Blaire

Daryl and I sit on the bed in silence. I unwrap my arms from around his shoulders, leaning my head against the leather vest he's wearing. My fingers trail over the exposed bit of his back tattoo. Although he originally tensed up, shrugging off my touch, he's now relaxed, breathing evenly. The tracing keeps me present. It's something concrete and real. The feeling of flesh against flesh is calming. I've both stopped crying, wiping the remnants of my hurting away with the bed sheets. "Will you tell me about her?"

"Who?" Daryl mumbles, his voice cracking a bit from the lack of use.

I crawl forward so that I'm sitting next to Daryl. Eyeing him, I tilt my head to the side a little, silently asking if it's okay if I rest it on his shoulder. Daryl gives me a nod. "Beth."

Daryl coughs, swallowing hard. He lifts his hand up off the bed, hovering it over my knee before returning it to the mattress. As he goes to do it again I grab his pinkie, placing his hand down on my knee. For a moment he keeps his fingers extended, only his palm touching my skin, then, slowly, he curls them down. We sit like this for a few minutes. "We met her after Carl got shot. Rick brought 'im to Maggie's dad's farm. Beth is Maggie's lil' sister. She was the biggest pain in the ass in the beginnin'. Tried to kill herself 'n' shit. After walkers took the farm we all ended up in this prison. She changed there, turned into someone I didn't recognize. Yeah, she was weak at the farm, but at least she cared. She quit carin' at the prison, least til' her dad died. When the prison fell we ended up together."

I nod, remaining silent. There's more he wants to say, I can tell by the way his usually strong jaw trembles as he holds back his feelings.

"She told me to stop actin' like I didn't give a shit 'bout all those people we'd lost. She hugged me just like you did today. She got taken. You know the rest."

"What do you miss most about her?"

Daryl smiles, lifting his hand off my knee, beginning to fidget with the blue cord tied around his wrist. "The way she held onto hope, even when she was hidin' it. She was strong 'n' it just took me too damn long to see it. She used to sing to lil' ass-kicker. It drove me crazy. I'd give anything to hear her sing again."

Lifting my head off his shoulder, I smile at Daryl. "You loved her."

The little spark Daryl got in his eyes while talking about Beth fades. The smile on his face melts away. "Don't matter now."

"It does Daryl, it'll always matter. Beth meant something to you and I think that's a beautiful thing, especially in the world we live in. What's the point in being alive if you aren't truly living?"

"Tell me about the people you lost," Daryl instructs, changing the subject. He's obviously not comfortable talking about his feelings.

Although I want to push the topic, I know now is not the time. Daryl isn't ready to have a conversation about his feelings for Beth. Instead of risking pushing him away, I accept the conversation change. "Well, Patricia was a lot like you described Beth. She was always full of life and clung to her humanity. She was naïve though. She trusted too easily and only ever wanted to see the good in others. I fought the hardest to keep her alive. There were others but –" I trail off, not knowing if Daryl really wants to hear about everyone. I've only ever mentioned Patty.

"Go on," Daryl prompts, placing his hand back on my knee.

I rest my head on Daryl's shoulder again, my finger tracing over a scar that runs from his knuckles to his wrist. "There were the twins, Shelby and Rachael. They were traveling with two men, Ben and Nick. Shelby and I didn't get along very well, but we wouldn't have gotten the rest to join our group if we didn't take her in too. Patty and I needed them. Ben was a doctor and Rachael was ex-military."

"What was the issue between you 'n' Shelby?" Daryl questions, his bottom lip disappearing between his teeth.

"She didn't think I should lead the group."

"Why?"

I let out a long sigh, "She thought I was under qualified."

"How'd she, ya know?"

"Both Nick and Shelby got bit. We amputated Nick's arm and he lived for a little after that. Ben was a pediatric doctor and never actually amputated something before. He waited too long. Shelby got bit in the stomach; there was nothing we could do. Rachael killed her. The group that attacked us took out Rachael and Ben and the others. The only reason why Patty lived is 'cause of the attic."

"Sorry," Daryl mumbles, glancing over at me. "What happened to you, before you was with that group?"

I pull my knees up to my chest, wrapping my arms around my shins. I've tried to block out the earlier days of the world ending. It's easier that way. I don't want to remember my time locked away in the basement or watching as people got lured to their death on the pretense of salvation. "It doesn't matter now."

