So here is chapter 9 :) Sorry it took a little longer. :/ School this past week has been hell on earth. Hopefully, next week is better :P

Anyways, I hope you enjoy and remember to review! To everyone who reviewed and alerted/favorited last time, thank you times a billion :D You don't know how happy those make me feel ^_^

Enjoy!

Chapter 9: Red Lips and Tentative Smiles

"Audrey, sweetheart, could you pass me that shirt? The blue one, on top of the basket."

I nod, even though I have a three pairs of jeans and two shirts already in my hands. Doesn't seem like a lot but this shit's heavy when wet all right? "Sure Jacqui," I mumble around my mouth full of clothespins. Juggling the shirts to my left hand, I lean down, snag Jacqui's blouse from the basket at my feet and hand it to her. "Here you go."

My response is garbled and muffled, the clothespins are awkward and bulky between my lips, but I think she got the gist of it. Jacqui smiles gratefully as she takes the article of clothing but shakes her head when she catches sight of me.

"Child," she laughs and her warm brown eyes are twinkling with mirth. "Get those things out of your mouth before you give yourself a splinter." Grinning, I hang a pair of what I think are Andrea's jeans, reaching up to extract two pins from between my teeth.

"But it's just so convenient," I tell her with a chuckle, working quickly to hang the rest of the clothes in my hand because my arm is getting a tad bit numb. "This way, I don't have to bend down to get them."

"You still have to bend down to pick up the clothes don't you?" my tent mate Abby abruptly points out. I turn to the auburn haired, older woman with a frown.

"I don't see why you have to ruin my logic like that. It's just not nice."

Abby smirks and picks up a basket of dry clothing, balancing it on her hip. "No, but it's a little fun." Still smirking, she heads over to Lori and Carol, who are stationed over at the ironing board.

I huff out a pout, blowing a few strands of hair from my eyes. "Everyone's a critic." Grumbling, I return to the clothesline and sulk, listening to the other women chuckle around me.

The morning is still pretty young but, already, I can feel the affects of the Georgian summer. The cicadas and other bugs hum in my ears, a perpetual noise, an endless, mindless, vibration. The air is thick and humid against my skin. I can feel the back of my shirt dampening with sweat, the ends of my hair sticking to the nape of my neck. Even though I can't see it, I know my face is flushed; my usually pale skin tinted a warm pink as the sun beats down on all of us.

Great. It's going to be another scorcher. I can freaking feel it.

Nearly half an hour passes and I'm just pinning up the last of the just washed clothes when Glenn sidles to me, a mischievous grin stretched all over his face. I narrow my eyes at him as I close the last pin on my last shirt, brushing the back of my hand across my brow. "Oh crap. I don't like that look," I tell him. "What did you do?"

"Why do you think I did anything?" he asks, eyes wide and going for innocent. Innocent my ass. I turn to face him and put my hands on my hips.

"Because you look like a kid who stole the last cookie from the cookie jar before dinner. So spill. What did you do?"

At this point, Glenn drops his guiltless act and just looks smug. Clearing his throat and adjusting the brim of his cap, he reaches around and pulls something out of his pocket, waving it in my face. "Guess who just won the last bag of candy off of Dale?" His voice is high and sing song, lilting on certain syllables, and, suddenly, I can smell the artificial smell of bubble gum on his breath. I blink at him, craning my neck back to get a better look, and then my eyes fixate on the clear plastic bag in his hands.

And holy crap.

The bag is half empty, obviously someone had been hitting this particular stash lately, but there is still a small treasure trove of hardened, sugared, sweets. My mouth waters as I take in the few lollipops at the bottom, surrounded by pieces of bubble gum and so many other sweet things. When was the last time I had sugar? I lick my lips at the phantom memory. Too fucking long that's when.

"Where the hell did you get that?" I ask Glenn. I try not to drool. The young man smirks and blows an obnoxious bubble, way to smug for his own good.

"Played a hand of blackjack with Dale for it. I won."

Dragging my eyes away from the heavenly sweets, I raise a skeptical eyebrow at Glenn. "You? Won at cards? Really? Was Dale asleep? Maybe drunk? Or did he just feel sorry for you? Personally, I'm betting on the last option." There was just no way Glenn won that candy fair and square. I've seen him play cards. No way in hell.

Glenn scrunches his face at me. "Oh ha ha ha. You're so funny. I'll have you know that he was perfectly clear and awake. He was just no match for my gambling skills."

I try not to snort. As freaking if. "If I say I believe you, will you hand over some of your winnings?" I'm not above flattery, especially since this could be the last candy on Earth. Glenn makes a thoughtful face, blowing another bubble as he hums contemplatively.

"Hmm…no. You're only saying that to get something out of me. You have no true faith." Oh really. Cocky jerk. Rolling my eyes, I dart a hand out and try to snag the crinkled plastic bag but Glenn pulls it back out of my reach. Damn.

"Hey! Stealing isn't the answer Audrey."

"Of course it is," I tell him, eyes trained on the bag in his hand, a frown of concentration etched on my lips. "Haven't you heard? When all else fails, cheat."

Glenn frowns at my words and opens his mouth to say something but before he can utter a single syllable, I'm already lunging forward, twisting my arm just so to pluck the bag straight from his fingers. Yelping, he scrambles to try and nab it back but I dance out of his arms reach, ducking underneath the line of clothes. I make a triumphant noise in the back of my throat and shake the bag mockingly at Glenn through the gap between two pairs of jeans.

"See? Told you."

The young man rolls his eyes and then holds out his hand. "Alright, alright. I'm sorry. How bout we share the bag," he amends. I consider him thoughtfully, placing a finger to my lips. A smirk dances on my lips and a giggle tickles the back of my throat but I strive to keep my face stoic.

"Hmm. Or, seeing as I'm the one with the bag, I could just keep all the candy."

To prove my point, I open the bag and stick my hand in, fingers trailing over colored wrappers in search of those freaking lollipops. Damn I want one.

"Hey," Glenn cries indignantly and he launches himself at me, hands grasping. I laugh and slide out of the way, ducking under the clothes again before I take off running towards the RV. Lori and Carol frown at me in concern as I blast past them, stilling in their ironing, but I just cast them half of a grin before I continue on my way. Rounding the side of the Winnebago, I plaster myself to its hot siding, panting and grinning as I hear Glenn curse in the distance.

This might be a tad bit childish but…I can't bring myself to care.

Shane, who is sitting across the little dirt trail in front of me, looks up from cleaning his gun and frowns in confusion. Still grinning like an idiot, I put a finger to my lips and motion for him to be quiet. He raises and eyebrow at me but Glenn's shout of "Audrey! Where are you?", cuts off his question. Hearing the young man's exclamation, Shane just shakes his head before turning back to his task, as if to say I don't even want to know.

