God, this chapter just poured from inside me. This is the longest chapter I've ever wrote, almost 8k words. I thought about cutting it in half, but it just didn't work, so enjoy this long chapter. Please listen to the song for this chapter, it's linked. If that's not Daryl, I don't know what is..

Guess nothing's ever as good as it was
The door's half-closed
Before you go, I need to know

Would you do it again
Even if you knew how it ends?
Or do you wish that we never met?
Would you say you love me
If you knew what would happen next?
Would you do it again?
It's killing me to think you regret
Oh, every word you said that you meant

Would you do it again by Rowan Drake

Chapter 21 - Door-Half-Closed

This must be what it feels like to drown.

The world was shit before, and it's still shit now. But Daryl knew how to handle this type of shit. The sight of her, however, was something he wasn't ready for. She was the one thing he could never handle or defeat, the one thing he couldn't even cope with.

Back then, he liked who he was around her, the way she lifted him up, encouraged him, promised him, and made him feel invincible, like there was nothing he couldn't achieve as long as he had her by his side, like his scars and baggage meant nothing because he was seen by her. And he gave himself to her, not that he had a lot to give, but everything that was him, was hers too. By some miracle, he thought she had given herself to him too, not just her body, but her soul.

Then, one regular day, he woke up, and she was gone.

When she left, she took everything with her, and no matter how long he slept, he couldn't go back to that dream, the dream of her. He knew he was drowning, drowning in her water, drowning in sorrow, drowning in life. He let himself sink into the depths of her sea, unable to swim or move on. He knew it was too late for him; she was a forbidden fruit, and he had a taste.

It took him years. Years to realize that she was just a fantasy he had, years to convince himself that she wasn't real, years to grieve her out of his system, and years for the pain to numb and his world to numb too.

Even though time ticked and seasons changed, his heart never did. Throughout the years, he would go to the cliff side or the woods, places where her memories were the strongest, and he would sit there. As the wind blew, he could hear the echoes of her laughter, loud and feminine, with the swing of the leaves, he could smell her fruity perfume far from where she was, and he would soak in the feeling it gave him.

When he returns home, his brother would snort and tell him he was moping again, unable to understand what he had lost. He would buy him girls, telling him to move on, girls with dark hair and brown eyes to service him, but he would refuse to touch them. How could he? Not that his body was willing. She was the first and last woman he ever touched. The only woman he trusted enough to see him, touch him too.

He knew as long as he lives, no woman would ever be able to give him what he had lost. No woman would ever live up to her, compare to her, especially not the kind he paid for. Because no one knew the sight of her naked in the woods, the vision that still haunted him. Her hair disheveled, her cheeks pink, and she would bite her bottom lip as she would shyly reveals herself to him.

Of course, Merle would laugh and call him asexual, but it didn't matter what Merle called him.

Just like that, he stayed frozen. Grew angrier as he found an icy rift to drift on in her ocean, and angrier still, as the world left him behind.

With nothing else left, he just drifted.

He drifted with Merle, doing what he said, going where he went. He became the nobody he had always thought he was. His future fell apart.

At some point, the world fell apart too. A virus decimated the planet, and danger rose everywhere.

For the first time, he didn't think of her. He only fought the undead and focused on survival, finding a group he could rely on to watch his back. Then one day, he went on a run and stumbled upon a dilapidated pharmacy.

It was there that he drowned again.

The moment he saw her, the moment he laid his eyes on her in that pharmacy, he felt himself lose his footing, slipping on a reef. The icy shock of cold water greeted him like an old friend, as adrenaline and panic set in at the sight of her smile. Before he could even blink, saltwater pierced his vision, and the steady bubbling blocked the jittering of his eardrums.

Memories… memories he held so dear began to flood his mind, swirling around him, vivid and real. He recalled the feeling of soft summer afternoons basking in the sunlight that radiated off of her, the sunshine that was her.

It was a fight or flight reaction.

His head told him to fight. Fight the ocean of her, the idea of her coming back into his life, back into the prison. But his heart took a flight… right into her fuckin arms… rejoicing to be in her presence once again.

Then every waking moment, she was there. She would seek him out as if nothing had changed between them. He could hear her laughter again, and as he feared, his entire body came back to life.