Daryl accepts this answer, not pushing me for any more details. We fall back into a comfortable silence, the bowman's arm curling around my shoulder as a few tears spill down my cheeks. There's nothing innocent in this world anymore. Everything is broken. Most people have seen too much. Even if we wanted to, we can't go back. Sure, we can rebuild and try to start up a civilization, but the wounds are still there, left open and bleeding, the scabs never quite growing in properly. You either learn to keep a Band-Aid on things or you lose it completely. As I sit here, breathing in the scent of Irish-spring soap and cigarettes, I decide it's time for me to stick on the bandage.

"Everythin's gonna be all right," Daryl whispers, reaching forward and catching one of my tears. "You're gonna be safe here. Whatever happened before, ya gotta let it go. That's how we survive now."

I shift my head so that I can catch Daryl's eye, "Are you hungry? I have peanut butter and jelly downstairs. We could make sandwiches."

Daryl nods, "All right."

Daryl

Blaire pulls a thing of peanut butter out of the cabinet. While she grabs the other items, I screw the lid off, dipping my finger into the container. The brunette spins around as I pop the finger in my mouth, licking the peanut butter off. Blaire scrunches up her nose but she's smiling, which lets me know I'm not in any kind of trouble. "Don't even think about putting that finger back in there."

"Yes ma'am," I answer, watching as Blaire runs a knife full of jelly over some Wonder Bread. "They let ya have all this stuff?"

Blaire glances over at me, cleaning the jelly knife off under the tap, "The stuff we're using now is out of what I brought over. I turned in most of it, but I didn't know if Deanna was going to let me stay. I wasn't about to give these people everything I had. I swear I didn't keep much."

"Like ya said, it's your stuff," I reply.

After the sandwiches have been cut in half, Blaire leads us into the living room, pulling a brightly colored box off of the bottom shelf of the bookcase. I watch her as she shuffles through cards, occasionally breaking off a little bit of her pb&j and feeding it to Duke. Blaire seems to have improved drastically since our conversation earlier. She still looks tired, but she's laughing and has got her smart – assed sense of humor back. "What're you doin'?"

"Candy Land? Come on, I know you've played this before," Blaire raises an eyebrow at me, holding out a handful of colorful plastic pieces. "Pick one."

I pick up the green piece, "Naw. I ain't never played this before."

"I'll teach you. I promise it's easy. Put your piece on the start spot."

I do as Blaire says, eating as she explains the rules. I try and pay attention but my eyes keep dropping to the brunette's lips, watching as they move, occasionally pulling into a smile. She talks with her hands, the half of her sandwich she's holding waving around in the air. Her movements draw me in. She's like leaves blowing around in the wind. You don't want to look because you've seen it a million times, but in the end, you watch anyway.

I begin to wonder if it would be okay to let Blaire in. Taking down some walls and letting people see the softer side was something that self-help book told me to do. I did it with Carol, admitting that I was just as scared as everyone else. What if I could do the same with Blaire? She's so willing to open up to me about her problems and fears. Why can't I do that with her? I could trust her, maybe not fully right now, but a little wouldn't hurt.

"Really, her?"a voice behind me sounds. Glancing over my shoulder I see Beth, her blonde hair pulled into a ponytail, that stupid yellow polo hanging off her thin frame covered by a white sweater. "What are you doin', Daryl?"

"Not now," I whisper back, trying to focus on what Blaire is saying.

"How could you? You don't even know her."

"You ain't real."

A hand on my elbow pulls me back. I jump, coming face to face with Blaire. I can feel the heat radiating from her body. She's got a thin scar running over the bridge of her nose. Blaire's soft grey eyes are on me and she looks concerned. "You okay?"

"Yeah, I'm here," I answer back.

"You left for a little. Where'd you go?"

"Don't matter. Keep explaining the game." I prompt, not wanting to bring up my hallucinations with Blaire. I'm not sure how she'd react. I thought I got them under control. I've not seen Beth in months. I worked through that. This can't be happening again. Not right now. Things are starting to be okay. I can't slip back into the darkness. I just got out.

Blaire

I wake up early, taking a shower and changing into the white tank top I arrived in and a pair of denim shorts found tucked away in the attic. As I pass in front of the mirror, white scars and knotty burn marks stare back at me. It's all I can see. The evidence of a troubled childhood stands out against my tanned skin, taunting me, convincing me that I'm nothing more than these marks on my body. The blemishes fill my mind with doubt, telling me that I'm still that weak little girl. Pulling on a jacket, I hide the marks, their cruel whispers silenced. I continue to look at myself for a second, this time seeing my eyes and the cut that runs across my face. "You aren't that girl anymore."

Once I've fed Duke and slathered two pieces of toast in butter and jelly, I go out onto the porch, watching the sunrise as I eat breakfast. Just like yesterday Tara and Abraham stop by, inviting me to take the first watch with them. I agree, locking up the house before following them up the street towards Alexandria's gates. Deanna passes us and I make a point to smile and wave. I want her to see me making an effort around here.

