Notes to the people: Brazen Hussy: I developed a crush on Shane somehow without knowing it in Season Two and I am very sad about what I just did to him. Also, is it just me or was it crazy how f-ing sexy he was when Rick was imagining him in Woodbury? Because for a second I was like, "Dixon brothers? I recall no Dixon brothers. Bring the cuffs Officer Walsh. I've got plans." Limaro: I hereby bequeath Rick to you for all the comfort he can handle. I know you're the person for the job! Everyone else who reads and comments: you are wonderful people and your comments make me so happy and motivated to finish the story!

Quiet had settled over the bar. Sinclaire could hear Shane's breathing getting harsher. He was hurt much worse than Tiffany. His arms were still around Lori, but his hands were clenched so hard that fresh blood had gathered in his palms.

"There's morphine in the truck," Sinclaire said when his head fell back against the wall, the muscles in his neck tense with the pain.

"Won't that knock us out?" Tiff asked. "I don't want to sleep it all away."

"Not a half dose," Nate said. "I can go—"

"Into a herd of Walkers for medicine?" Shane asked tightly. "Don't be a fucking moron. You don't hear them out there?"

"We all hear 'em," Daryl snapped.

"Don't yell at him!" Lori snapped back.

Daryl's mouth opened but a look from Sinclaire made him press his lips together. The tension in the room was high enough without anyone starting a fight. She heard Tiff whimper in pain. The bite on her arm had turned the skin around it so purple it was nearly black, with what looked like venom spreading up her veins. Merle caught Sinclaire's gaze.

"I could go with Nate," she said.

Merle didn't answer. He looked from her to Tiff who was biting her lip as tears slipped down her cheeks. Sinclaire moved to stand up. Merle grabbed her jacket.

"No."

"Merle…"

"Said no."

The zombie noises got louder and there was a sound of nails on wood.

"We should have guards on the porches," Glenn said.

Nate nodded and followed him out. Dale and Andrea went to the front porch. Daryl stood up, walked halfway to the porch, then came back, and just sort of shifted from doorway to doorway. Carrie came to sit in the spot he'd left vacant.

"I'm so sorry, Tiff," she said, rubbing Tiffany's back comfortingly. "I don't know what to say."

"Not much to say about it," Tiff answered. "We're all on borrowed time. I was the idiot who went for a walk."

"But," Carrie sniffled. "We've always been together. Ever since the refugee center…you were the only one who was nice to me."

"I was terrified," Tiff said. "You were the only person who seemed more scared than me."

They shared a watery smile and Sinclaire stood up. She and Tiff hadn't been close, even with the sex talk. It was probably better to leave her with the people she'd been closest to. Maybe she could pace with Bowhunter.

"Seems like there oughta be somethin' we could do," he said when she approached.

"I guess we could be happy that the construction is holding up."

He only shrugged. She didn't bother to go on; she knew that he would give a lot to be able to get his hands on some zombies right now. She would too. Anything would be better than this. Quiet sobbing from several corners of the bar, muted zombie snarls, the memory of seeing T-dog fall, the reality of Shane dying to give Lori back her son…she felt the familiar vice grip of a headache at her temples and she reached automatically for medicine that was no longer there.

"What ya lookin' for?"

"Nothing. It's just a headache. I don't have any more medicine for it."

"Come here."

He sat down beside the pool table in a dark corner and pulled her back against his chest, the same way Merle had that morning. She couldn't believe it had been less than a day.

"Where's it hurt?"

She raised her hand to her right temple and his fingers brushed hers away. She closed her eyes as he began rubbing the ache away. It wouldn't stop the headache, but it might dull it so that she would still be good for something without her medication.

"Better?"

"If I say yes will you stop?"

"Not till ya ask me to."

"Then yes."

"Ya could relax a little bit. Yer like a board. Ain't gonna make yer head feel better to keep yer shoulders so tight."

She knew he was right so she took a deep breath and forced her body to conform to his.

"There ya go."

"Thanks," she said when the pain had scaled back from a 7 to a more reasonable 4.5.

"Sure."

"It was like that right before the Governor found us," Marie said softly.

"A whole pack?" Daryl asked.

"Yes. But it was a long time ago. I was in Woodbury last summer."

"Yeah. Closer to the beginnin' there were more," Daryl answered. "I remember how it was where me and Merle lived…the streets was full of 'em. Thought we'd never get outta there."

"We thought the Governor came to save us." Marie clenched her hands and seemed to shake off the memory. "I'm glad you didn't get hurt."

Sinclaire felt Daryl start in surprise.

"Figured ya woulda liked it better if I hadn't come back."

