That's right, Spy's back babies! I'm tired and hungry and when I was wading waist deep in the Amazon in order to document the new sub species of dung beetle, I have to admit, I thought of you everyday.

By the way, I named the dung beetle after you all, Dungus Babicus.

...that shouldn't be an insult, because the species actually doesn't care much for dung and isn't a beetle at all, but a rather large and powerful form of Ocelot cousin.

Am I kidding? You'll never know...on with the story!

Chapter Twenty-Four: Brise

**Daryl**

He was skulking around his bike a few days later, cleaning it up due to lack of something better to be doing. Seemed every time he tried to do anything productive, Carol would give him that sweet look of hers that made him feel somehow guilty, like he was disappointing her by working in his condition, even though she never looked cross or disapproving.

Rick was sitting on the lawn a few feet from him, the engine of a lawnmower dismantled and spread out before him on the grass. The man was obviously beginning to reach for things to keep his mind occupied from leading them or ganking walkers.

At his side the Lieutenant sat with Annie, Judith in his good arm, the older girl singing in Cajun to him, pausing now and then to be softly reminded of the word she was searching for by the soldier.

Seemed Merle, Tyreese and Glenn were the only men up and about lately. Milton was floored and laid up in the infirmary, Carl was gunless and sulking, Father O'Rourke would defend the convent, but refused to hunt or do anything which seemed excessively violent and Herschel was just beginning to heal enough to get a wooden leg fashioned for him to move about better, even then Daryl wasn't holding high hopes for the man to be running and jumping about like a kid. That kid from Woodbury was alright, but his mother was a bit overprotective and the boy did seem to get winded easily, so he wasn't much use either.

Still moving slow, careful not to pull his stitches, still being poked and prodded by Herschel and Mrs. Douglas morning, noon and night, Daryl knew his limits and rested when he needed it.

It didn't help that he hated sitting still for too long, but he found if he rested when he needed it, he healed at the same rate as he would if he were lying about in a bed all day. Felt like he healed faster.

"You know," Rick began calmly, wiping grease off a distributor cap, "I never liked football, but I miss the game days, watching the game with the guys, drinking beer and eating salty snacks."

"I never liked baseball," the Lieutenant admitted.

"What are you?" Daryl snapped. "A fucking communist?"

"Think about it," the Cajun went on. "Have you ever been sober and watched a game. I mean, really watched the game. It's something you need beer to enjoy and even then it's like pulling teeth."

"I watched curling once," Rick said as though admitting to a sinful thing, "by accident. Caught it during the Olympics. I couldn't stop watching, it's boring as hell, but it draws you in."

"What the fuck is curling?" Daryl growled.

"Men throwing rocks at each other down some ice," the Lieutenant said. "Two of nature's most deadliest elements combined with bad sweaters and a lot of vaguely Celtic looking men with ruddy faces, now that's a hell of a game."

"What the hell is polo, then?" Daryl demanded.

The men fell silent.

"Is that the one with those flat bats and goofy sweaters?"

"That's croquet."

"No, that's cricket, croquet is the one with the wooden mallets and hoops."

"Wait, is polo the one with horses and those long crab hammers?"

"We're bad at being men."

"Well," Rick said, "we're still alive. So that's a matter of opinion."

Spying the woman who came with Cash and her son heading for the infirmary, Daryl jerked his chin in their direction and Rick and the Lieutenant both craned to see.

"They still keeping to themselves?" He asked.

"Well, she's been helping the women out, but doesn't say anything not even to her boy, really," Rick explained. "The boy's helpful, but he doesn't seem to trust anyone but his mother and Cash."

"Hell of a man to trust," the Lieutenant said. "I would have bet on a sleeker pony, myself."

"He must have done something for them, in order to have gained that trust," Rick returned. "I'm figuring if the group that's after him liked to take advantage of ladies," he said, eyeing Annie and Judith warily, "then maybe he rescued them from those men or something like that."

"Naw," Daryl said. "Doesn't seem the heroic type."

"Maybe he found them wandering after he left, kept them fed and safe, might be enough for anyone scared and desperate enough to offer loyalty," the Cajun suggested.

They watched as the woman and boy entered the infirmary, slipping out of sight.

"What is zydeco?" Rick asked after they returned to their own business.

"If you have to ask then you're not ready to know," the Cajun returned with a crooked grin.

"Hey," Daryl broke in, "is it true what they say about Mardis Gras beads?"

..-~-..

..-~-..

"Here guys," Glenn said as he returned later that evening from scavenging with Michonne. Tossing a box full of board games and everything needed to keep entertained at an isolated cabin in front of them as they sat on the stoop of the church. "I thought you might like something to do that isn't too much work."

Daryl toed the box towards the Lieutenant, who set Annie down from his knee to dig through it, handing off things to Rick as Annie scurried off to find Grace and Carol. "Where'd you get this?"

"Oh, little bit here and there," Glenn replied with a shy smile. "I smuggled you back some other stuff too," he added with a whisper, checking on the location of the women. "The stuff you asked for Lieutenant and some extra."

