"Hey Xena…" Rick called out as he approached Michonne in the courtyard. She was practicing with her katana. She hadn't used it in a couple of months and she wanted to make sure those muscles weren't weakened by her break. "We're not going to be fighting the Governor in hand to hand combat." He finished, arriving next to her. "You better work on your aim." Rick offered her a gun and Michonne took it, more than a little nervous.

"My aim isn't great." She admitted. The truth was that she didn't feel she could hit the broad side of a barn, so to speak.

"I know, but you're probably bringing a knife to a gun fight." Rick said. "The Governor isn't going to storm the prison and fight us in a hand to hand battle. We're not going up against Walkers; we're going up against armed men who can shoot guns." Rick offered.

Michonne nodded, thankful that he had brought her the weapon, and decided that she would practice with it for the rest of the afternoon.

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"Can't…get…much…harder." Daryl panted in response to a muffled plea from Michonne. Finally he felt the release from Michonne that he'd been searching for, though her cries were stifled by the pillow, his right hand tangled in her hair and pushing her into it.

Michonne felt Daryl finish and relax, collapsing on top of her, exhausted. She turned her head to the side to get more air.

"Off…" She mumbled.

"What?" Daryl asked, rubbing his face on her back, his whiskers scratching her.

"Get off! You're squishing me." She gasped.

"Sorry." Daryl said, rolling off. He pulled her to him, intertwining their legs, and put his face against her neck, smelling her. She smelled like soap, and sweat, and talcum powder. As Daryl drifted off to sleep, breathing in that sweet smell, he realized it was his favorite scent in the world.

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"Knock it off and get some sleep!" Hershel called out, banging one of his crutches against the wall. The past few nights at the prison had been unbearable. The echoing of squeaking mattress coils and variations of howls and cries made it sound like the place was overrun with zoo animals and un-oiled door hinges.

The most disturbing thing to Hershel was that he had begun to identify the rhythms and cries of each of the responsible couples, having also discovered that apparently Josh and Brenda were an item, though he wasn't sure if they had been one for long or if the coupling had been brought about by the fear of a possible impending death.

He couldn't blame the couples. The tension was high and he knew that many of them were dealing with the fear that each night be the last night they were together, but he didn't think his sanity could stand much more of the noise.

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Two approaching trucks had been spotted and Rick had issued the call to arms. Daryl was the first to go out, heading to the watchtower with a long range rifle in hopes to pick off the Governor's men from a better angle. The rest would fight the best they could, from the ground.

Rick realized this plan was less than satisfactory. He didn't know how many men the Governor had or what weapons he had acquired. In the moments before they started out to begin what would probably be the final fight for a few of them, Rick surveyed the bunch. At best a few of them were "good shots", most of them just got lucky from time to time, and some would have been just as effective throwing rocks at the Governor's men.

Carl, Judith, and Hershel would be the only three that would remain inside. Rick had given Carl and Hershel weapons in the chance that somehow the Governor made his way through all of them before they had picked off his army, but Rick knew when he handed the gun to Hershel that if that were the case, the gun would be of little use. Hershel had known it too.

As they filed outside to face whatever the future might hold, Rick had to admit to himself that he was significantly worried. He would feel better if he felt like he was sending soldiers out there, but it really felt more like he was taking the Apple Dumpling Gang to war.

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Daryl watched the trucks through the scope. He realized that though they were barely in range, they were in range. He thought that if he were quick enough, he could pick the men off before they got a chance to do much damage.

They were outside the fence and there were no Walkers. Where were the damn Walkers when you needed them?

He tried not to focus on anything but watching the trucks, waiting for any sign of movement. He didn't want to think about everyone below, scrambling into various positions to try to get close enough without getting too close.

Even though he never took his eyes off the trucks, he didn't see any movement. Somehow he didn't see the first man until after he heard the rapid fire of the machine gun. The sound ringing out helped him find the man, but not before he had peppered the area with bullets. Daryl was able to hit him, but then the others spilled out of the truck and started running in all directions, making his job less organized than he thought it would be and more like a carnival game. That's what he had to think about this as, a carnival game that he desperately wanted to win. He couldn't think about the fact that his group was fighting down below or that they may have already lost someone. He wasn't willing to let them lose anyone.

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Carol couldn't see everyone from her position, and the ones she could see had pretty much become indistinguishable, each trying to hide well enough that they were effectively hidden from each other as well. She knew that some people had been hit by the first round of gunfire, she'd seen at least one person out of the corner of her eye fall, and she had tried not to focus on who it had been.

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Inside, Hershel was keeping busy getting ready for the injured. He had kept Carl busy arranging extra mattresses in the living area to create a type of waiting room for the ones that were waiting on him to help them. He hated that he couldn't be out there helping them, but he knew his role was important too. He would be responsible for the aftermath.

Carl was angry that his father had refused him the chance to go out with them. Everyone else had been armed and sent out, even Michonne, and here he was arranging mattresses and listening to the ongoing blasts from outside. He could have done something. He was a better shot than Beth or Carol, but Rick had insisted that he stay inside and help Hershel.

