As I stalked away, humiliated by Daryl more than I wanted to admit even to myself, I noticed Hershel leaving the farm on his own. He didn't seem to be running away or in danger, but he definitely was about to go somewhere. I frowned, and not thinking much, I jogged behind him, "Excuse me, where are you headed, sir?"

He glanced at me sideways, not stopping, "I'm going to grab a drink in town. And please, just call me Hershel."

He… did realize the town was a ghost town, right?

"Umm, Hershel?" I was about to tell him that, but something in his blue eyes — and my current state — made me finish the sentence in a completely different manner, "Mind if I join you?"

"Be my guest." He said, and though I felt a hint of disaffection in his voice, I decided to ignore it. I checked if I had my knife and my gun on me and jogged again, quickly catching up with the old man. I gazed at the road ahead, and then at Hershel's blank expression, as he opened the wooden gate for us and then locked it carefully.

"Do they know you went out?", I asked, trying to keep my tone light. The road was quiet and not even the occasional walker could be seen. It was so calm I started wondering if the things that happened today were actually true, or if we were just a part of a collective hallucination of sorts.

"And do they know that you went out?" A tone of mockery could be heard in Hershel's voice, as he half-smiled, looking at me shortly. The buildings were getting smaller, as I sent a glance over my shoulder at the farm.

"Fair point." I murmured, half smiling at Hershel's question. The rest of our walk was silent, and I was surprised we were only a crisp twenty minute walk away from town. It felt drastically longer when coming back to the farm with Maggie, though my perception of time back then might have been a bit disturbed by the events we witnessed.

The sun was setting quickly and by the time we reached town, it was already dark outside. For a moment I regretted not taking any warmer clothes with me, as the temperature began dropping just an hour ago.

I looked at the destroyed town, or more accurately, a village. The windows are all either broken or covered with plywood, and tons of broken cars outside on the narrow street. There weren't a lot of corpses. I saw way more back in Atlanta, but then again, this place was less crowded to begin with. Two dogs, a tiny one and a way bigger pup with the appearance of resembling a Labrador, were hovering a dozen or so feet from us, and their protruding ribs I could make out even from the distance made my heart sink. I quickly turned my gaze, feeling like a complete coward, who couldn't even face the reality of the current world.

Hershel guided us towards an old pub, opening the door for me. The inside seemed to be deserted of both people and walkers as well as representatives of other species inhabiting Earth, but I checked the back door anyway, with my knife out. Hershel watched me wordlessly, hovering near the entrance with an unreadable expression.

I nodded, hiding my knife in its sheath. We walked towards the counter and I took out my gun, placing it on top of the wooden table-top. After a moment of hesitation, I took it back and placed it under my belt, sitting down on the high chair to check my position. The metal was cold against the bare skin on my hip, and it was digging into my body, but it was providing me with somewhat soothing discomfort, so I didn't adjust it any further.

As if deciding it was his time to move, Hershel walked behind the counter with confident strides, looking for something to drink. He seemed to feel at ease here, as if he had visited this place numerous times in the past. After a short search, Hershel grabbed one of the bottles and showed it to me with a question written in his eyes.

I chuckled humorlessly, reading the label, "I hate whiskey. I'm always drunk before I know it. Let's have it."

"Rough day?", he asked, taking two glasses from under the counter. I watched the man look at them against the light, as if trying to assess if they were clean enough. He tried to rub the dust with the hem of his shirt, but it didn't really work. Then, he poured some golden liquor into the glasses, swirling it a couple of times, and spilled it on the floor, cleaning the glass again with his shirt. The careless usage of the whiskey to clean the glasses seemed almost surrealistic, but wasn't the whole world surrounding us?

He poured two solid portions into the, more or less, clean glasses and I gulped half of mine, almost choking on the intensity of it. I felt a burning sensation in my throat and in my tummy, one that made me feel sick and comforted at the same time. The slightly wooden taste of the drink wasn't really tasty in my opinion, but I figured I couldn't be too picky.

"Not good, but definitely not as bad as yours," I murmured, setting the glass on the counter and brushing my wet lips with the back of my hand. Hershel eyed me and swirled the liquid in his glass, taking a small sip, his expression turning almost painful at the taste of the alcohol, "Cheers, huh?"

Something between a smile and a grimace appeared on the old man's face as he nodded slowly, "I had been sober for years now."

I looked at him for a moment, dumbfounded. I expected many things, but not that. Then, who was I to judge?

"Tough times," I said, as if it explained everything, shrugging. At the same time, I downed the glass in another gulp, coughing at the very welcome sensation of warming. I felt a bit numb, which gave me some sort of comfort in this situation. For a moment I wondered if I'd be able to protect myself from biters if needed, but I pushed away the much unwanted thought for the time being.

"I guess they are tough," Hershel murmured, providing me with another portion of whiskey. I took the glass in my hands, but didn't gulp it down again — I had to get back to the farm eventually, and I wanted to spare Hershel the trouble of dragging my drunk ass. That, and my throat was still burning from the last gulp. I stared at the liquid thoughtfully, enjoying the silence for a moment.

"Are you holding up okay?" I asked quietly after a couple of minutes, eyeing the man. He regarded my question for a moment, sipping whiskey again. I could see sweat showing on his eyebrows and I wondered if he was already getting drunk or trying his best to hold his addiction at bay — provided that was even possible.

"I think I'm better than expected, considering the circumstances," he said quietly, "I'm just… saying goodbye. And adjusting."

I nodded slowly, yet again, sipping my drink. It burned my throat, but it was a most welcome feeling after the short break. "I know it might sound a bit harsh, but-" I stopped and licked my lips, "All things considered, you at least got to bury them, you know?"

Hershel nodded, and we both drank from our glasses simultaneously. I smiled slightly, swirling the liquid, "I keep thinking about my dad. If he is out there, or if he's… not."

"You can always believe." The old man said slowly. Then, he eyed me and licked his lips before asking, "How did you survive on your own?"

I shrugged, looking at the amber liquid, "Hiding, mostly. I gathered quickly the walkers are pretty dumb, and you just have to play them. I could take one or two and when there were more, I just hid. I'm not exactly fit to be a basketball player, so it wasn't that hard to find someplace," I said quietly and smiled weakly, "I also found out that the climbing I loved to practice on my neighbor's trees as a kid came in as an extremely handy ability nowadays, because the walkers don't know how to reach me when I am sitting on a tree."

Hershel nodded thoughtfully, and we remained silent for a moment. I felt the alcohol reaching its way to my brain, and I wondered if I should have any more of it. Then I shrugged and took another sip, wincing at the burning sensation. A girl could live a little before she died, right?

"I am a shit of a father." Hershel said, and I frowned, focusing my gaze on him.

"Why?", I asked quietly.

"I was keeping my girls in a bubble," he murmured wearily, "Told them it can be fixed. That there will be a cure. But-", Hershel stopped, shaking his head. I waited for his next words for a moment, but when they didn't come, I decided to speak.

"Shane shocked you?" I looked at the old man carefully, swirling the liquid in my glass at the same time. I found this activity really entertaining, probably an aftermath of drinking a lot in a short time.

"It was-" he stopped for a second to drink some of his whiskey, then he closed his eyes before continuing, "It was as if he opened my eyes. I mean, he shot her vital organs, how could she still walk?"

"It doesn't make you a bad father. You tried to keep them safe to the best of your knowledge," I smiled at him from my seat and, trying to lighten the mood, I added, "If it makes you feel better, I have absolutely no idea what I'm doing with Rose."

Hershel chuckled lightly, "We've all been there." He said, and his tone grew serious, "I know I did my best, but I can't stop thinking I could've done better."