So, he tried to distance himself, knowing that if she caught him again, this time he wouldn't survive it. And for a moment, it seemed doable. But then she risked her life for Lori and the baby, going deep into the prison to retrieve a surgical knife. There, she was attacked by a walker, and his whole life flashed before his eyes.

He didn't remember moving or getting her out, all he remembered was arguing and her screaming at him with those honey eyes on fire. And then she pressed her lips to his, a reminder, a taste of what it was. As he got yanked deeper into her underwater, he realized that in her presence, breathing was not an option.

He ran, of course, completely moving into the west gate guard tower, away from everything and everyone. But that night, he was unable to sleep, and he sat there, reminiscing about what it was, what she was to him. Her memories haunted him while he was awake.

So innocent,

So pure were his thoughts of her.

The longing, the longing that was always associated with her, the ones that visited him in his dreams. The smell of her flowery perfume he would randomly smell. An ache in his chest, one that wasn't much different from the pain of not being able to breathe. The desperate, deep, deep blue rolling swirls of water, weaving around him like dye. The sea was fully made of her.

The drowning… the harder he fought, the more he fell, the more he sank.

'Don't look at her,' He tried to tell himself, maybe that would spare him. Maybe he could pretend she wasn't there, and maybe he could coexist without looking at her. Maybe her memories would disappear with the sight of her too.

Easy said and done.

Then Glenn and Maggie's rescue mission brought his brother back. The ultimatum to Rick also brought with it an opportunity to leave. A lifebuoy was thrown at him, and he took it. But he only took two steps before he regretted it.

How could he leave her? How could his last memory of her be him giving his back to her as she pleaded with him to come back safe? The last sight of her was him not looking at her. With the world as it was, this might truly be his last. But it was too late. Rick left, and he was back with his brother, drifting again. The farther he walked from her, the more he died inside.

That night exhaustion took him, and he dreamed of her getting bit by a walker, as Carol said. She called to him, but he didn't look at her. He gave his back to her and walked away. He woke from that terror in cold sweat, and for the remaining night, sleep never returned. As he sat in the dark with a pain in his gut, he finally admitted to Carol's question: Yes, he would regret it for the rest of his life.

With this distance as his bridge to her, his thoughts shifted. That was the beginning of all the shifts for him. He knew he needed to go back, convince his brother to follow him, but regardless, he needed to go back.

Because him and her, it wasn't over, right? That's why she ended up here? This was a fucking sign from the universe, right? Because he knew if he could go back in time, he would do it all over again, even knowing how it ends. He wouldn't spare himself the heartache but savor every moment with her. So why couldn't he do that now?

At that moment, all he wanted to do was go back and look at her.

But it was her who came for him, looked for him. That was another perspective shift for him.

At the site of her screaming his name in the woods where all the dead could hear her, he was reminded why he loved her to begin with. Because in that moment, deep down, the part of him, the little boy in him, the boy who got lost in the woods for days with no one to look for him, was ecstatic to see her.

He didn't question it when she slapped the daylight out of his brother because he knew that man could use a bit of rude awakening. Yet, the same day, she defended his brother, stood up for him against the group. And he felt warm watching her. That was another shift for him.

That night he lay in bed, asleep finally coming to him. He dreamed he was a teenage boy on his old motorcycle again, and the love of his life held on to him, her cheeks pressed to his back, her fingers caressing his side, and he was on top of the moon.

The next night was when he had his biggest awakening, his biggest shift. He was confused when Carol put her finger to her lips and ushered him quietly. But as he sat in that empty prison cell listening to his brother and learning of the letter, pain shot through him like an arrow from his crossbow. Yet he was happy to take that shot.

His brother had been cruel enough to watch him get consumed by depression, to let him drown in his own heartbreak, to hear his tears at night. But with that betrayal came hope. So, he found her on the guard tower.

As she cried and confessed, she slowly lifted him out of that ocean. He took his first breath, and with that gasp of air, he realized she had been drowning too. She was in the water with him. Her beautiful words cut him deep to his soul, and he accepted his future. As he looked at her, all he saw was the young girl who had sat across from him in the library, the girl he had shared his first kiss with.