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Daryl struggled to reload quickly. He didn't know what their side looked like, not allowing himself to glance at all into the prison yard, but the Governor's side was dwindling. He still hadn't seen the Governor himself, and he was especially waiting for that moment.

Finally, the Governor did appear, and Daryl saw his opportunity to fire at the man that had made their lives a bigger hell than they had to be, even in these times. He fired, but the crackling of gunfire down below echoed off as well. It would be difficult to know exactly which bullet had killed him, but Daryl was satisfied to see him crumple to the ground.

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When Daryl came out of the watchtower, he didn't know what he expected to see. At first he didn't see much of anything. The whole place was foggy from the gunfire. The first person he saw was Carol, crawling out from under the watchtower where she had taken cover.

"You hit?" Daryl asked.

"No, I'm fine."

"Where the hell is everybody?" Daryl said, looking out at the prison yard. There were a good number of hiding places, and apparently they were all being put to good use. Everyone was still a little nervous to show themselves.

"All over." Carol said.

"It's going to be like hide and seek if anybody's hit and can't come out." Daryl said. He and Carol split up, walking through the yard in different directions. Daryl wanted to know where Michonne was.

One by one, people started appearing from hiding places. All around him, Daryl could hear people yelling reports back and forth and scrambling around looking for the injured and helping them. He heard shots ring out and jumped before he realized it was Tyreese outside the gate, putting down any of people out there before they could turn. He still hadn't found Michonne and he was starting to get panicked.

Daryl ran into Brenda, one of the newer members of the group. She was kneeling beside Hank, one of the young men that had come from Woodbury.

"Help me." She said, pleading at Daryl. Daryl wanted to tell her that he didn't have time, but he walked over to her anyway. Daryl wasn't sure how to tell her that Hank couldn't be helped. He was clearly gut shot and the gurgling sounds that he was making made Daryl sure it was only a matter of moments before he died.

"Can't." Daryl said remorsefully.

"Daryl! Daryl! Come quick!" Carol yelled, running toward Daryl. He instinctively began to run after her. Carol led him to one of the old trucks in the yard where he found Michonne sitting with her back against it, her eyes closed and her shirt soaked in blood.

"Michonne!" He cried, dropping to his knees beside her. She turned her head toward him.

"I'm fine." She said weakly. "Just taking a breather."

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Hershel wasn't sure what he had expected. They had considered the possibility that some of them wouldn't make it and they had considered the possibility that some would be injured. He had been relieved when a sobbing Beth had fallen into his arms, and concerned when a blood smeared Maggie had slumped in minutes later. She wasn't hit, but Glenn was.

Hershel was working on Rick, who had been hit in the side, but who had still managed to bring himself into the prison, relieving Hershel of too much concern other than the loss of blood. That was a concern all around. They didn't exactly have a blood bank handy and even though Hershel didn't know what was happening in his waiting room, he could hear people trickling in every now again either bringing wounded, comforting wounded, or discussing what had happened. Hershel was feeling the strain, because even with Beth helping, he didn't know if he could patch everyone up quickly enough.

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Rick had been the first inside, and hadn't seen any of the others. Once he was bandaged, he stepped out, still holding his side with Hershel behind him to survey the damage.

Hershel had to survey the damage and figure out the order he would work on people. They were lucky in that aside from blood loss; most of the wounds he saw in front of him were relatively minor. The unwounded members of the group were doing the best they could to stop the bleeding.

The two worst injured were Glenn and Michonne. Glenn was hit in the side and in the leg, with Carol keeping pressure on the leg wound and Maggie putting pressure on his side. Michonne's wound was just below her left collarbone and Daryl was attempting to keep it from bleeding anymore than it already had. Hershel looked at both of them, ignoring the other more minor injuries in the room.

"Hershel…" Glenn said. "Ladies first."

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Daryl had thought he was having a heart attack when Michonne had suddenly gasped and gone limp while Hershel was digging the bullet out. Hershel had told him to calm down. She had only passed out and would wake up again soon.

Now Daryl was sitting in a chair that he'd drug into the cell, holding her hand and waiting. Hershel was optimistic. He kept coming in and checking on her, telling Daryl that her blood pressure had returned to normal and the only lasting effect she would suffer from this would be the need to get some rest, which probably wasn't a bad idea anyway.

In his mind, Daryl had scolded her about eighteen different ways. He had calculated all the different ways that the bullet, having been just a little one direction or the other, could have left him burying her today, just the same as Hank. He had forbidden her from every doing anything like this again, from ever scaring him as much as she had today. He had considered going out there and shooting the Governor a few more times…just for good measure…just to make him feel better.

At least they had won and the Governor was out of their way, and they had done better than Daryl had honestly expected. They had lost one, and five were injured, but the Governor's threats weren't hanging over their heads any longer.

When Michonne finally stirred a little, Daryl had jumped. She moaned a little.

"'Chonne?" Daryl said. He knew that people slapped others to get them to wake up, but he didn't have the heart to do that. "'Chonne? Open your eyes." He said.

Michonne opened her eyes and gently turned her head to the side, moaning again.

Daryl smiled at her and rubbed her face gently with the back of his hand. "You can't do that to me again." He said softly.