Suppressing my laughter, I duck my head and reach back into the bag, in search of my elusive reward. "Come on. Come on," I mutter. My fingers have just wrapped around the small, paper, stick of a lollipop when Glenn rounds the side of the RV, sprinting past an inch way from me, sliding on the dirt. I freeze and hold my breath as he stumbles a few feet away, hoping he hadn't seen me, but then he's whirling around, eyes narrowed, chest heaving. We stare at each other for an endless second, both panting, both rigid, and I have half a second to consider running again before he lunges for me. Shrieking, there's no time for escape, I clench my fist over whatever candy I can reach in the bag and rip my hand out. Glenn's eyes go wide and he scrambles to snatch my hand but before he can wrap his pale fingers around my own, I stuff my hand down the front of my shirt.

Glenn screeches to a halt mid motion, hand mere inches from my chest, his eyes wide. Smirking in triumph, didn't see that coming did you, I draw my hand out and wiggle my fingers at him in mocking. He goes red from the top of his shirt to the roots of his hair and he snatches his arm back as if I just burned him. He narrows his eyes at me.

"You are such a cheater," he grumbles out, face still flushed an embarrassed red.

Still smirking, I lift my other hand and return his bag to him. "All's fair in love and war," I sing song. "Besides, this is kind of your fault. You don't flaunt what you got unless you can protect it."

Glenn scowls at me and cradles the bag to his chest, looking as if I just kicked his puppy or something. "Yeah well…I didn't think you would steal it from me."

"Ah. And therein lies your first mistake. Your second being your smug flaunting of the goods."

He rolls his eyes and moves to tuck the candy back into his pocket again but suddenly the door of the RV swings and Amy steps out. She blinks at the pair of us, smiles, and opens her mouth to say something but her blue eyes catch sight of the candy Glenn is trying to hide and she gasps, quick and sharp.

"Is that candy?"

Glenn groans and drops his head, knowing that he's going to be broke, in a sense, in a few minutes.

I smirk at him and move to draw my stolen candy from under my shirt, I'll catalogue it later, tucking it into the pocket of my jeans. Success. "Told you so. The gods don't like hubris Glenn. Let this be your first lesson," I tell him sagely as I wag my finger in his face. He glares at me around Amy's bouncing body and flips me the bird.

"Glenn!"

The irate comment makes me turn to see Lori standing near Shane, a frown of disapproval on her lips and Carl at her hip. The boy is looking at Glenn with big eyes and Glenn looks like he just wants to bash his head against the Winnebago. Me, I'm finding all of this drastically amusing.

"L…Lori. I…I um…" Glenn continues to stutter, trying to explain himself, trying to apologize, but Lori's face remains consistently disapproving and finally he just gives up. "Sorry," he mutters, looking down so the brim of his hat hides his eyes. A second ticks by and then he lifts a hand toward Lori and Carl with a sigh. "Candy?"

Needless to say, the bag is empty in nothing flat and Glenn, sulky and put out, is climbing the side of the RV. He says it's his turn for watch but I know, as we all kind of do, he's just doing it to pout.

"Poor Glenn," Amy says from beside me, rolling a Jolly Rancher around her mouth as we walk over to sit under what she has deemed our tree. "I feel kind of bad."

I snort and plop down on the grass, moving to unbuckle my katana and tanto that have been digging into my skin all day. I groan in relief as I set the two down beside me, leaning back to bask in the shade."Really? So are you gonna give your candy back?" Amy purses her lips and flops down next to me, her blonde hair spreading out across the dry grass.

"Well…no. Doesn't mean I still can't feel bad though." Shaking my head, I lay back next to her, folding an arm behind my head and staring up at the sky. It's another cloudless day and the sky is so blue it almost hurts to look at.

"Oh don't feel too bad. He got some candy. It's not like we took all of it."

"Hmm…true," Amy shrugs and huffs out a breath. "Anyways, he'll probably be over it before the end of the day. He can't stay mad for very long."

I smile at that and can't help but nod. "No crap. He's just so…nice I guess is the word for it."

Amy hums in agreement. "That's probably why I don't find him hot."

I blink at the nonchalant, indifferent words, staring up at the green leaves above me in slight shock. What did she say? "Uhh…what did you say?" I squeak out, turning to look at Amy with wide eyes. The young blonde shifts unto her side and props herself up on one elbow, her face open and unaffected.

"I said that's why I don't find Glenn hot ya know? He's too…nice; too…plain. I kind of find bad boys attractive. Smokers, rock and rollers, guys like that."

I swallow dryly and feel my cheeks flush with a heat that has nothing to do with the summer temperature.

In the past two weeks, Amy and I have become…pretty close. Or at least as close as two girls can be in an apocalypse. We've talked about our likes and dislikes, I'm more of a book gal and she's dying without her cell phone; we've talked about the small amount of clothing we own, which, even before the end of the world, didn't really matter to me; we've even, in small, shallow doses, talked about our past. Amy's birthday was two weeks before mine, which made it two weeks from now. She had told me that…before…her parents had talked about getting her a new car for her birthday. That was all she had said about her parents but it's more than I had said which was…nothing. In fact, I don't supply too much depth to our conversations, just a small tidbit about myself here and there, but Amy doesn't press me. Her eyes flicker to my side from time to time though. I do my best to ignore her questioning gaze.

Amy had also told me that she had been planning to travel the world after she graduated high school. She wanted to see the Eiffel Tower, the Great Wall of China, Big Ben and everything in between. College seemed too boring, she had said. Too…constraining. She wanted to be free, live a little, make some mistakes. In short, she wanted everything I never let myself dream about.

But in all that time, all our conversations, we, amazingly, never talked about…boys. I'm not really sure why. Well…maybe I do. We talked about all the places Amy had wanted to visit, places we knew, in the back of our minds, that probably weren't there anymore, or at least not geek free. But those were places, things, inanimate. Maybe talking about something like boys was just too…close to home? No. It's too…too…too human. Talking and gossiping about boys would just drive home the fact that…there weren't many left. If…if any.

"Audrey?

Startled by my name, I shake my head and turn my attention back to the girl beside me. "Oh uh sorry. What were you saying?"

Amy pouts at me, vaguely upset that I hadn't been listening, but she quickly works to fill me in. "I said that Glenn is cool and all, and kinda cute in a dorky way, but I think he's like…best friend material. I don't think I'd ever date him. Would you?" She cocks her head at me, blue eyes expectant, and I know she's waiting for me to come up with a response. Crap. Biting my lip, I shift my gaze back up to the sky, unable to look Amy in the face as I scramble for a reply. I was never really good at this teenage gossip crap.

"I…um…I don't know. I never really…thought about it." My stuttered answer seems to be enough for her though because she lies back down on her back, picking up the conversation.

"Well I have," she says. "I mean he's like the only guy around our age that I've seen since…well you know. Everyone else is like…Shane's age. Old. Just makes me think ya know? What if we have to repopulate the Earth or something like that?"

I make a chocking sort of noise in the back of my throat, how did she get to that conclusion, and Amy giggles again. "Ok maybe that is a little extreme but seriously. It's something to think about." I contemplate her words for a moment, rolling them around in my head, and suddenly, without preamble, a thought occurs to me and it's sliding off my tongue before I can stop it.