As he pulled her into a hug, it dawned on him that time and space had no meaning anymore.

This was it for him.

This time, with a smile on his face, he willingly and irrevocably dove back into her ocean, finally happy to drown. Because no matter where her future took her, she held on to him. She never let him go, she never abandoned him. Where he went, she went too.

So, he caged his fear, with an act of bravery he didn't know he was capable of, he pulled another chance out of his bones, laying it at her feet.

Now, he only had to make her see it.

As you watch from the steps of the prison, the men load supplies into the RV. Your plan is coming together, and you know you can't afford any room for lackluster. You understand that things can always go wrong, so you must be prepared for anything, including a backup plan that is just as tightly planned.

"Well," you ask Charles as he steps next to you.

"It's done," he tells you. "All the weapons we're not taking to the battlefield are buried in the duffle bag they came in, and all the food and supplies are packed in another for a quick getaway if things fall apart." The backup plan is simple - play Russia, and make sure your supplies don't fall into the enemy's hands. But unlike burning then like the Russians, you carry and bury them so you can always come back for them.

"Good," you hum, and Charles nods in agreement, though both your eyes are on Jamie, who is across the field helping to load supplies into the RV.

"That boy is a fool," Charles says, and you smile.

Just then, you hear Jamie's loud laughter echo as he tells a story to Merle and Daryl. He's so animated when he talks, motioning with his hands and even head-butting an invisible figure before spitting on the ground. You feel the Dixon brothers' eyes on you in sync, and you look away, feeling embarrassed. Though you can't hear Jamie's words, you know exactly what story he is telling, and it's not one you want them to hear. Merle smirks, while Daryl's eyebrows pinch.

"We need to get ready," Charles says, bringing you back to reality as he hands you a ballistic vest - the standard military bulletproof vest that you despise wearing, heavy with all the buckles on the side. "Don't worry, everything will be alright," he reassures you, and you sigh, nodding in acceptance of his reassurance as well as the vest.

With that said, Charles steps forward and whistles loudly enough to catch everyone's attention.

"Alright, gentlemen, let's bring it in!" Charles calls out to the group. Soon, the common room of prison is filled with people as everyone gathers around.

You step forward to center stage and address the group, "Alright, everyone, if something goes wrong, we stick with our partners and never go alone. You know the rendezvous point, and we'll meet up there." You had paired everyone with strengths and weaknesses that complement each other. Glenn is with Michonne, Carol is with Charles, Maggie is with Jamie, Rick is with Daryl, and since no one really trusts Merle, he is with you. You have a feeling that as his only ally, he will watch out for you.

"Hershel and Beth will take the kids and the RV," you say, pointing at the open map. You have picked a small bar about four miles from the prison as a touchpoint if things don't go according to plan.

"Alright, people, look alive! We're moving out in 15!" Charles announces with a clap of his hands. The group breaks up and you walk back to your prison cell to get ready, knowing that in a few minutes, you will be marching off to battle alongside your fellow soldiers.

You stand at the edge of your bed packing your medical bag, knowing Hershel will be there for it any minute. There is a knock on your cell gate, and you turn, expecting to see the Vet, but instead, Daryl stands by the door, looking sheepish.

"Hey," he greets, and you can see the worry in his eyes as he approaches you. "You scared?" he asks softly.

"I ain't scared of nothin'," you reply with a smile, using the same words he had said to you in the past when you asked if he was afraid of your father. He huffs, seemingly recalling the conversation as well.

There is a pause, and you pat the bed for him to sit. He places his crossbow by the foot of the bed before he sits, leaning back comfortably. You chuckle, remembering his teenage self sitting just like that in your bed, making himself at home in your old room.

"I didn't get a chance to say it, but I'm really glad you're back," you tell him.

"I was on my way back when you showed up," he confesses. "I didn't mean to just up and leave ya hanging. I only took a few steps before I realized, I fucked up." He fidgets, his fingers playing with the tip of one of his arrows.

"It's okay," you tell him, and since he's being honest, you decide to admit, "The only thing that matters to me is that I have you back safe." As if a metaphorical door has opened for him, he scoots closer to where you are standing.

