saddest person he'd ever seen. She sighed turned, heaving up another tray of drinks and disappearing. He watched her as she circled around one of the pool tables, leaning uncomfortably against the table to put her breasts in the face of the men playing pool, just like Andrea did.

Andrea circled around then and Daryl heard Merle talking to her.

"How 'bout we go back ta your place, sugah, after ya all closed up here," Merle said. "I got me a few days off an' my lil' brothah here won't be 'round ta bug us. I'll take good care a' ya."

Daryl curled his lip instinctively at his brother. Seriously, Merle had no standards. It was true that Merle chided him that his standards were too high, and perhaps they were since he had yet to find any woman that was what he wanted, but he didn't think that the extreme opposite of that line, the place where his brother resided, was that much better.

"Can't go back to my place," Andrea said, leaning into Merle and running her finger down his neck and into the top of his wife beater. "Got me a cunt roommate, but if you've got somewhere we can go, I'm off in a couple of hours."

Merle chuckled. Daryl didn't want to hear the rest of it. He didn't want to anymore of it at all, in fact, and he had a feeling that he was going to find out just how soundproof the walls in Sweet Junction Apartments were. He had the sneaking suspicion that they wouldn't be nearly as thick as he was going to wish they were.

Daryl sighed and dug around in his pocket. He pulled out one of the sweaty, balled up twenties that his brother didn't know he was carrying around. He cast a glance back at the woman that Andrea had called Carol and watched as she gathered up empty glasses from one of the now abandoned booths. He cast his attention on Merle and found that he and Andrea were otherwise occupied at the moment exploring each other's tonsils. He reached up and dropped the bill into the mayonnaise jar that belonged to Carol and then slid off his barstool, picking up his cigarettes.

"I'm goin' home, Merle," he said. "Somebody's gotta fuckin' go ta work tomorrow if'n we don't wanna be out on the streets."

"Night, Derlina, don't wait up fer me," Merle drawled.

Daryl shot him the finger and headed toward the door, casting one final glance in the direction of the new waitress.

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AN: So they've finally met, though they don't know much of anything about each other yet. That comes later. ;-)