I looked at him and a sudden feeling of uncertainty fell on me. Could I also do better? Was I putting myself, or even worse, the whole group in danger?

I bit my lip at that and looked at Hershel sideways, "I think I should tell you something," I started slowly, feeling bolder thanks to the alcohol in my veins, "For safety purposes."

His eyes bore into mine carefully as he gulped down the contents of his glass, and I followed suit.

"You see-" I started and stopped again, staring at my now empty glass, knowing that this moment was a now or never for me, "At times, I might not be in my best shape."

He chuckled, offering me another generous pour of whiskey, which I accepted with gratitude as I took another gulp, smaller this time, "I think that can be said about any of us."

I licked my lips, the alcohol slowly surging through me, making me bolder, "No, I mean, I am not completely healthy." I sipped from my glass as Hershel remained silent, but I could feel his hot gaze on me, "You see, I have a panic disorder."

Hershel turned his glass on the counter, and the sound resonated in the silence between us, making me shudder. "Why?"

I looked at him, dumbfounded. It was honestly the last question I expected, but thanks to my current state, I was easily accepting things.

"Does anyone really know the reason?", I shrugged, but added slowly, "I was in a car accident with my grandma and-", I stopped, taking a deep, steadying breath. It was easier now that I was intoxicated, but it still pained me, "and my brother. He didn't make it. Doctors believe that's the cause, even though the attacks started a couple of years after that. I have strong self-defense mechanisms. Ones that helps me survive a lot of emotions. It's destructive in the long run, but helped me to cope with the thing," I stopped and chuckled slightly, "Well, at least that's what they told me."

We remained silent for a moment, as if Hershel knew it wasn't the end of the story. I sipped my whiskey, savoring the burning feeling of the liquid sliding down my throat. "Most of the time the therapy was enough to keep the attacks away and when it wasn't, I took meds," I breathed heavily, "Excessive tiredness, constant sleepiness, weakness, occasional muscle pain. Those were the side effects I was experiencing and, as you probably imagine, I can't have those right now."

I was quiet again, licking my lips slowly, and Hershel didn't say a word, so I continued, "The accident happened when I was a kid. The last attack I had was when I was a teenager, so I was allowed to start the surgeon specialization. The doctors thought my condition was at bay. And it was, until yesterday."

"Did you tell Rick?" Hershel asked quietly, glancing at me sideways.

"No," I shook my head slowly, stirring in my chair, nervously, "Just you. I know I will have to eventually, but I'm scared he'll send us away, and I don't think I'm fit to take care of Rose on my own right now. Besides, it actually only just happened today."

"No one will send you away." The amount of authority which sounded in the man's voice suddenly made it obvious to me why his daughters looked up to him so much. I turned my head to stare at him and smiled weakly.

"I'm not sure Shane will agree," I muttered bitterly, despite my small smile, fixing my gaze on the dirty floor, "He seems to be interested in strengthening the group, not compromising its security."

"Does that happen often?" Hershel stood up, startling me a bit. He moved behind the counter again, looking for another bottle of whiskey. I didn't even notice we had finished one.

"It didn't previously, last attack happened when I was 17, but now that seems to be changing" I murmured, drawing circles on the glass' edge with my index finger absentmindedly, "I've had one today. Was on the verge of another when Daryl was brought into the house."

Hershel looked at me, something between compassion and worry written on his face. I licked my lips and smiled somewhat sadly, "When I was alone, it was easier. I didn't have to worry about anyone. I think I was in task mode and that was enough for my brain to stay focused. Besides, I usually don't really worry about myself, I mean yeah, I do, but not to the verge of breaking, it's the others that tend to get me to freak out."

Before any of us could say anything else, we heard a quiet movement behind the door and my heart started racing. I knew it was way too quiet to be walkers, so it had to be humans. Doing math quickly, I decided we're in a shitty position to fight, both in a more or less drunken state, but I pulled my knife out anyway, taking the stance. Hershel, on the other hand, didn't even flinch, and I couldn't decide if I was in awe with his courage or angered by his careless attitude.

The steps were getting closer, and I knew it was more than one person, which was a terrible sign; one-on two intoxicated? That's a huge maybe. Two or even more on two drunks? The odds were not in our favor here. We didn't even have a chance. My heart was thumping loudly in my chest, and I was a bit proud I didn't shake. My brain kept asking me whether the group would take care of Rose, and it almost made me sick to think Shane might think of abandoning her. As the door started to open, I took a cautious step closer to the counter, feeling my lower back pressed against it. It made me feel trapped and safe simultaneously, the very combination making me frown.

Two figures emerged into the pub with guns and in the dusk, it took me a moment to notice that it was Rick and Glenn. I could feel a breath I didn't realize I was holding leave my chest in a loud huff as they both stared at us. We probably were quite a sight, two intoxicated adults in a pub full of shattered glass and general mess, Hershel sitting without a movement and me, leaning on the counter with my eyes wide open.

"Victoria, seriously?" I could feel Glenn's gaze on me, "You encouraged him to do that?"

I opened my mouth to defend myself, but no words came out, as my head started spinning from the emotions. I gripped the counter, waiting for my heartbeat to slow down a little.

"It doesn't take a lot of encouragement for a drunk to go drinking," Hershel said in a quiet voice, staring ahead. I hid my knife back in my pocket, relieved I wouldn't have to use it while being drunk, "And no. She simply offered her company."

"How many did you have?", Rick asked quietly, joining us next to the counter. I felt lightheaded and hot and not at all sober, as the cop assessed my state with his careful gaze.

"Not enough," Hershel said, almost chuckling. I cast a quick glance at him and Rick, both of them seemingly calm and composed. Mine and Glenn's breaths were the very opposite of theirs, short and ragged, as we both regarded the scene.

"Beth is in some sort of shock, we need you," Rick said quietly, earning himself a glance from Hershel. I was about to ask what happened to her, but the cop continued, "I think you are too."

I eased my grip on the counter, testing my steadiness. Deciding I am somewhat okay, I took a few shaky steps towards Glenn, hugging myself, and he looked at me in shock, "Are you drunk too?"

I nodded slowly, suddenly feeling utterly stupid, as the young Asian eyed me disapprovingly. I licked my lips and tried to defend myself somewhat, "It's been a rough day."

Glenn almost snorted at that, but didn't comment further. In front of us, Hershel and Rick were engaged in a heated conversation. I murmured, "I'm not sure Rick should be fighting him. Hershel's in shock."

"Do you have other solutions?" Glenn asked quietly, this time expertly avoiding my gaze. The conversation between Rick and Hershel was getting more and more heated and Glenn moved closer, as if he was ready to jump in; who he wanted to protect was a mystery to me at that moment.

I chose to stand where I was, close to the door, swaying on my feet slightly with my arms crossed over my chest. The whole scene felt utterly unreal and my head was spinning. One moment I was telling my deepest secret to Hershel, and he seemed cool and collected, the other — Rick emerged inside and all of a sudden they were trying to rip each other's heads off. The conversation was so heated none of us heard the footsteps, which were followed by a louder thud of the opening door. I turned around abruptly, almost losing my balance in the process, my hand quickly moving to my knife's sheath.

Two men entered the pub and looked at us with wide smiles. At that moment, I regretted my decision about staying in the back, as I shuffled on my legs. The distance between me and the guys seemed to be way longer than it was seconds ago, and I had half a mind to just sprint to them, all things be damned. I looked at Rick insecurely and I noticed the short glance he sent my way, but no crack in composure was visible in his attitude. I tried to take a long, steadying breath and stay silent at the same time.

