The Bite of a Blade, the Sting of an Arrow

by Shadows-Dancing-In-The-Hall

Audrey's life had never been easy. The walkers were a new twist, but surviving pain and loss was nothing she hadn't lived through before. But...Daryl Dixon was new too. And Audrey doesn't know what to make of him. Daryl/OC

13. When You Try Your Best But Don't Succeed

Whoot :D Chapter 13 guys! I'm actually really excited to see what you guys think of this chapter! ^^ It's my longest yet :) Which is why it took me too weeks to post but oh well. I regret nothing.

IMPORTANT ANNOUNCEMENT TO MAKE!

Hope that got your attention :) Anyways, after reading through my story again, and reading some reviews from you guys, and re-watching season 1 of TWD, I've decided that 23, which is what I originally had Daryl as, was way to young. :P I had originally made him younger so his eventually relationship with Audrey wouldnt be criticized because she's so "young" but, after going through all the aformentioned stuff, i decided fuck it :) I want Daryl older and that will make their relationship all the stronger later on. So, from now on (and I've gone back to previous chapters to rectify this) Daryl is 29 going on 30. It isn't THAT big of a difference, 6 years from what i had him before, but that makes him 11-12 years older than Audrey. If this makes you uncomfortable, well I apologize but Audrey's about to turn 18 and the two of them will not be doing anything illegal before then. Still, if it bothers you, please resist from making any comments about it. I don't like flames :P

That's all for now :) Hope you enjoy and remember to review! :D

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Chapter 13: When You Try Your Best But Don't Succeed

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Sometimes, it's really easy to convince myself that I'm at some kind of summer camp or that I'm on a vacation, something I've never actually experienced but have always secretly dreamed about. Like when I'm hanging out with Amy or Glenn, just shooting the shit, tugging off Glenn's cap and playing keep away or laying side by side with Amy in the grass, laughing and talking until my sides hurt and cheeks ache.

Sometimes, it's real simple to pretend that Jacqui's sweet, warm voice is my Mom's, telling me to finish my food or to help her with the laundry. I just have to close my eyes and, if I think hard enough, it's like I'm back at home, doing the same old chores even if I'm outside and Jacqui is really, physically, nothing like my Mom.

Sometimes it's hard for me to remember that it's Sophia and Carl sitting across the table from me, doing their homework, and not Irina or Manny. They are nearly the same age and they are nearly just as sweet and the way they laugh and look at me…it's almost the same.

And sometimes, just sometimes, I find myself forgetting why I am here in the first place, at this quarry, in the middle of the Georgia wilderness. I forget that the dead have risen and that we are, literally, just trying to survive, day to day, and hoping to God, if there is one, that the walkers don't find us.

Sometimes…I've really disillusioned myself and sometimes…I don't even care.

But 'sometimes' is not this time, not now; because reality has come calling and I've crashed back down to Earth.

"What do you mean we're almost out of food?"

Glenn waves his hands frantically, checking over his shoulder to see if anyone has heard me. "Shh!" he hisses, brown eyes wide and anxious, a grimace pulling at his lips. "Not so loud! No one is supposed to know!"

The two of us are standing off to the side, closer to the road that leads to the quarry than the actual tents that make up camp. It's early in the morning, around seven or eight if something like that even matters anymore, and not many people are up and about yet. Dale's tinkering around near the RV, Jacqui's stoking the fire for breakfast, and Shane is on lookout duty, having just started dawn shift. Other than that, only a few more people are scattered across camp, just waking up and going about their business, oblivious to the fact that, apparently, we are on the precipice of starving to death. What a way to start the day. I kind of wish Glenn hadn't caught me on the way to the Winnebago to tell me this, secretive, covert, and looking for a friendly ear. Ignorance is bliss right?

I frown and cross my arms, glaring at Glenn in the growing morning light. "Glenn. People are kinda gonna find out when we begin to starve. This isn't something you can just hide and keep a secret." I didn't think I had to remind him that secrets are deadly nowadays; especially secrets like this. Starvation. Already, my stomach churns in anxiety and remembrance. It's been about three weeks, if not more, since I met Daryl and was introduced into camp but I can still recall, with startling clarity, the hollow ache of an empty stomach; the headaches, the fatigue, the disorientation. We haven't exactly been eating like kings and queens around here but we've had enough to be comfortable. The threat of that deep rooted ache and the mere thought that Carl and Sophia, not to mention Morales' kids Eliza and Louis, might experience it makes me squirm in apprehension.

Glenn rubs at the back of his neck in discomfort, looking down, to the side, up, anywhere so long as he didn't have to look me in the eye. "I know," he sighs and then he drags a hand down his face and groans. "I just…I don't want everyone to start panicking."

I check myself from pointing out that hey I'm fucking panicking here thank you very much. "How can we be out of food though?" I ask instead, something not adding up in my head. "Daryl and…um…Daryl's bringing in meat like every other day." Oops. Almost said Daryl and I.

Shrugging, Glenn moves to lean against a tree behind him, taking off his hat and ruffling his hair. It might be only just past dawn but already the air is arm and muggy and I can see sweat beading along his hairline. "Yeah but his catches recently haven't been as much as before. If you've noticed, our rations have gotten smaller and smaller. And it's not just Daryl's catches that are dwindling. All our canned food and other supplies are almost gone. We can't just live on a few squirrels." His lips purse and I notice how he struggles to get the next few words out. "I say we have about three days tops before we're out completely."

Fucking A. I barely refrain from cursing out loud.

But, now that he mentions it…Daryl's hauls have been smaller recently, shrinking critter-by-critter, squirrel-by-squirrel. I had thought that maybe I was just imagining it but…seems like I wasn't as paranoid as I had first assumed. The nervous feeling in my gut grows sharper, keener, as my mind turns because if we run out of food…we won't last a week. And I'm not talking about starvation. It's just…I know enough from experience that when push comes to shove…generosity goes out the goddamn window. I shiver at the thought of all of us fighting over food, all sense of camaraderie and friendship meaningless in the face of survival. Like wild fucking animals. No one wants to admit it, everyone wants to believe they will do the noble and courageous thing in these types of situations but…underneath everything, in every single one of us, there is the basic, primal urge to survive by any means necessary. It's human and faulty but it is there nonetheless and I know that, if what Glenn says is going to happen actually does occur…that urge will come rushing to the surface, humane morals or not.

I bite my lip and step closer to Glenn, shifting so I'm propping my hip against the same tree and we are inches away from each other. Bark scrapes against my naked arms, the curve of my shoulder that my tank top exposes, forces the length of my katana roughly against my spine, and I focus on that to calm the steady the increasing rhythm of my heart. The two of us are silent for a moment, just listening to the waking birds and the sounds of camp beginning a new day. My eyes skim over the familiar area but everything is slightly blurred and hazy and my mind is drifting a million miles away, frantically wondering-

"So…what are we going to do?"

Glenn doesn't look at me for a moment, but I can see the muscle jumping in his jaw at my question, can hear the nervous drumming of his fingers against his leg. I let my head fall back against the tree trunk and wait patiently for his answer. But the silence stretches for what has to be at least three minutes, too long, and I realize Glenn has no clue what we are going to do.

Son of a bitch.

I sigh and rub at my eyes, trying to clear and simultaneously quell the pressure building behind them. Tugging at my hair with one hand, I reach out and flick the brim of Glenn's cap, making his worried, anxious eyes meet my own. He looks lost and scared and very young, even if he is trying to hide it, and a part of me feels just as afraid as he looks. All I want to do is just shell this problem off on someone else, make them bear the burden, but I learned long ago that being frightened doesn't get anything done and just hoping and praying for someone else to fix a problem or for it to fix itself just leads to disaster and disappointment. Something deep inside of me whines why me but I push it as deep as it will go and grit my teeth and buckle down. It's nothing more than the ghost of a memory, but the small curve of Sensei's smile flashes in my minds eye.