"That's what matters to me too," his voice is soft as he looks up at you. "This place, this prison, it's just four walls and a fence. It ain't worth our lives, and especially ain't worth yours. This ain't gonna be your tomb." There is conviction in his voice.

You let out a sigh, stepping between his open legs. "I know that. But Rick needs this place," he nods, his fingers reaching for your hand. "Out there is no place for a baby. She needs this, at least until she is a bit stronger." The world is no longer safe for an infant, and this shelter is absolutely crucial for her.

His eyes run over your face, and the moment stretches. As his fingers move up your arm, goosebumps rise, the air thickening with tension. The memory of countless afternoons you've spent lost in each other's company comes flooding back – the laughter, the passion, the intimacy, all of it still so vivid in your mind. Though the love you have for this man still smolders just beneath the surface, there is also a paralyzing fear that you are about to step off this cliff by yourself. You are over analyzing, reading too deep into his actions.

"You and Merle," he says, and your eyes trace his face. "I see how he be lookin' at ya. He follows you around like a lost puppy. I know that bastard ain't gonna say it, so I will," he squeezes your arm to make his point. "Thank you for havin' his back. I know you want nothin' to do with him, but you're still there for him, and I reckon he needs that, just to have someone."

You huff with a laugh, "We're talking about your brother, right? That same Merle?" You shake your head at him. But that thought brings up the idea that perhaps what Merle needs is what Daryl found in Carol. Someone who would understand and not judge him for his past, his dark thoughts, and actions. Not that you necessarily want to be that person for him. You couldn't care less about the man, but it makes sense how Daryl might see it. After all, darkness lurks somewhere deep in you too, capable of doing everything Merle has done. "And look at you, since when did you became so mature?" you laugh when he makes a face.

"Shut up, goofy. I've always been more mature than you," he says, rolling his eyes and poking your ribs.

You jerk back with a laugh, "now that's a blunt lie if I've ever seen one."

"Says the girl who slept with a stuffed toy named Beans and watches cartoons." You gasp, hand to your chest dramatically.

"Take that back! Toy Story is not a cartoon." You declare. Before he can reply, you both hear Charles' voice booming down the hallway, rushing everyone out. Suddenly, the air is somber, and reality sets in.

You let out a sigh. "Hey, before you go," you whisper, stepping back into his space. "I want you to promise me something." You reach for him, and your hand presses against his cheek. From where you stand, you can smell the cigarette he smoked an hour ago. "Promise me that you'll stay safe out there and that you'll come back to me." Daryl nods, his eyes locked onto yours. There in those eyes, you can see your childhood sweetheart reflecting back. The way he's looking at you right now, is the same way he used to look at you back then.

You pick up your bulletproof vest that was lying on the bed next to him. "Put this on, and make sure you take a gun, not your crossbow," you instruct him.

He shakes his head, pushing the vest back. "Nah, I can't. That's yours." He gets up from his seat, and he stands there close enough for you to feel his body heat.

"Listen, I'm going to be up in the tree with my rifle, nowhere near the frontline," you plead, pushing the vest back into his hand. "I need you to wear this. Please, just do it for me, okay? I need some reassurance… I just… please." Something in your voice makes him reluctantly take it from you. Part of you feels relief, but you know this vest won't truly keep him safe. But it's something.

There is a moment where he just stands there with the vest in his hand. His eyes scan your face as if to memorize it. When his eyes meet yours, you both share one last lingering look. With a sigh, he steps back, his jaw flexing.

As he takes a step to leave, you feel panic grip you with its desperate hands. Your hands jerk out to grab his, and he stops mid-step, looking back at you. You're unsure why you even stopped him, but the knot in your stomach is heavy.

"Good luck," you whisper, bringing his hand to your lips and pressing a kiss to his knuckle. You pray again to whichever god is watching out for him, hoping it shields him and keeps his aim true.

Daryl looks like he is choking on something, perhaps words he can't seem to bring to fruition. He nods, voiceless, and his fingers softly slide out of yours as he walks away. Tears prick at the corners of your eyes, but you know you have to be strong for Daryl and for the rest of the group. They are all looking to you. You take a deep breath and focus on your breathing, telling yourself that everything will be alright.

There is a knock on your cell gate.

Your whole-body jerks, "Daryl!" But it is Hershel standing there.