"I think you're a jerk. That doesn't mean I want you dead. You were really brave. I mean, everyone was. Not me. But you," she gestured to both of them. "And Merle and Nate and Shane and Rick. I don't really know how to do any of that."

"Yeah well…" he trailed off. "Ya oughta get somebody to teach ya."

She raised an eyebrow. "Sure. I'll ask somebody then. Sinclaire?"

"Shooting isn't my strongest suit."

"It looked pretty strong to me."

"Nah, Yank's all right, but she ain't as good as me," Daryl gave her a slight smile. "She could take anybody here in hand to hand combat though."

"Really?"

"Yep," she confirmed. "I can teach you that. But Bowhunter will have to teach you to shoot."

"Shit," he drawled. "Why should I? Never know where she might start aimin'."

A smile flashed over Marie's face for a split second.

"You're smarter than you look," she said as she stood up.

"Don't know how to take that," he muttered when she walked out.

"I wouldn't worry too much about it," Sinclaire answered abstractedly. "You really are smarter than you look."

"I look stupid or somethin'?" Daryl rubbed his chin as if "looking stupid" was something that could be wiped off.

"No." She didn't reassure him further, but she reached up and back to pull him closer. She'd never craved physical comfort before, but it felt damn good now to have someone safe and solid against her right now.

He must have felt the same because his arms tightened around her waist and he leaned forward to press his face against the side of her neck as he said, "They really did come outta fuckin' nowhere."

"Faster than you'd think they could for such a large group."

"Yeah. Yeah, Merle said ya'll had seen something like it before."

"On the road. We managed to make it to the box truck before they got close. I thought it was a one time aberration. Apparently it's not."

"Wonder what makes 'em do it? Do they know they're stronger in packs?"

Sinclaire shrugged and turned her head slightly to look at him. The light was low, but she could see that he was pale and she could feel that he wasn't any more relaxed than she had been. They could hear Lori anxiously asking Shane how he was feeling and she recognized the stretched quality in his voice when he lied and said he wasn't hurting any worse than he had been.

"Wish I could get my hands on that damn morphine," Daryl said. "Feel so fuckin' useless just sittin' here."

"I have the morphine."

They both looked up at Rick, who stood near the door.

"You asked me to keep it, remember?"

"It's in here?" Sinclaire asked in shock. It had been so long since she'd worried about the box, she'd forgotten asking Rick to take charge of it.

"Yeah."

Rick disappeared back into his own room and came back with a familiar red box which he tossed to Sinclaire before heading out onto the porch with Nate.

"No sense makin' 'em wait," Daryl said as she checked the contents.

"No. I'm not. I just wondered how much we had."

"Enough to put 'em out," he answered as he stood and pulled her to her feet. "That's what you're worried about ain't it?"

She didn't answer as she walked back into the kitchen. A glance told her that, besides being in more pain than he wanted to admit, Shane was already feverish and headed toward being delirious. He was holding Lori in a tight grip as he launched into a steady stream of words that didn't really make any sense between groans of pain. Half in the past and half in present, either way, Shane was dying sooner rather than later. Sinclaire decided that what Lori wanted didn't really matter anymore. If she was feeling like that, she'd want the pain gone. She knelt beside him and pushed up what was left of his sleeve.

"What are you doing?" he asked. "Don't trust you. Never did."

"I know," Sinclaire answered. "The feeling is mutual. Just a little something for the pain." She ripped a strip of his sleeve off to make a tourniquet and then smacked his arm a few times as she slid the box to Merle and Tiff. It wasn't like he wouldn't know how to do it. She saw Shane relax several moments after the injection and she drew in a deep breath of relief.

The hours passed interminably after that. Tiff was drowsing in Merle's arms even with the half dose he'd given her. Shane had become so feverish and delirious that Sinclaire had finally doubled his dose and knocked him out. He slept uneasily now, muttering occasionally about Walkers.

The sounds of the zombies were starting to ebb as the herd wandered slowly away. Carol and Sophia had gone to their room when Sinclaire had upped Shane's dose of morphine. Reverend Fletchley and Marie were sitting near the pool table. Rick hadn't come in from the porch yet, but Glenn had taken Carrie back to their room when she'd begun to cry harder than she wanted Tiff to see.

Suddenly Lori gasped harshly.

"Shane?"

His rough breathing had stopped. Lori got to her knees and shook him.

"Shane!"

Sinclaire hated that there was no room for grief. Dead, he was more of a threat than he'd ever been alive. She was dismayed to find everyone looking at her.