"Daryl's near our age. Kinda. He can't be older than 30 anyway." Amy snorts beside me, a nasty, mean sound, and barks out an equally nasty and mean laugh. It surprises me because prior to this point, I've never heard anything really negative come out of her.

"I said guys around our age, Dree," Amy scoffs, using her recently developed nickname for me. I don't really mind it. "Not some redneck beast." I frown at what she just said and turn my head to look at her through the blades of grass that separate us. Slivers of blue, inches away, blink back at me through the gaps.

"I don't think Daryl's a beast per se. Merle…yeah. He's like a rabid bear. A drug addicted rabid bear. But Daryl…Daryl's..." I trail off, having trouble articulating my thoughts. How do I tell her about the pity I saw in his eyes when he told me about the refugee center? Or about how he saved me from losing my foot in Merle's barbaric trap? How do I reconcile the sharp and caustic bastard that she knows with the man I saw down at the quarry the other day, the one who didn't bite my hand of truce this time around, the one who, in a way, reminded me a little bit of Sophia?

How do I explain that to her?

I don't have time to try, however, because Amy fills in the silence for me. "He's what? An asshole? A dick? A psychotic, racist hick, just like his brother? Yeah I agree." Suddenly, she reaches up and brushes across my right temple. "I mean, don't you remember this?" she asks and I don't have to be looking in her eyes to know she's looking at the scar there.

But of course I remember. It's kind of hard to forget. And kind of hard not to notice. I think back to yesterday when I had gone into Dale's Winnebago. The older man had asked me to grab something from the shelves in the hallway of his vehicle and, being me, I had agreed and went to fetch whatever is was he wanted, I can't even remember what now. It had taken me a few minutes to locate it but as I was turning to leave, something caught my attention out of the corner of my eye.

It was my reflection.

I hadn't really seen myself in over a month. Sure, I had caught the occasional glimpse in the distorted ripples of a random creek or the quarry, but I hadn't seen what I really looked like, in a mirror that didn't move, in a long time. Granted, the mirror was small, dingy, cracked in one corner, but I could see enough of myself to realize…I barely recognized the girl who looked back at me.

The first thing I had noticed was my hair. I hadn't always liked it, always envied the girls with the straight sleek locks over my own wavy strands, but I hadn't hated my hair. Now, however, there was barely enough to feel anything over. Staring in that mirror yesterday, I had tentatively reached up and ran my fingers through my hair, feeling the dry strands against tickle my skin. In another time, another place, if it had been done properly in a salon instead of the middle of the woods in the dead of night, the cut might have looked edgy, almost stylish.

Now it just looked botched and shoddy.

The left side was longer than the right, ending halfway down my neck while the right side didn't get past my jaw line. My bangs, which had, at one time, been neatly side swept to the left and barely touching my eyebrows, were as long as the rest of my hair now, able to curl around my ear if I wanted. And I had done just that, tucked both sides of my hair behind my ears to get a full look at my face.

The skeleton that gazed back at me looked nothing like the Audrey Bennett I used to be.

My face was tight and gaunt, all too sharp angles and planes. My chin was pointed and thin, the cleft less prominent now that I had absolutely no body fat. Razor sharp cheekbones stretched out the remaining skin on my face, like knives about to cut through paper. The skin itself was still pale, though a few shades darker than what I had set out from Dalton with. The problem was I burned instead of tanned; the evidence was seared across the bridge of my nose and tops of my cheeks, just under my eyes. And my eyes. Something about looking into my eyes made me sad. They were nearly sunken into my skull, the once vibrant green dulled and flat, and despite the better sleeping hours I had received recently, they were ringed with pale purple shadows, like the lightest of bruises.

And then, at the corner of my eye, there was the scar.

My hand had been drawn to it, almost as if it were a magnet, pulled by an invisible force. I had been almost afraid to touch it, I don't really know why, but eventually my fingertips brushed the still healing skin and I found…it was just like any other scar I had. Nothing new, nothing special. Sure, the weapon that had given it to me had been different, bit unique, but the result was much the same as the scarred tissue on my hand, on my side, my legs, my back. I was covered in scars. This was just another one to add to my collection.

Still, my fingers had traced the slightly raised tissue, curious, beginning at the corner of my eyebrow and ending a few inches back in my hairline. It wasn't long nor was it very ugly. The skin wasn't as ropy as some of my other scars; it was more like a burn, cauterized. As I had touched the slightly sensitive skin, however, I had contemplated the fact that, a few inches, no, centimeters, to the left and I would have been dead. Bolt through the brain and gone. I think that fact should have affected me in some way but…it didn't. Should that worry me?

Returning to the present, I answer Amy's question. "Yes, I remember. To be fair though, I did smash Daryl's face in. I think I kind of paid him back."

The blonde smirks at the memory, starting to giggle but cut off by a yawn as she drops her hand. "True," she says, smacking her lips. I smile gently at the hazy, drowsy, look in her blue eyes. Looks like someone's a little sleepy. "Ya know…I still can't believe you did that. And then that thing with Merle?" She shakes her head. "How do you do it?"

"Do what?"

"Stand up to the Dixons like that," she says. "Shane's the only one that ever really says anything to them and even he's wary when he does it. But you…you don't even hesitate. You got up in Merle's face that day and didn't even flinch when he almost came at you. I can't-" Another yawn cuts her off mid sentence. She shakes her head as if to clear it. "Ugh sorry. Anyways, I can't decide if you're the bravest person I've ever met or the craziest."

I chuckle at her conclusion, twining my fingers into the grass. "It's a very thin line. Trust me. But…well I don't know," I shrug, plucking a blade of grass and placing it between my teeth. I roll over to stare up at the tree again, mulling over how to answer her question. "I just…I don't take shit from people. Especially assholes that try to rule through intimidation. I hate that shit. Merle Dixon isn't the first douche bag I've met. Sadly, I've known a lot. I guess, through the years, I just…learned that it's better to call these bastards out and take a punch then cower and let them walk all over you. If you let them think you're weak…they'll take advantage in whatever way they can."

By the end of my comment, my voice has trailed off into a whisper, weighed down by the memories behind the words. They leave a funny taste in the back of my mouth, like something rotten and I can't quiet stop the images; the pictures that flicker before my eyes, scenes from a time before Mom, before Irina and Manny, a time way before Sensei. They were phantoms from over a decade ago but damn if they didn't still haunt me. I can still remember the sound of his voice; still remember the sting of leather and the taste of blood. I didn't want to recall these things, those people couldn't touch me anymore, they were more than likely dead, but I couldn't forget. I don't think I ever will.