"Sorry to disappoint," he says, giving you a sad smile.

"Never!" you laugh, waving him in. "Everything is packed and in here." You tell him, handing him your medical bag. He accepts it from your hand, though he doesn't move.

"I want to say thank you for coming back for us," he says, his voice kind and gentle. "Thank you for taking over for Rick. He needed it. He needed to let go." He places a gentle hand on your shoulder. "I know the whole Merle thing might seem like we are not appreciative, but I just wanted you to know, I approve of your decision." You nod. If Hershel is willing to accept Merle, then you know it's a matter of time before the rest of the Greens follow in his footsteps as well.

"I know my girls look up to you. Bethie said she wants to be like you, and I'm glad they have a female figure to look up to." You smile, and his face reflects yours. Beth is only seventeen, and she reminds you of yourself at that age. Young and naïve.

"Thank you," you say, meaning it too. And like you've seen him do with his daughters, he leans forward and places a kiss on your forehead.

"May God be with you," his voice is soft and warm. With your medical bag in hand, he walks out, and you follow behind.

As you walk towards the car with your rifle in hand, you catch sight of Charles watching Daryl put on the vest. You know he's pissed off and the tension rolling off him is almost tangible. You do your best to avoid his gaze, but from the corner of your eye, you can see that his face is beet red, and his nostrils are flared with fury.

You huddle in the tree, heart pounding in your chest, fingers wrapped tightly around your trusty rifle. A few trees over, you can see Merle perched in his own tree, sniper rifle ready. He gives you a nod, the unspoken confirmation that he has your back.

"I gotchu out there," he had said to you earlier, as the two of you rode in the car with Charles and Jamie.

You had huffed and responded, "I gotchu out there," the words of Daryl still echoing in your head.

"Sounds like a pretty good deal to me," Merle had chuckled, a sly smirk on his face.

But now that you are here, high up in the trees, you are grateful for Merle's presence. He is deadly with a gun, just like Daryl, and you know that having him as backup is the only reason you are able to remain calm and focused.

Everything is moving according to plan. It was Charles's suggestion to have a couple of snipers as cover, and upon arriving at the meet-up location, you knew that the Governor's men were lurking nearby. Charles found a tree with good visibility, and Jamie boosted you up. Climbing the tree had been more difficult than you remembered from your childhood, and you felt embarrassed as Charles followed close behind, ensuring your safety climb. Once you have reached a suitable height, Charles tied you to the tree with a rope he found in the prison utility closet, so you wouldn't slide off or fall during the chaos.

You turn to Merle again and see that he has replicated your actions, his body tied securely to the tree, his rifle resting on his prosthetic arm. Taking a deep breath, you press your eyes to the scope and begin scanning the area, searching for any signs of danger. However, you can't help but also search for a leather vest with wings on the back. The ground is quiet, but tense, as your group waits for the element of surprise to kick in.

And then it does.

The first gunfire erupts, and you jump in surprise. You aren't sure who has fired first, but suddenly, shots ring out from all directions. Merle is deadly with a gun, and you mimic his actions, your trigger finger tapping and your shoulder shaking with the force of the ricochet. You aren't only looking for enemies but also any walkers drawn to the noise, keeping them off your group's back.

Far below, you can see Carol, Maggie, and Michonne hiding on the ground, shooting up at the enemy as they push forward. The Governor and his men are caught off guard, scrambling for cover as your team launches its attack.

As you scan the area for threats, your attention is suddenly diverted by the sight of Daryl being tackled by an unknown man. They wrestle on the ground, and you aim your weapon, waiting for the perfect shot. The moment Daryl kicks his attacker off, you take your shot, the bullet hitting the man's head dead center, causing his body to fall backward.

But little do you know; someone has seen you and the bullet's trajectory. Suddenly, you hear a clinking noise, like a massive chain being dropped from a boat. However, it's not a boat. It's the sound of someone lining up a machine gun that is anchored on top of a truck. They aim it toward the trees where you are positioned, and at that moment, you realize that you are the target.

Acting quickly, you swiftly shift your position, pressing your back against the trunk of the tree. While you are grateful for the cover, you know it's only a temporary refuge.

