"Where the hell's Sinclaire?" Merle asked when he got back to the camp several hours later and saw that the box truck was gone.

"She and Daryl and Marie went to the library," Carrie answered.

"Fer what?"

"If I had to hazard a guess I'd say books," Glenn answered. "Just saying," he went on when Merle stared him down.

Merle snarled wordlessly and went into the bar. This was a pure shit day and the only thing he really wanted to do was sleep it away. He snagged one of the few remaining full bottles of Jack and broke it open on his way to his room.

He took a swig to try to swallow away a craving that he hadn't had in awhile. Nice white powder to make it not only easy to forget, but impossible to remember. He wouldn't have to feel like a failure for letting Tiff die; he wouldn't have to remember what he'd said to Yank this morning. Or Daryl last night. Nothing had bothered him this much in a long time, but knowing that they'd been together was killing him.

He wanted to put his fist through something but he didn't want to sleep with a hole in the wall that kept him outta Glenn's room. He wanted to fight with somebody, but people seemed to be staying the hell outta his way. Fuckin' pussies.

Why did he care? Yank was right. He had been throwing her at Daryl. They'd be good for each other. A good fuck never hurt anybody. And it must've been good because they'd been headed for round two when he'd opened that door.

He took another swig and shook away the mental picture of Sinclaire, naked as a jaybird, her face flushed, her tits making the palm of his hand itch and his mouth water. When the hell had she turned into somebody he wanted to fuck? Hell, he'd fucked Tiff three days ago; Yank shouldn't be making his cock ache like this. He growled low in throat and tried again to banish the image.

She was fucking his brother. She was fucking his brother. Merle knew he was a selfish bastard, and most of the time he was okay with it because...well, it meant he got what he wanted and who the hell else was going to give it to him? But he wasn't that far gone. He wasn't going to steal the first woman to ever let his brother hit a homerun. Even if he stood a chance of stealing her in the first place. Which he didn't.

And then there was Tiff to think about. He hadn't been in love with her, but he'd liked her. He understood her. She'd been comfortable and available and it was easy to pretend the world was still the same when she danced for him by the light of the flashlight when everyone else was asleep and finished her performance with a good old fashioned suck and fuck. Now she was dead. Dead less than 48 hours and he was already after fucking somebody else. Somebody he could not under any circumstances fuck. Because she was fucking his brother.

Merle smacked the back of his head against the partition hard enough to make his ears ring. Circular thinking was a bitch. No more. Yank was his friend. Daryl was his little brother. Daryl wanted Yank and she sure as hell must want Daryl. He'd been a pretty shitty brother up till now. Maybe he could get this part right at least.

Daryl wanted Yank and Merle wasn't going to stand in his way. The easiest way to not stand in the way was to make damn good and sure he didn't see too much of Yank. God knew he'd seen about all he could handle that morning..

Sinclaire walked into the library with her gun drawn, but it was still safe. She was mildly disappointed, even though she knew blood was bad for books.

"It's clear," she called to Bowhunter who had his back to her, keeping an eye out behind them.

He waved Marie in from the truck and, once she was safely inside, he closed the door.

"So what're ya lookin' fer?"

"I don't know. This is just where I end up when I need distraction. I'm going to wander."

"Okay. I'll be up here if ya need me. I'm gonna keep an eye on the doors. Ya might could get me some more Stephen King."

"You liked The Shining?"

"That was some fucked up shit. Yeah."

She gave him a half smile and headed for the fiction section. As a gesture of goodwill, after she'd picked up Carrie, Gerald's Game, and Misery, she stopped for some Nora Roberts for Lori. If anyone needed distraction it was Lori right about now. She tried to get books that didn't look too stupid, but it wasn't easy. She settled in the end for two trilogies about magic and a book called Angels Fall that sounded kind of interesting.

Maybe now that she'd had sex she could read about it without laughing. Not that Bowhunter had done any of the things she'd read about. Thank God. She wandered the shelves absently as she thought back to last night. She was proud of herself for having accomplished it without a full on panic attack. She knew Bowhunter was proud of himself for having accomplished it at all. Stupid Merle for making her feel guilty about it.

He'd practically wrapped her in ribbon and delivered her to his brother and now he was getting all...whatever he was getting. Her first thought was jealous but that didn't make sense so she dismissed it. She hadn't expected him to take losing Tiff so hard. Had he been in love with her? He hadn't acted like it. Hell, he treated her better than he had treated Tiff. And she hadn't loved him.