Amy has fallen silent beside me, more than likely mulling over my words and dying to ask questions. I close my eyes and take a deep breath, thinking that maybe, this time, I'll answer them honestly. But Amy doesn't speak up and, after a few minutes, I glance at her out of the corner of my eye. She's still in the grass at my side, save the gentle rise and fall of her chest and the flicker of her closed eyelids. She's fallen asleep or is somewhere very close. Smiling gently, I sigh and decide to follow her lead. I mean what the hell? I had finished this morning's chores. And my lesson with Carl and Sophia wasn't until after lunch. A little nap couldn't hurt. Decision made, I close my eyes and I'm quickly lulled into a doze by the distant sounds of the world, trying to let my memories bleed out of me and sink into the ground, deeper and deeper, nothing more than a distant past.

Something about this place is very peaceful, almost therapeutic. Feeling the sun beating down warm from above and the grass ticklish from below, I listen to the dull hum of conversations sprinkled throughout camp. Morales and his wife are speaking to their children in Spanish somewhere near by, calming, soothing words that almost resemble a lullaby. Dale and Jim are arguing quietly near the RV, speaking of radiator hoses and spark plugs and a thousand other things that I can't even begin to name. Shane's teaching Carl how to tie a clinch knot, or at least trying to, and the young boy giggles and mutters back as the former cop messes up again. My eyes flutter open, unbidden and drowsy, and I let my head fall to the side, looking to my right at the rest of camp, the world flipped sideways and askew. Figures walk to and fro across the small area, some holding clothes or pots, some talking with others, some just walking to have something to do. I watch each person go about his or her business, a casual outside observer, and I think. These people…they are my neighbors now and yet they're little more than strangers. It's a weird thought. I knew all my neighbors back in Dalton; I knew their children, their jobs, their past. Mrs. Davenport across the street was a sweet old widow whose children were grown and gone. She made a mean apple pie and sometimes, when Mom was at work and I was at training, she watched Irina and Manny. Ms. Johnson to our left had inherited her parent's house after they passed away; she was putting herself through med-school. Mr. Blake to our right was a young businessman, all sharp suits and bright red ties; he never really liked us. But that doesn't matter. The fact is…I knew him, knew them. Knew them and saw them nearly everyday.

And yet…I had never felt as close, or as comfortable, to them as I did with Amy or with Glenn. Didn't trust them to protect me or the people around me like I trusted Shane. Didn't want to just talk to them, comfort them, be there for them, like I did with poor, sweet, Carol. Perhaps it's because I spend every waking moment with these people, from sun up to sun down and then through the night as well. Perhaps it's because we might be the last people in the world, secluded up here in the Georgia woods. Either way, these people we my neighbors now, the closest thing I had left to family in the world, and…and the thought made me equally happy and sad, comforted and upset. "We few, we happy few, we band of brothers," I think to myself. I had them now, had their smiles and their laughs, their quirky, unique personalities and their sweet words. But…how long did I have them for? The morbid thought wouldn't leave me alone. When I was young, I had taken my Mother and Father for granted, and after them, though I should have known better, I did the same with Mom, Irina, Manny, and Sensei. I had assumed each one of them would be with me forever.

Funny thing. I never knew forever was such a short amount of time.

Sighing, I'm about to let my eyes fall shut once more, follow Amy into a nice little nap if only to turn my brain off for a while, but something catches my gaze before my eyelashes can flutter shut.

It's Daryl, stalking across camp with his gaze glued to his filthy boots. His blue jeans are faded and torn in multiple places, caked and streaked with dirt and mud and God knows what else. His red plaid shirt is in a similar condition, the jagged ends of ripped off sleeves dangling at his shoulders, the collar of the shirt gaping open across his clavicle, sweat soaked skin shinning underneath. The sight of him makes the drowsiness that's been pulling at me since I first lay down in the grass burn away, like water under the hot Georgia sun. I haven't spoken with him much since our little heart-to-heart at the quarry, just the spare word here and there, but he hasn't tried to tear my throat out every time I looked at him. So, we're making progress. Of a sort anyway. He still glared and scowled at me but I think that's just how he is.

As I continue to watch him, I can't help but notice that the glares and scowls that he usually directed at me were nothing compared to the glower he was sending the ground beneath his shoes. He's pissed. I can tell by the hard line of his shoulders, the aggressive way he's walking. I'm pretty good with body language. Something must be wrong. I let my eyes travel across his figure and I take in the crossbow slung across his back and the empty string of rope he has clutched in his right hand. Oh. It seems his small hunting excursion didn't go well this morning. I vaguely wonder if he had gone by himself or if Merle had gotten off his useless ass and went to help him.

Daryl's a few yards away from Amy and I now and I'm weighing the pros and cons of saying hi to him, if only to make good on our newly made truce, when suddenly, Lori, who's standing under the RV's awning with Dale, calls out to him.

"Daryl! Daryl, wait up!"

The young hunter pauses mid-step, barely suppressed aggravation flitting across his features, and turns around to face the older woman, turning his back to me.

"What," I hear him snap and the word is as sharp as the knife at his hip. Lori comes to a stop a few feet from him and purses her lips, shifting from foot to foot, sticking her hands into her back pockets. She's uncomfortable, it's screaming from her very posture, but she doesn't back down at Daryl's caustic demeanor. I commend her for it.

"It's almost lunch time," she tells him and suddenly I'm taking my commendation back because I think I know what she's going to say to him and please let me be wrong.

I can't see Daryl's face but I can definitely hear the snarl in his voice. "Yeah, so what?"

Lori frowns at him and I see her take a deep breath, more than likely gathering courage to say her next words and oh crap I think I'm right and I really wish she wouldn't say what I know she is going to. "So…we don't have that much food left. Didn't you go hunting this morning? Did…did you catch anything?"

But she did and great now Daryl's going to blow up at her. I can tell by the way his spine has snapped rigid and the way he's gripping the rope of his empty catch. Unconsciously, I tense, worried and alert, as I watch Daryl take half a step forward and stab a finger in Lori's face, making the startled woman stumble back. "If yer so damn fuckin hungry, why don't you try and hunt for a change? I ain't yer fuckin personal chef lady," he nearly shouts and I can tell he's working himself into a tirade so I'm already pushing myself up unto my elbows to go and try to diffuse the situation when Shane appears by Lori's side, stepping between her and Daryl. Lori's face is nothing short of relieved, big blue eyes thanking Shane silently but the former cop isn't looking at her; his dark and angry expression is focused intently on Daryl and he nearly spits his words in the younger man's face.

"Dixon, you need to back the hell on up," he growls out. To further emphasize his point, he puts a restraining hand in front of Daryl's chest. He doesn't touch him, doesn't dare right now, doesn't want the trouble, but the intent is there nonetheless. Daryl stands there for a moment, shoulders heaving, but he takes a few steps back. Shane visibly relaxes, if only just a little. "Now, I think the lady asked you a question," he says quietly after a few tense moments of silence. "Where is your catch?"

Daryl scowls, I know he does, and spits at Shane's feet. "Fuck you, hoss. Ain't nothin out there, like I told ya this morning."

Shane glowers back at him. He doesn't seem to believe Daryl. "You check the traps? What bout them? There's gotta be something Dixon."