"Alright," I start, getting down to business even as my body yearns to just curl back up in my tent and sleep; to let someone else worry about this shit. "We can get through this. We're going to get through this." I don't really know if I'm trying to convince Glenn or me at this point but I put as much bravado in my voice as I can.

"How?" Glenn answers forlornly and I reach out to flick him not so lightly in the forehead. He cries out in protest but I ignore him.

"Because I said so. Now, first things first, who knows about this?"

Sighing, Glenn rubs at the red welt on his brow and tilts his head towards the RV. "Shane mostly," he says. "I think some of the others have begun to notice but Shane's the one that brings out the food to cook for meal times so he's really the only one who's seen the supplies first hand."

"Then how did you find out?" I ask, thinking maybe Glenn had snuck a look or something similarly covert and sneaky. The boy is fast so it could happen.

"Shane told me last night after dinner. He's…really worried."

But, then again, Glenn is also too innocent to be covert and sneaky.

Hold up though. My brow furrows as I process his words. "Shane told you? Just up and said this?" That sounds a little weird even if the man is anxious. I don't peg him as the sharing type.

Glenn just kind of nods in response, a small bob of the head, not looking at me as he toes at the dirt beneath our feet. I chew on my lip, contemplating what Glenn has just told me.

Shane told Glenn. My mind seizes upon that bit of information and I turn it over and over in my head, polishing it smooth, trying to turn this coal into a diamond. Shane told Glenn. I can't help but ask why Glenn. Not to be mean or anything, I really like Glenn. He's honest and sweet and kind and great to be around but…I just don't see him being the former cops confidant. So, why would he share this Titanic size secret with Glenn who, bless him, can't keep a secret worth shit? Why not Dale or Jim or anyone else?

Frowning, I turn my head to gaze at Shane, still perched atop the Winnebago with his pump action shot gun in hand. The former cop isn't looking this way, instead, looking out more over the camp and I follow what I assumed is his line of sight and find Lori and Carl emerging out of their tent. Carl yawns in the early light of day and Lori ruffles his hair affectionately before moving both of them over towards the growing campfire. Coming a little more awake, I watch as Carl rubs at his eyes with one hand and waves up at Shane with the other. Shane smiles and says something down to the boy, something I can't hear, before shifting and grinning down at Lori who smiles back gently in return, something warm in both of their expressions.

It came as a bit of a surprise to me, the two of them. Actually, it came as a big surprise; one I'm still trying to completely wrap my head around since I just found out yesterday. I knew that Carl looked up to Shane as a father and, one day, the boy had accidently let it slip that Shane had been his father's best friend. Now, I'm not judging Lori, I can't imagine what she went through or pretend to understand, and I'm not condemning Shane. The two of them have been nothing but kind to me, taking me in and making me feel as welcome as possible. But walking up on them…um…together…I could have done without that. It's been a bit difficult to look them in the eye when all I keep seeing is Shane shirtless and pressing Lori into the grass. I blame fucking Daryl, the bastard not being where he should be so I could fucking find him but anyway.

Given what I know now, I guess I can understand Shane's anxiety and need to have someone lend an ear. Being the leader of this ragtag little group is anything but easy, even I know that. Add on the worry of Carl and Lori's well being…I understand. But Glenn. That part still doesn't fit for me. As much as I like him, Glenn isn't exactly Shane's deputy here. The main thing he does is-

Oh.

I blink and suck in a breath as the realization hits me, like a sucker punch to the solar plexus. It makes sense now, why Shane told Glenn. Perfect sense. Glenn isn't co-captain here, isn't vice president or anything like that but he has an almost more important job and I don't know why I didn't see this before, the fact that Glenn wasn't coming to me to ask me what to do but rather tell me what he's gonna do.

"He wants you to go into the city," I say abruptly, not a question but a statement, and when I turn back to look at Glenn, the way he won't look at me confirms it.

Glenn's gone into the city plenty of times, from what I've heard. Since I've been in camp, he's gone twice: once, the day after my spar with Shane and again two days after I made a truce with Daryl. Each time, he's been sent for miscellaneous necessities: medicine, 'feminine products', spare tents and, if he could find some food, that too, of course. But the list has always been relatively small and Glenn's said that he's never had to go very far into the city, mainly sticking to the outskirts to scavenge.

For a haul like this, however, the amount of food we need if we are truly almost out…the fringes aren't going to cut it. And I can see it in his curved brown eyes that he knows this too. Knows, just as well as I do, perhaps even better, that he's going to need to go deeper into Atlanta, deeper into walker territory, deeper into danger where there was a good chance he might not make it back out.

"When?" I ask.

Glenn takes off his cap and wrings it around in his hands, the faded and worn fabric clenched tight in rigid fingers. "Well…Shane thought it'd be best if I go before we're completely out," he stammers quietly. It's a nervous quality; a tick. "Ya know, kind of preemptive. Before anyone finds out or can really start asking questions or-"

"Glenn."

He trails off and sighs, looking up at me through one eye, the other shut in a grimace as he hunches in on himself. "Tomorrow?" he tries and I feel my eyes go wide.

I gape at him in return, sputtering even though, in the back of my mind, I had already guessed as much. "Tomorrow? So soon?"

Glenn winces like he was expecting this kind of reaction and well I guess it was a little predictable. But hell, what else am I supposed to say? First he tells me we are on the edge of starvation and then he informs that he's going on a possible suicide mission. This is way too much shit for only eight o'clock in the fucking morning.

Still wringing his cap, Glenn shifts from foot to foot and shrugs again, as if saying what are you going to do? And what could I do? Nothing. I run a frustrated hand through my hair, fingers resting at the nape of my neck and massaging the stiff muscles there. Taking several deep breaths, I close my eyes and try to concentrate, try to move past the anxiety I feel and think clearly. It's really fucking difficult.

"Ok. So tomorrow," I repeat and I'm striving to accept it. "Is it the usual? Take Abby's shitty old Pontiac, leave at dawn back by sunset?" Again, I've only seen him do this twice but Glenn is kind of a creature of habit, he likes a little order and control. I think that has something to do with the fact that, nowadays, we control just about jack shit.

Exhaling harshly, Glenn nods, equally relieved I'm not freaking out and tense over our current topic: his life. "That's what I was thinking. But I was tossing around the idea of using Mr. St James' truck. More room for supplies, less trips. I thought it would be smarter."

I might not like the idea of Glenn having to go into the heart of Atlanta but…the boy did have a knack for this planning and execution crap. "That sounds like a good idea," I say, because it really is. "But...have you asked Andrew yet?"

Here, Glenn shakes his head and looks a tad bit sheepish. "No. I uh…don't really…know what to say to him," he responds, almost guiltily, but I understand what he means.

Mr. Andrew St James is one of the older members of camp, not yet as old as Dale, but the sadness that radiates off him makes him seem decades older. I haven't said more than a few words to him, mostly just 'good morning' and 'can you hand me a fork please', but then again, he doesn't say more than a few words period. He usually just wanders around camp, listless and silent, eyes glazed over as he limps. Shane says it's because he's traumatized, though he doesn't know much more about the older man than the fact that Morales had found him a few days before he had met up with of the rest of camp. He says that Andrew must have lost someone. Personally, I think Shane is slightly wrong about that. I think Mr. St James lost a lot of someone's, if the gold ring on his left hand and the small, filthy, stuffed dog, a child's toy, he carries are any indication. Most people just leave him to his walks though, making sure to call him to meals and make sure he hasn't wandered off. He stays in his own tent, a small dated number set up beside an even older American made pick up. It's one of the bigger vehicles we have in camp, not including the Dixon's truck but I think Glenn would rather walk to Atlanta and back than try and ask Daryl, or God forbid Merle, to use that truck. Mr. St James is a nice enough man, a genial grandfather type figure, but the profound sorrow in his brown eyes usually acts as a deterrent for conversation.

