Noxi: I know a lot of you have been waiting on this chapter for a long time now. I'm sorry for the delay. But I needed to wait until the right words flowed and it still might not be good enough seeing as I haven't written for this in a long time. Thank you so, so much for sticking around. You are the best readers I could have asked for.

The Walking Dead belongs to Kirkman and AMC.

Confined

"Daryl." Rick thought of himself as a good man. And he thought he could judge people well. But he wasn't sure on Daryl. There was too much about him that was missing. He didn't know Daryl. No one did.

And that was where Daryl lost.

"Daryl, I'm giving you this one chance. Tell me what really happened that night, and we'll sort this out." The problem was that he didn't have a choice. Now the Mayor was pressing him to investigate Ed's death. Like it had been a murder. Rick wasn't too sure about that, but he was on the Mayor's payroll and what he wanted he got.

Rick wanted this sorted out. He wanted to let Daryl go. He wanted to just drop everything and let Ed stay buried. That was what Rick wanted most. Ed had done enough damage alive and now they were supposed to let him continue, buried six feet beneath the ground?

Rick tapped the pen on the table absently, head tilted as he stared at Daryl thinking all this over.

He was sure Daryl didn't want to be dredged through any of this either. But he couldn't stop what was happening especially if Daryl didn't talk. People wanted answers and Rick had to find'em.

And he couldn't help the situation when Daryl didn't help himself. Daryl stared back at him from across the table, one hand cuffed, silent. He'd been that way ever since he'd gotten into the back of the car. Nothing that he or Shane had said had gotten another response out of Daryl. It was as if he knew to keep his mouth shut.

Like he'd been here before.

"If you don't help me figure this out Daryl, then I can't help you." Daryl shook his head, a snort of disbelief breaking the silence.

"You wanna know how many times I've heard that before?" he muttered. Rick filed the information away, and sighed. Clearly Daryl wasn't going to talk.

"And you wanna know how many of them lied?" Daryl said, leaning across the table, his free hand curling into a fist. The accusation dripping from his voice, and the hate visible in his eyes was enough for Rick to surmise that at some point Daryl had been here before, and it hadn't gone well. Rick wanted to disagree with Daryl, tell him that he was different, and that he would do whatever he could to get Daryl out of this situation.

But the look on the man's face said that whatever Rick said wouldn't matter. Daryl had been here before and it never worked in his favor. Rick ran a hand over his face, and turned for the door.

"Don't say I didn't try."

xXx

Carol was shoveling the hay out of Sky Dancer's stall, sweat trickling down her face, arms straining with the effort. She could hear Sophia panting in Molly's stall next to her, working to clean them as quick as they could. It should have been methodical work, easy and stress-free. It wasn't like it was hard, and it wasn't like she hated it.

But it wasn't taking her mind off of what she was worried about – Daryl. He was stuck in some stupid room being interrogated for all she knew and for a crime that was never even committed. He was being held against his will and she was sure that wasn't going over well. She had to do something she just didn't know what. Whoever thought to make Ed's death a murder was looking for a scandal in a place it didn't belong. Her life was full of enough crap and she didn't need anymore. And neither did the people who were in it. She glanced down at the mess at her feet and nearly smiled. Horse manure littered the ground around her feet, and she leaned against the pitchfork with a sigh.

Literal and figurative crap. The crap at her feet she could deal with. At least that crap, some of it anyway, could be useful. Ed's crap? That would always be the bane of her existence. She wondered if he would always be the dark shadow covering her life. Never really letting the sun shine down on her. He was always going to be there, ruining that chance of happiness, that chance of normalcy.

And he was dead.

She laughed, short and sad, and went back to forking the manure and dirty hay out of the stall. She needed to get to her work done before she lost the day. Before she lost herself.

She just couldn't find a way to stop thinking about Daryl. He didn't deserve this. He was just a man who'd given his time and his body. And in the end, he was also losing out. She never wanted this, never wanted anyone to be involved in her life. Not to be subjected to this.

Daryl was just a man, and he'd already done more for her than he would have been asked to. And now he was facing a murder charge for her husband?

She wanted to see him. She wanted to drop everything and see him right now. But as much as she wanted to shirk her duties like a teenager, she couldn't. She knew that. She had responsibilities to keep and her life came before this mess that had followed. She would find her way to Daryl when she was finished here. She would have to believe that. Because she would do everything she could to help him.

"Mom?" She paused in her work, and straightened up, huffing a little. She wiped the sweat off her brow with a glance over her shoulder.

"Yeah sweetie?" There was another shuff of noise as Sophia moved the hay and then silence. Carol waited and just as she was about to walk over to see what was up when her voice broke the silence again.

"Are you gonna help Daryl?" Carol's mouth went dry, mind blanking. She hadn't expected that to be Sophia's question, and she hadn't realized that it would matter to Sophia. She knew Daryl had saved Sophia but what had happened when they were out there? What had happened between them for her daughter, who had feared men almost as much as she had, to ask her about this near stranger who had only just come into their lives?

She set the pitchfork against the wall and stepped out the stall. "Sophia, what's this about?" Sophia stepped out of her stall nervously, twisting her fingers together. Carol slipped the gloves from her hands and touched her shoulder softly.

"Baby, what's wrong?" Sophia looked up at her, lips pinched together tightly. Carol could see the worry in her eyes, and feel the tension in her shoulders.

"He didn't do nothin' wrong Mama," she murmured, clutching at the hem of her shirt. "He didn't do nothin'." Carol knew all the implications of what Sophia was sayin', making her heart beat faster. "I don't know what Mr. Grimes thinks he did, but it's not true." She watched as Sophia worried her lip, hands wringing together in front of her as she tried to defend Daryl.