"Lori," she said. "You've said your goodbyes. You need to let us-"

"I've said my goodbyes?" Lori stood to face Sinclaire. "What the hell would you know about how it feels to say goodbye? You're the coldest woman I've ever met and if you think I'm going to let you be the one to—"

"Shut up."

The voice that came to her defense wasn't particularly loud, but it brought a new definition to "cold."

"Get outta here and let us do what needs to be done," Merle continued in a drawl that brooked no argument. "Ya had yer chance and now yer done."

Lori whirled around and went to her room, her hands over her face as she sobbed. Sinclaire stepped up and grabbed Shane's arms. Daryl helped her move him out to the rarely used front porch. Dale and Andrea stepped back inside when they laid his body out. Sinclaire swallowed hard as she pulled the gun from her vest pocket. Her hands were steady, so that couldn't have been the problem. It must have been the look on her face. Before she could pull the trigger Bowhunter stepped up beside her.

"I got it," he said as he turned her away from Shane's body.

She heard the sharp 'twang' of the crossbow and the dull squish as bolt met brain matter. At least that much was over.

"Merle?" Tiff asked.

"Yeah?"

"I don't want to wait to die."

"What?"

"I'd rather just do it now. It…Shane…it sounded so painful."

"He was hurt worse'n ya was though."

"It's hurting worse. And I can hear the zombies. Like the ones he kept talking about when he was asleep. They're in my head and I don't want to think about it anymore. I don't want to hurt anymore. I just want to go."

"What the hell ya think I'm gonna do? Fuckin' shoot ya right here?"

"No. Just give me the rest of that morphine shot and…" her voice broke and she took a breath to steady it. "Do it when I'm asleep."

"Yer sure?"

"Yeah. That's what I want."

He picked up the needle and plunged the rest of the medicine into her arm. She wrapped her arms around him and laid her head on his chest.

"Hey Merle?" she said sleepily after several minutes.

"Yeah?"

"Wanted to tell you something."

"Now's the time."

"You were a real jackass sometimes."

"Yeah."

"But then sometimes you weren't. And…I liked those times. Liked being with you."

"I liked that shit too."

She half-laughed.

"You just don't know how to be romantic do you?"

"Callin' me a jackass wasn't the most romantic thing ya coulda done yerself."

When she didn't answer, Merle realized that those had been her last words. She was asleep. He moved her from his lap onto the floor and tried to figure out what to do. Every breath she took told him that this was wrong, that this was murder, but logic screamed at him to take the opportunity. It wasn't fair to make her suffer.

"Merle?"

"Yank." He hadn't wanted to sound so relieved. It pissed him off. "She wanted…she asked me to kill her."

Sinclaire knelt in front of him.

"Get somebody else to do it."

"No. No she asked me and I will."

"That's crazy! You shouldn't have to—"

"And who the fuck would I ask? You?"

"Merle, come on. If you need me to then I will. Just don't…don't do this."

"Do what? What I gotta do?" He stood up, leaving her where she knelt, and stomped over to Daryl. He picked up the crossbow and shoved it hard into his brother's chest. "Fix it. I ain't usin' no damn gun."

Daryl cocked the crossbow silently and handed it back to Merle. When Merle walked back into the kitchen he realized he couldn't carry the bow and Tiff at the same time. He snarled several choice words, but before he could turn around Sinclaire and Daryl had lifted Tiffany up and begun carrying her out.

They laid her beside Shane, who had been covered with a spare blanket, Merle noticed.

"Don't need a goddamn audience," he barked.

"Ya sure ya don't want me to—" Daryl began.

"Only thing I was is for ya to get the fuck back in that bar right this fuckin' second or I'll personally beat the shit outta ya here and now."

Daryl flinched at the venom in Merle's words and silently led Sinclaire back inside. The next twang of the crossbow seemed to lodge somewhere in the pit of Sinclaire's stomach. She sat down on the kitchen floor and waited, but Merle didn't come back. Daryl put his arm around her and she rested her head on his shoulder. Maybe she could just close her eyes for a second and wake up to find that this was a dream and the day hadn't started yet.

"They're moving on," Nate announced much later, waking Sinclaire from her uneasy nap. She rubbed her neck and squinted up at him.

"What time is it?"

"The sun is coming up," he answered. "There's only a few wounded left from what I saw when I went out."

"Ya went out?" Daryl asked incredulously.

"Recon is my job," Nate said without conceit. "I think the bulk of the herd is far enough away to not be a threat. But there is a lot of cleanup out there."

Sinclaire sighed and rubbed her eyes. All she'd wanted to do was sleep until life was good again. It didn't seem like too much to ask.

"Where's Merle?" she asked.

"Hell I don't know," Daryl answered grumpily. "I was asleep too."