That and, by age or by trauma, Mr. St James does not really seem to be…all there. I can see why Glenn is hesitant to ask for his truck.

"Why not just take the church van?" I inquire, gesturing over my shoulder to the long white van that Jacqui and some others had arrived in. "It's just as big, maybe even bigger, and I'm sure Jacqui will be fine letting you take it."

Glenn wrinkles his nose at my proposition and clucks his tongue. "I would but the gear shift is a little sticky on it. I don't want it crapping out in the city when…well you know. And I've already considered everyone else's cars. Shane's Jeep is too open. Abby's Pontiac is too small. The RV has to stay here. And I'm not asking the Pelletier's or the Dixon's for their vehicles. Mr. St James is kind of the only option left."

I'm a little impressed by the degree that Glenn has thought about this but then I remember that it's sort of his life on the line and I'd be thinking incessantly about it too if I were him. Still, this is going to be a little tricky and, as much as I trust Glenn's scavenging abilities, he does lack some…tact and finesse. I can just imagine the awkwardness and clumsiness he'd exude, trying to talk to Mr. St James. There's a solution of course, a very simple one, but son of a bitch. That voice inside of my head cries out again why me? but I honestly stopped waiting for an answer years ago.

Clearing my throat, I look over Glenn's shoulder, considering what I'm about to say. The woods and the trees don't make it any easier, offer no alternative, so I just come out and say it. "I can ask him if you want," I offer and, even though I'm not looking at him, I can tell Glenn is stunned. Fuck, I'm kind of stunned too. Like I don't have enough crap to-no. No. Glenn is about to go to Atlanta for me, for all of us. I can do something easy and safe like this for him.

"W…what," he gapes and I roll my eyes before looking back at him, taking in his wide eyes and slack jaw.

Scoffing, I lean forward and poke him in the chest, leaving a smudge of dirt behind even though I haven't even touched anything this morning. "Oh don't look at me like that. It's no big deal. Mr. St James is nice just…a little lost." That was putting it lightly but I'm nothing if not generous.

Glenn continues to stare at me, uncomfortable and uncertain. "I…but…I don't want to bother you."

I wave him off with a snort, shifting my katana strap as I push off the tree we've been leaning against. "It's not a bother Glenn." Well it kind of is but I'm polite so I'll go with the little white lies.

"Besides, after what you're doing…well asking a slightly senile old man isn't so hard in comparison. I'll go see if he's up now and ask so you can plan around this. Find you later ok?" Smiling, I turn to go but Glenn's hand on my wrist stops me. I look back at him, brow furrowed, wondering what's wrong, but he pulls me into an abrupt hug before I can say anything. His arms slip around my back, warm and soft and suddenly, we're chest-to-chest, cheek-to-cheek.

"Thanks Audrey," he mutters near my ear as he clasps me tightly. He squeezes me once before letting go, not even giving me the chance to hug him back not that I think I could. I'm a bit discombobulated, words that aren't Glenn's ringing in my head. I blink and slowly shake my head, forcing a smile onto my lips.

"Don't mention it. What are friends for right?"

He smiles at me, I can tell he's really grateful, and I wave goodbye before heading back towards camp, trying not to think about the last person to hug me and the words they whispered into my ear.

---

It doesn't take me very long to find Mr. St James.

He's sitting outside of his tent, perched lightly in an old camping chair that has seen better days. I don't think he noticed me approaching; that glazed look is in his eyes again and he seems to be looking out into the forest, staring at nothing. I purse my lips and fidget a few feet away but it has been several minutes since I walked up and I can't stand here forever. Glenn needs an answer and, as always, I have a hundred other things to do today. Such is life. Taking a deep breath, I clear my throat and step forward, wiping my sweaty hands on the hem of my ratty jean shorts.

"Mr. St James," I inquire quietly and the older man blinks and turns to me slowly, as if I've just woken him from a dream. His dark brown eyes are unclear and unfocused, flat as a placid lake with nothing underneath. He smiles up at me and the affect is dreamlike, a ghost of a grin pulling at his wrinkled lips.

"Hello," he says slowly. I tentatively smile in return and take a step closer, dropping slowly to one knee so I'm not talking down to him. His eyes track my movements but in a slow and detached manner, the reaction delayed. I absentmindedly wonder how detached he really is from all this: from reality and the walkers and this sweltering, sluggish summer in the middle of the woods.

I tuck a strand behind my ear in nervousness, feeling awkward appearing before him like this. "Hi. Um…I don't know if you remember me or not but my name's Audrey." I talk softly to him, kindly, trying not to startle him. "We've spoken a few times before."

The old man blinks at me for several seconds but then nods slowly, his dreamy smile affixed and unwavering. "I remember. You are the girl who reads to those children," he says. His voice is slightly hoarse from disuse but it has an easy and drawling cadence, soothing and aged. What he said surprises me, I didn't think he would have noticed such a thing, but I nod quickly all the same.

"Y…yes. I read to Carl and Sophia."

Mr. St James hums and closes his rheumy brown eyes, still smiling. "That's nice. You're real kind to do that."

An embarrassed flush crawls up my neck and into my cheeks, making me duck my head even though he isn't looking at me. "I do my best to make things a little easier is all. It's not much though but I try," I tell him honestly.

He doesn't respond and I shift uneasily, legs cramping in the uncomfortable kneeling position I've put myself in. The silence stretches on and I think the man has forgotten I am here, having fallen back into his own mind and thoughts. That's not unusual. Over the past few months, Mrs. Davenport, my neighbor, had been doing the exact same thing, dropping off mid conversation, dazed and dreamy. I usually had to prompt her a few times to get a clear response. Frowning, I decide to just ask what I came to ask. I just don't think Mr. St James is up for casual conversation these days and, if I remember correctly, idle words just confused Mrs. Davenport more.

Biting my lip, I swallow harshly to gather some courage. "Excuse me Mr. St James." He doesn't open his eyes but I continue anyway, hoping he can at least hear me. "I came here to ask you a favor this morning. Uh…a friend of mine is going to run into town tomorrow and he needs a bigger vehicle to do so. I wanted to ask if he could use your truck, seeing as it has a lot of storage room and-"

"You remind me of my daughter Clara. "

The words are quiet, just above a whisper, slipped out like Mr. St James hadn't meant to say them, but I balk and stutter to a stop all the same. "E…excuse me?" My voice is high pitched and incredulous, hitching and stumbling over every letter. His words have thrown me for a loop. Our conversation has veered down an unexpected road, slipping down a sudden slope and I don't have time to slam on the brakes.

Mr. St James opens his eyes and I start as I see they're suddenly bright and clear, like cobwebs have been lifted off of them. He smiles at me again but this time, it's solid. It's like some switch has been flipped and he has found an island of lucidity in all that fog his mind is swathed in. "You remind me of my daughter Clara," he repeats, as if it is the most obvious thing in the world. I can do nothing but gape as he continues to talk, saying more words than I have heard him speak in the last three weeks. It's like an unstoppable torrent of ideas and notions and things that he, for some reason, needs to say, needs me to hear.

"She is always helping people. Has a big ole heart. That's why she became a teacher you see; just loves those little kids." There is a loving quality to his voice, a wistfulness to his gaze, as he speaks about a daughter I can only imagine what has happened to. He's looking right at me as he says these words and, after weeks of being hazy, the intensity of his expression startles me. "You're a lot like her. Kind, smart, and beautiful too."