Then, a rain of bullets pours down upon you.

At that moment, your mind goes back to the first time you snuck onto a roller coaster you were too young to ride. You remember the world slipping from you, and you hold on for dear life as your gravity shifts too fast.

This is so much worse. You can feel the heat of the bullets as they zip past you so close to your skin, like a searing hot knife slicing through the air. The vibration shakes the whole tree, and splinters and chunks of the tree fly in all directions, as do the leaves.

Boom, boom, boom…There is no break, it just pours bullets.

"Get off the goddamn tree!" you hear Merle screaming somewhere near you. You only have a chance to glance at him, as his knife hand slices the rope he is tied to before he disappears out of sight. With a shaky hand, you fumble with your tie, cursing the day Charles became a Boy Scout and tied a knot you couldn't undo even on a good day.

A cocktail of fear, anxiety, and adrenaline pours over you. With no options left, you lean back, and like you did with the roller coaster, you ride it out. You close your eyes, and your mind tries to make sense of things, and it takes you somewhere in the Middle East, and you remember facts. You hear Jamie's voice telling you as you both sit on the back of a truck, the heat of the desert grazing your face. "Oh, this baby," he pets the machine gun anchored on the truck, "is capable of firing a thousand rounds per minute until she runs out of juice, of course."

'Wait it out,' you tell yourself. 'It will run out of juice eventually.'

Below you on the ground, Merle peers underneath the tree, bushes covering his body. His eyes are trained on the source of the gunfire, waiting. And the moment he sees the machine gun ammunition is exhausted, he reacts with lightning speed, firing off a shot. The gunman doesn't have a second to reload. There is a cry of pain, and everything abruptly ceases.

It is only when the quietness takes over, you realize you have been screaming the entire time. You gasp, your throat raw, your body still trembling with fear and adrenaline. "I'm okay." You tell yourself, leaning back, trying to catch your breath.

You can see Merle climbing the tree, "I'm comin'," he tells you, struggling to pull himself with his one good arm. "I gotchu, hold on tight." Merle's knife slides against the rope, and you are finally able to move.

Suddenly, voices call out to you, and you can see Charles and the rest of the group running toward you. You try to move your arm to hold on to the older Dixon, but you feel intense pain shoot through you. You look down, and only then do you realize you have been shot. You see blood staining your military jacket, wet, and sticking to your skin. Your medically trained brain tries to make sense of it, and you know you don't feel the pain because of the shock and adrenaline.

It's Charles that gets to you the quickest, and he follows up the tree. Gentle like a newborn baby, Merle guides you down the branches into Charles' receiving arms. He is shaking as he helps you lower to the ground.

"You're okay," he tells you as he brushes your sweat-sticking hair back, and with shaky arms, you hold on to him. "You're okay."

There is a lot of noise around you, but it all seems distant and muffled. From Charles' cocoon arms, you see Daryl running towards you. He must have chased after the Governor because he is the last to arrive.

You feel a sense of detachment from the world, as if you were watching everything from a great distance. Your mind races with thoughts, but you also feel a sense of relief, knowing he is okay, and you are not alone.

The last thing you hear is someone screaming about Hershel, and you stare into Daryl's panicked eyes.

After that, everything goes dark.

As the car screeches to a halt on the prison grounds, Carol jumps out, her heart pounding with fear and urgency. Charles's blue Nissan is the first to arrive, as he drives like a maniac. He immediately takes charge, refusing to let anyone else handle Alice. All Carol can see is the long, dark hair of the female doctor bouncing with each rushed step the soldier takes.

The moment Rick's car pulls in, she sees Daryl step out of the vehicle before the car has even come to a full stop. Hershel waits anxiously at the door, and Carol follows the hunter, her feet trying to keep up as Daryl rushes towards the infirmary cell. Charles doesn't wait for Hershel, and with a sense of urgency, he tears Alice's shirt. Carol stands with everyone as the group crowds around the infirmary cell, their eyes fixed on Hershel's every move. She cringes as the bed quickly turns crimson with blood, soaking it. "It's a clean shot, so the worst is over with," Hershel reassures them, carefully turning Alice over to inspect the exit wound.