"Son of a bitch. They're alive!" The younger one exclaimed excitedly, looking at his friend with a grin. Then, his gaze turned towards me and I could feel the assessing stare, swiping over me from my toes to my head, and his smile widened. Being aware of my exposed breasts, I should probably feel sick, but in my drunken state I was just scared.

"Come, let's sit," Hershel said, eyeing our guests and sending a quick glance my way. It amazed me just how sober he looked right now, while minutes ago, he was swaying in his seat. When the two guys walked towards an empty table obediently, I started tiptoeing towards Rick, trying to stay as close to the wall as possible. The weight of the Glock felt weirdly comforting against my skin and I hoped Beth's Henley was loose enough to make the gun invisible under my clothes. Fighting the urge to check the material, I finally reached my destination, standing right next to Rick with my hands curled into fists at my sides. He pushed a bar stool towards me with the sickening sound of the wood colliding with the floor. I grabbed it eagerly and set it closer to where he was, sitting down cautiously, clasping my hands in my lap in a nervous gesture.

While the guys were engaged in quite a friendly conversation, I could see Rick's eyes were guarded and almost cold. He poured me a small amount of whiskey just like he did for everyone else except Hershel, and even though I felt I might puke just tasting the alcohol, I wet my lips in the burning liquid, sipping a small amount of it as I felt the careful gaze of the big guy sitting almost next to Rick on me. I could almost feel his eyes moving in sync with my throat and I felt the liquid almost fighting its way back up to my mouth. I regretted wearing the damn Henley, which was exposing my breasts way too much, and I wanted to pull it up to cover myself, but at the same time, I was too scared they might see my gun, so I just stirred restlessly, feeling the growing urge to just run through the back door. I tried to stay calm, not entirely sure if Rick was just being cautious, or if our situation wasn't perfect.

I wasn't stupid, and I knew the group I'd met was kind, and also I was taking some risk, going with Glenn and Maggie — the whole situation might have ended in a completely different way for me, and I've seen it happen before. Half of the pair was female though, which put me at ease; and I didn't exactly have a choice at that time, with the walkers swarming the little town and a baby in my arms. Everything turned out okay and if I chose to ignore some stupid comments from Shane, they were all more than decent towards me. Those two however, they were looking at me as if I were a fucking porn star, looking to fulfill all the dirty dreams they could muster in their heads. Being drunk wasn't giving me the best chances to escape, not that I had them in the first place, against two grown-up men, but right now I damned my stupidity; who drinks a goddamn whiskey sitting in an empty pub with an old man in the middle of a fucking zombie apocalypse? Well, me, obviously, but it made me feel like the biggest dumbass in the whole universe.

"And you?", I was snapped out of my thoughts by the younger guy, who looked at me carefully with a small smirk. I stirred a bit in my seat, looking at him with my lips slightly parted, "Where do you come from, honey?"

Fixing my gaze on him, I tried to hide my fear as much as possible, as I said with a slightly shaky voice, "Atlanta. Escaped the city soon after the outbreak."

"And what were you doing for a living before?", his smirk now turned into a grin, and I noticed Rick opened his mouth to respond, but I didn't let him, allowing my elbow to touch him lightly as I adjusted in my seat.

"Just a waitress," I said, shrugging and casting my eyes down. I wasn't the best liar, so I knew my only chance was to play ashamed. The guy chuckled, so either my act worked or he reacted to something I didn't take into account: shrugging made my breasts roll and I damned myself for stupidity yet another time that day.

"I bet you were getting huge tips.", he said, and I dared to look at him, only to find the man licking his lips in a sickening manner.

I forced a small smile, but couldn't find any response, so I left it at that. He seemed to be content, and I felt relief washing over me. Glenn's eyes were boring into the back of my head and I could almost hear his surprised thoughts. Out of the three men from the farm, he seemed to be the most eager to talk with the new guys and give them many details about our group. That was equally endearing and idiotic, but from my perspective also a bit comforting, as seemingly I wasn't the only one, whose cognitive functions were shutting off periodically.

Why did I lie about my job? First of all, it was only a half-lie, since I had worked as a waitress, sometimes, mostly during summer breaks. What was more, I was aware that nowadays, decency was a rare good, and the guys we've met and their stares, ones I hadn't experienced at the farm, had shown that they lacked this trait. I knew I was a young female and no matter what I thought about my appearance; I was better than nothing for most of the men, especially nowadays, when many women simply didn't make it due to their physical conditions. I was also practically a doctor — both of the conditions were putting me at risk, and combined they were giving us the guarantee of a fight.

Suddenly, the guy got up, startling me a bit. He moved towards me with careful steps, as if he was almost waiting for anyone to stop him, but none of us made a movement. When he was right in front of me, he moved his hand, as if he wanted to caress my face, and I found myself frozen to the spot, "Aren't you a pretty little thing?"

I wasn't sure how to react, not to escalate the situation further, but before his hand could reach my skin, Rick grabbed his wrist roughly. The guy chuckled softly, but backed off, shaking his head with a grin, "Come on man, you can't blame me, she is a sight, one we don't get to see every day. Our women are either scared shitless, crying all the time, or just-", he stopped, staring at the ceiling, as if in search of words, and after a couple of seconds, he waved his hand as if to make his point, "not as pretty."

Rick didn't answer, but stood firm next to me until the guy moved away to sit, chuckling softly. The older one however, kept eyeing me and I didn't even want to think about what was in his mind at that moment. Rick sat back down, but he seemed to be ready to jump up at any moment, which made me feel safer.

"Would you make some room for more?" The younger guy asked, and I could feel Rick tensing next to me. Involuntarily, I gripped the seat of the chair I was positioned on and looked from one of the strangers to the other. While the younger one seemed to be at ease, the other was visibly tense, though he tried to show us he didn't care. By fucking peeing in the corner. I almost gagged, turning my head towards Rick, and I was sitting so close to him, I almost hid my face in his shirt. This position wasn't really helping me shut off the sound, but I could at least avoid the sight.

"No, that's not possible," Rick said sternly, clearly paying no mind to the peeing dude, and the air changed visibly. I dared a look around the room, finding out with relief the old dude had his fly buttoned back. The kind smile of the younger guy disappeared, and the older one was even more tense. Suddenly, the shorter guy who tried to touch me before got up, making Rick stand up as well, and he walked towards us with his hands raised to show us he was harmless. My hand moved closer to the gun unknowingly, and I clenched it on my Henley to hide the sudden movement. Luckily, no one paid attention to me.

"Oh come on, I'll just kill them!", the older guy exclaimed angrily and before I knew it, Rick had his gun out, and I was standing with my Glock out as well. How and when did it happen, I didn't really know, but as the cop glanced at me shortly, I could see approval in his eyes. I adjusted my stance, now holding the gun with both my hands, and I kept the big guy at gunpoint, content that my hands weren't shaking, while Rick pointed at the other one. The latter raised his hands even higher, but he didn't really seem to be scared.

"Woah, woah, woah," he exclaimed slowly, keeping his gaze fixed on Rick's face, "No one's shooting anyone, calm down. We're just a group of friends having a drink."

As if he wanted to prove his point, he jumped over the counter and started barreling through the alcohol bottles located below, out of our sight. The muscles in my arms were so tense I wondered if I would be able to move tomorrow. I had to literally force myself to stay focused on the older guy and I could feel a trickle of sweat moving down my back even though I felt freezing cold at that moment.

The younger guy placed his gun on the counter for us to see and the other male stirred slightly, so I made a show of unlocking my gun, the very sound making me sick. I prayed to whichever god was willing to listen that it'd be enough to stop them and that I wouldn't have to pull the trigger.