I wave my hands in front of me, confused and bewildered and also struck by a profound sadness. For the man before me and for the woman, the daughter, I remind him of. A woman who is most likely dead, survived by her aged and declining father who cannot come to grips with her death. "Oh, Mr. St James I'm not-"

He moves with a speed I didn't think his aged body could retain. In the blink of an eye, my hand is trapped in his and I feel the strength in frail fingers. "Don't let them take it from you understand?" he interrupts again. There is a sudden crazed fire in his eyes and I find myself trying to draw back in slight fear. "Your heart. Your heart's like Clara's. My sweet, sweet, Clara's. It sees the good in people. And the bad. You'll need your heart to live. Need it now more than ever. Listen to it ok? Above all else, listen to it and don't let them take it from you." His hand is tight around mine, demanding my attention, begging me to listen and my throat clenches as I see the tears in his brown eyes.

"Never let them take it from you…like they took it from Clara," he whispers, like a secret, like a sin.

More than a little concerned, I tug lightly at my arm, trying to extract it from his grip as easily as possible. His fervent and frantic words are unnerving me. "Mr. St James I…I don't understand. What are you talking about?"

But, the old man doesn't answer me and, like the tide receding back to sea, I watch as the intensity in his face, in his eyes, recedes. His fingers go slack and release hand, falling back to his side. He blinks, once, twice, and when he turns back to me, the hazy film has returned to his eyes and when he smiles, it's bland and vague.

"Oh," he says quietly, like he's seeing me for the first time. "Hello. Is it time for breakfast already?"

My heart is still fluttering a bewildered rhythm in my chest and my throat is still tight, head still spinning, but as I stare at him, chest heaving, I realize Mr. St James has no recollection of the past few minutes. His expression is too mild, too placid, too…lost. The man that had just spoken to me, intense passion and fire, is gone, swaddled and put back to sleep. I don't know what awakened him or why, why now, why me…but his words continue to ring in my ears, pecking at me, like an insistent bird. But the man in the old suit, brown jacket and matching pants, dated and old fashioned, sitting outside his old truck in a chair from another era, with spun silver for hair and glassed over marbles for eyes, does not have answers for me. He's as lost as I am.

I force a smile, as bright as I can manage, feeling the fault lines twitch at the corners of my mouth, and answer the quiet and subdued Mr. St James before me. "Um…al…almost Mr. St James," I stutter out. "Few more minutes."

He nods and turns to look back into the woods, morning light glinting off the silver wires of his hair. "Good," he murmurs but I don't know if he is talking about the breakfast or something else only he knows. "That's good."

I decide that I won't be able to get a true and coherent answer from Mr. St James right now. I might try again later, after he's eaten or something. It might not make that much of a difference but I'll try. If not, I'll ask Dale or Jim to take a look at the church van and see if they can't fix the gearshift. I'll think of something. Glenn and I will think of something.

Still a bit unnerved, I mutter a quiet goodbye to Mr. St James and withdraw from his side. When I look back, more than ten feet away, he's still staring at nothing, smile smooth and slow and I think I see his lips form the word Clara. I can't help but think that maybe he's not staring at nothing after all and contemplate what reality really is if his Clara's as real to him as I am.

---

"Hey. What were you talking to Mr. St James about?"

It's a few minutes later, when I've made it to the breakfast line, that Amy sidles up to me, curious and observant as usual. We're back to normal again, our confrontation from days ago faded from memory, so I smile at her as she comes to stand behind me in line.

The old man's disconcerting words resound in my head, and I see a flash of brown eyes that aren't his, but I force myself to shrug, pushing the memories down. "Just saying good morning," I lie. "Seeing if he was hungry."

Amy pouts at me, her long blonde hair pulled back from her face in a lopsided bun, making her seem years younger than she really is. "Ugh. Why are you such a Good Samaritan Dree?" she complains, wrinkling her button nose in the process. "Reading to children, checking in on the elderly. What's next? Saving kittens from trees."

I cast her a deadpan look and open my mouth to correct her, that I'm not a Good Samaritan just a person with a moral compass, but someone else beats me to it.

"She did that yesterday. I'm thinking knitting us sweaters out of blades of grass and flowers is next actually."

"Oh ha ha, Glenn. You're so funny I forgot to laugh."

The young man gives me a sheepish grin as he passes me a plate of food, a meager portion of baked beans and fired…some kind of meat, I can't really tell at this point. There's an expectant look in his eyes because he knows why I was talking to Mr. St James but I know he won't ask my about it now; not now that everyone is in hearing distance, unsuspecting of the truth.

"Sorry," he says but I know he really isn't. I stick my tongue out at him, mouth later to appease his curiosity, and move to sit with everyone else around the campfire, Amy trailing along after me.

"Morning Jacqui," I say to the woman as I take a seat next to her. She smiles around a small bite and swallows.

"Good morning sweetie," she responds, scooting over to give Amy and I some more room. Not everyone has gathered yet so the large log is still pretty much empty. I set my plate on the ground and start to slip my katana and tanto off. A small tut of disapproval brings my gaze back to Jacqui and I see her frowning at me.

"What?" I say with a laugh, tucking the swords under my feet as I sit. I bend down to retrieve my food.

Jacqui just shakes her head, the small gold hoops in her ears glinting in the sun. "Child, don't you know better than to put your food on the ground? I spent good time on that this morning and you go putting it in the dirt." She sounds scolding but the minute twitches in her cheeks give her away. She's joking. At least partly.

Shrugging, I pick up a piece of meat with my fingers and plop it into my mouth, chewing obnoxiously and smacking my lips, causing Amy to squeal in disgust and smack me across the shoulder. "Ten second rule right?"

"I thought it was the five second rule," Andrea pitches in as she sits beside her sister. There's a smirk on her own mouth and amusement in her pale blue eyes, laughter in her usually stoic expression.

I blink at her. "Huh. Really? Well…that explains a lot."

A chorus of snorts sounds out all around the campfire and Amy playfully nudges my shoulder, digging into her own meal between laughs and quips. "Yeah like your filthy mouth," she jokes and I frown at her, trying to quell a chuckle as I attempt to look offended.

"What the fu-"

"Audrey."

Amy and I share a look that screams oops before I turn contritely towards Lori. She's standing at the edge of the campfire eyebrow half cocked at me and I wince in guilt, doing my best to look apologetic even though I can feeling Amy shaking with silent laughter besides me. "Ah…sorry Lori. Just kidding around," I explain, smiling my brightest to deter her scolding look.

But Lori's a mother and no amount of puppy expressions can distract her. "Well I'd appreciate it if you watch your language just the same," she says but, like Jacqui, I can see the amusement in her eyes and tell she's not really upset. I nod solemnly all the same, playing my cowed part.

"Yes ma'am."

Lori says a thank you and moves to sit down across from us, beside Carol and Sophia, Carl standing by her side. He's snickering at me, the little brat, pointing and laughing quietly, mocking me for getting in trouble. I scowl at him, conjuring up my dirtiest glare. It doesn't last for long and I end up grinning ear to ear as he comes by to say good morning.

"Hi Audrey," he gushes, plopping down at my feet with a plate of his own; a plate that I notice has slightly bigger portions than Amy's or mine. I flicker my eyes up towards the RV, where the food had been handed out, and see Shane, saying something to Dale, handing out plates and portions. I don't think I'm imagining the haggardness of his appearance, the circles under his eyes or the tired stoop of his shoulders. A part of me thinks I should be angry for his favoritism, his biased towards Lori and her son. But really, I don't blame Shane. I'd have done the same thing.

"Heya Carl." I reach out and ruffle his hair. "Sleep good?"

"Mmmhmm," he hums, shoveling food into his mouth like it's going to disappear. Something twists in me when I remember, like a flash of lightning, that it is disappearing, that it's going, going, and almost gone. Suddenly, the beans and meat taste like ash and I have trouble swallowing.