"What are you frowning about?" Marie asked when she came around the end of the aisle.

Sinclaire made a face and shook her head. There was no point in trying to analyze it. She'd go back to the camp and beat the shit out of Merle until he told her what the problem was if she had to, but she wasn't going to waste anymore time thinking in circles about it.

"Nothing," she answered.

"Did you sleep with Daryl?"

"I sleep with him every night," Sinclaire hedged.

"Yeah I know," Marie said with a sigh. "You don't like me do you?"

"I like you just fine," Sinclaire said honestly. "I just don't know you well enough to talk about sex with you."

"Hah! So you did!"

"I like you less now," Sinclaire pointed out. "Fine. You got me. Yes."

"And now Merle's mad at you?"

"It seems that one does not simply fuck Daryl Dixon without being called a whore.."

"Well maybe that's because Merle-" Marie began.

"Hate to break up the party," Daryl called. "But there's Walkers headed our way. Not a bunch, but we oughta get a move on."

"All right," Sinclaire called. "I'm ready. Here. Stephen King."

"Thanks. Seem to be missin' a few armloads there Yank."

"I got Harry Potter," she said defensively. "It's not exactly light reading. Anyway, I've still got some stuff back at the camp that I haven't read. I mostly just wanted to get out of there before I beat your brother up."

"It don't do no good. He never learns."

"That's not true. He learned not to call me Princess pretty quickly."

"What'd ya do to him?" Daryl asked interestedly as he held the door for her and Marie, who was struggling under the weight of her own stack of books.

"Knee. Balls."

Daryl whistled low. "You're one mean woman."

"Only to people who call me Princess."

He gave her a short smile as he closed the doors tightly.

"Get in the car," he said to Marie. "Got ya covered."

"I'm going, I'm going," she muttered. "Jerk. Always ordering people around."

Daryl looked like he was thinking of leveling the bow in her direction but SInclaire saw his better nature prevail. Or at least it did for a second or two. It stopped prevailing when Marie stopped.

"What the hell are ya doin'?" he called.

"A kitten!" she called back. "In the bushes!"

"Know what else is in the bushes? Things that wanna eat ya. Get yer ass in the car."

"Do you think they'll eat the kitten?"

"No," Daryl said, trying to speak over Sinclaire's more practical, "Maybe."

"We can't just leave it here!" Marie put the books on the ground and started after the little black ball of furr.

It hissed and bowed its back and Sinclaire laughed.

"I don't hate you, but that cat certainly seems to."

Marie looked hurt. "Animals usually love me. I don't understand."

"Then leave it and get in the damn truck!"

Bowhunter was clearly agitated. The Walkers weren't dangerously close, but it was obvious that they had seen them and were expecting a mouthful.

"But-"

"Fer God's sake!" Daryl walked over and shoved her toward the vehicle. The kitten hissed at him too. Sinclaire followed, more than slightly amused.

The kitten dashed forward and batted playfully at her bootlace.

"Really?" Sinclaire asked dryly. "You cats are all the same. You pick the one person who's not that into you to love forever."

It rolled over onto its back and displayed a tiny patch of white fur on its sunken belly as it chewed her bootlace. She heard a Walker snarl and the kitten was on its feet in seconds. It bowed its back again, puffed to twice its size and hissed and spit in their direction.

"Well, you are fairly adorable. Look at you all David and Goliath."

"Move. Yer. Ass!" Daryl said emphatically.

"Fine." She bent down and scooped up the kitten, who immediately began a rusty engine purr as she hopped into the truck. "You're driving Bowhunter. We have to stop by the store and get cat food."

"Cat's already fuckin' inconvenient," Daryl muttered as he cranked the truck.

Sinclaire scratched it under the chin and its purr filled the cab of the truck.

"Adorably inconvenient," she corrected.

Merle woke up from his nap when he heard Sophia and Sinclaire talking in the hallway as they exchanged books. Every so often, Daryl's voice joined the conversation.

"Hey!" Merle yelled. "Get in here!"

Nothing.

"Daryl!" he yelled again.

Daryl opened the door and raised an eyebrow.

"Wanna talk to ya."

Daryl crossed his arms without speaking.

"Sit yer ass down and quit actin' like a bitch. Shouldn't've said what I said all right?"