"So where would you have us go?", the dude behind the counter asked mockingly, drinking from his glass and staring at Rick challengingly.

"I don't know," the cop almost growled, and a small smile appeared on his face, "I hear Nebraska is nice."

"Nebraska," the man spat, as if he didn't believe what he had just heard. That was the moment a few things happened at the same time: the stranger made a movement to grab his gun, but Rick was faster, and before my brain could actually process what was going on, I pulled the trigger and shot the big guy right between the eyes. When his body fell to the ground with a loud thud, which I watched carefully with my eyes wide open, I felt my legs giving up, and if Glenn wasn't there to catch me, I'd have simply collapsed. Weirdly enough, even though my body wasn't working properly, my mind was calm and collected.

"I could've done that." Rick said quietly, regarding me carefully, as if he wondered if I'd crack and start sobbing any minute now. Hell, I wondered about that myself.

"I know," I started slowly, sitting back at the bar stool as Glenn slowly let go of me, and I gripped the gun, finding myself unable to let it go, "But I was scared he would be faster."

He nodded. "Let's head back."

I nodded back, fixing my gaze on the ground for a moment. Standing on my jelly-like legs, I watched as Rick checked the guys' pockets, taking the ammo. I was hugging myself with one hand, even though I felt really hot right now, but I needed some kind of comfort. I just killed someone, and I was scared shitless, because I didn't feel as guilty as I'd thought I'd feel.

Just rebuild your fucking walls. If anything, you're superb at that.

Suddenly, the most unwelcome noise could be heard: the quiet sound of the vehicle's engine. Glenn looked positively panicked, and I could only imagine the look on my face at that moment. Rick snapped out of his astonishment and moved towards the wall of the pub. We all followed suit and I felt my fingers gripping at the Glock painfully, as I crouched next to the cold wall a bit unsteadily. I focused on my breathing, completely turning off the conversation, which took place between Rick and the unknown man.

When the shooting started, Rick yelled at us to go to the back room. I rushed towards it, Glenn and Hershel hot on my heels, as another round of shots filled the air. I whimpered, getting down and crawling towards a safer spot behind the wall. Glenn was already there and Hershel was crouched next to the counter, trying to hide there.

"Glenn?" I looked at the Asian male and noticed he looked panicked. To be honest, if I weren't drunk and shocked, I'd probably just panic as well. When I caught his attention, I whispered, "I'll go get the car, just tell me where you've parked."

He stared at me for what felt like an eternity and then nodded, getting up. We moved to the next room slowly and started down the stairs, trying to make as little noise as possible. We failed horribly, as the stairs creaked below us, and I winced at the noise. I paused and wondered for a moment whether jumping down would be a better idea, but decided against it, moving as slowly as I could force myself to.

Just when we reached the lowest stair, we could hear voices on the other side of the door. Before I could react, Glenn fired and the glass in the door shattered. I cursed under my breath as he took a couple of deep breaths and after exchanging a quick look, both of us stared at the door, waiting for any reaction from outside, but none came.

I heard quiet footsteps behind me and I turned around just to see Hershel joining us. He looked at me carefully and said, "Rick wants Glenn to go and get the car. We'll cover."

I turned around and stared at the frightened male, shaking my head, "With all due respect, I'll go," Hershel opened his mouth to say something, but I was faster, "I'm in shock. Still tipsy, but not drunk anymore. I'm the better option here, less scared anyway."

Hershel looked at me and turned his gaze to panting Glenn for a moment, and then pursed his lips, nodding. I nodded as well — either to give myself some courage or convince myself it was a good idea, I couldn't tell — and moved towards the door. I looked at Glenn questioningly, "Left or right?"

"Right," he murmured, aiming his gun at the door.

I walked towards the entrance to the back room as quietly as I could, and I opened the door, almost expecting to be shot in place, but nothing happened. Without a second glance at the guys behind me, I left the building, looking around carefully. It seemed to be empty, so I jogged towards the right end of the space, when two things happened at once. A loud, deafening noise of a gunshot could be heard, while sharp pain spread through my right thigh and I hissed, jumping behind a trash bin on all fours. Another gunshot followed and there was silence, as I stifled a moan of pain. Looking down, I noticed a streak of blood running down my trousers and I almost cursed at myself.

The wound was located on the very verge of my thigh and I forced myself to take a long, careful look opening the wound a bit with my fingers, despite the stinging pain in the area. There was a pretty big injury on my right thigh and the blood was dripping quite forcefully out of it, but it seemed to be a pretty nasty and deep scratch, not a gunshot wound. While there was a lot of blood, the damage was located on the verge of my thigh and I hoped I was right that the bullet wasn't there.

I weighed my options, trying to slow the bleeding slightly with my hands. It was a weak attempt and I knew it, but I didn't have anything better at that moment, so it had to do. I had the Glock on me, but I also had a pretty nasty biter attractor on my leg, so running around wasn't exactly my best option. I looked around, unable to make a decision, when Glenn and Rick appeared at my side. The latter looked at my leg with concern, but I shook my head, forcing through my clenched teeth," Just a deep scratch, nothing really serious."

He nodded and looked at Glenn, as if he wanted to encourage the Asian male to keep moving. Glenn looked at me for a second and nodded twice, as if some internal conversation just took place. He was about to get up, when a car approaching quickly caught our attention. That's when I noticed a young guy, boy even, sitting on a rooftop with a gun in his hands. His friend pulled close to him and urged him to get down. Much to my surprise, the first jump went pretty good, but then the boy fell with a loud thud. The man in the car winced, shouted a short "I'm sorry" and just left. I couldn't quite comprehend what was going on, but Rick was fast to leave us and run across the street. Hershel joined me, and Glenn and I stared at his outstretched hand, dumbfounded. It took me a second or two to understand his intentions, but when I did, I grabbed his hand, allowing him to pull me up. He looked at my torn jeans, but didn't comment and neither did I.

"Where's Rick?" Hershel asked, walking towards our car. I tightened my grip on the gun, following the guys, trying not to limp too much.

"Went around. On the other side," Glenn said quietly, and if Hershel was ever cursing, that'd be the moment. But, of course, he didn't comment at all.

I noticed the blood was dripping freely down my leg and I stopped by the car, deciding it was best not to wander around too much. I looked around as Hershel, Glenn and Rick stood near the guy from the other group, staring at him. The walkers were roaming closer and closer to us and I knew we didn't have much time.

"We can't help him, I don't have anything with me," Hershel said quietly, as he and Rick roamed closer to me. I looked at him carefully and then turned my gaze to Rick, noticing how tense he was. I could tell he didn't like the offered solution.

"So you're saying we should leave him?", he asked, disbelief in his voice.

"I don't really see a solution here, and we don't have a lot of time.", Hershel's voice was almost a sigh, and I gritted my teeth, trying to stay focused.

"Do we have any cutting tools?", I asked, bringing the men's attention to me. Both their heads snapped, and I found two pairs of eyes staring at me; one with disbelief and the second with hope.

"Victoria, we can't perform an amputation here-", Hershel started, but I didn't give him the time to respond.

"I know, but we could cut off the span and try to somehow remove it from his calf at home." I said. I knew it wasn't a perfect solution, but it still sounded like a better option than leaving the boy behind. He seemed to be really young, at least a couple of years younger than me, and the look in his eyes showed he was literally frightened; not that anyone could blame him in given circumstances.

Rick nodded, relieved there was a second option, and rushed towards the car. Hershel eyed me with concern and murmured, "You're losing a lot of blood."