"You don't happen to have any more of that toast, do you? Whole damn place is clean out of jelly." Abraham grumbles as the three of us cram into the top of the church tower, guns pointed out the windows.

Glancing down at the last half of my breakfast I hand it over to the man, "Come by my place later and I can give you a jar, but you have to promise to tell no one where you got it from."

Abraham nods, biting into the bread as he turns his attention back to the window.

"Where'd you get the jelly anyway?" Tara questions.

Pulling my gun out of the window, I take a seat on the wooden floor, "I brought it with me. I gave a few jars to the pantry and then kept the rest. Don't get me wrong, I see the point in contributing, but I don't want to have to leave here with nothing if Deanna decided I can't stay."

"We've got a live one approaching," Abraham announces, lifting his gun in order to use the scope to get a better look. "It appears to be Daryl."

"Daryl?"

In the distance, I can hear the bowman hollering up at us. Getting up off the floor I shoo Abraham away, looking out the window. Below, Daryl is waving his arms back and forth, continuing to call up to the tower. From the looks of him, he rolled right out of bed and came here. His hair is sticking up in a few places, and his vest is falling off his muscled arm. The same short sleeve shirt he was wearing yesterday sticks to his chest.

"Hey!" he calls up. "You seen Blaire this mornin'! She ain't answering her door."

"That's because I'm up here!" I call down, sticking my head through the window so that Daryl can see me. "Why were you at my house?"

Daryl holds his hand up, shielding his eyes from the sun, "Can you come 'ere?"

Tara grins, motioning for me to go down the stairs, giving me a wink as I pass her. "He obviously needs you for something."

Rolling my eyes I flip her the bird. Tara has been giving me shit about Daryl all morning. Apparently, he usually keeps to himself unless he's with Rick. Tara is convinced that him hanging around me so much means something. She didn't accept my explanation of Daryl being made my unofficial babysitter until everyone was sure I wouldn't screw something up. "I'll be back."

Daryl is standing with the door pulled open, his body casting a shadow over me. His crossbow is slung over his shoulder, a knife tucked into a holster on his hip. The darkened circles under his eyes prove he got little to no sleep last night. I wish he just told me what was bothering him when he was over yesterday. He helped me and I would have liked to return the favor.

"What're you doing here?" I question, crossing my arms in front of me. I know I screwed up the other morning, but that doesn't mean I need to be checked up on. I'm not some angsty teenager who's trying to rebel against society.

The man standing before me stumbles over his words, his tongue running over his bottom lip a few times as he tries to explain himself. "I just, the other morning. You didn't answer the door, I was worried that you - I thought - I was worried –"

"You were worried about me?" I question, grinning up at the bowman who is still stuttering, his gaze downcast, fingers working to crack his knuckles over and over.

"That ain't what I meant. Why're you out here anyway? Did Deanna put you on guard duty?" Daryl shoots back quickly, getting defensive. The constant pushing away is getting aggravating. It's like it's physically painful for him to let me in even a little. If I get too close he just shuts down.

"No, she hasn't given me a job yet, but I figured I should pitch in where I can. Besides, Tara and Abraham invited me along. It's not like I have anything else to do. What's going on with you, Daryl? Are you sure you're all right?"

"'M fine," Daryl's demeanor changes. There is a fire in his eyes, his muscles tense, and the vein running across his forehead becomes prominent as his skin flushes red. He's flipped a switch inside, the gentleman he was yesterday completely gone. "I don't need you tryin' to take care of me! You don't even know me. Stop actin' like you care!"

"You were the one who went to my house this morning! You're the one who came out here looking for me! Stop pretending like you don't care, Daryl, because we both know its bullshit!" I step away from him, waiting for him to fire back. When he doesn't I spin around and head back up the stairs. What an asshole.

"Is everything okay?" Tara questions, her hand coming to rest on my shoulder as I re-enter the tower. "We heard yelling."

I shake my head, biting my bottom lip to keep myself from crying. I shouldn't care about what Daryl said. It shouldn't affect me, but it does. "I'm fine. I overstepped my bounds. He had every right."

"It is never a man's right to yell at a woman, no matter how angry she makes him," Abraham pipes up, pulling a dirt-covered rag from his back pocket and offering it to me. I give him a weak smile, taking the cloth and pressing it to my eyes.

"He doesn't want me to get close to him. It's in my nature to care. He saved me, I just want him to know I appreciate that" I explain, handing the rag back to Abraham.