Carol looks to Daryl, her hands reaching for him. Her heart sinks into her stomach the moment she sees his face raw and exposed, his eyes holding absolute panic. He is shaking like a leaf, frozen at the entrance, unable to move or speak, and her hand holds him tighter.

She doesn't like the worry lines on Hershel's face as he works feverishly to stop the bleeding and stabilize the injured woman's breathing. There is a collective gasp, and Carol watches distressed as Alice's body suddenly jerks as if she is having a seizure. Carol grabs onto Daryl's shirt and holds him back as he also jerks into the room.

"She's in shock; she's going into cardiac arrest!" Hershel exclaims, scrambling to hold Alice's head steady as she starts making gagging noises.

But then, Alice's body goes still, and the room falls silent. Charles's broken screams shatter the stillness, his usually stern demeanor giving way to raw emotion. Carol has never seen Hershel move so quickly, as he shoves Charles aside and begins performing CPR, his rough hands pounding Alice's chest with a jarring rhythm. Carol clings to Daryl, trying to pull him out of the room. There is something frightening about how still Alice's body is, how blue her skin is turning. She tries to pull harder on Daryl's body, and she knows she can't bear to watch if this goes wrong.

"Come on, brother, ain't no need for you to see this," Merle urges, stepping in to help with his brother's unmovable figure.

"Fuck off of me!" Daryl shouts, yanking his arm back, his face red, and tears finally making their way down his cheeks. "This is all your fuckin' fault!" His words echo through the halls.

His words grab the attention of someone else who is equally distraught. Carol shrieks and steps back as Charles tackles Daryl, taking both him and an unsuspecting Merle to the ground. There is a scramble, and chaos ensues as Rick tries to pull Charles off, only to get elbowed in the face. Glenn joins in the effort, but they are no match for Charles's unrelenting strength.

Carol winces as the soldier's fist repeatedly connects with Daryl's face. Finally, Merle intervenes, pulling the soldier off his brother. Charles lies on the ground, and Merle locks both his legs around him, his knife hand pressed to Charles's neck.

"That's enough," Merle growls. "You've had your licks."

"Why the fuck did you take the vest, you fucking bastard!" Charles rages, thrashing on the ground, undeterred by Merle's knife. Daryl doesn't move the whole time, nor does he fight back. He had taken the hit without flinching.

"She dies, I'm going to fucking kill you!"

"That is ENOUGH!" Rick roars, making Carol jump. "That psycho is on his way here. If we don't follow the plan, she might as well be dead." His chest heaves as if he is out of breath.

"Hershel?" Rick asks, and Carol pivots her head towards the veterinarian. The older man's focused gaze never leaves the task at hand, as though he acknowledges Rick's call with a wave of his hand.

"She is stabilized," Hershel declares, his voice calm and steady despite the harried scene surrounding him. With needle and thread in hand, he delicately weaves the wound back together, his skilled hands moving with purpose and precision.

Rick breathes a sigh of relief at the news of their doctor's stability, but Carol knows the battle isn't over yet. "There, she is stable, so let's make sure she stays that way," he states firmly, and for a moment, she sees why Rick became their leader. "The only way to do that is to follow her plan."

Carol nods, determination etched on her face."

For a moment, you feel like you're back in college. Everything that has happened so far—the walking dead, the apocalypse—feels like a bad trip from one of the LSD pills you took. The first year of college was the worst year of your life. You were in a new city without your parents after a major heartbreak, and everything spiraled downward from there. You felt like a part of you died and was left in the mountains of Georgia, high above the cliff you loved so much. You just wanted to feel alive, so you tried everything that crossed your path: drank, smoked, and took pills you had no business taking.

You remember waking up feeling just like you do now—groggy and disoriented—but instead of the ceiling of your college dorm room, you're looking up at the metal bars of a bunk bed.

"Oh, thank god," says Charles, his eyes red, with dark circles heavy under them. You smile at the look of relief on his face. He is sitting on the hard ground by your bed, and he reaches for your hand. "You scared the shit out of me," he tells you.

"I'm sorry," you chuckle, reaching for his light hair. This is the longest you've seen his hair. He always maintained his military style even after the walkers. "But you need a shave. You scared me from this angle." He laughs, rubbing his facial hair with his free hand.