Whatever had happened between them out there in the woods had changed something. It meant something when Sophia wanted her to help someone, actively seeking it out. Sophia didn't just ask for anything. She didn't just take to people. That was something you had to earn. Trust was a hard thing to come by, for either of them, and by the sound of it Daryl had earned something from her daughter.

"Mama," Sophia whispered, wide eyes staring up at her. She clutched at her shirt, and Carol pulled her in close, wrapping an arm around her shoulders in a half-hug. This was so unexpected.

"I don't want this," she muttered into her chest, wrapping her arms around Carol's waist, resting her head on her chest. "Not after everything's that already happened with daddy." Carol smoothed back Sophia's hair, sighing.

Carol knew that Daryl didn't have anything to do with Ed's death. But for some reason the police were inclined to believe it was a murder. Whatever was going on with Rick, whoever was making this a case was doing it for a reason.

"Please mama."

Carol couldn't remember the last time Sophia had asked for something. Not something as important as this. She didn't take to people, and she certainly didn't take to men. Men, for all their lives, had been nothing but unforgiving and relentlessly unmerciful. Whatever connection she and Daryl had made it must have been important.

And if it was important to Sophia, if there was ever anything that Sophia wanted then Carol would do whatever she could. And if that meant getting Daryl out of the murder charge at any cost, then she would. She would go as high as she had to to make it happen.

xXx

There were several things Dale had come to learn over the years, many of which he didn't remember or simply chose not to. And many others still of which he just didn't care for. But there was a few that he would keep on hand always.

The first was that you never left a young horse unattended. They always found a way to get into some kind of trouble. You always left them under the watchful eye of another – whether it was with a human one or a horse. Horses tended to keep each other in line, he found.

The second was that you always kept baking soda on hand. That stuff could be used for anything. Hygiene, cleaning, neutralizer. That shit was a goddamn use-all.

The third was that you couldn't force a good meal. If you cooked something and it came out bad, then you just had to remember there was always tomorrow's meal. And to always eat what you cooked. There is always someone less fortunate than you.

Fourth, a good book will take you far. But a bad one will take you even farther.

And fifth, was that when Carol Peletier sat on the fence staring at the riverbank he needed to worry.

Realistically, he shouldn't have been surprised. With everything that had happened he was a little surprised that Carol hadn't run off yet. Her dead-beat abusive husband had been trampled to death, her daughter ran away only to be found by the man she recently hired. Not to mention that same hiree comes back hurt and with the horse her dead husband was supposed to have sold for meat. And now that same man was being accused a some kind of murder?

Dale shook his head.

It just wasn't lookin' up to a good month.

Too much in too little time. It all needed to stop. Things needed to quiet down so she could grieve proper and figure out where she was headed next. She needed time to let her life fall back into place, so she could see where she fit into it all. It didn't help that she kept putting all these things on her shoulders, though she wouldn't be Carol if she didn't.

It was only October. Next thing it would be November and the snows would be here.

They just didn't have time to breathe.

Course, nothing ever worked that way. Fate never gave you the time you needed.

He hummed, and pushed off the fence he'd been leaning against, walking through the cattle. He patted those he passed, and slipped out the gate. If there was one thing he should have taken from his late wife that he wouldn't ever forget, was that you see a woman who looks like she needs to be on her own, you leave her on her own.

But Dale had never bothered to follow that one. He'd always managed to butt his nose into everything. He'd tell Irma every time that it was a matter of principle.

"You just like to think you're a damn hero, don't you?" She jabbed with a delicate smile on her face.

"No. No." Dale said, moving around the RV with a practice that spoke of time. He glanced at Irma sitting on the little couch by the window, at the bandanna around her head and forced a smile to his lips. "Sweetheart, you expect me to watch you go through whatever it is and not do anything about it?"

Irma shook her head as if she knew this was exactly what he was going to say. She sighed, moving her eyes to the window, drawing her legs up so she was sitting cross-legged and leaning back against the wall.

"Sometimes a woman just needs to be with her own thoughts."

Dale had never given Irma time to be with herself. He was already going to lose Irma far earlier than he should have. And maybe that was selfish of him. Maybe he was an ass for being that way. But Irma had never blamed him for it. And she never stopped loving him because of it.

So he never stopped being who he was, even if that meant he was going to interrupt on a personal moment. Irma had always told him he had no tact.

"Carol?" She turned, grabbed at the post beneath her to steady herself. She drew in tight, shoulders curling inward and he watched as her resolve wavered. Whatever she was out here for, she was fighting it. He could see it in the empty shadows of her eyes. Her lips pressed together tightly.

"Dale," she said quietly.

He leaned his back up against the fence, wondering if this was one of those times he should listen to Irma. That quiet desperation in her eyes was enough to make him wonder if Carol wasn't losing herself in all this trouble.

He knew she was strong. Hell, she'd held under a life with Ed for more years than he would have ever imagined. She retained her love when he would have thought it would have died.

But people aren't unbreakable. There comes a point when they fold under the weight.

He could only hope that Carol hadn't reached her point. He could only hope that she was holding on.

"You know that if you need anything, anything at all," he said, placing his hand over hers and squeezing gently, "I'm here."

He waited, for her to pull back, to confirm, anything. But she only looked ahead, biting her bottom lip, looking more troubled than she had before. Dale didn't know if he had caused more trouble than he had intended. He didn't want her to give up. Not now, not after everything that they had faced together in her life. He knew how far she had come and for her to know give up now seemed cruel and unfair.