"He'll warm up to you," Tara assures me. "He wouldn't keep coming back around if he didn't want you to keep trying. I think it's in Daryl's nature to push people away."

"You're just saying that because you think he has a thing for me," I laugh.

Tara holds up her arms in a gesture of surrender. "I just think that everyone needs someone now that the world has ended. Seems you aren't into girls, Daryl's not a bad option."

I roll my eyes at Tara. She's big on playing matchmaker. Her theory is, is that if you've got someone to go home to every night the world doesn't look so bad. I guess I kind of agree with her. I cared more when I knew Patty or the twins were waiting for me at home. When they died I stopped caring as much. It's nice to feel needed and like someone would miss you if you never came back. On the other hand, I understand why some people don't want to make connections. The world is unpredictable now. You could die at any moment. Being close to people makes you care. Caring can get you hurt.

Around noon two more people come to relieve us. Tara, Abraham, and I walk back through the gates. After we've handed our guns in the two follow me back to my house. Duke greets me at the door, raising up on his back legs and kneading at my thigh. I rub his head, shooing him up the hall so that Abraham and Tara can come inside. Tara proceeds into the kitchen, pulling out one of the bar stools and sitting down.

Abraham, on the other hand, has stopped in the doorway, his eyes wide. "What in tarnation?"

Tara and I laugh. I forget that not everyone knows about Duke. So far I've not had any issues with people begin afraid of him. "That's Duke."

"You've got to be shitting me. That's your pet?" Abraham questions, waiting for the lynx to disappear upstairs before he walks into the kitchen.

"Yes. He's been with me since he was a baby." I answer, pulling a jar of jelly out of the cabinet and handing it to Tara. "He's harmless I swear. The neighbor kid was petting him yesterday. He's a big mush."

Abraham gives me a nod, but I can tell he isn't convinced. "Deanna knows about him?"

"Yeah. She's not been by to see him in person, but she knows he's here. Deanna told me he could stay as long as no one complained and he behaved himself."

"Duke is a good animal, Abraham. Come on, let's go," Tara rolls her eyes at the man standing before her as she gets up and leads him back up the hallway. "Thanks for the jelly, Blaire."

"Anytime," I answer back with a smile, shutting the door behind the two.

The rest of the day passes slowly. I spend much of my time on the front porch, watching Duke chase bumble bees around the yard. A few of the neighbors stop by, welcoming me to Alexandria and asking how I'm settling in. I give them all the same generic answer about loving it here and being thankful for finally having a place I feel safe. It isn't that I don't feel that way. I'm just still not completely sure that this place is for me. Daryl's words play over and over again. They might not have meant anything, but they brought up doubts.

"You aren't that girl anymore," I remind myself as I stir around the mix of Spam and canned vegetables I decided to have for dinner. Although I've been enjoying the peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, I'm not sure I could stomach another one today.

As I eat, I pull out a sketchbook I found on another search through the house. The first few pages have been colored over, the dark blues and purples morphed into sunset and ocean scenes. Shoveling another forkful of my dinner into my mouth, I drag the pencil across the cream paper. By the time the pan is empty, I have two eyes staring up at me from the sketchbook. They're hauntingly familiar. Snapping the sketchbook shut, I toss it aside. Before heading upstairs, I place my dinner dishes in the sink. There's a pile forming and I make a mental note to take care of them in the morning. As I climb the stairs, I strip out of my clothing.

By the time I reach the bathroom I'm completely naked. Avoiding the big mirror over the sink, I flip the water on all the way to hot, huddling in the corner as I wait for it to heat up. Once the stream of water reaches an acceptable temperature I slide down the wall, letting the droplets roll over my head and skin. My fingers trace over the scars on my thighs and forearms; these are from fighting to live. I move from my arms to my torso, feeling the knotty scars peppering my collarbones and shoulders. Letting my hands fall, my fingers brush over a scar just above my right hip. Those scars are from people who wanted me dead.

"You aren't that girl."

I sit in the shower for much longer than I need, fighting thought after thought. Eventually, I find it in myself to stand and wash my hair and body. As the bubbles wash down the drain, I feel like a new person. I've scrubbed off today's doubt and now it can't bother me anymore. I'm stronger than any of that. Instead of drying off, I pull an old Slayer shirt out of my backpack, sliding it over my head. It's always been too big, hanging down to my mid-thigh. After pulling my wet hair into a bun and putting on underwear, I wander into the spare bedroom, flipping through the box of CDs.