A shiver rips down my spine as he mentions the traps, the image of Merle's barbaric and sadistic contraption flashing before my eyes. Daryl falls silent at Shane's question though and the large man sneers at him in disgust. "You haven't even checked have you? What? You too methed out like your brother to even bother?" I cringe at the words, shocked that I just heard them. Fucking A Shane, really? So much for diffusing the situation.

Daryl seems shocked for a moment too but then he makes an abrupt move like he wants to shove Shane, hand coming halfway up, but the older male flickers a hand down to the handgun at his waist and Daryl freezes. I'm pretty much frozen too, not even daring to breathe because Christ I hope this doesn't devolve into a shootout. Unbidden, my eyes flicker past them and settle on Carl and Sophia who are still near the RV with Dale. They looked scared as hell.

For a moment, the two men square off, silent, still, and seething, because Shane's right about the traps and the other man knows it, and then Daryl spins on his heel and stalks away towards his and Merle's tent without another word, back ramrod straight and face twisted into a ten different livid expression. Shane exhales harshly and glares after Daryl for a moment but then he's turning to Lori, asking if she was all right and reassuring her that they'll find food for Carl, even if he has to starve himself.

I turn away from the two of them, however, and allow my gaze to follow Daryl back to his "campsite." It's about twenty yards away and from where I'm still sitting on the ground, I can barely see their tent as the ground dips between here and there. But I'm able to see just enough to watch Daryl stomp up to Merle, who's sitting by the ashes of their campfire, and throw down his crossbow. He's livid and furious but Merle just looks up at him through the smoke of another cigarette, hell where does he get all those things, and asks his brother 'What's got his panties in a twist?'

My ability to read lips has never proved so useful.

I can't see Daryl's response since his back is to me and he's too far away for me to hear his words, but whatever he says makes Merle roll his eyes and spit, saying 'Fuck em' before he takes another drag off of his cigarette. Daryl shakes his head and I watch his shoulders rise and fall as he takes a deep breath, and another, probably trying to calm himself, and says something else to his brother. Merle throws back his head and laughs at what Daryl had said and shakes his head, not even bothering to reply.

And then shit hits the fan faster than I can process it.

Merle's reply, or lack of one, seems to really piss Daryl off because he suddenly reaches out and rips the cigarette out of Merle's mouth, throwing it to the ground and stamping it out under foot. The younger Dixon shouts something else to his older brother now, I can't hear the words but the volume is definitely raised, stabbing a finger in his face much as he had done with Lori. But, unlike Lori, Merle doesn't take his shit. Scowling darkly, he knocks Daryl's hand out of his face and stumbles upright, more than likely drunk or high or a combination of both. At his full height, Merle's half a head taller than his younger brother and easily outweighs him by at least fifty pounds. He knows this too, the bastard, because he shoves Daryl, hard, making him stumble a few feet back.

"I ain't their bitch Darlina and I sure as hell ain't yer's. Ya wanna be their faggot errand boy, go right 'head. But I ain't a pussy that's gonna roll over cuz some fuckin cop and some cooze said shit. Screw them and screw you," he snarls at Daryl and then he turns and stomps into their tent, leaving his younger brother to stand in the ashes of their cold campfire.

Daryl stands there for a few seconds, shoulders heaving again, and I watch his fists flex, clenching tight, falling open, once, twice. He doesn't seem to know what to do with himself for a few seconds but then, he suddenly lashes out and punches a tree that's just to his right. The impact jars him, I see the forces of it shake his arm from wrist to shoulder, but he seems to ignore it. Instead, he stalks forward, gives his tent a good kick, I'm sure Merle appreciated that, the fucker, and he continues on his way into the forest behind the Dixon campsite, not looking back, not even pausing to grab his crossbow which lays forgotten on the ground.

His departure leaves the camp almost silent.

I blink after him for just an instant, my mind processing everything that just happened, and then I'm scrambling up before I know what I'm doing, reaching down to snatch my katana and tanto where they've been warming in the sun beside me. My frantic scrabbling jars Amy awake and she blinks up at me drowsily as I quickly work to buckle my sheaths.

"Where ya goin," she slurs around a yawn, lifting a hand to rub tiredly at her eyes.

"Nowhere," I tell her hastily, finally getting my tanto secured at my hip. "I'll be right back ok?"

She frowns up at me and opens her mouth to say something else but I'm already moving, jogging as quickly, and quietly as I fucking can, past Merle's tent and into the woods that Daryl just disappeared into. I hear Amy call out after me but her words are lost as I stumble into the underbrush, hoping I will be able to catch up to the hunter.

A hope that seems to prove rather futile rather quickly. "Shit," I mutter under my breath, flinging my head right then left. Which way had he gone? Making a decision, I jogged to the left, the ground sloping down towards the quarry. Maybe he had gone to the lake to cool off? But after nearly a minute of running, keeping my eyes and ears peeled, I still haven't even caught a glimpse of Daryl and I realize I must have gone the wrong way. Fuck. Skidding to a halt, I spin around and make to go back the way I came, but as I look up the gradual hill I had just sprinted down…I discover I don't really know which direction I had come from. I know I came down but other than that…damn it. Why am I so directionally challenged? Glancing down at the ground, I think maybe I can trace my own path back up towards camp but everything looks the same! Same green trees, same brown dirt, even the twigs on the ground seem the same, arranged in the same fucking patterns. Nothing looks different or disturbed and I think this is like a really fucked up version of those find what's different' puzzles.

"Why is everything so difficult for me," I ask to no one in particular. The silence of the forest seems to mock me.

After a moment I huff out a sigh and decide to just head straight. I'll have to run into camp eventually and maybe I can just skirt the edges looking for Daryl. I mean, he couldn't have gone far right? He didn't even bring his crossbow with him. Cursing my stupidity, I am about to begin my trek when a sudden voice sounds out behind me, making me nearly jump out of my skin.

"What the hell are ya doin?"

I try my hardest to stifle an extremely feminine yelp as I whirl around. Daryl stands about ten yards below me, a scowl twisting his lips and his Bowie knife in hand. "Christ," I gasp out, fumbling to grasp at my heart, which I know must be tumbling out of my chest. "Don't fucking sneak up on me like that. You scared the shit out of me." Where the fuck had he come from? I hadn't heard a thing. Daryl doesn't look very sympathetic to my newly acquired heart problems, however; he mainly just looks pissed.

"Then why the hell ya followin me? I already told that bitch and her fuckin lap dog that there wasn't anythin to catch. So if—"

"I'm not here because of Lori and Shane," I cut him off but Daryl doesn't look very convinced so I amend my statement. "Ok…maybe I am but it's not what you think."

"And what do I think," Daryl sneers at me. I frown at his caustic tone of voice, the barbs in his words. And here I thought we had gotten past the I'm going to rip your face off if you breathe in my direction stage.

"I'm not here to like…demand anything all right?" I tell him. "I just…was thinking I'd offer some of my help is all. I told you I would remember?" Snorting, Daryl spits off to the side, making me wrinkle my nose. Gross.