Beside me, Amy laughs at Carl's fervor, her blue eyes dancing as she reaches out and pokes the boy on the crown of his head. "Whoa! Slow down there Speed Racer. The food's not going anywhere," she laughs and I set down my fork, plate half finished, having suddenly lost my appetite. Glancing up, I look at the people gathered around to see if they had heard Amy but everyone is wrapped up in their own conversations and, if they did hear her, they show no sign of concern. Is it denial or just general ignorance they have?

Carl slurps up another spoonful of beans, swallowing hastily. "I know but Shane said he'd take me down to the quarry for a swim today," he says, excitement oozing out of his voice.

I raise my eyebrows and try to taper down my anxiety, push away the somber thoughts. "A swim?" I ask. Today of all days? I wonder if Shane's just trying to cover up or if he actually wants to do something fun for Carl. I think it might be a combination of both.

"Yeah! You guys can come too!"

He's practically bouncing where he sits, eyes wide and enthusiastic, beans smeared across the corner of his mouth. Laughing, I'm about to tell Carl I'll have to take a rain check but Lori interrupts me.

"Carl," she says sternly and I turn her to see her frowning down at her son. "What did I say about that? You only get to go if you finish all your chores and school work first."

The young boy groans in what sounds like pain and turns to his mom with big, blue, doe eyes and an honest to God quivering lip. He is just too fucking cute. "But Mom," he whines.

"But nothing," Lori says and then she gestures at him. "And what are you doing on the ground Carl Grimes? You know I just washed those jeans. Come sit by me and eat like a proper human being instead of a caveman."

Carl groans and makes a few grunting noises, just like a caveman, to spite his mom but one look from her has him getting to his feet anyway, dusting off his pants in the process. I giggle at his forlorn face. "You can sit here Carl. I was just getting up," I say, standing as well. He turns to me in surprise but I'm looking at his mom for approval, tilting my head with a cajoling smile. "If that's all right with you Lori."

The older woman purses her lips for a moment, like she's going to refuse, but then she sighs and waves a hand towards us in defeat. "Alright. Alright." Carl whoops for joy.

Giggling, Amy pats my empty spot. "Yay! I get to sit next to Carl," she cheers and the boy blushes slightly as he wiggles into my seat. When he's situated, he looks up at me with an expectant expression, scooting over so there's just enough room for me to squeeze in between him and Jacqui.

"Sit here Audrey," he says, patting the spot like Amy had done.

I grin down at him but shake my head. "I would but I have to talk to Shane real quick." Carl frowns but I ruffle his hair again. "I'll be right back; don't worry," I reassure him. He doesn't look very convinced and looks like he wants to follow me up towards the RV where Shane is but Amy clears her throat and draws his attention.

"Psh. Who needs her, right Carl?" she jokes, nudging him in the ribs with a secretive smile. "We have more fun without the old stick in the mud." I roll my eyes and turn to leave but someone stops me.

"Aren't you going to finish eating?"

The voice is quiet and slightly accented. I look back to see Miranda, Morales' wife, staring at me from the other side of Jacqui. Her children are sitting on either side of her, in ratty old chairs, Louis to her left and Eliza to her right, closest to me, perched in her father's lap. I haven't spoken much to Miranda. For what I've gathered, she's a soft-spoken woman, dedicated and fiercely protective of her family. She has a solemn face, thin and sharp, with slicked back hair and full lips but her eyes and deep and brown, kind. I smile at her, albeit a little awkwardly.

"Uh…I'm kind of finished," I say, doing my best not to fidget. "Not very hungry." Which isn't a lie. I still feel slightly sick with the knowledge Glenn has given me. I know I will be famished later but I can't force myself to take another bite.

I watch as her eyes flicker down to my barely touched plate and mine simultaneously notice her children's bone dry ones, licked clean of all food. They had gotten their rations of course, like everyone else, but there was still an edge of hunger in their eyes and distantly I wonder how much Shane has been taking from their plate to pad Carl's. Now I'm a little angry with him.

Biting my lip, I step around Jacqui, who I can feel staring at me, and move towards the Morales family. Miranda gazes up at me in question, as does her husband beside her though there's a smile on his face that's absent from hers. "I know it's not much," I say as I offer my plate towards her. "But if you'd like it…if Louis and Eliza are still hungry…you are more than welcome to it."

Miranda is silent but Morales speaks up. "We don't want to take from you chica," he laughs, shaking Eliza in his lap slightly. "Finish your food."

I grin at him, easier now, relaxed by his jovial demeanor and easy-going personality. "You're not taking anything; I'm giving it to you. And I told you I'm not that hungry. Still full from last night I guess." I shrug. "What are you going to do right?"

Morales narrows his eyes at me, still smiling, like he doesn't believe me, but when I stick my plate out towards him, he takes it from me anyway. "Alright well…thank you Audrey," he says and while he still smiles I can sense the true gratitude in his words and in his eyes. I nod in acceptance. Looking down at his daughter, Morales bounces her a bit as he scoops half of the food onto her plate and hands it to his wife who gives the rest to Louis. "What do you say Eliza?" he asks. The girl, a thin thing, with bones that reminded me of a birds and eyes like her mother's, looks up at me shyly.

"Thank," she begins but a sudden hiccup interrupts her, a motion that jerks her whole body. I blink at the sudden and unexpected response but smile all the same, trying not to laugh.

"Your welcome Eliza." The girl purses her lips and looks like she wants to try again but another round of rapid-fire hiccups cut her off. Her father laughs good-naturedly and even her mother smiles then, small but there nonetheless. She hands her daughter a bottle of water.

"Here mijita. Drink."

Eliza takes the bottle and brings it to her lips but Morales clicks his tongue at her. "Ah ah ah. Aren't you forgetting something mija?"

The young girl blinks, body jerking with a hiccup again, and opens her mouth. But, instead of responding to her father's question like I thought she was going to, she says something else instead, a snatch of lines, a group of words, like a song or a poem in a language I cannot understand.

"El niño Jesus,

el ipo le dio.

Con cinco traigitos,

se le quito." (1)

Her voice is quiet but singsong and the rhythm in which she says the words makes me think it is some kind of child's rhyme. At the end of the little limerick, Eliza takes a deep breath and then takes five quick sips of water before letting her breath out in a whoosh. Confusion must show in my expression because Morales laughs again, before pressing a kiss to the top of his daughter's head.

"It's a little saying my mom taught me as a kid to get rid of hiccups," he explains and, miraculously enough, Eliza doesn't hiccup again, calm and completely still. I can't help but feel a little amazed.

"You'll have to teach that to me some time," I say. "Hiccups are like my worst enemy. When I get them, they stay for like hours." It's true. One time, I had them for a whole day. I try not to remember the memory of getting rid of them but I hear the laughter of ghosts all the same.

Morales nods. "You got it. Come by any time for a lesson in Español niña. Our tent is always open."

Telling him I'll be sure to do that, I take my empty plate back from him, and their empty plates as well, waving them off when they offer to take them. "It's no problem," I say and I awkwardly wave an elbow at them in farewell. A chorus of thanks follows me as I pick my way back around the campfire, purposely stepping on Glenn's toes when he playful sticks his foot out as if to trip me.

Shane is gone by the time I get to the RV, probably off checking the perimeter or something like that. T-Dog, who replaced him on watch before breakfast, says he saw him walk off towards the quarry road. Oh well. I'll just have to go find him.

Against the side of the Winnebago is a large metal wash bin, which doubles as our sink and washer when it comes down to doing laundry. It's empty as of right now though, everyone still talking and exchanging good mornings. In a few minutes, when the day officially starts, it will begin to overflow and someone will have to do dishes. I'm already thinking of excuses to get out of it, it seems Amy and I get stuck with dishes a lot, because frankly, I have bigger things to deal with.

I've just set the dishes, a motley collection of faded plastic of all different colors and sizes, mind still running over excuses, when I feel the hairs on the back of my neck stand up and I whirl around on instinct, hand twitching to my bare hip as I barely restraining a high pitched yelp. The sound that does escape me is a kind of chocked off whine or whimper, like a frightened animal.