She walked down the hallway and looked in her old room, but he wasn't there. He wasn't in the bathroom either. Or the kitchen, or any of the other bedrooms. Her heartbeat was thudding in her ears as she went out to the porch. She sighed in relief when she found him sitting in one of the chairs they'd dragged out for watch.

"Merle?"

"Yeah?"

"It's morning."

"I got eyes."

"I know. I just…Nate said that it's pretty much clear now."

"Good."

"Are you going to come out?"

"What the fuck ya want me out there for?" he snapped.

"I just…never mind. I'll go by myself." She figured that would motivate him and it did. With a silent snarl, Merle stood up and walked out with her.

It didn't take long to clear up what was left of the zombies, but it seemed to take forever to clean them up and burn them. Dale and Andrea kept watch while Sinclaire, Merle, Nate, Glenn, and Rick did the clean up. Sinclaire tried to help Merle as much as possible, but he swore at her every time she tried to lend a hand and in the end, Daryl pulled her away to help him instead.

"He ain't gonna be no good to nobody right now," he said in a low voice. "Better to just leave him alone."

She knew he was right, but it hurt to see Merle act the way he was acting. She hadn't expected him to joke around with her, but she hadn't expected him to push her away either. She planned to talk to him as soon as the work was done. No matter what Bowhunter might say, she was sure she could help him.

The sun was headed west by the time they started digging the graves and Sinclaire's back was already killing her. She saw Bowhunter wipe the back of his hand over his forehead, which really only smeared dirt through the sweat, before he plunged the shovel into the dirt on the outskirts of the woods where they'd planned to have the burial.

"We better hurry up if we wanna get it done before dark," he said.

She nodded and copied his movements. She wasn't sure how she'd been elected gravedigger, but it was better than some things. She looked around for Merle and found him starting another fire to cremate the last of the zombies.

He'd worked twice as hard as everyone else that day and not just because he only had half as many hands. She had the feeling that he was trying to exhaust himself. It looked to her like he had succeeded. His shoulders were slumped and he'd tossed his jacket onto the porch in spite of the cold. It was all she could do to keep from making him put it back on. The last thing they needed was for him to get sick.

"Deep enough," Daryl said later as red gold light fell dying through the trees. "We gotta get this done."

"Sounds good to me."

The graves weren't the standard 6 feet, but it wasn't like they were professionals. They went to round people up. Reverend Fletchley conducted the ceremony briefly. He hadn't really had time to get to know Shane or Tiff, or T, who didn't even get a grave. When he asked, no one had anything to add, even though a few people glanced at Merle and Lori as if they should. Merle responded by walking away. Sinclaire followed him.

"Merle?"

"The fuck ya want now?" he asked shortly.

"I want to talk to you. I wondered if—"

"Got nothin' to say right now. Ya ain't gotta wonder nothin'. When I wanna talk to ya I'll fuckin' find ya. How about that?"

Sinclaire pushed her hands through her hair in frustration as he stomped into the bar. Then she noticed how dirty she was. Dragging dead bodies could do that to a person. The grave digging hadn't helped. She forced herself to think of other things. Not the dirt hitting the covered of forms of Shane and Tiff. Not the blank silence that had followed Amos' request for someone to say a few words.

She'd seen her share of death since this whole thing started, but she hadn't been to a funeral since her father died. If this one had been the traditional thick carpeted, black sea of formal wear she'd be headed for a panic attack right about now.

"What are you doing?" she asked Carol as the woman struggled past with a full bucket of water.

"I heated enough water for everyone to clean up," Carol explained. "You've been so busy all day…I thought it was the least I could do."

"Thank you," Sinclaire said in surprise. "I was just thinking about that."

Carol smiled at her and Sinclaire helped carry the bucket up the steps. As the guys washed up Sinclaire hung around, trying to help Carol and Sophia with dinner. With Daryl taking a bath, Merle not speaking to her, and Rick not speaking to anyone, she didn't have any other friendship options. She made a mental note to try harder with the rest of the group as she washed her hands and set plates out on the bar.

Dinner was silent and only attended because skipping a meal in an apocalypse was dumb. No one really felt like eating. Merle ate like he was mad at the food and then disappeared back into the room he'd shared with Tiffany. Sinclaire had to force herself to swallow every bite. Daryl kept casting worried glances in the direction of his brothers room and pretty much everyone looked tired enough to fall into their plates.

"I'm going to clean up," Sinclaire said. "Just a warning to all who might venture out onto the back porch."