"What help ya think ya can give me?" he asks. He lifts his head and fixes me with a piercing gaze, pinning me to my spot.

Chewing on the inside of my cheek, I shrug and try not to fidget in self-consciousness under the scrutiny of those damned blue eyes of his. "I don't know. I just," I trail off, not knowing what to say next. Fucking hell. Why do I always do things like this without thinking? You would think I would have learned the first time! Trying not to kick myself, I try again. "Well...two heads are better than one right? I was thinking I could…I don't know…maybe I could help you look? Help you hunt?"

For a second, Daryl just stares at me and I see an undercurrent of anger flood his gaze for just an instant, causing me to open my mouth to try and mollify him, but then he just shakes his head and scoffs. "Like you could hunt. Ya couldn't even follow me and I wasn't even tryin to hide my tracks."

"Hey," I say indignantly, feeling my cheeks warm with embarrassment. "I found you didn't I?" Daryl rolls his eyes and I think I see him almost smirk but I blink and it's gone.

"No, ya didn't. I followed you. Ya were makin so much noise, it was like a herd of damn elephants. I could hear ya soon as ya passed the tent."

I blush at his words but then I realize something and a spark of irritation briefly overwhelms my mortification. "Wait! If you heard me why the hell did you let me run all this way without saying anything?"

He shrugs, not even looking the least bit sorry. "Wanted to know what ya wanted. Didn't think you'd run this far."

"Oh that makes me feel so much better. Thanks," I respond dryly. Daryl shrugs again and then, without another word, he turns and begins to walk away from me. Blinking in shock, it takes me a second to react and stumble after him. "Hey! Wait up!"

Daryl pauses for a fraction of a second but it's enough to let me catch up to him.

"Where are you going?" I huff out as I draw abreast of him. Casting me a sidelong glance, the hunter rolls his eyes as he continues walking, me matching him stride for stride.

"Check the traps. What I was tryin to do 'fore ya came tramplin after me." I try to not look surprised at his admission. So he actually listened to Shane? I can't believe it.

Ignoring the comment about me 'tramplin' after him, I continue to follow Daryl as he winds his way through the trees that I still can't find any differences in. "Oh," I say after a few seconds of silence. When he doesn't say anything in reply, I bite my lip and reach up to tug absentmindedly on my ear. "Well um…can I help?" The question might sound a little stupid, a little redundant, but even if I had come here to do this, that doesn't mean Daryl's going to accept it.

Again, the hunter doesn't respond right away but when we have gone a few more feet, he exhales harshly. "S'not like ya could make it back to camp alone anyway," he says and I'll take it that means yes in Dixonese. Fighting back a smile, I duck my head and try not to make too much noise as I follow him to the closest trap.

"So…how the hell are we supposed to get that," I ask Daryl, tilting my head back to look up into the tree. A rather large looking weasel…type…animal dangles about ten to fifteen feet off the ground, thrashing from side to side and making high pitched, panicked noises. I cock my head at the trapped animal and can't help but feel a twinge of sympathy. But then my stomach rumbles and I remember that I've been out here, under the baking Georgia sun, for half an hour helping Daryl clear these traps, holy shit there are a lot of them, and the sympathy is gone. Now I'm just thinking of how I can get that weasel-thing out of the tree and into my stomach. But fast.

Daryl grunts from beside me and I drop my gaze to see him wrestling with a particularly stubborn looking piece of rope. His blunt fingers tear at the twisted knots, yanking this way and that in aggravated frustration. This is apparently our last trap and it's a little hot and we're a little hungry so I guess I can sympathize with his annoyance. When his fingers fail to work, Daryl growls and brings the knotted twine to his mouth, attempting to use his teeth. Frowning, I open my mouth to ask what he's doing, the weasel-thing is in the tree hello, but he suddenly snarls under his breath and fumbles for the Bowie knife at his hip. Ripping the steel out of it's sheathe, Daryl brandishes it like a dagger before he brings it down and slashes through the knotted length of cord. The rope gives way with a sharp snap that echoes through the air and the sound is followed by a muted rustle and the increasingly louder squeal of the weasel-thing...that is right fucking above me and fucking hell I know what he was doing now. Horror flooding through me, a paralyzing tidal wave, I have just enough time to suck in a breath before the frightened animal is landing on my back, sharp fucking claws digging straight to the bone.

"Son of a bitch," I shriek, whirling around, twisting and thrashing much like the weasel-thing had been, strung up in the tree.

The claws just dig in deeper and then their tearing through my skin as the animal is thrown around on my shoulders by my struggles and fucking hell this can't be happening but it is because the thing is somehow clawing at my face now.

"Fuck! Fuck! Ow ow ow ow! Fuck this hurts! Get if off!" Still screeching in pain, eyes clenched tight because I don't want to go fucking blind, I fling up a hand and am about to wrench this son of a bitch off me when a sudden strong grip latches on to my wrist and holds me tight. I have just enough time to think what the fuck is Daryl doing I need to get this fucking thing off of me when the scratching animal is pried from my head region and my wrist is released.

Stumbling back, gasping and cursing, I squint open my eyes in time to see Daryl still the flailing weasel-thing with a quick jab of his hunting knife to its chest. There's a squelching noise, a splash of read as it squeals, high and resonating, then it falls silent and limp in the hunter's capable hands, dead. Silently, Daryl jerks the knife out of the weasel-thing's body and is about to tie it to the rest of our catch at his hip when he suddenly seems to remember me and snaps his head up. Blue eyes lock unto my face and he cocks an eyebrow at me and I try to scowl at him but wince as it pulls a bitching cut on my cheek. "Fucking hell! Don't fucking just look at me like that!" Cringing at the pain in my shoulders, neck, and fucking face, god how the fuck had this happened, I lift a hand and brush it against my cheek. My fingers come away streaked red.

"God damn it," I mumble to myself. And here I was thinking I could come away from this day unscathed. Of course shit like this would happen to me. Of fucking course. Well, what's done is fucking done. I can sit here and bitch about how unfair life is, how I was just trying to be a good person and help a fellow human being out with some chores, or I can grin and bear it and stop this fucking bleeding. Reaching down, I grasp the hem of my shirt and make to rip it, I don't have that many left but it's not like I have anything else right now, but Daryl suddenly calls out to me and I flinch because great what else is going to come flying at me?

Fortunately for my face, it's not a demented creature this time. It's a rag. On reflex, I snatch the fabric out of the air but I send Daryl a confused look as my fingers wrap around the surprisingly soft cloth. He rolls his eyes at me and grunts, "For yer face."

I'm shocked into silence and just blink at him stupidly; hand still lifted grasping his rag. Wait. He's helping me? Daryl ignores me though and bends down to pick up the dead weasel-thing from where he's dropped it on the ground. Using my teeth to tug on the chapped skin of my lip, I glance at the rag, that's surprisingly very clean, and, what the hell, gently press it to my slowly oozing cuts. The initial contact stings but I grit my teeth and bear it as I try to stop the bleeding.