"Jesus H Christ! Could you like breathe or something? I fucking hate it when you do that," I gasp, scowling as I straighten.

Daryl gazes at me with something between indifference and amusement, his ice blue eyes flat and seemingly unimpressed. He's wearing another sleeveless number today, the color a dingy brown and the fabric textured with small squares. I really think that these sleeveless deals are all he owns at this point. I frown up at him, crossing my arms in front of my chest, feeling awkward in my own navy tank top. It's thick strapped and covered most of my back but I don't wear tank tops often, the scars are too noticeable, and the way that Daryl just stares at me, not saying a word, even if it's only in annoyance, makes me squirm like I'm under a spotlight.

"What?" I finally ask when he does nothing but stand there. I'm starting to think I might have something on my face or dribbled down the front of my shirt and a flush crawls up the back of my neck. Daryl just grunts and jerks his chin at me.

"Yer in the way," he grumbles and I flush again as I realize I'm blocking the 'sink.' I step aside quickly and he dumps his, and I'm guessing Merle's, plates in quickly, the plastics clattering and rattling together as they carelessly tumble into the bin.

"Hey," I frown, sending Daryl a disproving look, drumming my fingers against my arm. "You're gonna chip them if you do that."

Narrowed blue eyes meet mine and his lip twitches up into a sneer. "Ain't my dishes," he says, like he doesn't care. It sounds like something Merle would say.

I roll my eyes at his dickish exterior, not impressed, and not intimidated either, because I know what a smirk instead of a sneer looks like on his face and can distantly recall the sound of his laughter from two days ago, when I read Dr. Seuss and he jabbed at me with a blunted arrow. "Yeah but you still eat off them don't you? Show some fucking respect. What if I just started throwing your crossbow around huh?"

The concept is laughable, I'm pretty sure Daryl would gut me if I even tried, and that thing looks pretty heavy besides. I don't think I could chuck it ten feet.

Daryl finds my threat amusing as well because he just scoffs and turns to leave, not even dignifying me with a response. However, as he spins on heel, he bumps straight into Sophia, who neither of had noticed walk up to deposit her own dishes in the sink, trying to sidle around us without drawing attention. The young girl makes a small squeak as Daryl's body collides with her and she stumbles back several feet. The plates clatter to the ground and spin a few times in the dust before falling flat.

The silence that follows seems to echo, even with the quiet undercurrent of conversation still occurring around the campfire. Sophia has her gaze glued on the ground, eyes wide, body frozen. Daryl isn't moving either and, even though I can only see his profile, I recognize surprise on his face.

Nobody moves for several moments and I'm just beginning to shift to try and pick up the plates when Sophia and Daryl both start into action at the same time. She bends down to scoop up the fallen dishes just as he takes a step forward to do the same because, even if he tries to act like an asshole, I know Daryl wouldn't just knock over a small kid and keep walking like Merle would. If he did…well I wouldn't be here today.

However, when Daryl takes that step forward, half a step really, barely a stutter in her direction, Sophia flinches violently, shrinking away from him and ducking her head, expecting to be hit. I know she's expecting to be hit, even if I didn't know that piece of shit that she calls father. I know because I've seen that movement before, because I used to make that movement. I grit my teeth and want to comfort her, a wild instinct to just pull her close and protect her because she is just so damn small and vulnerable, but my attention is riveted to the man between us.

Daryl freezes at the fierce reaction and the hand that had extended to help her curls back to his side, fingers balling into a fist. I can only see the side of his face, the flat plane of his left cheek, dusted with hair, a corner of his mouth, a sliver of his eye, but I think I see something flicker in his expression, something sharp and bright. It's gone before I can try and identify it. This time, when he whirls around, the movement is aggressive and angry and he stalks rather than walks back towards his slightly segregated campsite, not looking back as his rigid spine carries him away.

I bite my lip as I look after him, half wanting to say something, but Sophia is still cowering beside me and I decide she needs my attention more. Casting one last look at Daryl's retreating back, I turn around to face Sophia, mouth open to apologize. She's still staring at the ground, her thin chest moving up and down rabidly, narrow shoulders shaking. Frowning, I reach out to touch her but my fingers have barely skimmed her fine blonde hair before she drops to her knees and scrambles to pick up the dishes.

"I'm sorry," I hear her mutter as she grabs the things closest to her. "I…I wasn't paying attention. I was just trying to put the dishes up. I…I didn't mean...didn't mean to-"

I kneel down beside her and gently put my hand over hers. She freezes again and I can feel the tremor in her muscles, the ripples of fear, but I reach out and touch her hair softly, a feather light touch and her wide eyes flicker up to meet mine.

"Sophia," I say softly and she flinches at her name like it's a bad word. I push down the conclusions of why that is. "Sophia, it's ok. It was an accident. I'm not mad." She bites her lip, white teeth against pink skin, and looks at me like she doesn't believe what I am saying. I smile at her, as friendly and kind as I can manage, and something in my face must convince her because her shoulders lose their tension and she shudders in a deep breath.

"Alright?" I ask and she nods a little. I smile a little brighter at her and wrap my fingers around a chipped plastic cup and a small plate, standing up in the process. "Come on, I'll help you put them up." The young girl doesn't smile but I can see the gratitude in her face as she slowly gets up and dusts off her knees.

The two of us move over to the wash bin a few feet away and set the dishes down gently. Dusting off my hands, I turn to Sophia. "There we go. Done and done." She giggles a little at my over enthusiastic voice but, as we stand there, I watch as her eyes skitter to the side, a quick dart to the left, distracted. Furrowing my brow, I follow her line of sight and clash right into the Dixon's campsite, the two brothers talking outside their tent, Merle seeming half-high, even from this distance.

Seeing the apprehension in Sophia's eyes, I clear my throat and draw her attention. "Daryl isn't going to hurt you sweetie."

Her eyes go wide, guilty. I smile softly at her again and kneel down to her level, looking into her bright eyes and freckled face. I know what she had been thinking, could see it as she traced Daryl's movements like he was an animal going to attack. She's scared of him and…well I can't blame her. It's not like Daryl is Mr. Sunny-Sunshine over there. But I also know he isn't going to hurt her, isn't like her father, and I want her to know that. For some reason, I need her to know that.

"But," Sophia whispers, scared even now that he might overhear. "He looks…angry." I flicker my eyes over to him again and, sure enough, he does; gesturing widely to Merle as he wrestles with the laces of his boots. I shake my head. Daryl doesn't make anything easy for me that's for sure.

"Daryl's always like that. He's kind of like a grumpy bear," I say, scrunching up my face is a horrible rendition of one of his scowls. "He just likes to growl a lot." I bare my teeth and try to imitate a growl.

Sophia doesn't seem amused by antics; her eyes are still frightened and she begins to wring her hands. "I…I don't like him," she admits abruptly and I blink in surprise. That's the first negative thing I've ever heard Sophia say. "He…he's mean and yells at people. Calls Mr. T-Dog ugly words."

I'm guessing those 'ugly words' start with an N. Fucking A. I need to talk to him about being less of an asshole because, frankly, it gets more than a little old. Besides, I feel like those are more Merle's words than anything and Daryl is just parroting them out of habit.

I frown. "Sophia that's just-", I begin, trying to explain, but she cuts me off.

"And he hurt you," she whispers. I'm startled as her thin fingers reach out and brush across my temple and then my cheek, lightly tracing the scars carved into my skin. The scratches from the demon weasel have mostly faded, now they are no more than the faintest of lines on my face, only visible in the brightest of light and if you look hard enough. The ones on my shoulders are a different story, deeper, thicker, more jagged. Those will most likely heal in ropey scars but I've long ago given up the illusion of being beautiful so I'm not really bothered by them. Hell, I'm not even bothered by the scar on my temple either; the one Daryl's arrow had branded on my skin all those weeks ago. It was an accident, as was the weasel, and I've forgiven and forgotten about both of those instances.