"Because it's one hell of a scratch," I said quietly, "But it seriously doesn't seem to be anything major. I might need a few stitches, but I highly doubt the bullet's in there."

The man nodded, looking at me for a second, and then turning his attention to Rick, who came back with a small hacksaw in his hands. The latter looked at my face and then at my leg, and then commanded, "Get into the car and wait for us. Do not open that door before you see one of us coming."

I wanted to object, but I knew it was the only smart move we had. While I desired to help, I would only draw the attention of the walkers with my blood, and there was still that small chance I'd pass out from the blood loss. Obediently crawling into the backseat, I closed the door quietly and watched through the window at the rapidly evolving events. Glenn kept shooting at the walkers, which were now literally swarming around us closer and closer, while Hershel and Rick worked quickly on the fence span to cut through it.

I watched with rising horror as the ugly creatures were getting closer and closer. I looked around frantically, and making up my mind, I took out my Glock and jumped out of the car with a quiet "Fuck."

I joined the Asian male, shooting at the approaching walkers. My head was spinning a bit, but I couldn't tell if it was the stress, alcohol or blood loss. Luckily, I still aimed pretty well and together with Glenn, we were holding the biters off quite effectively. Looking at the amount of creatures, our efforts weren't enough and Glenn seemed to be thinking the very same, because he left my side and addressed Rick, "We have to go. We're almost out of ammo!"

Rick didn't say anything, but rushed to the other side of the trash bin, probably to clear some more. When my gun clicked, but nothing else happened, I cursed under my breath, hiding the Glock and pulling out my knife. I did it just in time to stick it into the head of an approaching walker, which was once a woman.

The knife got stuck however, and I struggled for a moment to pull it out. Just when I managed to do so, I noticed a zombie right next to me, too close to aim correctly at that point. I tried to take another step back, but my backside hit the car's door and I struggled to keep the zombie as far from me as possible. Its skin was rotten, and it smelled horribly, my fingers digging into the flesh sickeningly, but my biggest concern was yet to come. While struggling to push away the horrible creature, I dropped my knife accidentally. I felt panic creeping into my brain, and I was on the verge of screaming my lungs out, while still wrestling with the walker. I couldn't think of a way to get out of this, and I didn't have much strength left to fight.

My arms started giving up and the walker's snapping teeth were getting closer and closer to my face. I made one last attempt to push it away, and when I failed, I allowed my arms to fall. It wasn't the way I wanted to go, but my body had just reached its limits, and it was literally all I could do to save myself.

Right then, the walker screeched in surprise and was down on the ground. I looked around just to see Hershel standing right in front of me. He made a short motion with his head and ordered, "Get in."

I forced myself to stand on my own and opened the door behind me, sliding in as fast as I could, making space for Hershel. Just then, Rick opened the opposite door and pushed the unconscious boy inside, positioning him on my and the old man's laps. His leg was torn and his calf muscle was probably ripped beyond repair, the very reason for his current loss of consciousness. I looked at Hershel in bewilderment, "I thought we were supposed to fix his leg at the farm?"

"The span wasn't giving up, and we were running out of time," the old man muttered. The car started with a screech of tires and I felt my back pushing into the backseat a bit. I hissed, when the boy moved in my lap, putting a lot of unwanted pressure on the wound on my thigh. Trying to adjust my position, I moved my hips a bit, but the young male was way too heavy for me, so I didn't really achieve anything. Hershel looked at me sympathetically, "Once we get back, I will have to take care of him and Beth. But you're off duty tonight. Do you think you can check the leg yourself?"

I nodded shortly, taking a deep breath to steady my heartbeat, "I'll try."

"If anything goes wrong, you'll have to wait for Patricia or me. You can find all the supplies in the bathroom upstairs."

"Okay," I murmured, "But I'll try to do it on my own, it's been a long night."

"Indeed, it was," Hershel chuckled softly, and it sounded really weird in our current situation, and yet it made me send him a small smile, "And we had a really nice talk."

"Yeah, we have to repeat it someday," I said, but added quickly, "But let's not do it anytime soon. Or at the very least, let's agree to stay alive after that."

Hershel snorted, but didn't respond. I caught Glenn's terrified stare in the mirror and the light atmosphere we achieved for a moment was quickly gone.

XXX

When Rick pulled the car outside the house, most of the group was already there and the sun was shining brightly. We had to make a huge circle to make sure we weren't bringing any unwanted company and I wasn't exactly sure if I was napping or losing consciousness at that point, but I couldn't remember most of the road. It might have been a good thing though, because the guy lying down on my lap was getting heavier with every passing minute and my leg was throbbing painfully underneath him.

"Victoria?" Rick looked at me in the mirror and I forced myself to focus my gaze on him, "Do you think you can walk? We need to carry him."

I nodded shortly, trying to stay focused, "Yeah, I think I can. Just go on, and I'll get out in a minute. I'll ask Dale or T-Dog for some help if my leg's worse than I thought."

Call it childish or whatever, but I decided I wouldn't ask for Daryl's help, no matter how much my whole being craved his presence. That attitude was definitely on whiskey, not me.

Rick acknowledged my words with a short nod and left the car quickly, opening the back door on his side. Hershel followed suit, and suddenly I was even more aware of the boy's weight on me, when the man's support of his head and arms was gone. I whimpered slightly, pursing my lips, but luckily, Rick was fast to pull the unconscious guy out with Glenn right behind him, catching the legs of the wounded man.

For a short moment, I was more than sure the blood wasn't running in my legs anymore. Taking a long, steadying breath, I tried to move, when someone's form blocked the sun. I turned my head to find Daryl staring intently at my hurt leg and I almost snorted at the sight. My plans to avoid him damned, not even two minutes after coming back to the farm. After a short moment he moved his attention from my thigh to my face and barked, "What happened to ya'?"

"Long night, even longer story," I murmured, resting my head on the backseat as I closed my eyes briefly, trying to gather my thoughts and maybe courage as well. I wasn't entirely sure how to act: on one hand, the word "bitch" was ringing loudly in my head; on the other, I knew it was probably all he knew, cursing and pushing people away when he felt insecure. It was on me whether I was able to accept that, and I didn't know the answer just now.

He regarded me carefully for a moment, and outstretched his hand towards me, "Come on, let's get ya out."

I looked at him for a second. This guy was a fucking enigma. One minute he was yelling at me, telling me I was sleeping with someone. Then, he was looking at me as if I were the last female on Earth. And now he seemed to be completely collected, a bit impatient, if anything, as if he was the master of the situation, and I was under his command. I had to admit I kind of liked the two last faces of Daryl, but I wondered if I could handle the first one.

I grabbed his hand and he slowly helped me out, his gaze moving all over my body, as if he wanted to make sure I was in one piece. I was slightly surprised by the gentleness of his movements and the way he carefully placed his other hand on my back to help me, almost as if I was made of porcelain and could break any minute now. The very touch of his calloused fingers was strangely comforting, and it gave me some much-needed peace. He stopped me when my legs were dangling down the backseat, itching unpleasantly, and he asked, "Can ya' walk?"

"I hope so," I giggled humorlessly, and Daryl stared at me bemusedly, so I added quickly, "The guy with a torn leg, he was laying on me for like two hours I think. I can barely feel my legs right now."

"What happened to ya?" Daryl repeated quietly, as I sat on the edge of the seat with my legs dangling, and he stood almost in between them. The position was sending pleasant shivers down my spine, and it angered me yet again; having so much effect on someone else should be illegal.