As I slowly nurse my wounds, which I still can't fucking believe I have, I watch Daryl stalk around the small clearing we are in, the string of animals we've pulled from the numerous traps around camp swaying against his spine. I think I now know why Daryl always looked as if he has been rolling around in the dirt, why his skin is always three shades darker than I know it really is. This hunting shit is really fucking hard. And we didn't even have to track these animals! They were already trapped! Even still, I'm hot and tired and now I probably look like mince meat. Excellent. Just add more scars to my collection universe. Like I don't have enough already. Sighing, I transfer the blood stained rag to my other cheek, wincing at the familiar sting. However, I have to say, save the last five minutes, this little excursion of ours hasn't been that bad. Daryl and I haven't had the most stimulating conversions but he hasn't tried to stab me and I've actually learned a few things. Like how to undo common snares and tie clinch knots. I also learned how to…kill an animal more efficiently, so it doesn't feel any pain. That had made me cringe a little but I didn't want Daryl to think I was some kind of wimp. And besides, Daryl couldn't always do everything. I said I'd help so that's what I was going to do.

I also learned in the last half hour that, when not going for someone's throat, Daryl wasn't that bad of a person to be around. Ok, so he was still snappish and a little curt, and when I say little I mean moderately leaning towards very, but he was, amazingly, a pretty patient teacher. Granted, this might be because I was a pretty quick learn but still. He isn't insane like his brother, isn't "methed" out like Merle, as Shane had put it. He's more…I don't know. He's more the type of person who didn't need to talk to fill the silence, who worked better in silence. Maybe that's the hunter in him, maybe that's just who Daryl is. Either way, we've worked well together over the last thirty minutes or so. It surprised me but I can't help but feel just a tad bit proud. I was actually useful for more than doing laundry and telling stories. This fact shouldn't make me as happy as it did.

"Fuck!"

Startled out of my reverie, I glance up to see Daryl viciously toss down the remainder of his trap to the ground, the rope torn and mangled. He gives it a good kick for extra measure before stomping a few feet away and dropping down unto a fallen log. Still fuming, he yanks his canteen from his hip and takes an angry swig, seething in silence. I want to smirk, but won't because I know it will more than likely hurt. He kind of reminds me of a pouting child but I'll never say that out loud. I think I've bled enough today thank you fucking kindly. Cautious, and rag still pressed to my bleeding skin, I walk towards the irate hunter and tentatively sit beside him. He ignores me for a while, which I'm fine with. Gritting my teeth, I gingerly pull Daryl's rag away from my cheek. The blue plaid remains of what I realize used to be a shirt is spotted and smeared with my blood. It's not too much so I think I'll live but it is enough that I know I'll have to go see Dale and his first aid kit when I get back to camp. Joy. This should be interesting to explain to everyone.

A sudden noise next to me makes me blink. Bewildered, I turn to Daryl, thinking he's probably close to stabbing something…to find him laughing. The hell?

"What are you laughing at," I ask him, the movement of my mouth pulling torn skin and making me grimace. Maybe he's lost it? He has been in the sun all day. Heatstroke perhaps?

Daryl snorts and clicks his tongue, glancing at me out of the corner of his eyes, blue eyes equally amused and exasperated. "You," he snorts. I tilt my head at him but he continues before I can ask what he meant. "Yer face is all kinds of fucked up."

Disbelief burns through my veins as I balk at him, mouth open and agape, the feeling quickly chased by humiliation and finally anger. Making a sound of indignation, that was most definitely not a squawk, I jab my blood stained fingers at Daryl, soiled rag snapping with the force of my movement. "That isn't funny you bastard! And who's fucking fault was that anyways!"

I mean, really!

"Tch. Ain't mine," he replies and I am this close to smacking him, Bowie knife or not. I have my katana. I think I can take him.

Scowling, even with the pain, I bare my teeth at him. "Bullshit it ain't yours! Who's the one that cut the rope and released the weasel-thing from hell on me?"

Daryl turns to me, face creased with slight irritation as he leans back to get me out of his personal space, blue eyes shining with annoyance. "Hey, back the hell up. I ain't the one who was standin under the trap like a dumb ass!"

"Well, how was I supposed to know you were just gonna cut the thing loose? All the other traps had been on the ground! I thought we were gonna have to climb the tree or some shit!"

"That's whatcha get for thinkin then."

I narrow my eyes at the son of a bitch but I don't have a come back for that. Damn it. Curbing the urge to stick my tongue out at him, I sneer instead and toss the rag back in his face. He curses as the fabric smacks him and I try not to smirk in triumph. "Jackass, that's what you get," I say smugly and he glares back as a response.

Huffing, still vaguely upset, I turn my head to glare out into the clearing. As I continue to stare in obstinate silence, my eyes are drawn to the flecks of blood that dot the ground, the crimson droplets splattered across the leaves and the twigs and I distantly think that now I can see a difference in the dirt. Speaking of dirt, my eyes flicker to the rope that's been discarded in the soil, slashed to pieces. I furrow my brow at the sight and think back to the split second before my face and shoulders had been slashed to ribbons. I don't think Daryl had meant to cut the cord in the first place which kinda sorta appeases my fury. He had tried to unknot it first which, now that I think about it, would have meant the demon weasel-thing would have been lowered to the ground instead of unceremoniously dropped on my fucking head. Just out of curiosity, it's not like it would help my face now, I wonder what went wrong.

Swallowing my pride, and my aggravation, I decide to ask the hunter beside me. "Hey Dar-," I begin, turning to face him. However, before I can eve finish his name, a swath of cloth smacks me the face, dipping into my open mouth and tasting like blood, copper and metallic. Sputtering, I wrench the thing off my face, no surprise it's the same bloody rag, and glare at the asshole next to me. Daryl isn't really intimidated by my glower, however, and just juts his chin out towards me with a grunt.

"Yer shoulder's are still bleedin," he tells me and I reach up out of reflex, fingertips brushing aching skin and, once again, they come away red. Cursing, I reluctantly press the rag to my left shoulder, pursing my lips at the pain.

"Thanks," I mumble, again out of reflex. Daryl ignores my gratitude so I decide to just go ahead and ask him the question he had previously cut off.

"Hey Daryl," I start again and this time, the younger Dixon meets my eyes, blue eyes as bright as the sky, locking in on my face. I fight down a blush knowing the state my face is in, courtesy of the man before me.

"What?" he asks curtly but, unlike previous times, he wasn't as sharp with me. Progress? I kind of hope so. I took a weasel-thing to the face god damn it.

"What happened with the trap anyway," I continue. "You seemed a little…frustrated with it." That was putting it lightly.

Daryl scowls at my question, at glares down at the remnants of the rope at his feet. "It's a piece a shit that's what happened."

I feel my brown furrow again, puzzled. "But isn't it one of your traps?"