However, it seems not everyone has. Sophia apparently blames him; the truth is clear in her eyes, in her words. I don't know what possesses me but, suddenly, I am vehemently shaking my head. "No. No sweetheart; he didn't." She doesn't believe me, she thinks I am lying, and the words are tripping off my tongue.

"It was an accident when Daryl gave me this," I tell her, pointing at the cauterized burn on my temple. "He thought I was...he thought I was a walker." The word makes her flinch but I keep going. "He was just protecting camp. It was just an accident. He was real sorry afterwards." At least I think he was anyway. "And he even brought me back here. He didn't have to do that but he did. Daryl…Daryl saved my life Sophia. Without him, I wouldn't be here."

Uncertainty flickers in her face, what I have just told her warring with the Daryl Dixon she has seen: ill tempered, pissed off at the world, with a tongue of barbed wire. The two images seem at odds with each other and in all honesty, they are. How can someone be such a bastard, racist and rude as all get out, and yet, at the same time, show such instances of kindness? Something in me, left over from days long past, prompts that maybe it wasn't kindness that made him bring me here and maybe it's not kindness that makes Daryl bring in food, day after day, without little to no thanks. Perhaps he is only looking out for himself. Well…that might be true, the Dixons are certainly looking out for themselves but…it doesn't seem to quite fit. That train of thought does not explain the pity in his eyes that first day; does not explain why he repeatedly allows me to be around him when, clearly, I don't do very much help wise; and it certainly does not explain why he had stuttered forward to help Sophia, a little girl that was nothing to him and, if he really was the cold hearted son of a bitch everyone pegged him as, was well beneath his radar of concern. Daryl Dixon is a fucking paradox but…I would be lying if I said he doesn't intrigue me.

But, only I know that Daryl's this big ole mystery, complex and intricate, with layers and something more hiding underneath his prickly exterior. Everyone else just sees a loud mouthed, racist, volatile red neck. It surprises me that no one else has seen past that front but perhaps I'm the only one that's bothered to look. Mr. St James' words suddenly flood back to me and something twists in my gut.

"Your heart. Your heart's like Clara's. My sweet, sweet, Clara's. It sees the good in people. And the bad."

I mentally shake the words away. Mr. St James is a senile gentleman. His words are nothing more than the ramblings of an aged and unhinged individual. I'm nothing special.

Sighing, I tug at my hair in frustration, fingers curling in the damp strands, returning my attention back to the problem at hand. How do I make them see? See that Daryl isn't a horrible person or, worse yet, his fucking brother. How do I make Sophia see?

An idea comes to me, half finished and unrefined, the spawn of worries that have been cycling in the back of my mind for over an hour now, but it's the best thing I've got right now so I go with it.

"Sophia. Did you like breakfast this morning?"

The young girl blinks at me, confused with my question, but she's polite and well mannered, sickeningly trained to be that way, and answers all the same. "Y…yes," she stutters and I nod my head solemnly.

"And do you know where that food came from?" I ask.

She's hesitant to answer, doesn't want to, so I speak up again, changing tactics as the thought comes to me. "Can I tell you a secret?" I don't wait for a response and instead, touch my cheek, right over one of the faint lines, drawing her eyes. "I actually didn't get attacked by an animal just walking through the woods. I was helping Daryl hunt for some food to bring back to camp."

Sophia gapes at me, blatantly surprised. "You…you went hunting? With…with…"

"With Daryl," I finish and nod. "Yup."

"Why?"

I contemplate her question for a second; thinking about just what my answer is going to be. "Well…to be honest…because I wanted to," I tell her and her jaw literally drops open. I chuckle and nudge her jaw close. "No really. I wanted to. He had saved my life by bringing me back here and I wanted to repay him. I thought helping him hunt was a good trade off. But, little did I know, it's really hard work. You have to track the animals or set up traps for them. And when you catch them, then you have to clean them and get them ready to eat."

A vaguely disgusted noise rattles in Sophia's throat and I wrinkle my nose in sympathy. "I know. It's rather gross. I don't really like doing it to tell you the truth," I say.

She tilts her head at me and I see honest to God curiosity in her eyes. "Then…why do it?"

And here we are; where I wanted us to arrive: why I did it. Taking a deep breath, I pull my hair away from my face and stare straight into Sophia's eyes, willing her to understand. "Because, it needs to be done. We all have to eat right? Well, we can't if no one brings any food in. But, I don't think that it's really fair to make Daryl do it all by himself. It really is hard work Sophia. The two of us get tired doing it together so him hunting by himself must be exhausting. But…he did it anyway. He still does it and it's really because of Daryl that we haven't gone hungry yet. Now, does that sound like something a horrible person would do?"

Sophia bites her lip and a second passes. Then another. And another. Finally, after almost a full minute, she shakes her head slowly. "N…no," she admits and I smile.

"No. It doesn't. I know that Daryl acts like an ass…um like a mean person," I correct myself, remembering Lori's request that I watch my language. "But he isn't all bad. In fact," I whisper, looking from side to side dramatically. "Can I tell you another secret?" Sophia nods rapidly and I lean in conspiratorially. "Daryl's actually nice sometimes. I've even heard him laugh."

Light colored eyes nearly bug out of their sockets as Sophia goggles at me. "It's true," I say, crossing my heart in a serious fashion. "Cross my heart. He just acts all mean because…well I think he just doesn't know better. But he can be cool to be around." I think back two days ago, the smirk on his face as he jokingly jabbed at me with his fake arrow, laughing as I flailed to get away. I had gotten dirt in my bra and socks, leaves twisted into my hair that were a bitch to get out but…it was sort of worth it, seeing Daryl's eyes glint with amusement and to see his mouth do something other than scowl or curse. It made him look younger, softer, more…attractive.

…

Whoa. What?

I nearly bite off my tongue as the last thought reverberates through my skull. What the fuck was that? Daryl…oh no. I must be delusional, stress fucking with my head. Daryl is just a friend; fuck, he's barely even that. Half the time, he's an asshole, though I know he's not one fully, as I've been telling Sophia. Still, there are a million and ten other reasons why I shouldn't think, why I don't think, of Daryl fucking Dixon attractive. He's like…ten years older than me for one; his brother wants to kill me for another, which I haven't forgotten about thank you very much. And, more importantly, it's the fucking end of the goddamn world. We're barely surviving here; Glenn just asserted that. This…nope. This didn't happen. I'm just caught up in trying to defend him to Sophia; as a friend. Nothing more at all.

"Besides," I can't help thinking, an afterthought in the back of my mind, traitorous. "Not that I want him to but…Daryl would never look at me like that and, even if he did, I don't deserve it." The image of golden hair and wide hazel eyes flashes in my thoughts, unbidden, unleashed from a hidden place in my head, full of shadows and things I don't want to remember. "But, then again, I don't deserve any of this."

I shove the unexpected thought away, deep down and bind it with chains. Don't think about it. Don't think about it. Swallowing past the knot in my throat, I turn my attention back to Sophia with a smile that's more forced and fragile than it had been a moment ago. She doesn't seem to notice the change in me, the tremors in my cheeks, the sharp edges of my broken smile, and she's looking at me, trusting and innocent and oh so child like.

"Really?" she asks and I have to struggle to remember it is Daryl she is talking about.

Shakily, I reach out and tap her on the nose, trying to focus all my attention on her, grounding my thoughts in the freckles stretched across her cheeks. "Really," I answer her. "So…do you think you could give Daryl another chance? Maybe say thank you the next time you see him at dinner or lunch?" The hunter wouldn't want it, would not know what to do with it, but maybe seeing someone else, someone so young and sweet like Sophia recognize him…maybe he could learn.