I felt the circulation returning slowly, and I winced at that; the slow throbbing I felt was now turning into an unwelcome, intense pain. Daryl tensed in front of me, probably unsure what to do. I felt his palms hovering near my knees, as if he wanted to grab me, but for some reason decided against it. I looked at his face and sighed with defeat.

"I got grazed by a bullet and I gotta check it, would you go to the house with me?", I asked quietly. Now that he was with me, I was unable to give up his presence just now. I stared at him almost hungrily, as if his solid form and calm demeanor were the only things keeping me sane and hell, maybe at that moment, they were indeed. Before he could respond, a sudden thought hit me despite my current state, "Who's with Rose?"

"Don' know, I only came from my camp when I noticed the car." Daryl said, and seeing my panicked gaze, he sighed and added, "Will ya' wait here? I'll go and check."

I nodded, biting my lower lip, "Thanks."

When he left, I looked down at my leg. It seemed the damage wasn't awful, but the skin was torn open and burned a little, and it stung when I moved, so I probably needed stitches. There was a commotion outside the house as Rick and Shane argued about something, probably the young boy we brought, but I tuned them out, fixing my gaze on the grass in front of the car.

"She's with Dale, they're playin'. He told me ya' don' have to worry 'bout her." Daryl approached me, standing in front of me and I looked up abruptly, narrowing my eyes when the morning sun blurred my vision. "Come on, let's get ya to Hershel, he'll fix ya'."

"No, no," I murmured, getting up and trying to ignore the stinging pain in my thigh as I leaned against the car, "It's fine, I told him I'll patch myself up."

Daryl eyed me doubtfully, but didn't comment. Instead, he offered me his hand, which I wanted to ignore just to show him I still was mad (stupid thing to do in given situation, but I couldn't help myself), but there was a big chance I would just fall while trying to walk on my own, so I took it grumpily, reminding myself it didn't change a thing. His warm, big palm closed on my hand, crumpling my resolve the tiniest bit, and I took a few cautious steps, limping slightly. He tensed a bit at that and positioned himself on my side, grabbing the elbow of my other arm with his free hand and guiding me towards the house. We now looked like a couple ready for some old dance and I had to fight a giggle. Daryl looked at me and asked quietly, "Ya' been drinkin'? Ya' smell like a distillery."

I grunted at that, leaning my weight on Daryl more than I should have, but he didn't protest. I turned my head slightly and shot him a totally out-of character grin, "Yes mom, but I'm of legal age."

I saw him roll his eyes at me as he groaned slightly, but he didn't push the matter. We reached the stairs and I braced myself to stand on the first step with my good leg. I did so, trying my best to hide the sting of pain which cursed through my damaged thigh as well as my pained expression, but I knew I failed when I felt a change in Daryl's stance. Somehow, I knew what he was about to do, and I didn't like it one bit, so I started hastily, "No, don't,", as he placed one of his hands near my shoulder blades and bent to place his other one under my knees, "You still have stitches for fuck's sake, Daryl! And I'm heavy!"

I moved a step back on unsteady legs, but if I thought I'd win with Daryl who had made up his mind on something, I probably should have thought again. It was like moving a freaking boulder with a child's, plastic tipper: something I simply couldn't succeed in, especially with the shitty arguments I possessed. I heard another grunt from him, as if he acknowledged my protests and chose to disregard them, when he lifted me off the ground. Fighting the idiotic urge to squeal, I put my arms around his neck to secure myself and tried to stare at him threateningly, even though I had to admit I was more than comfortable, "You're gonna hurt yourself."

"Jus' shut up," he grumbled, so I did as suggested, feeling slightly offended. Only slightly, because it was Daryl after all, so I knew it was his way of speaking. And well, he still was carrying my ass, while he could have just dropped me off and go do whatever he did most of the time.

I opened the door for us with one hand and remained silent for the rest of our trip to the bathroom. Fighting the urge to cuddle up in his chest, I allowed my head to rest right next to his collarbone. I had to admit I was impressed, not only by the fact he just carried me up two sets of stairs and didn't seem to break a sweat, but also managed to guide us inside in a way which didn't hurt my leg at all. Once we reached the bathroom door, he set me down carefully, murmuring with a voice full of poorly hidden embarrassment, "Too narrow to carry ya, don' want to hit yer leg on somethin'."

I fought the urge to roll my eyes at his current demeanor — as if the size of the bathroom was an effect of his wrongdoing — and I nodded and walked inside, trying to pull my weight off my leg. His hands were on me again, holding my waist and securing my movements, and I most certainly hoped I wasn't the only one enjoying the contact way too much, as his warm skin sent shivers through my body, the pain in my thigh slightly forgotten.

I closed the toilet seat and placed myself there. Much to my dismay, as I did so, Daryl let go of my waist. He was now crouching beside me, looking at my thigh, carefully, "What happened?"

I sighed, knowing I can't put it off indefinitely, "I promise I will tell you everything you want to know, but first we have to take care of that wound. Please help me take off my pants." I requested and for a second, he looked at me in bewilderment, but then nodded and as I unbuttoned the jeans, he helped me carefully. I held my panties with one hand nervously, as he slid both pant legs down, taking some extra effort to go easy on my right thigh. I was covered in dirt and blood and God knows what else, and for a second I felt embarrassed, but I shook off the feeling pretty quickly. After all, I had bigger problems on my plate at that moment — a pretty nasty wound on top of the list. Besides, I had to remind myself now and then that he wasn't even interested, so why would he care if I was clean or not?

"What do we do next?" Daryl asked, eyeing my thigh yet again. He made a small movement, as if he wanted to touch the wound, but withdrew his hand quickly, clasping it with the other one, resting his elbows on his knees as he crouched next to the toilet. I swallowed, not sure if I was nervous due to the whole surrealistic situation or just in pain lulled by the alcohol.

"Can you find a bowl, small bucket, something like that?", I asked quietly, staring at my bare knees.

Daryl grunted in reply and started moving around the room awkwardly. He seemed too big and too wild for this tiny bathroom and that was exactly how he acted, nervously rummaging through the shelves and almost throwing some things off. After opening one of the drawers, he took something out and showed me a small plastic bowl,"'s that fine?"

"Yeah, that'll do," I nodded, "now fill it with warm water and get a clean towel. There are some in the drawer to your left."

He nodded and turned, grabbing the towel and then got up, reaching for the sink. I looked at him, gratefully welcoming the distraction he provided from the throbbing pain in my leg. His arm muscles contracted with each movement and I really enjoyed the sight as he worked his way to fill the bowl. After a moment, he handed me both the things and crouched next to me.

"Thanks," I mumbled, dipping the towel in the water. I cleaned my thigh as thoroughly as I could under Daryl's careful gaze, which was making me slightly clumsy. When I was content with my work, I looked at the wound. It stretched on the entire side of my thigh, about a quarter inch into the flesh. The whole thing didn't look so bad, although it would probably be worth putting on a few stitches to speed up healing and avoid major scarring. I sighed quietly and turned my gaze to Daryl. "How do you feel about blood?"

He snorted, moving his gaze from my leg to my face. His face was slightly flushed and stood in opposition with his next words, "Not afraid of it, if that's what ya askin'."

I looked at him for a moment, but even though his cheeks were flustered, his gaze didn't falter, so I decided to put the redness on the temperature.

"Good. Open the left top drawer and get a needle and some stitches then. There should also be something for disinfection," I instructed and watched as Daryl swirled into action. I could see he liked doing something; having a task made him calmer and collected. After a moment, he handed me all the things I needed, and I smiled at him weakly, "Now wash your hands. Thoroughly!"