"You found all of it?" The Lieutenant demanded with a broad grin. "Jesus, I wasn't really expecting you to fall through on that."

"What can I say, Lieutenant, I'm good at getting people what they need." Glenn beamed proudly and hurried off to get the rest of the things. "I just hit up the library and the local movie theatre, but it was actually an antique store that had the projector."

Eyeing the cagey Cajun, Daryl frowned. "What'd you ask for?"

"Medical marijuana," he replied casually.

"Now, there's a party," Merle said, easing down beside Daryl, wiping his blade down.

"What the hell are you up to?" Daryl demanded as Glenn returned with his arms full of what looked like an old movie projector and Michonne brought up the rear with a box of film canisters. As she set about digging a large white sheet out of one of the boxes, she began to gather a crowd.

The Lieutenant smirked. "Well, I thought we could use some leave from work for a night, but didn't think you or I were up to dancing, so I had Glenn on the lookout for a movie projector and something we could watch. What'd you find for movies, Michonne-girl?" He called out.

She smiled her mysterious smile and kicked the box in his direction. "Nothing spectacular, but at least they aren't educational films."

The men gathered around the box and began pawing through the films for something good as Glenn and Merle got out a ladder from the side of the storage shed and mounted up onto the roof of the dorms to drape the sheet.

Digging out a canister labelled 'The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance' Daryl scoffed. "You think this is a good idea? John Wayne movies at the end of the world?"

"We need the break, cabri." The Lieutenant insisted. "Besides, when was the last time you watched a good old movie?"

Kneeling beside the box, suddenly on the scene, Carol beamed. "Any Cary Grant?"

..-~-..

..-~-..

As the others went through the movies available, Daryl spied Glenn move in close to Rick, whispering something to him.

Rick narrowed his eyes, but finally motioned towards Merle, saying something to Glenn.

Daryl didn't know what was up, but he was deeply intrigued and carefully got to his feet in order to move in closer to his brother as Glenn approached him.

By the time Daryl managed to move in close enough to overhear, he caught the tailend of the exchange, Merle grunting quietly.

"I wouldn't worry about it right now," he said. "We'll just have to keep our heads down for a while, hope they move on. Tomorrow you get all you can from that hardware store in town and we'll wait it out. We'll just keep off the main drag and hope they move on."

Daryl scowled at the news, but went back to looking like he was more interested in the films in the box, wasn't much he could do in his condition for the time being anyways.

By the time the movie projector and the sound system was hooked up to the generator and the sheet was properly hung from the roof of the dorms (with Grace clucking the entire time about her eaves), the majority of them had settled on Harvey and as the sun began to set, Glenn got the projector rolling.

"This is a rip off," Merle shouted as James Stewart as Elwood P. Dowd emerged from his home in shades of grey. "Where's the colour?!"

Watching the adventure of a somewhat doofy, but kind town drunk and his invisible rabbit friend Harvey, Daryl eased back against the tire of one of their vehicles, Carol snuggled in against his side and for the first time in nearly a year he forgot that the dead walked around just outside the convent walls.

"That Myrtle Mae is a scrawny broad," Merle went on. "Not bad though. I'd take her out and lay her down, in that order."

"I have a feeling she ain't that desperate." Daryl hollered back at his brother.

Against him, Carol laughed and buried her face in his shoulder and Daryl took the chance to pull her tighter against him, his damned horse of a dog nosing its way under his arm opposite her, tucking his large head up and against Daryl's shoulder as well. Lately he'd taken to being an even bigger wuss than normal and Daryl wasn't sure if it was because he was around more or because the dog sensed he nearly bumped off.

He'd almost forgotten what it was like to have some semblance of normalcy and by the time Dowd's monologue about how he liked to bathe in the warmth of the golden moments he had with Harvey came about, he realized that it was a good idea to have taken the break. Around him everyone seemed to have fallen into a serene silence, watching the movie with attentive eyes.

Daryl, kept his eyes moving, watching Rick with Judith in his arms, staring at the film, but not entirely focused on it. His brow knit ever so, jaw set firmly. He watched those moving around on the wall, eyes turning now and then to the film, hands clutching their rifles. The Cajun sitting beside his nun, Annie draped across his shins. Daryl looked at Beth sitting close to her father, Glenn and Michonne sitting off to the side, Merle hopped up on the hood of a truck, swinging his legs. He eyed with a sense of tragic loss the holes in the group where faces he once knew should have been sitting.

As the film went on, Daryl became more aware of the end of civilization than he ever had been before. In his lifetime there would be no more movies made, people wouldn't have time or patience for things such as that. There would never be any more professional baseball games or the Olympics or fast food or law and order.

Well, barring Rick, maybe lack of cops would be one good thing that came out of the end of civilization.

This was it, he supposed. This was the best they were going to get out of life now. Things were leveling off, they were beginning to think about banding together as a clan, with territory and traditions, instead of running and fighting with no thought towards the future.

Glancing towards the infirmary, he caught a glimpse of the boy who came with Cash leaning in the shadows of the building, eyes on the film, face solemn.

..-~-..

..-~-..