But when he felt her fingers curl, just barely around his, he knew that despite what came, she was still fighting.

xXx

She left the ranch with more resolve than she had when she got to the station. There was something about the building, about what it represented that had her stalling in the car. She was scared. She could feel it in her chest. It was that same feeling she got when Ed would come home from the bar drunk and angry. She was powerless against him on those nights.

It tightened her chest to the point where she could hardly breathe. She would nearly lose herself in the panic of the wait.

She was only making it worse by sitting out there in the car. Ed was dead, and there was no one inside that building that could hurt her worse than Ed had already done.

She took a deep breath and stepped out, hanging her purse over her shoulder.

And when she walked through the doors she didn't stop to wait for someone. She kept moving, beyond the counter, and passed the desks drawing on her courage as all eyes were soon on her until she was in front of Sasha and her hands were shaking and she was biting her lip until it hurt.

Sasha was staring up at her expectantly, and Carol didn't know what to say even as a few officers hovered near them, waiting.

"Carol?" Carol took a deep breath, and knew that if she wanted anything she would have to fight for it.

"I want to see him." Sasha didn't say anything at first and Carol wondered if she had spoken at all or if she'd only said it in her head.

"I'm sorry Carol, but you can't." Carol was confused at first. She came all this way to see Daryl and Sasha, her friend, was going to deny her that?

"What do you mean I can't see him?" Sasha stood up, her face a mask of a sympathy.

"Carol, look, I'm sor-"

"She means that Daryl Dixon's a suspect in a murder investigation and you being the wife of that victim makes your request a…conflict of interest." Carol felt a shiver run up her spine and turned to meet Shane.

He was smiling, a cup of coffee in his hands, and if she didn't like most law officers, it was Shane who made the uniform look wrong. He wore it like a shield of power that was his to wield over others and to her that was just like Ed holding their marriage over her head like power. They might not be the same kind of man but it certainly branded them of a similar beast.

And she hated him for it. Shane was just nice enough for her to notice all of the ugly about him. He may have been with Andrea once, and he may be an officer of the law, and he may keep their town safe but she never got the same feeling from him that she did from Rick.

"He works for me Shane. He didn't do anything wrong." Shane nodded like he'd heard all of this before and he didn't believe a thing.

"Oh I'm sure that's all it is," he said, in a tone so condescending she wanted to slap him. HE set his coffee down on Sasha's desk and she noticed the very sorry look on her face. Carol couldn't imagine working with a man like Shane.

"But right now we all have a job to do, and yours," he said, placing a hand on her shoulder and pushing her toward the exit, "is to – "

But Carol wasn't going to let anyone, especially Shane Walsh, touch her like that again. She smacked his hand away and heard the room go quiet, the tension so thick she could scarcely breathe.

"Don't you dare touch me," she whispered threateningly, shaking hard. If he wanted to, Shane could say she assaulted him or something. She backed up a step, hating that Shane was still smiling, hating that it sent a sliver of fear down her spine.

"That's enough." Everyone turned to Rick as the tension snapped like a taut rubber band, and Carol felt her shoulders sag in relief.

Rick turned to Shane first. "Weren't you supposed to be taking that to Daryl?" he said with a nod to the coffee. Shane stared at Carol for a moment longer than necessary and then snatched up the coffee with a scowl.

And then Rick turned to her, his hands on his hips. "You're not supposed to be here Carol." She sighed, and pulled her purse tighter across her chest as if that could comfort her.

"I know, but…" she glanced around at the desks, as a few officers milled back to their duties, and a few others still kept their eyes on her.

"It's not right Rick. He doesn't belong in here. He didn't do anything wrong. You know that." Rick stared at her silently, like he was debating something. And then he sighed, dragging a hand across his face.

"You can see him." She smiled, and nearly said thank you but he stopped her short. "But. On one condition." He turned, and beckoned her to follow him. She walked with him hesitantly. She'd never been in the police station before and if she were honestly, she didn't like it. It was cluttered, it was small and everyone in here wore their power like a shield. Maybe that was point. They had too. But it didn't mean she liked it.

Rick opened a door and held it for her. She hesitated before walking in, not sure what she would find inside the room. But she'd come here looking for Daryl so she took a deep breath and went inside.

And she was disappointed by what Rick had given her.

She turned to watch Daryl through the one-way glass and swallowed heavily.

She knew Daryl couldn't see her through the mirror and it made her uncomfortable. She watched him closely, noting the way his leg bobbed underneath the table and the way he chewed his bottom lip. His eyes kept scanning the walls, like he was looking for a way out.

It had been thirteen hours since Daryl had been taken into custody by Rick and Shane. Thirteen hours in and she knew Daryl wasn't going to last long without things coming to a head. There was something about the way his eyes flitted about the room, and his finger tapped along his leg, his other hand scratching absently at his arm. He was like a rabid animal, caged for too long, and if he didn't get out someone was going to pay the price.

"You have to let him go," she said, turning to Rick. He took a deep breath, crossing his arms over his chest. And she knew that look. How many men had given her that look like they knew exactly what they were doing. As if to say look woman, I know.

"I can't do that. You know that." Her jaw tightened, infuriated, the last day weighing heavy on her shoulders. She'd had enough crap on her plate to last her a lifetime and yet, no one seemed to be able to give her a break. She was tired, and she was done dealing with everyone. She wanted to go home and she wanted Daryl to walk out those doors with her.

"No. I don't. He didn't do anything Rick. This is a bunch of crap and you know it." She'd been friends with Rick a long time, and she didn't want to lose that. But he wasn't making it easy to spare that either. Why couldn't he just let Daryl go? Why couldn't he trust her for once? Why couldn't he see that this was a goddamn waste of time and clearly someone was looking to stir up trouble.