He gave me a puzzled look, but did as told without any questions. I watched as he scrubbed his hands with soap for a long time, until the water was coming down clean. After that, he faced me again, and I took a deep breath, "Okay. I won't be able to do the stitches on my own, the angle would be pretty weird, and I think I'd end up just pricking the needle into my skin without much effect. So I will thread the thread for you and I'll need your help with the stitches."

For a moment I thought he would protest, but then he pursed his lips and nodded shortly, "But keep in mind, I've never done somethin' like that, princess."

"Yes, I figured as much," I murmured, preparing the implements for him carefully, "Look, you need to insert the needle pretty close to the wound, but not too close, and then move it to the other side of it. After that, try to drag the pieces of skin closer, closing the wound, but not too close, because when it becomes swollen, the sutures will dig into the skin and make it harder to heal. After that, I'll take over and tie the thread, so it's important you start from the lower part of the wound, so I can reach it."

He nodded, staring at my leg intently, as if he hoped it'd just heal itself before he had to use a needle on it. I took a deep breath and poured some alcohol on my leg, feeling the stinging pain. "Daryl?"

"Yea?", he bit his lower lip again, and I could see a trickle of sweat on his temple. I had half a mind to tell him to forget about it, but we honestly didn't have a choice at that point.

"Ready when you are," I tried to smile at him reassuringly, even though my heart was racing so fast I wondered when it would just rip off my chest, "And please, whatever I do or say, don't stop. I'm not used to this kind of thing being done without anesthesia, I'm not sure how I will react."

"I could go grab some whiskey for ya'?" Daryl offered helplessly, still crouching in front of me in the small bathroom. I felt the urge to hug him, rub his arm, do something, but I fought it, not wanting him to tense. Instead, I just smiled weakly and shook my head.

"Not a good idea. It might increase the bleeding. Besides, as you already noticed politely, I've had my share," I explained, gripping the toilet edge so forcefully my knuckles went white, "Just go when you're ready. I'll try not to move, but no promises."

"'kay," he murmured, and something close to uncertainty was visible on his face, when he added, "No promises from me it'll work."

I only nodded, clenching my teeth and hands. He stared at my face for a moment and then moved his eyes to my thigh. I could see his teeth holding his lower lip forcefully, and I closed my eyes, bracing for the pain. A quiet sigh left his mouth and a piercing pain in my leg followed almost instantly. I hissed, trying to stay as still as I could as the piercing feeling was literally pounding in my head. Daryl's hands moved steadily, sending waves of pain through my leg, and I had to fight real hard not to jump at his every movement. After what felt like eternity, he said, "Ya' sure ya' can tie it?"

I nodded, fighting the nausea which had almost overtaken my senses, as I managed through my gritted teeth, "Yeah, I'm good."

I moved both my hands down, trying to tie the knot, but my fingers were trembling so hard I couldn't grab the thread properly. As I muttered curses under my breath, Daryl slowly moved my hands away and tied a knot on the first of my stitches pretty smoothly, though it took him a moment. I took a deep, steadying breath, savoring the lack of intent pain, "Sorry, I guess my pain threshold is lower than I expected."

"'S fine princess," Daryl's voice was so gentle it caught me off guard as I looked down at him, while he was still kneeling next to me. His eyes were looking at me with some softness written in them, and he smirked slightly, "Jus' don' pass out on me, not sure if I can finish this without your tips."

I tried to chuckle at his joke, but the sound which left my mouth was closer to a whimper, so I pursed my lips, deciding it would be better if I stayed silent. Daryl's stormy blue eyes regarded me carefully, every hint of humor now gone, "Ready for the next one?"

I nodded, gritting my teeth together and bracing for another wave of pain. It came as expected, and I felt sick again, all the alcohol in my stomach demanding to leave it immediately. I fought really hard to keep the contents of my stomach inside, but it was getting harder every second, so as soon as Daryl had tied another knot on my thigh, I just got up, opened the toilet I was sitting on just moments ago and threw up, holding on the white porcelain forcefully. Choking lightly, I allowed my body to do all the work until I knew it was finally over. After some time, the unwelcome nausea finally was over, and I took a deep, steadying breath. While my stomach felt way better, my brain was really humiliated. I noticed nervously that Daryl had been holding my hair out of the way, though he let me go as soon as he noticed the nausea had passed. I cleaned my mouth with the back of my hand, using my other one to flush the toilet. Daryl handed me a clean, wet towel and I accepted it gratefully, cleaning my face and throwing the towel away. Not looking at Daryl, I whispered huskily, "Sorry about that."

"No worries," he said, and when I didn't react, I felt his big, warm hand grabbing my chin delicately. I twitched nervously, remembering all too well that seconds ago, this area was covered in my vomit, but he didn't let go, forcing me to look up, "I think you're doing real good, Victoria. Jus' a few more, and we're done."

I stared at him, unable to move, the humiliation slowly turning into something else, but I couldn't quite name the feeling. Daryl made a small movement, putting down the needle and bringing both his hands to my face, wiping my cheeks with his thumbs. Just then I noticed their dampness, realizing I must have been crying. I closed my eyes for a second, unable to make a decision that was welling in my mind. The warmness of Daryl's rough skin against my face made it easier, so I opened my eyes again and croaked through my sore throat, "Can I have a hug?"

Daryl went still for a moment, but then nodded, removing his hands from my face and unfolding them clumsily in an awkward attempt to welcome me. It was all I needed, so I launched myself at him, ignoring the sting in my thigh. Either I was weaker than I thought, or he was expecting my sudden movement, as he didn't even budge when my body collided with his. My hands found their way around his neck, and I hid my face in the crook of it, inhaling deeply with my eyes closed. A most welcome mixture reached my nostrils: the smell of the woods and sweat and something I could simply describe as Daryl made me feel secure almost instantly. His hands were limp at his sides, but after a few seconds I could feel him hugging me back awkwardly, his hands square near my shoulder blades. It must have been hard for him, to stay this close to someone else, so I was really grateful he allowed me to hug him. I tried to stay as still as possible, but I couldn't help the need to shuffle even closer in an attempt to find the much-needed comfort. I felt warm, secure and more at home than I had felt in ages and my body relaxed against Daryl's form. After what might have been thirty seconds or a whole century, the man also relaxed and embraced me tightly, sneaking his hands around my frame and pressing his face against my hair. I could feel his heart beating close to mine and I wondered if we could stay like this forever. I heard a muffled whisper and a warm breath against my head, "Sorry 'bout what I said earlier. I can be a prick when I'm angry."

I didn't realize it was possible, but I hugged him even tighter, savoring the feeling of his muscles around me, as I murmured against his neck, "You didn't run when I puked, and you're trying to fix my leg, I guess we're even."

Daryl chuckled softly, hugging his cheek to the top of my head. I found the sound of his quiet laughter nice and really endearing, and despite the pain in my leg, I smiled lightly against Daryl's warm skin. He moved his head a bit and said quietly, "I think we should keep goin', yer bleedin' again."

I nodded, detaching myself from him unwillingly. He grabbed my elbows and helped me up, as I sat down on the closed toilet again. I took another deep breath, "Ready when you are."

Daryl grabbed a fresh towel and cleaned my leg. Then, he took the needle and cauterized it with fire again, his movements so incredibly steady. Before he placed it back in my thigh's skin, he stared at me for a moment and started, "Ya' know, my dad wasn't a good man. He beat the crap out of me when my older brother Merle was out in juvie."

I whimpered, when he moved the needle into my skin, clenching my hands into fists, "This one time when he kicked my ass harder than usual, teacher took me to the hospital without my parents' permission, even though she shouldn't. They patched me up, and she bought me dinner after, breakin' another rule. It was the first time I ate pizza, and it was amazing."