As she took her short, cold now, bath, she forced herself to think of more ideas that might make Merle feel better. Maybe she could offer to move back in. Maybe he just needed someone to distract him. Maybe she could start reading Iron House out loud again. Or maybe another of those westerns he'd liked so much. He'd said she could be the Everett Hitch to his Virgil Cole.

"Why do you get to be Virgil?" she remembered asking.

"Cause I'm more important than ya are," he'd answered. "And ya know all them big words, and Hitch was supposed to have been to West Point. Just makes sense Yank."

It did make sense now that she thought about it. And it could have been worse. He could have compared her to Allie French, who Virgil picked up from the brothel. She dried off and dressed quickly and walked into the bar.

"Where ya headed?" Bowhunter asked when she went by him.

"I thought I'd check on Merle."

"Don't think that's a good idea," he answered, but she was already halfway down the hall.

"Merle?" she asked. He didn't answer. "Merle?"

Still nothing, so she stepped inside. The red box was beside the bed and several vials were missing from it. She could guess where they were. He was already more than half out.

"Merle!"

"The fuck ya want?" he drawled sleepily.

She snapped the box closed and swatted his hand away when he reached for it.

"The hell Yank?"

"You don't need this!"

"Sure I do. Got no sympathy fer a broken heart?"

The twist of his lips seasoned the words with enough irony to sting her throat.

"You…how much did you even take?"

"Can't count? Thought ya were a big, important Army Captain. Ya outrank me and ya can't even count."

"I can count. I'm just trying to keep you awake and talking to me so I know you aren't going to O.D. and die!"

"Ain't gonne die. No matter who else does. Not me. Anyway, got a high tolerance. Just wanna go to sleep."

She was furious, but she only said, "Do you need me to stay?"

"Stay?" he repeated. "Yeah, that might be good. In fact, why don't ya cuddle up to me like ya do my baby brother? Help me get to sleep like a good girl? What've I gotta do to get ya to treat me like ya treat him? Or maybe a little better."

"Fuck you Merle."

"That's what I'm sayin'."

When he reached for her she stood up. She knew the dose wasn't high enough to be fatal. She also knew that if she stayed in that room the lump of anger in her throat would dissolve into tears.

"Where ya headed sweetheart? Don't wanna stay around and make me feel all better?"

She didn't bother to answer.

"What'd he say?" Daryl asked when he saw Sinclaire come down the hall. Her eyes were bright with anger and her hands were clenched into tight fists.

"Not much," she snapped before shoving the morphine box at Glenn. "Put this somewhere."

Daryl's eyes moved from the box to Sinclaire. She saw his shoulders slump when the pieces slid together.

"I'm going to the truck," she said. "You coming with me or not?"

"Yeah," he answered. "I guess. Unless ya think he might need—"

"The only thing he needs to do is sober up," she bit out. "He didn't take enough to kill himself, just enough to sleep. Jackass. Motherfucker. Asshole."

"His girlfriend did just die," Daryl pointed out with a slight edge in his voice.

"It's shit like that," Sinclaire said. "Excuses. You make excuses for him."

"I do not!"

"You do!"

She yanked up the truck door and then slammed it behind them.

"It mighta been more serious than we thought," Daryl began.

"She didn't even love him!"

"How do you know that?"

"I asked. She came out here to tell me to fuck you and I asked her and she said she didn't."

"Really?"

"Yes really," Sinclaire said sarcastically. "Why would I lie about that?"

"Hell I don't know!" he rubbed his hand over his forehead again in a defeated gesture. "It's been a bad day."

She realized she was being unfair. She could see how unhappy he looked in the light of the small flashlight she'd turned on and propped up, candle style, so they could see to get ready for bed.

"I'm sorry Bowhunter," she said with a sigh. "It's just…I'm worried about him. About all of us. It's been so long since anyone died…"

"I know. Was startin' to think it was over."

She knew that he mean more than just zombies. This was the longest sober stretch that Merle had had in years and he'd just ruined it. Or was it her fault for leaving the box unattended?

"Scared I was gonna lose ya in the herd."

Daryl appeared to be talking to his bootlaces, but she knew the comment was meant for her. She remembered Tiff's words. Not the order to "Fuck Daryl," but the other part, "We're all dying." It was true. She could have died just as easily as Shane. So could Bowhunter. Being skilled didn't make a person invincible. She got to her knees in front of him.

"We're alive."

"I know. Kinda hard to believe."

"Let's make it count then. I'm tired of living in the past."

He scanned her face seriously, as if he was trying to figure out if she was really talking about what he thought she was talking about.

"The flashlight has to stay on," she said. "Is that okay?"

"Yeah. I can live with that."

He cupped her face in his hands and kissed her.