"Carol," he said softly, drained, "you don't know him. He's been working for you for – how long? Two weeks maybe?" She gave a short laugh, and swallowed back the immediate retort that would have gotten her nothing.

Screw you Rick.

She dragged in a deep breath, and squared her shoulders. She was a better woman than that. She looked through the glass, hating that Daryl was in there for her husband. There was nothing she could do from here, but that didn't mean she had to give up yet.

"And neither do you," she spat back.

xXx

Daryl stared at the coffee, gone cold, and waited. Waited for when they would release him. Waited for them to accuse him of something. Waited for them to come in with something against him that had nothing to do with Ed and everything to do with his past. But they didn't come. He sat, confined to this damn room with nothing but the one-way mirror and his reflection staring back him for him company.

His drew in a ragged breath as his head dropped back, and he was staring up at the ceiling.

He'd been avoiding the law since the moment he left Georgia. He'd wanted a clean slate. He'd wanted to make something new for himself and that meant keeping who he used to be out of it.

He'd been running from who he was for so long that he should have known it was only a matter of time before it caught up with him. He couldn't blame Ed or Carol. Didn't matter what he did or didn't do to keep himself out of trouble. Fact was he had shit trailing after him miles long. That baggage wasn't something you could just wipe away. It was branded in his name. It was etched in his skin. It was the shadows on his soul, darkening him. It smothered him, burying the softest parts of him and leaving only the hardest side.

He was a Dixon.

It's in yer blood boy. -

There was no changing that.

You can't run from us. -

He should a stayed in Georgia, where he belonged.

No matter how far you go. -

He couldn't run from that when it was buried deep in his bones. This was who he was.

You'll always be one a us. -

He held up his hand, cuffed to the table, staring at the scars deep in his skin. He didn't need Merle or his ol' man to do this. All he needed was himself.

Can't change who ya are boy. -

xXx

"We're not open yet," she called at the sound of the door opening. There was always that one who thought he could get in a drink before noon even waved on by.

"Is Michonne here?" Andrea looked up, and was surprised to find Carol standing in the doorway looking around with her purse clutched beneath her arm. Andrea propped her hands to hips and studied her a moment. The last time she had seen Carol in here she had had to pick up Ed because he'd been too drunk to drive home, passed out on the floor. That was the last time Carol had set foot in here. And that had been a long time ago.

Carol didn't like bars for that reason that she knew of, and for plenty of others that she was sure she didn't.

Andrea knew it was nothing against her, but it still left a mark behind. So seeing her here now made her weary. Carol only did she didn't like when it was important.

"Yeah," she drawled. Carol wasn't usually lookin' for Michonne. Not that they didn't get along, there just wasn't much between them.

"Something I can help you with? She's a little busy." She wasn't actually too sure what Michonne was doing in the back, she just wanted to know what Carol wanted. Carol's face pinched, and she looked down, toeing the ground. She seemed to contemplate talking, and then Andrea could see it. Like she wanted to say but she didn't want to talk about it to her. Carol sighed before turning away, shoulders pulling in like she had decided not talking was her final answer.

"No," she conceded. "It was a long shot anyway." Andrea waited a beat before stepping out from behind the counter on a long sigh.

"Carol, wait," she called. Carol stopped at the door, fingers pressed to the knob. Her chin dipped and Andrea wasn't sure if she was going stay and hear her out or if she was just pausing to tell her never mind again.

Her silence was answer enough.

"She's in the back." Carol looked over her shoulder, gratitude shining through her eyes.

"Thank you," she murmured and turned to head for the staff door that really just led to the hallway that opened up into the second part of the building that was their house. Andrea didn't let many people back there, because it was the house, and because it was the only place they could truly call safe.

It wasn't that she thought Carol was going to start something; it was more or less habit. She just never let anyone back there.

"Carol," she called, halting her. She stopped, turning to face Andrea, waiting. Andrea didn't know if she wanted to ask about Ed or Daryl. She didn't know what was more appropriate in this situation; Carol's dead husband or her…ranch-hand. She supposed either of them weren't really things that Carol would want to discuss right now because they were both related. But she was going to see Michonne and something in her gut told her it was about one of them. And she had a right to know.

"Is this about Daryl?" Carol was silent a moment, turning to avoid Andrea's gaze. She could see Carol's jaw moving, the muscles turning her thoughts about. Carol had always been a private person. But she needed some kind of answer.

"Yes," she finally said. "What Rick's doing...he's wrong." Andrea's lips pursed in concentration and she knew then why Carol had come here.

"I don't know if you're going to find what you're looking for." Carol shrugged her shoulders.

"I still have to try." She nodded and watched Carol go through the back door. She waited a moment, knowing that Michonne would be alright but curious all the same. So she followed Carol through the back until she heard their voices and stopped outside the door to their office.

"Carol, I haven't practiced law in six years. I'm not the person you should be asking to do this." Andrea glanced around the corner of the door, catching Michonne's gaze. She gave her that barely noticeable glare, her head tilting down and she knew that Carol's request had been more than Michonne had wanted to take on.

She smiled apologetically because in the end, Carol was a friend and the least they could do was hear her out.

"I know, I know," she muttered, sitting down in the empty chair behind her and rubbing at her face wearily. "I just know that what they're doing is completely uncalled for and they have nothing to hold him there." She sighed and looked up at Michonne pleadingly.

"But what I don't know is who he is. His past is something I can't account for, but it means nothing to me Michonne. It has nothing to do with what happened to Ed but I don't know if Rick and Shane will think the same. If they find something that they can even remotely use…" she trailed off, looking down at her hands, squeezing them into fists.

