Merle woke up in a surprisingly good mood. Was he actually looking forward to having other people in camp with him again? He cast a glance at Sinclaire; she was sleeping on her stomach, one arm under her cheek and the other outstretched. Nah. She was damn good company. It must be the fact that Daryl was still alive. It really was like a weight lifted from his shoulders to know that his brother was close, where Merle could keep him from fucking shit up.

With that thought in mind, he headed off to go pee. The cold steel barrel of the gun on the back of his head when he stood at the river ruined some of his good mood however.

"What the fuck did you do to them?"

"Walsh," Merle said flatly. "Ya got about 15 seconds to…"

"15?" asked another voice, dry and slightly sultry with sleep, from behind him as well. More to the point, from behind Walsh.

"You're feeling awfully generous," Sinclaire continued. "You've actually got about 3 seconds to put that gun down before Merle ends up washing your brains off the back of his neck."

Shane lowered the gun, but as he swung around, planning to disarm her, she dropped slightly and swept his legs out from under him. She also kept the gun aimed right between his eyes.

"Morning," Sinclaire said cheerfully. "Don't you have a camp to guard?"

"Yeah, the fuck ya doin' on my turf?" Merle demanded, barely able to keep from grinning at Sinclaire. He'd wanted to drop that fucker on his ass so many times…

"What's going on here?" Rick asked, from the top of the hill.

"Yer guard dog musta got the wrong idea 'bout why ya'll didn't come back last night," Merle explained. "Tried to fuckin' shoot me. Shoulda known better."

"I didn't know you had a little bodyguard of your very own," Shane gave Sinclaire an uncomfortably long appraisal. "But I guess you need somebody to help you now that you're disabled."

Sinclaire stepped in front of Merle and said, "Choose your words carefully and remember who's on the ground."

She could feel Merle's tension even though they weren't touching. He hated being reminded of the fact that he only had one hand now.

"Sinclaire, he just thought that we were in danger," Rick was using his "calm police officer" voice.

Sinclaire decided two could play at that game. She brought out her "Army Commander" voice.

"As long as you are a guest in our camp you will play by our rules," she barked. "Place your firearm on the ground and get up slowly."

"Just who the hell do you think you are?" Shane asked.

She didn't answer. After a moment and a glance exchanged with Rick and the others who'd gathered around by now, Shane put the shotgun on the ground and stood up.

"I'm the person with the gun," Sinclaire said pleasantly. "Now, I don't want us to get off on the wrong foot. Rick has decided to move the group camp here. I'd hate to have to kick your ass every morning. In other words, "Can't we all just get along?"

Shane snorted and started to walk away. Sinclaire put her hand on the center of his chest, and said, "I'm afraid I'm going have to have an answer. See, if we can't trust you, you can't stay."

"How do I know we can trust you?" he asked, taking a step toward her. If she thought she could intimidate him…

"I didn't kill you. And it would have been so easy," she spoke softly, looking into his eyes.

Merle was the only one who saw the tension in her body. He knew how much she hated touching people.

"Got a deal Walsh?" he cut in. "Or do we escort ya off our premises?"

"How about you don't threaten me and I won't threaten you?" was all Shane would agree to.

"Fair enough I guess," Sinclaire put her gun away and nodded to his shotgun in the grass. "You can get that if you want it. I guess you're here to talk to Rick, so I'll let you do that."

She remembered her promise to flirt with Daryl with an internal sigh. Why did she make promises when she was under the influence?

"Hey," she said, pointing at Daryl. "You…uh…you there."

"Yeah?"

"I need help. Your help. With a thing…"

"Okay…"

Daryl looked as confused as Merle felt. What the hell did she want…oh. The flirting. It wasn't off to a promising start in his opinion, but he decided to give her room to work. Maybe he'd have a chat with the chink.

"Whatcha need help with?" Daryl asked as they walked away.

Oh shit. What did she need help with? And why was it so hard for her to flirt? It wasn't like she was planning to bang him or anything. She could do this. She could flirt damn it!

"Ummmm," she stalled for time, noticing when she glanced at him, that he had a tattoo. "I didn't know you had a tattoo."

"Yeah…I got 4 actually," he said.

"Four?"

"Yeah."

Well this conversation was going nowhere.

"So, what I wanted your help with was…" a flash of brilliance hit her so suddenly she was tempted to thank God out loud right there. "I don't really know a lot about edible plants and stuff and I was hoping you did."

"Yeah," he said for the third time, feeling like an idiot. At least she was asking something he knew about.

They walked for a while and he pointed out various edible plants. She was happy when they found a small wild strawberry patch.

"Not really enough to take back," he said.

She plopped down and plucked a berry with a grin.

"Just as well," she said before eating it. "Yum."

He knelt in front of her and did the same thing. The berries were good; he was actually surprised they'd found any this late in the season. They sat in silence for a while and then Sinclaire took deep breath.

"So…" she drew the word out, trying to force her voice into the playful purr that came out so easily when she was only kidding around. "How'd you get so good at all this?"

Daryl swallowed wrong and coughed.