"How long was I out?" you ask.

"Just a day," he tells you. "Hershel said all you need is rest. It was a clean hit."

"And the Governor?" you ask, wondering what happened in the time you were unconscious.

"Like you said, he pulled a Napoleon. He led his people into the prison, and it was a feeding frenzy. Those people didn't deserve to die. They trusted and followed the wrong person. We found the rest of his soldiers dead, gunned down in the street, apparently, he did it himself because of some bruised ego," He shakes his head. The loss of senseless life is hard on him, even for a soldier.

"That's the world we live in now," you whisper to him. "I'd rather they die than us."

"Yes, I'm just glad you're okay." He leans closer, and his face suddenly changes to an expression you haven't seen before and can't read. "I've been sitting here for the last 24 hours contemplating my existence. Every time I find something meaningful in my life, the world finds a way to take it from me." He grasps your hand in both his and brings it closer. "This time, I refuse. This time, I'm going to fight, even though I know it's futile. I know I lost the moment we stepped into that pharmacy."

"Charles," you whisper, and your body feels a sense of dread. The look of affection and warmth in his eyes tells you where he's going with this.

"Please, let me finish," he cuts you off, moving even closer. "I've been waiting to say this until we reach DC, but yesterday when you almost died in my arms, all I could think about was how I never got to tell you how much I love you, how much you mean to me, and how the world is going to take that from me too."

"Charles," you whisper, and his name breaks on your lips. He leans closer, gently moving your hair out of the way. Tears build up in your eyes, and you realize you've been trying to avoid his feelings, pretending to be unaware. But Charles had constantly shown up for you, aways been there for you. He had your back since day one in the mountains of Iraq.

"I don't follow you because of some military duty or an impossible cure. I follow you because I adore you," he tells you, as your tears start to fall, and he wipes them away with a gentle hand. "You're my reason for waking up every morning, and you give me hope in these dark times. I fight because you're by my side."

Your heart breaks as you look at him. He's your best friend, your confidant, and in an alternate universe, you can see yourself giving in to him. But in this universe, you belong to someone else.

Charles must have seen the struggle on your face because he continues, "I know what you're going to say. I see how you look at him, and I also know you're not going to return my affection," he says, his face very close to you. "But I had to try. I don't want to say, 'what if.' I don't want to add you to the mountains of regrets in my life."

With that said, he presses his lips to yours. His kiss is gentle, and his lips are soft. But your body lock-up, unable to return the kiss. You don't want to give him false hope. You've been cruel enough already.

Suddenly, there's a loud bang at the entrance to your cell gate, and you both jerk apart.

Your heart drops like a balling ball to your gut. You stare wide-eyed at Daryl's bruised face, who stands there looking at the two of you. On the ground, an unopened can of orange soda rolls loudly on the cement floor.

"It's not what it looks like," you panic, the words leaving your mouth before you can even think. You have no idea why you feel like you got caught cheating, and Daryl looks away and steps back.

"It's all good," he says, his voice forced. "I'm glad you're okay." He doesn't look at you again, and after a tense pause, he just turns and walks away.

"Daryl, come back! It didn't mean anything! Daryl!" You yell, moving to follow him, but the shooting pain immediately makes you regret for even considering it. You lean back, feeling desperate.

When you turn to look at Charles, you can see the hurt in his eyes, though he tries to hide it. He just confessed his heart out to you, and in the same breath, you had just screamed it didn't mean anything to another man. That had to be the worst thing to hear from someone you love.

Fuck!

"Charles, I'm sorry," you whisper, reaching for his hand. "I'm really sorry. But I've loved him all my life." You feel like you're stuck between a rock and a hard place. "I love you, but not in the way you want me to. I hope our friendship can recover because I need you. You're important to me, and I can't do this without you."

"Of course. I knew the answer already," he gives you a sad smile, pulling his hand out of yours. He bends down and picks up the orange soda before handing it to you. "Don't worry, let him huff for a day, he'll come around. He knows you love him."

You nod, though you doubt it. You know Daryl, you know what he's like, and you bet he's going to overthink this beyond what he should. "Rest up. I'll bring you food," Charles tells you before he walks out.

You look down at the orange soda with a sad smile - your favorite.