Andrea could tell by the look on Michonne's face, by the deep set of her mouth and the way her chest expanded and set that she was going to help Carol out. Michonne was too good to walk away from someone like Carol, too good to say no to someone who needed help. As much as she put up a front about everything she would give you the skin off her back if she could.

"And what if he is a killer?" she asked softly. Andrea wanted to walk into the room and shake her right then. Carol needed her, she didn't need her to doubt the guy. She didn't know who Daryl was, but she knew Carol was a damn good judge of character. Woman had put up with Edward Peletier's bullshit for more lifetime's than she cared to ever pause on.

If Carol wanted to help out this guy Daryl? Then she hoped Michonne would look into him. Someone should at least do it, someone who wasn't so goddamn biased about this whole situation.

"He didn't kill Ed," Carol stressed, hands fisting over her knees. Michonne crossed her arms over her chest, tilting her head.

"But what if he is one?" Carol's throat bobbed and she never strayed from Michonne's gaze. Andrea wasn't sure if she should do something or not. And then Carol stood up and Andrea couldn't take not being in the room anymore and she stepped into the doorway, ready to intervene if she had too.

Carol didn't even glance her way. Her mouth was set and her expression never wavered, set like stone.

"I don't believe he is," she murmured. She nodded like her decision had been made. "Besides," she said with a small shake of her head.

"Who he was," she said softly, without any hesitation, "doesn't change who he is now."

And then Carol left, brushing by her without another word and her hands steadier than when she had come in.

xXx

Rick leaned against the wall watching him closely as Shane approached the table this time, looking smug. Their routine of good cop, bad cop was so obvious he wanted to laugh.

"Who's Merle?" Deputy Shane dropped the manila envelope on the table in front of him and Daryl found his eyes trapped in Shane's. There was information there, knowledge, and Daryl was shit outta luck. He hadn't run far enough. He swallowed heavily, words caught in his throat.

Shane smirked, sensing his distress.

"Doesn't matter. We already know." He made a show of opening the folder and flipping over a couple of pages. Daryl tried to act indifferent toward it, but he couldn't help trying to see what was on the pages. And then he caught sight of Merle's picture and he knew he was screwed. Caught. Dead.

"Merle Dixon. Sound familiar Daryl? Something you wanna tell us?" Daryl kept his mouth shut, jaw tightening further. He wasn't no damn fool. He knew better than to incriminate himself. And he didn't know what they had on Merle so it was better not to say anything at all. They could talk if they wanted.

Shane gave a short, cocky laugh. He was an arrogant, son of a bitch and what Daryl wouldn't have given to punch him again. "Don't worry. I'll refresh your memory," he said with a wave of the envelope. Daryl sank further into his seat, side pinching painfully, trying to hide himself, and waited for whatever it was. Shane lifted up the first sheet and met his eyes over the top of the paper, letting the silence speak for a moment.

Daryl almost said something then.

"Merle Dixon. Born…date unspecified." Shane was nodding his head like this wasn't a surprise. "What happened? Mama gave birth in the bathtub? Couldn't get her junkie ass off the floor longer'n five minutes?" Daryl's hands clenched beneath the table, and he repressed the urge to reach across the table and strangle Shane. He couldn't let this asshole get to him. He was lookin' for him to lose control somewhere. Lookin' for that weak spot. Much as Ma was one of them, Ma wasn't it.

He kept movin' down the list as Rick kept watchin' silently. "Says here he was arrested," Shane's brows went up, and he glanced back at Rick knowingly, "on twenty-four different accounts. Twenty-four." Shane whistled disapprovingly and Daryl scowled in response.

"Says a lot about a man. At least thirteen a them were before he was of legal age to be tried as an adult. Says here he went to juvie…" and Shane's eyes roved over the paper, and he whistled in appreciation. Daryl wanted to punch him again.

"Six times. Hoo-wee. Boy, if I didn't know better we got a real winner here. I'd even say that hick trouble runs in the blood," he murmured threateningly. Daryl's eyes narrowed dangerously, and if he wasn't careful he was gonna say to hell with keepin' his mouth shut and let the Deputy have it. "Ya know," he whispered, leaning over the table, "they say if a boy don't get enough love that he kills the world around him." Shane shook his head, disapprovingly.

"Shame, really. This sad sack a shit got into the Marines. Musta looked right over that juvie record a his. And even they couldn't right him out. I mean, think about it Daryl." Daryl swallowed hard, pushing down the anger that was threatening to overwhelm him.

Shane laid the papers out in front of him, and there was Merle's life. Littered before him like a damn book on display. Like he was a piece to observe at some damn museum.

"Your brother has done nothing but break the law. He's a criminal. A first class loser. And you wanna know what?" Shane pointed to a spot on one of the papers but Daryl didn't look. He kept his eyes on Shane. He wanted to look this asshole in the eye when he talked shit about them.

"So are you," he whispered. "You fucked up too. Got your name on record. Didn't think about that, did ya? Didn't think about what would happen when you decided to tag along that with no good, piece of shit you call a –"

Daryl shot up out of his chair and grabbed Shane by the neck with his free hand and slammed his face down, against the table. Shane struggled under his grip, but Daryl kept his fingers curled around his neck even as his side ached in pain, pushing firmly as he leaned down to his ear.

"Don't you ever," he growled out lowly, "ever talk about my brother." Blood started pooling on the table, soaking up the papers as Shane grunted beneath his grasp. And then Daryl let him go, sitting back in chair, easing

Shane sat up, pinching his nose as blood dripped down his face, the scowl marring his features. He could see Rick out of the corner of his eye, hand to his holster. Daryl turned to him, snarl curling up his lip. These no good officers thought they could get to him by bad-mouthing his brother?