Eventually, I come across one that peaks my interest and carry it, along with the player back into my bedroom. For a little, I just sit and listen, enjoying the familiar sounds of guitar and drums. Music was the one thing that brought my family together. We'd all sit in the living room, eating TV dinners, and listen to old school rock hits on dad's radio. I smile at this memory as I get off the bed and dance around a little. Duke watches me from his spot in the corner, his posture letting me know I shouldn't even think about making him join me.

As I spin around, I spot a figure moving out on the street. It's heading towards my house. Continuing to watch, I realize its Daryl. Rolling my eyes, I go back to dancing around the room, my heartbeat picking up as I heard the front door open and close. The stairs creak a few times, and then everything goes quiet. Spinning in a circle again, I notice a shadow lurking in the doorway.

"I can see you watching me. Don't be a stranger, join in," I jest, continuing to dance around to the CD I found.

From the doorway, Daryl hems and haws, stumbling over his words as he tries to come up with a good enough excuse as to why he's lurking around in my house. "I heard the music 'n' saw the light on. I just wanted to make sure you were okay –" Daryl's talking with his hands, the corners of his mouth pulled down into a harsh frown. Eventually, he gives up, hands slapping down against his thighs. "AC/DC's one of my favorites."

Duchess mewls at the bowman, who squats down to scratch behind the cat's ears. As the song ends I lean forward and pause the music before crawling across the bed. "Hmm, I hadn't pegged you as an old school rock fan."

"Why? You think I was just some hick so I only listen to country?" Daryl grimaces at me, straightening back out and leaning against the doorframe. I can tell he's trying to keep his temper under control.

"Your words not mine. You just seemed more like a metal fan to me, Mr. Dixon."

Once again Daryl grimaces, letting out some kind of guttural coughing noise.

"Why are you really here, Daryl?"

The man sighs, pushing the door all the way open before coming to lean against the metal bed frame. "Carol said I should say sorry for yellin' at you this morning. So, 'm sorry. You really should keep the door locked at night."

I grin at Daryl, finding his sideways way of apologizing and showing that he does care oddly endearing. "I heard you come in. Besides, if you had been someone I should be worried about, I have a gun."

Daryl coughs, scratching his arm, "Ya aren't supposed to have one. Deanna doesn't like it."

"Oh yeah," I crawl forward, putting my lips a few inches away from the man's ear. "You gonna tell on me, Mr. Dixon?"

Daryl flinches away from me, taking a few steps away from my bed. If he isn't the one to initiate the touch, he wants nothing to do with it. Even though I know this and Daryl has pushed me away because of it, I like trying to stretch the boundaries. Daryl and I seem to be stuck together, at least for now, why not try and take advantage of that time? "I ain't gonna tell no one. Just keep the damn thing hidden."

"Yes sir," I answer, giving him a salute before flopping down across the bed. "I still have some of that rum downstairs. Want to share a bottle with me?"

For a while it's quiet and I begin to think that Daryl has slipped out without me noticing. Sitting up, my eyes scan the room, searching for the bowman. I find him sitting on the floor; Duke curled up with his head on Daryl's boot-clad foot.

"Not sure that's such a good idea."

I let out a long sigh, climbing off the bed and taking a seat on the floor facing Daryl, "Why?"

"Told ya, it ain't nothing but trouble," Daryl falls silent for a second. "'n' I ain't always the friendliest drunk."

"So we won't get drunk." I offer up. "I just don't want to be alone, Daryl. You must know how that feels."

Daryl is quiet for a little, this fingers working through Duke's fur. His light blue eyes stay on me. I keep the eye contact, wanting him to know that it doesn't bother me. If Daryl is trying to intimidate me, or hoping I'll ask him to leave, I ignore it. I refuse to give him the satisfaction. In the end, Daryl stands. "One drink ain't gonna hurt nothin'."

One drink turned into half the bottle, which ends in finishing the entire thing. Daryl challenges me to a game of cards around drink four though it was quickly forgotten after Duke ran across the table, scared by his own shadow cast on the wall by the fire I started in the fireplace. This reduced Daryl and me into a fit of laughter. I've never heard Daryl laugh before then, but I've now made it my mission to be able to hear that lovely baritone sound as often as possible. When Daryl smiles I get butterflies. Maybe I'm just drunk.

"Teach me to shoot. Your crossbow, I mean," I blurt out sometime later, sitting up. Daryl and I are on the couch. He let me rest my head against his leg as we fell into another conversation about Beth.

"You ain't gonna like it. Its heavy 'n' has a wicked kickback." Daryl answers, turning to look at me.

"You don't think I can do it?" I challenge.

"That ain't what I'm sayin'."

"Then teach me."

Daryl groans, folding one of the throw pillows in half and sliding down the couch, his calves landing in my lap, "In the morning."