"I think it's doing Rick some good to take it easy," Carol said later that night as they prepared for bed. She had to be on the wall in five hours for her shift, but it gave her time enough for a good sleep and as she set the battery powered alarm she kept tucked under their bed, Daryl toed off his boots.

Months before he would have never bothered removing his boots, the urgent need to flee at any moment had born a habit of keeping his boots on when sleeping, but the convent was fairly safe (he wouldn't chance Murphy's Law to say it was a Bastille against walkers or assholes looking to take what they had), so he had gotten back into the habit of sleeping with his feet bared to the night air.

"Think maybe he should be more concerned with getting Carl straight," Daryl replied almost sullenly. He didn't care for gossip, but the situation with Carl was a powder keg waiting for the spark to set it off and he wondered if maybe someone needed to say something about it. Rick wasn't stupid by any means, though Daryl did know from the history of his attitude towards Lori that he was sometimes blinded by his family and this worried him.

"Carl can't be forced," Carol said. "The more you push a kid the more they push back."

Yeah, he knew all about parents who liked to push. Of course, his father did it in the more literal sense. He'd push Daryl down by placing his hand on the top of his head when he was little enough to still be squashed down, then he graduated to pushing him over coffee tables and into walls and down the steps of their front porch. Of course metaphorically pushing a kid wasn't all that unappealing to him, some kids needed that push.

He wasn't sure about Carl, though. It seemed like the boy was old enough to need a good whooping to set him straight. A bigger, stronger man to put the arrogant young wolf pup in his place.

Not that Daryl would be that man, it'd have to be Rick. Even just a snap at Carl might remind him of his place in the group, in the remnants of society as a whole.

Carol was wrapping her arms around his neck when he returned to the present and the look in her eyes read trouble.

"How are you feeling tonight?" She asked, pecking a kiss to his mouth quick and sweet, but there was a troublesome undertone to it.

He scowled. "Goddamn, woman," he griped, "not ready for that yet."

"Hey, I heard you were helping Rick out yesterday with a window," she argued playfully.

"Hefting a window is a lot less work than what we do," he remarked.

"Who said you had to do anything?" She returned with a tricky little smile.

"Jesus," he murmured. If he had known Jimmy Stewart movies revved her up this much he would have found a way to show Mr. Smith Goes to Washington on replay twenty-four-seven.

The next kiss was softer and lingered on his lips as Carol pressed against him as tightly as she dared with his injuries, her hips pressing into his.

Daryl settled his hands on her waist. He tried to recall one of the Lieutenant's moves to mind, knowing it'd probably be a sight more suave then any of his fumbling inept attempts. The past few days he had been watching the Cajun with his woman, hoping to catch a tip or trick to how to go about handling Carol when she got frisky. Ashamed to admit it, but he was pretty green when it came to women and at times Carol's aggressive nature made him clumsier and more like a virginal teenager than he had ever been.

Recalling a move the Lieutenant had used two days ago, one that had earned him a hard slap to his good shoulder from Grace for his 'vile habits', Daryl decided to try it, hoping Carol was a little less likely to slap.

Sliding his hand down, over her hip and behind her knee, he lifted it and used her leg to pull her in closer to him.

Her eyes widened, before she laughed and wrapped it around his waist playfully.

Well goddamn, he mused. Seemed the Cajun was on to something with that one. Well, excepting the times it earned him a slap of reproach.

Except, he thought with a wince, it brought her smack against his wound and he had to release her almost immediately before he agitated it. It was bad enough the damned thing had been itching lately as the skin knit back together, but he found in the Georgian heat the bandages broiled his wound and he had to air to more and more to dry it out properly. It wasn't infected, Mrs. Douglas had seen to that with her clean bandages twice a day, but it was getting irritated.

Carol stepped back with a grim look. "Sorry," she said. "I shouldn't have pushed you."

He scowled at himself, but she must have taken it that he was pissed off at her, because she stepped back further with a worried look.

It stopped insulting him when she got that way, he knew it was just lingering fear and nerves over Ed, but he still didn't like that she often assumed he was mad at her for things that weren't entirely her fault.

Daryl moved towards their bed, easing onto it. "It's fine," he grumbled. "Just this damned heat."

She followed him quietly and as she tucked up against his side, he felt the bed dip and another, shaggier companion wedged his way between them.

"This fucking dog is on his last leg around here," Daryl griped miserably.

Carol, draping over the beast, snuggling into his fur, laughed. "You wouldn't do anything to him," she pointed out. "I love him too much."

"Yeah well, you'll both be outside on your asses then," he replied.

Feeling a small, rough hand snake over his chest, he reached for it and pulled it against him tighter.

And that was how he fell asleep, spooned by a big grey dog and holding his woman's hand.

The Voodoo Dialect

Brise - Brise is a loa of the hills. He is boss of the woods. Brise is very fierce in appearance. He is very black and has very large proportions. Brise is actually a gentle soul and likes children. Brise lives in the chardette tree and sometimes assumes the form of an owl. Brise is a protectorate. He is strong and demanding and accepts speckled hens as sacrifices.