They were wrong.

"'m a lot a things. And I may have some shit in my past," he snapped, "but that doesn't mean I killed Peletier." Daryl looked down at his hands, fingers curling inward, staring at the scars that were a constant reminder of all the things he'd done. He would never forget. He would never forget who he was.

He looked up and met Rick's eyes again, hands fisted, nails digging into his palms.

"I didn't kill him."

xXx

Carol had one more stop to make and she wasn't sure if she was prepared for it. The Mayor was a difficult man to face, and not because he was mean or unfair. He kept things equal in town and he usually stayed out of the town's personal business unless it required his presence. He was generally liked by all and no one really had any complaints toward him.

Carol suspected that was because everyone else was too lazy or scared to run for Mayor against him. Philip Blake had been the Mayor of Woodbury running on 9 years now.

No, she was nervous because he was too personable. And his eye. It was something about the eye patch that always made her hesitant to look him in the face. She wasn't rude, and she always gave him the courtesy he deserved. His accident hadn't done anything to deter him from his position as their town Mayor. But it always made her wary. It seemed like he used his disfigurement as an advantage.

And yet, she wondered if that was the problem.

"There's no way I can see him?" Milton, his secretary, stared at her like she was asking to see the President. He adjusted his glasses and sighed.

"You realize he only sees someone by appointment?" She stared down her nose at the scattered things on Milton's desk. The cup of tea, a book, a lawyer's pad. In a way, he wasn't really a secretary. Of course, Carol's idea of secretary was always skewed she supposed and she would see a woman in that position. But Milton did more than just answer phones and set up appointments and run Philip's errands. He handled anything with the newspapers and he took business calls when Philip was busy, and from what she gathered he was helped managed Philip's life.

Sometimes she didn't wonder if Milton was in the wrong job, or if he was simply deceiving them all. Either way, she never liked coming here. Nor did she ever have a reason to.

"Which means that he won't be able to see you," he stated, staring up at her over the top of his glasses, one brow quirked. She breathed.

"When you see him will you just let him know that Carol Peletier came by about her husband's murder?" Milton looked up then, and she steeled herself. If that had gotten his attention then she needed to get her point across.

"If I see him," and he watched her, irritation gleaning his eyes, as if waiting for her to go. She didn't want to push it, and she didn't want him to not say anything. She nodded and turned to leave.

"Tell him if he wants the murderer then he'll have to pay for the herd of cattle first." And she walked out without even a glance back.

xXx

"Daryl." Rick sat across from him this time, alone, and he just didn't care. After the shit that Deputy Shane had pulled with Merle, Daryl wasn't in the mood to hear a goddamn word either a them had to say.

Rick sighed, seeming to sense this, and leaned back folding his hands across his lap. Daryl didn't know why he stayed. He wasn't gonna say nothing. He'd been quiet goin' on six hours now and he was plannin' on keepin' that silence till they had to let him go. And he knew they couldn't keep him unless they charged him with something.

He only had eleven hours left and he wasn't gonna fuck that up now.

"My son, Carl," Rick started suddenly, absently rubbing at jaw, "he likes to think he's gonna become a Sheriff one day." Daryl shifted uncomfortably in his chair, cuffs rattling. Rick didn't even glance his way. He didn't know what prompted Rick to start talking, or about his kid, but it wasn't going to change his mind.

"Not sure why seeing as some days he can't stand the sight of me. Neither can my wife for that matter," he mumbled.

Daryl almost commented but he kept his mouth shut and tried to focus on the pain that pulsed in his side instead of listening. Rick dragged a hand over his face wearily and not for the first time did Daryl notice the dark circles under his eyes and the way his shoulders sagged.

"But I imagine it's what I represent. A loyal officer of the law, a figure who keeps the peace here in town. Someone people can respect and rely on. Someone people love." Daryl looked away. Just like a man with all that power to assume that people just loved him.

"Helps that my best friend keeps alongside me as well." Daryl snorted then, unable to hide his disdain, not even surprised that Shane was Rick's right-hand man.

Rick did glance up at him this time, brow raised. Daryl stared back, and he could see in his eyes the conviction he held in his position. Rick believed in the job he did. Maybe he wasn't like Shane. But that didn't mean he was much better.

"My point it, is that Carl sees who I am – what I am. And it doesn't matter how absent I am as a father, or how many fights his mother and I get into. And it doesn't matter how many ball games I miss. But I'm still his father."

Daryl was watching him now, his point becoming clearer. He shifted in his chair, taking a deep breath, scratching at his arm. He wasn't sure how much more of this he wanted to hear. Wasn't sure that he cared.

"Or you keep telling yerself that." Rick smiled knowingly, and Daryl was a little surprised.

"Maybe," Rick said leaning forward on his elbows, holding his gaze, letting the silence hang between them, "or maybe you know what I'm talking about. Maybe you know exactly what it's like to both love your family. And hate them."

Daryl knew he wasn't breathing because his heart was thundering in his chest, in his ears, deafening everything else around him.

How many times had he thought about leavin' Merle behind only to wimp out at the last minute and all for what? Because he couldn't leave him? He couldn't leave Merle and for what? Because of some fairytale notion that he…he loved Merle?

It was stupid. Merle had never loved nobody, least not like he was supposed to. Merle loved in a way that you could barely understand and even when you thought you did, he was making your head spin. You never knew what was comin' next with him.