"Fuck no," he snarls and suddenly it's like words are being ripped from his very mouth and the hunter's unable to stop them. "It's Merle's stupid fuckin rope. I told him it was fuckin shit but he made me drag it 'round anyway. The fuckin thing must way thirty goddamn pounds but Merle doesn't give a shit." He spits down at the ground in disgust but goes on. "And on top of the rope bein crap, Merle's so high up he can never tie the fuckin knots right. I always have to cut through em and then the whole trap's ruined!"

By the end of his tirade, Daryl looks almost as pissed off as he did when he cut the trap in the first place. I'm just glad there isn't another demon weasel-thing around. But, more to the point, I'm shocked Daryl said all that. I was expecting some kind of caveman grunt and then him stalking off into the woods again, expecting me to follow. Which I would. Since I have no idea where the hell we are.

Anyway.

Keeping that particular comment to myself, I clear my throat and drop my hand into my lap. "So," I say and Daryl flickers his eyes to look at me and I suddenly see in his gaze that he hadn't meant to tell me all that shit either. There's something in those eyes of his, something watchful and waiting, like he's just holding his breath for me to open my mouth and talk. A memory crops up in my mind and I recall that this is the look he had in the back of his eyes my first night at camp, my head all bandaged up, when everyone was staring at him, glaring at him, calling him "Stupid redneck trash" and "An inbred, mean, son of a bitch."

With a jolt of clarity, I realize he's waiting for me to judge him, judge his brother, call them stupid rednecks and inbred trash that can't do anything right or something like that. And though I'm very tempted to say that shit about Merle, fucking prick, I know Daryl will just slam closed again, sneering and snarling at me before, more than likely, storming off and leaving me to find my own way back to camp. It's partially out of survival and partially out of the fact that…I kind of don't want Daryl to hate me that I say my next words, twisting my lips to smirk around them.

"So…it's Merle's ass I'm gonna have to kick then. Good to know. When we get back to camp, I'll rally up Glenn and we'll grind his ass into the dust." Daryl snorts, I'm starting to think he only knows how to snort, grunt, and scoff, but then, surprisingly, the snort elongates into a low chuckle. It's short, and very quiet, but it's a much nicer sound then when he was laughing at me, both now and at the quarry a few days ago.

"Chinaman? That's yer backup? Pfft. I think ya'd do better with the older blonde chick."

I smile as I realize the tension's gone out of Daryl's face and that he's almost…joking with me. "First off, I think Glenn is Korean," I correct him. "Secondly, I think he wouldn't be completely useless in a fight. From what I heard, he's pretty fast."

Daryl looks anything but convinced. "Tch, yeah. Fast to get his ass handed to him. Merle would swallow him whole and shit out rice and egg rolls."

A peel of laughter explodes out of me, unbidden and out of nowhere, and I don't even notice the pain in my cheeks and neck as I giggle into the back of my hand. "That," I gasp out. "Is all kinds of wrong."

Daryl seems surprised that I laughed at his, I have to admit, racist comment but he ends up smirking lightly. "Just sayin it how it is," he replies and I chuckle again because, really, he's actually right. Up against Merle, I think I'd probably take Andrea over Glenn. Sorry buddy.

A few minutes pass in silence after our little exchange but it isn't awkward. We just sit there quietly, drinking from our canteens as I also, absentmindedly, clean my wounds. It's peaceful and kind of comfortable. Well, except for my minced meat skin. I'm just splashing some water on my left shoulder, which is killing me since the hilt of my katana keeps brushing it as random intervals, when Daryl speaks up again.

"Yer gonna have to clean that shit," he says and I turn to him with wide eyes, canteen poised over my shoulder.

"What?"

Daryl tilts his chin at me. "Those scratches. Ya need more than water to clean em. Don't know where the hell that critter's been and you'll get a killer infection if ya let em fester."

Worry bleeds through me. Fuck. An infection? Great. "Yeah I knew I'd have to tend to them eventually." Sighing, I flip a strand of damp hair off my forehead. "I just hope that Dale has enough rubbing alcohol left."

Daryl doesn't say anything for a second, staring at the ground as if he's thinking. "If that stupid old bastard ain't got shit," he says finally, still not looking at me and I cock my head at him, waiting. "I got some alcohol in the tent. Some bandages too." I must look a tad struck dumb by his offer because he scowls and ducks his head to glower and kick at the rope at his feet. "Ya know, since this shit's Merle's fault."

Again, just assuming here, but I think that was Dixonese for I'm sorry.

Smiling, ow that still hurts, I quickly nod in acceptance. "Ok," I say. "But you wouldn't happen to have peroxide would you? That shit hurts less."

Daryl just snorts again and I sigh in resignation. "Yeah I didn't think so." Suppressing a groan of annoyance, I move to hand Daryl his rag back but he just cocks an eyebrow at me and lightly shoves my hand away.

"The hell I want that for? All bloodied and shit. Keep it. I have others."

I roll my eyes. "Oh you're so sweet," I drawl but I withdraw my hand anyway, shifting to tuck the rag through the belt loops of my jeans. As I work to tie off the small piece of fabric, my hand brushes my right pocket and I go still.

Speaking of sweets.

Delving my hand into my jeans, I fish out the candies I had gotten from Glenn this morning, splaying open my palm and looking down at the assorted colored wrappers gleaming against my skin. I was going to save these for a rainy day but…a weasel from hell just attacked me and my face and shoulders have been flayed open like a gutted fish. If this isn't a rainy day, I don't know what the hell is. Plucking a lollipop, one with a bubble gum center, which is just excellent, I'm about to tuck the rest of the candies back in my pocket when a thought occurs to me. Darting my eyes up, I gaze at Daryl, who is bent over tying his laces.

Well…it couldn't hurt.

After a second, I take a deep breath and reach out tentatively to touch his shoulder, fingers lightly skating across his sweat-slicked skin. Daryl starts at my touch and lifts his head to gaze at me in question. I offer my hand in silent answer to his inquiry and his eyes drop to my wide-open palm. "Want one," I ask, nudging my hand forward again, jostling the sweets in my hand. "Got some from Glenn this morning. Thought we could use a little reward after all our hard work."

Daryl's face says he wants to refuse, probably on the grounds that real men didn't eat candy or some shit like that, but his eyes flicker from my palm to my face and back again, the blue of his irises deep and contemplative. Soon, he slowly reaches out and picks up the other lollipop, the only other damn it, before leaning back, candy in his grasp. He nods at me, in what I'm going to say is a thanks, and I duck my head to hide a smile.

Quietly, I unwrap my lollipop, half listening as Daryl does the same, and when I stick the artificially cherry flavored candy in my mouth, I can't help but think that…it tasted sweeter than I ever remembered.

And there ya have it :) What do you guys think? I, personally, was a little iffy on the ending :/ But let me know your opinions! :D

Also, as a little incentive, I'm shameless I know ., if i get at least 5-6 reviews, I'll give those reviewers a little sneak peek into next chapter ;)

Well, so ends my shameless promoting! Thanks for reading guys!

Until next time,

~Shadows

PS: OH! I also heard that Daryl isnt going to be in tomorrows episode! WTH! D: I don't know about you guys but I'm drastically upset about this!