"All," cough, "what?"

"Hunting, foraging…I bet you know a lot about survival."

Was her voice taking on a southern accent? God help her, she thought it was. He was staring at her like she'd lost her mind.

"Yeah," he said slowly. "I do…I don't know where I learned it…ya just kinda pick stuff up ya know?"

"Sure," she scrambled for something flirtatious to say about basic and advanced survival skills and came up with nothing. "Merle's worried you're gay."

Daryl's mouth dropped open.

"Say what?" he said after a second of stunned silence.

She shrugged and said, "He's wondering because you and Glenn seem to spend a lot of time…"

"Motherfucker!" he could feel his face heating up. This was worse than the whole virgin thing by a mile or two. "I ain't…we…I'm…he's…we're just friends!"

"Well, that's what I told Merle, but you know how your brother is…once he gets an idea…"

Daryl rubbed his face with both hands and groaned.

"So what? What's he want ya to do about it? He expect me to fuck ya right here so ya know it ain't true?"

"Um, no," she scooted back involuntarily. "He just wanted to make sure that you…hell I don't know! He was drunk; I was tipsy…it was stupid. But when I make promises I keep them. I didn't think you were gay by the way…not that there's anything wrong with that."

He snorted a half laugh at the old Seinfeld quote and kept his hands over his face. "First he tells ya I'm a virgin, now this…" he realized belatedly that Sinclaire had also said she didn't believe it. Fuck.

"Look, your sex life," or lack of it, she finished in her head, "isn't any of my business…"

"Damn right it's not," Daryl said, in irritation. "Just 'cause you're fuckin' my brother that don't mean…"

"Wait. Just because I'm what?" her mouth dropped open.

"Fuckin' my brother," he answered. "What I'm sayin' is…"

"Well, before you say it I just want to know one thing!" she stood up and put her hands on her hips. "What on earth gave you the idea that I'm sleeping with Merle?"

She wasn't sleeping with Merle? He was now confused in addition to being pissed off and embarrassed.

"What gave me the idea?" he repeated, standing up as well. "I don't know…the fact that ya'll share that truck? Maybe I thought ya were sleepin' with my brother 'cause you're sleepin' with my brother!"

"Okay, but that's it. We literally sleep together. That's all! I'm not…we aren't…I don't…"

"Ya don't what?" he latched on to the last part, ignoring her flustered look. "Ya don't have sex?"

"No I don't have sex!"

They stared at each other for a second or two. Then Daryl shoved his hands through his hair and said, "What…never?"

"I don't see how my sex life is your business any more than yours is mine," she answered. "Let's just forget this conversation took place okay? You're not gay. You should probably let Merle know."

"Fuck that, let him wonder," Daryl said maliciously.

Sinclaire sat back down, trying to look nonchalant and hoping Daryl would get the message and not question her further about sex. A barrage of unwelcome memories flooded her and she had to swallow hard to keep from crying. What the hell was wrong with her lately?

Daryl ate the rest of the strawberries, since Sinclaire seemed to have lost her appetite. What the hell had she meant by saying that she didn't have sex? Everybody had sex! Well…everybody but him, but that was more bad luck and social awkwardness than a conscious decision. He had a feeling she had a reason. He decided to make it his mission to figure out just what that reason was.

Merle glanced up when they walked back to camp. Glenn bounded to his feet and said, "I'll go see if…"

"Ya ain't gonna go see nothin'," Merle barked. "Ya got a damn job to do. Fuckin' do it."

They were making the fire pit bigger to accommodate the others in the group; Merle left Glenn digging and walked over to his brother and Sinclaire. Daryl punched Sinclaire lightly in the shoulder and said, "Well, I'm gonna go see if Glenn needs a hand."

"Hey…" Merle began, intending to call Daryl back, but then he turned to Sinclaire and raised his eyebrow.

"My best attempts at flirting produced no effect," she said primly and honestly.

Merle nearly lost his temper, but then he noticed that she didn't look quite normal.

"What's the matter with ya, Yank?" he asked.

"What do you mean?"

"Ya look kinda pale…ya not feelin' sick are ya?"

"I…" she was shocked at his attentive expression. "I think I'm getting a headache actually."

"Go on and lay down in the truck then," Merle suggested. "Ain't nothin' happenin' out here I can't take care of."

She started toward the truck and then stopped. She didn't really want to go to sleep just yet. She knew what her dreams would be about in this state.

"Go on," he said again. "Don't want ya pukin' again."

"I really made an impression with that didn't I?" she asked with a half smile.

"Sure as fuck did. Hate it when people barf," he admitted. "Go on…unless ya want me to tuck ya in?"

"I think I can manage," she replied.

Sinclaire lay down in the truck, listening to the sounds of Glenn and Daryl talking, Merle and T-dog's voices mingling in the conversation every so often. She kept her eyes focused on the roof of the truck and she recited the multiplication tables to keep herself awake. She didn't want to sleep…well, to more accurate, she didn't want to dream. She didn't want to risk talking in her sleep, or more humiliating, screaming in fear or sobbing. There were things in her past that should just stay there.