And never mind the fact that Merle never worried about not leaving him. He'd been left alone most of his life. So why was it that he always felt obligated to stay? Why had he wasted all those years giving to Merle what he'd never gotten back?

"Family," Rick said, picking at something indistinct on the table. "Is the one thing you can never escape," he murmured.

Rick was silent for a long time after that and Daryl didn't say anything. But he found himself thinking on Rick's words. Because his whole life he'd never been able to escape his family. He'd been under his family's grip for as long as he could remember, and he'd never found the strength to leave.

His Ma. His ol' man. Merle.

He was always theirs. Always doing what they wanted. Always givin' them what they wanted. It was never about him. No one ever cared about him.

No one.

Rick stood up, rapping his knuckles on the table, catching Daryl's attention.

"What happened with Ed was a mistake. I know that." Daryl wasn't convinced because then he wouldn't be in here. He'd be back at the ranch, helping Carol out, getting yelled at for trying to work.

He'd be free.

Rick made to leave, stopping just at the door, his back still to Daryl as he glanced back one last time.

"Just tell me the truth Daryl. That's all I want."

xXx

Michonne stared at Daryl through the glass and wondered, not for the first time what it was that Carol saw. On the surface he looked like a wild animal, ready to fight his way out of a cage.

She wasn't sure she wouldn't be feeling the same way in his situation. He was being kept locked up for a crime he didn't commit. But there was an edge to his look, a fierce animalistic shine that literally moved with him, in every ripple of his body. He looked like he was a thing that couldn't be tamed.

But it wasn't just about being tamed. He was broken. He'd been broken down and made to think that he wasn't worth anything. He was made into this, whatever it was. Whoever he was before, whatever his life had been, it had made him the animal.

Now, she didn't know if it was the right thing, making sure he got out and back to Carol or not. But maybe for him it would be. To many times she had watched people be crushed beneath the weight of their suffering and no one had been there to help. No one had tried.

If Carol was going to help this man, then Michonne would do what she could.

Daryl looked up, and stared at the mirror, eyes devoid of much. He sank into his chair, his body falling like gravity was pulling him down and his shoulders heaved as he swallowed. And Michonne could see a glimmer of pain flash across his eyes before he shifted and slumped forward, and let his head fall slowly to his arms.

Just maybe she could see what Carol wanted to fight so hard for.

xXx

Daryl stared at the mirror in front of him, his reflection broken and haunted staring back. Ugly. Ruined. He was nothing. He was wasted space. He looked used up, like he'd taken a beating and he hadn't gotten any sleep. He looked like Merle after a night of using. He looked like his Ma when she was up all night on a bender. He belonged in this cage. What was out there – he didn't deserve that. His life was back in Georgia, where he belonged.

He drew in a ragged breath, closing his eyes, and let his head fall on his arms on the table.

Rick wanted the truth about that night. But the thing being it wouldn't change anything. Ed had died. And he hadn't done nothing about that.

Not to make it happen.

And not to make it stop.

He may not a killed Ed himself, but he was just as much the killer as anything. He'd let Ed die, and that made him just as guilty.

He pulled his head up, eyes finding his own in the mirror once more, lids hanging heavy.

"Who the fuck are you?" He stared back at the man, knowing exactly who he was but not believing that this was happening here, now. Peletier swayed, disfigured in the darkness and the blur of the rain. Daryl could barely see his face but he knew by the sound of his voice what he looked like. The rain pounded against his neck, chilling him to the bone.

How many times had he listened to someone yell at him like that? How many times had he watched his ol' man's face twist up into the monster that he was? Those same eyes staring back at him, reminding him of exactly who he was.

"Did you touch her?" The speed between the accusations and the irrationality of them struck him silent. What the hell was this? What the hell did he think this was?

"We don't need no goddamn in-bred hicks. You get the hell off my land!" Daryl stood silent. He couldn't believe that this what he would be dealing with. This asshole throwing accusations in his face when he didn't know nothing.

"You fuckin' hear me?" His legs shook with the effort it took not to take that step back. But he didn't let that stop him from standing up tall. Standing up to Ed.

He didn't stand up for much in his life. The times that he did he'd paid for it. Plenty of scars to show for it.

"I heard you," he muttered through the rain, compelled to answer, but holding back.

"What? What'd you say dumbass?" Daryl turned, jaw clenching. He needed to take himself away from the situation before he did something that he would be a mistake.

"I said who the hell are you?" A thick hand fell on his shoulder and pulled him back, turning him around. Anger ripped through him. Who the hell did this sonuvabitch this he was? Who was he to touch him?

How many times had he suffered under the touch of his ol' man? How many times had he been powerless against it? All because he was weak?

The headlights were shining in his eyes, and the rain kept falling in his face blurring his vision. And he missed the shove directed at him and he went down on his knees.

"What's wrong?" Peletier taunted.

"Cat got ya tongue?" he said with a push to his shoulder. Daryl stayed there in the mud, knees quaking in anger, fists at his sides.

"You a pussy? Can't get it up?" he said with a cackle.

"Carol can't," he whispered mockingly.

And Daryl didn't even think. It was hazy and bloody and red. And when he realized what he'd done Peletier was on the ground, panting, staring up at him shocked. And he hit Peletier again, and again, and again. It was Dale's voice that called him from his haze as he was standing over Peletier, blood dripping from his nose, the rain already clearing it away.

He backed away quickly, staring down at his hands.

And then the truck was moving, the engine revving loudly as Peletier backed it up and then gunned it right for him. Daryl didn't have time but to jump out of the way as Peletier ran his truck through the shed, the air screaming in his ear.

"Daryl!"