"Are ya...apologizing?" Daryl asked, nearly speechless with amazement.

"Yeah. Ya ain't gotta act like it ain't never happened before neither."

"Hell, I'd ask how much ya had to drink but that usually only makes ya bigger asshole."

"Fuck off."

"Fine." Daryl walked back to the door. "Hey Merle?"

"What?"

"Ya wanna talk to Sinclaire?."

"Nah. Think I'm all right."

"Think ya should."

"Think it's none of yer damn business," Merle barked. "Get the fuck out."

Daryl shrugged and walked out of the room.

"Was he yelling at you?" Sinclaire asked as she boosted herself onto the bar and took a drink of water.

"I don't know," Daryl answered absently as he watched her drink. Sex seemed to have turned off parts of his brain that he'd previously accessed with no problem. Like the ability to answer questions while Sinclaire swallowed things. "Yes," he said firmly when she arched an eyebrow. "Kind of. I'm not sure. No," he went on as he forced himself to recall the conversation. "Actually, he apologized."

"Really? No wonder you're confused. For what?"

"Just somethin' he said to me last night. Ain't about ya."

"DId he...did he say anything about me?"

"No," Daryl lied. "He's drinkin' anyway, ya know how he gets."

"If he's getting apologetic then apparently I don't."

"That's a new one on me too. What'd ya do with the damn cat?"

Sinclaire unzipped her jacket a little and Daryl saw the kitten nestled snug against her three layers of shirts. It's furry little face was buried in its tiny paws and it was fuckin' adorable, but he wouldn't admit it in a million years.

"It's gonna sleep in the truck with us ain't it?" he asked resignedly.

"Probably. Why? Allergic?"

"Nah. It's just...ya know...it'll...watch us."

Sinclaire snorted with laughter.

"Are you serious? Why should it care?"

"Ya ever had a pet before?" Daryl asked.

"No."

"Then ya don't know. Dated this girl fer a little while one time. Every time I even thought about puttin' my hands on her, her fuckin' cat sank its teeth into me. Still got a scar," he went on defensively when Sinclaire laughed harder. "Look!"

He held his right hand up and she squinted at it.

"I see several scars."

"Yeah well, one of 'em came from that cat, and that's all ya need to know."

"Want me to kiss it and make it better?"

"I want ya to find somewhere else fer the cat to sleep."

"Not happening. We've bonded. He's now my spirit guide."

"Fer Christ's sake."

"I don't think God is too worried about it actually. Anyway, you'll grow to love the cat. For one thing, he's very warm. It's like a furry, portable heater. I don't know why I didn't think of this before. Now you can have your side of the bed all to yourself."
"See? Damn things' already fuckin' up my sex life."

"There can still be sex. There just doesn't have to be cuddling. Isn't that what men want?" she asked with a grin.

"Not when it's cold we don't. Some of us ain't lucky enough to have a furry spirit guide."

"Maybe you could shoot something furry and wear it."

"Doubt it."

"Oh come off it. The cat stays. Come here."

"Fer what?" he asked suspiciously.

She wrapped her legs around his waist and her arms around his shoulders and kissed him.

"Unless you don't want to," she said as she drew back.

"Don't see any reason why not," he answered, pulling her back.

It was going pretty well until he pulled her closer and woke the kitten up. It sank it's claws into his stomach and he pulled back quickly.

"See? It's shit like this," he pointed out. "Cats hate me."

"It's because you're a jerk," Marie called from the other room.

"Hates ya too," he answered. "What's that say about ya?"

"Nothing. That cat isn't normal."

"Hey!" Sinclaire said as the kitten crawled up her jacket to perch on her shoulder. "This is a pretty nifty feline. I just have to give him a badass name."

"Could name him Zeke."

"Why?" Sinclaire asked in genuine confusion.

Daryl shrugged. "Merle names everything Zeke. Guess I'm just used to it."

"Zeke the cat," Sinclaire mused. "Maybe. How many pets have been named Zeke by the way?"

"Four dogs and a class hamster at our elementary school."

"They let him name the class hamster Zeke?"

"I don't know if ya've noticed, but my brother's hard to say no to. It's name was Harold before that year."

Sinclaire laughed and pulled the small baby name book she'd swiped from the store from her pocket, She flipped to the 'z' section.

"It means God Strengthens," she said. "This is a pretty tough cat. Sweet Jesus, I might have to name his Zeke."