I felt sweat running down my face as I tried to stay still. Daryl's movements were getting faster and more confident with each moment, which meant we were closer to the end, but also it was equal to way more pain. I still tried to focus on his voice, and when he didn't continue, I managed through gritted teeth, "She seemed nice."

"She was kicked out of school for kidnapin' me, my dad made sure of that. And when I came back home, he beat me so hard all the stitches let go," Daryl said in a steady voice, as if he was reading a shopping list to me. He stopped for a moment and added barely audibly, "I threw up the pizza as well, from the pain."

With that, he tied the last stitch and moved to grab a clean towel, removing all the blood from my leg. I felt my eyes welling with tears again, when I grabbed his hand, covering it with mine as well as I could considering the difference in sizes. Daryl looked up at me almost coldly, pulling his hand away and resuming the cleaning, "Didn't tell ya' that to make ya' feel sorry for me, princess."

"So why did you tell me this?" I whispered, not trusting my voice to go any louder than that. Daryl's hand on my thigh never stopped its ministrations, and I was surprised at how gentle he was with removing all the remaining dirt.

"Because you were comparing yourself to me," he said, not looking up, suddenly completely focused on the task at hand, "You were ashamed pain gets to ya' easier than it gets to me."

He went silent for a moment, when he placed the bloody towel in the sink and took another to dry my skin. With short, careful movements he tended to my leg, and I stared at his ministrations almost in awe. After a short break, he continued, "But ya' see, princess, I had some extra training in taking big amounts of pain without as much as a whimper, because complain' meant worse beating."

I swallowed my tears and nodded shortly, removing his hand from my leg. I kneeled in front of him, ignoring the short pang of pain in my thigh, as I stared straight into Daryl's eyes. I tried to make my voice as steady as I could, when I said, "It's not pity I feel, it's admiration."

He frowned, his hands moving to my hips as if on their own will. He didn't ask me to elaborate, but I could see the question written in his eyes, so I continued nonetheless.

"Because against the odds, you're good and caring and everything your dad failed to teach you." My voice was barely audible, but I could tell he heard me, because he went extra still. I tried to smile, but my face didn't want to cooperate, so I closed the gap between us, hugging him tightly and this time Daryl reacted instantly, embracing me.

I felt perfectly content even though my thigh was throbbing painfully. Daryl's hands were holding me close, offering the most welcome relief, one I craved so much. After some time, I felt his hands pushing me away a bit and I could see his gaze moving from my lips to my eyes indecisively. I almost smiled at that, biting my lower lip to prevent myself from doing so. Daryl groaned quietly and pulled me closer, moving his face, so now our lips were inches apart. His eyes were boring into mine, half hooded by my eyelashes. The anticipation growing in my belly was getting harder to handle every second, so I closed my eyes completely and parted my lips a bit, feeling my heart race picking up with every second. I felt Daryl's breath hitched in his throat and he moved slowly towards me, his warm breath ghosting over my face.

"Vicky? Are you okay?" A loud voice from the other side of the door snapped both of us from our trance. Before I could comprehend the situation, Daryl was standing in front of me in the bathroom, which suddenly felt way too small, panting heavily, and I hid my face in my trembling hands, still kneeling.

"Yeah," I murmured, trying to get a grip, and realizing Maggie couldn't hear me; I added louder, "I'm fine."

"Dad asked me to tell you to come see him if you didn't manage to do the stitches on your own. If you did, he said you can take his bed and he will sleep on the couch," Maggie said from the other side of the door.

"Okay, thanks," I got up clumsily, expertly avoiding Daryl's touch in this tiny bathroom, which was honestly a miracle considering the space we had, "I'll be out in a moment."

"Okay. I took Rose in, don't worry, she'll stay with me tonight." Maggie said. I muttered a 'thank you' and we could hear retreating footsteps. Suddenly, the adrenaline left me and I felt way weaker than before.

My legs wobbled a bit and I grabbed the drawer, feeling an unpleasant pull in my thigh, where the seams were located. I looked at my jeans helplessly, wondering how the hell am I supposed to put them on. Daryl must have noticed my gaze, because he shrugged off his vest and handed it to me, "Ain't much, but it'll cover ya better than nothing."

"Thanks," I muttered sheepishly, putting it on. Indeed, the cloth was doing a pretty good job, as the vest reached well past my mid thigh. Due to its size it was barely grazing the wound, not causing any sort of discomfort there. I made a small movement to leave the bathroom, limping my right leg a bit, but Daryl was faster.

"Let me help ya'," he muttered, and grabbed me by the waist delicately, the very action making me flinch slightly. Why, I didn't know, but I felt utterly stupid that my body was reacting to his touch like this. Daryl, on the other hand, seemed to be quite collected, which I envied so much. While still holding me upright, he said quietly, "I'd offer ya' can stay at ma tent, but I think you'll be more comfortable inside the house. I only have the cot. And it's hot outside."

I licked my dry lips in an attempt to bring some moisture to them, as I looked up at him with disbelief, "Why?"

"Why is the temperature high? Because it's summer, princess." He said, as he opened the bathroom door for us. I could sense the smile on his lips even though I didn't see his face. I knew he meant to lighten the mood or simply avoid my question, but I wasn't having it. Whether it was the alcohol vapors or just my brain cells shortage, I couldn't tell, but I simply didn't know how to keep my mouth shut.

The corridor was empty and dark, and I felt almost guilty for breaking the silence with my voice, but did it nonetheless, "Why would you do that?"

I felt Daryl shrug as he guided me towards Hershel's bedroom. How he knew where to go was another riddle, but I had more important topics at that moment. His hands were supporting me more than it was necessary, but I didn't mind. He remained silent for a moment and I thought he would just deflect my question this way, but when we reached the bedroom door, he stopped and murmured, "Ya' helped me when I needed it."

I snorted with disbelief, "You don't owe me for that. I didn't do that to make you help me later," I said quickly, and I heard the grudge in my voice all too well. He must have heard it, too, because his fingers clenched on my waist for a moment, whether to comfort me or stop my babbling — I didn't know, but the very touch did wonders in both matters.

"I know," Daryl's voice was barely audible, and if I didn't feel his warm breath on the top of my head, I'd probably think that I was delirious, "And it makes me want to help ya' even more."

I gulped and croaked through my clenched throat, "In that case, thank you. I appreciate it."

I took a deep, calming breath and I turned around, making a sudden decision. Daryl was looking down at me and his big hands allowed me to move to face him, but never left my waist. I stood on my tiptoes, wincing slightly from the pain in my thigh, and kissed his cheek lightly. The small stumble on his face tickled my lips and I smiled against his skin before I pulled away. Daryl's grip on my waist tightened, and he whispered, "Careful, you'll destroy my- what did ya' call it? Handiwork?"

I could barely make out the smirk on his face in the gloomy corridor, but even in the dim light I could tell his eyes were now softer than usual, and I smiled lightly at him, "I think I can handle from here. Good night, Daryl."

He let go of me somewhat reluctantly, and opened his mouth as if he wanted to say something, but closed it back quickly. Instead, he reached behind my back and opened the door, pushing it further for me. Then, he said with a husky voice, "You'll tell me what happened tomorrow."

I couldn't decide whether it was a request or a command, but I nodded nonetheless. He mimicked my movement, as if he wanted to assure himself about something, and with one last look at me, he left, and I entered Hershel's room without a second glance, closing the door behind me and leaning on them, my last resort of strength gone with Daryl's presence.

XXX

That was quite a long one. I wanted to make up for my long absence :) Let me know what you think!