He jerked awake, hand pulling against the cuff as he bolted upright in his chair. He glanced around, confused that he wasn't wet, looking for Peletier in the dark. He shook his head, running a hand over his face as realization dawned on him that he was still in the holding cell at the station and Peletier was dead. He looked up to see Rick standing in the doorway, watching him carefully, eyes wide.

"What?" he snapped, as Rick came over with a set of keys in his hand, like he was about to start laughing.

But he couldn't even be mad. The dream that was all memory was still fuzzy in his head and he merely sat and watched as Rick unlocked the cuff. He pulled his hand back experimentally rubbing at his wrist.

"You're free to go." He eyed him skeptically. It was a trick. Nothing ever worked out in his favor. And then Rick did laugh.

"Seems you got someone looking out for you." Daryl wasn't sure what the hell he was talking about and the black woman he had seen at the bar was peeking in through the door. He didn't know what Rick was going on about but if it meant he could leave then he was gone.

xXx

She needed to ride. It was the only thing that could make her feel better at this point. She'd done what she could and now she would have to let the pieces fall. She cantered Molly around the pen, feeling the air over her skin, closing her eyes. If she forgot about everything else, she could imagine she was flying.

She opened her eyes to the sun shining brightly over the crest of the mountain. She toed Molly's sides, slowing her down to just a walk taking them to the very edge of the pen until they stopped and Molly grazed absently.

If Daryl didn't come back, if he went to jail she would never forgive herself. Her life was her own and she had never meant to involve anyone else. But here he was, sitting cuffed to a table all because her husband was a foolish, arrogant man.

She wanted to take Molly and jump over the fence and run. Run until she was so far she couldn't even see the mountains anymore. She wanted to run until she couldn't remember what this place looked like, or felt like.

But she just turned Molly, and squeezed her heels against her sides and walked back to the barn. Because she wasn't that woman. Because her life belonged here. And she could never leave this behind. No matter what awaited her.

xXx

He stared. He couldn't help it. Daryl had never seen anything like it. The way she rode on Molly, like she was born for it, all fluid like water. There was a skill to it; a grace he'd never known was even possible. Carol, he realized, was a lot of things.

His head dipped and he curled an arm around his waist as if he were trying to disappear again, closing his eyes.

After everything that had happened, he was just going to come back? He was just going to put himself right back where all this trouble had started?

"You're gonna be on a watch for some time, til things settle."

He was so damn tired of hearing Rick's voice that he didn't even turn around or acknowledge that he'd heard him. He dragged in a breath, debating on whether he turned right back around and walked off the property.

"You hear me?" Daryl glanced over his shoulder, and would have had given Rick shit if he wasn't so distracted. So he just nodded instead. Rick looked as if he wanted to say something more but one hard glance from him and he thought better of it and left instead.

Daryl turned back to the farm, and took in the land that he called "home" for only two weeks. Watched the woman who had accepted him into her life without any hesitation walk toward him, feet dragging as if she could sense his hesitation.

Did he move forward, try to make a life here, chance another storm like the last one happening again? He was sick and tired of putting up with the bullshit. His whole life he'd been weighed down by it, by other people's messes. It wasn't his problem, shouldn't have to be. This wasn't his life. This wasn't his family.

Was it even worth it?

xXx

Carol saw Daryl standing at the edge of the farm as if he was waiting for something. The initial relief that had flooded through at seeing him had vanished as she watched him stand there, unmoving. She would have called out for him but for the heavy way his shoulders curled in around his body.

She slipped from Molly's back and left her in the field, instead making her way to Daryl.

He was out. He was okay. He was here.

And yet, something was wrong. Dread crept up her spine making her feet drag. She knew what it was, and she didn't want to face it. She should have known. She should have seen it coming.

He was going to leave.

Why hadn't she seen this sooner? Who would have stayed after going through what he had? Who would have done what he had? Her stomach clenched up and she was suddenly short of breath. He was going to leave. And why not? Why should he stay? Since the moment he'd come here, he wasn't shown hospitality or acceptance. This wasn't a place he could call home. He had to put up with her shitty life and her asshole husband and all of her baggage.

And did he once complain? No, he hadn't. But that didn't mean he was going to put up with it anymore. It was all too much. She was too much.

She stopped midway, staring at him, at the way he curled inward as if he were trying to protect himself. Did she say something before he went? Did she tell him it was okay? Did she wave goodbye as he drove off?

Why was she so sad? Why did this hurt more than Ed's death? Why was a man, who meant nothing to her, who she had only met two weeks, opening up a hole in her chest?

What did it even matter?

He was leaving and there was nothing she could do stop it. Nothing that she should do. It was his choice to stay or leave, and if he wanted to go then she wouldn't stop him. This wasn't the life for him. He should be free to choose his own way. That's what she had wanted. Too long had she been confined to this life. She wouldn't be the same monster that Ed was.

And it was clear by the set of his curled shoulders, the grim set of his mouth and the shadows of his eyes that he was done. He wouldn't wade through the treacherous waters of her life.

As she was about to turn around and leave him because she couldn't watch him go, she caught hold of his gaze on her, hesitant, piercing. Like he was staring right through her and picking her apart, discerning if this was really worth it or not.

She swallowed back a desperate plea, her chest heaving with a sudden wave of sadness and she didn't know what to do.

She didn't know what to do.

And then, he took a step forward.

AN: Okay. So, I don't mean to make Shane out to be a bad guy. But for his methods, he just seems the asshole. For right now that's what it'll appear to be.

Also, Rick and Daryl's friendship – you'll all just have to see what happens there. Trust me. Thanks for reading kittens.