Sophia chews on her lips and wraps her arms around herself, cupping her elbows in an uncomfortable gesture as she shoots another look at the Dixon camp. This time, I don't follow her gaze. "Yes," she says quietly and then louder again, "Yes. I'll…I'll try."

A dull sense of accomplishment wells inside of me but I ignore it and instead gently reach out and wrap my arms around Sophia, feeling her hollow bird bones as I squeeze her softly. After only a moment's hesitation, she clasps me back tightly and I am vaguely, suddenly, awed by how much this little girl must care for me, to look out for me against something she saw as a threat. I squeeze her firmly again, clenching my eyes shut against the memories of all those who used to do that for me, against the images of black hair and chocolate eyes, long red hair and the sound of a pealing giggle.

In that moment, something in me snaps and I am filled with an ironclad resolve to protect this little girl in my arms against all costs, against all things. I don't know what I can do about her bastard of her father; I don't know what I can do for her softhearted mother, who has been held down so long she doesn't remember what it's like to be free. I don't know what to do to make all the bad things go away at the moment, can't fix the world and make the monsters go away.

But I will be fucking damned if I let her go hungry. I can't fix all the mistakes I've made, all the people I have failed; can't erase my spot in Hell. But I can, and I will, do something right by Sophia; something more than just reading to her and passing the time. I will make sure she will never starve, never know that horrible ache again and, soon, I will think of something to do about her mother and Ed.

As for right now, I know what I have to do.

Giving Sophia one last hug, I draw back and give her my best smile, feeling something hot and unstoppable run through my veins. "Thank you Sophia. Now, you think we can keep this little conversation a secret," I ask, winking at her. "I don't want Lori or Shane to get mad at me or Daryl about the hunting thing." She nods quickly, grinning softly, an expression that lights up her whole face, and my determination only strengths.

"Great. Now, why don't we go find your mom?" I say, standing. "I have someone that I need to talk to."

---

"Can we talk?"

Daryl freezes but doesn't look up even though I know he's heard me. I'm standing outside of his tent, arms crossed and foot tapping out a rhythm of impatience. It's later in the day than I would have liked but this is the first chance that I've gotten to talk to him all day. After breakfast, I had to go out with Amy and collect firewood, which took almost an hour. Then, Shane had dragged me down to the quarry with Carl and Sophia, others coming along to relieve some stress in the blue waters. Not really interested in swimming, at least not today, I had tried to talk to the older man, covertly bring up Glenn's trip tomorrow, but he always cut me off before I could, like he knew what I was trying to say and didn't want to talk about it. Overall, it had been rather frustrating. From there, I had been caught up in the whirlwind of other chores: foraging for mushrooms and other things around camp, apparently I had been the only one to know that wood sorrel, a small plant with white flowers, is edible, nutrient rich, and alleviates thirst; helping Dale with something on the RV; watching Carl while Lori went "to the bathroom"; and a million other little things that took up way much more time than they should have. Not to mention, I had tried to talk to Mr. St James again. After rambling in circles for what seemed like an hour, I had finally gotten his consent for Glenn to use his truck tomorrow. Which then led to Glenn thanking me for another thirty minutes and running some of his plans by me. I would say that I was irritated by that point but I could see how nervous he was so I pushed my annoyance away and listened and contributed and did everything a good friend was supposed to do.

And now, it's almost four o'clock and I'm standing in front of Daryl, ants itching underneath my skin. Finally, an eternity already come and past, Daryl looks up from where he is sharpening his hunting knife, expression closed off and unreadable. A voice at the back of my mind tells me something isn't right, that Daryl hasn't glared at me like this in at least a week, but I ignore it, anxiety like cocaine in my veins.

Pursing my lips, I think of what to say, now that I'm here I feel struck dumb. I shift my weight from foot to foot and my eyes slide off his face, clicking to over his shoulder, staring into the distance as I consider my words and try to articulate my feelings into coherent sentences.

"Merle ain't here."

I blink and snap my gaze back to Daryl, brow furrowed in confusion. "What?"

The hunter throws down the spare piece of metal he has been using as a whetstone and sheathes his knife with a definitive thrust. "I said Merle ain't here," he repeats. "If that's who yer looking for."

I shake my head. "Uh no. I wasn't looking for him. Just um thinking. Sorry," I say. Though, in hindsight, I kick myself for not keeping an eye out for the older Dixon brother. The fuck was I thinking? The man literally said he would kill me if he saw me talking to his brother again! And, even though I decided that he could go fuck himself, I sure as hell hadn't meant to just stroll right up to the younger Dixon in the middle of camp like this, when Merle could potentially be two feet away in their tent. My mind is falling apart; I blame the stress.

"So what do ya want?" Daryl asks and there's a certain edge to his words, a keenness that makes me frown. What's wrong with him?

Biting my lip, I kick at the ground, jamming my thumbs into the pockets of my shorts. Suddenly, I feel awkward, uncomfortable. I wrap my arms around me, cupping my elbows like Sophia had, feeling oddly exposed, my arms and shoulders naked, my legs too bare. I know they aren't, had checked myself this morning, but I suddenly think that all my scars are showing, screaming loud against the pale expanse of my skin, a jagged and ugly roadmap. I have the wild desire to run to my tent and throw on another shirt. But I don't. Instead, I suck it up and do my best to meet Daryl's eyes, ignoring my insane thoughts and saying what I have been waiting to say all damn day.

"We need to go hunt again."

Daryl blinks up at me, squinting in the afternoon sun. "What?" he asks. Some of the edge has been whittled off his words but I think that's just the surprise more than anything. I usually don't do this; he's the one that calls the shots, when and where we hunt, how frequent we check the traps. He's the hunter after all, the tracker. I'm just the lackey and the helper.

"I said we need to go out again. Like tonight. Preferably right now before Shane or Lori can lasso me into doing some other shit," I tell him. Which is pretty probable. In fact, I feel like they are already calling my name.

When Daryl has taken in my words, he frowns…no scowls up at me, angry and irritated. "Since when are you callin the shots kid? Last I remember, ya can't fuckin walk a straight line without gettin lost in the woods," he growls and I narrow my eyes at him, my own irritation boiling up. I take a deep breath to try and cool it.

"Look. I'm not trying to be demanding or tell you what to do all right?"

Daryl snorts. "Sure fuckin sounds like it."

I grit my teeth and bite back a sarcastic retort. "Well I'm not. It's just that…"

In that instant, I decide to tell him the whole truth, leave nothing out. I had not intended to lie to him but I suddenly just needed to tell someone, tell it all, and I think, out of every single person in camp, Daryl would be the one to understand, the one not to freak out but rather try and fix the problem.

Inhaling sharply, I take a small step forward and suddenly drop to the ground, falling to sit on my ass with my knees up to my chin, two feet away from Daryl. Our positions remind me of that clearing two days ago, when we laughed and joked around, and the memory makes me relax a bit because this is Daryl and, whether he wants to admit it or not, he's my friend. At least in my mind and right now, that's good enough for me.

"We're running out of food Daryl," I whisper to him, gazing at his shoes instead of into his eyes. I can almost hear his confusion.

"Out of…we just brought a haul back two days ago," he says sharply and I imagine the scowl on his lips.

Swallowing past the lump in my throat, I nod. "I know. I was there remember? But I was talking to Glenn this morning…it's almost all gone." My nails dig into the skin on my bare upper arms, the pain focusing my attention. "And it's not just the meat. Like…everything isalmost gone. Glenn says we have about three days before it's all used up. After that…"

I can't finish the sentence but Daryl understands. His silence says he understands. And even though we are still on the verge of starving…it's like a weight has been lifted off my shoulders. Not completely…but its easier now. Daryl will figure something out. People might think he's just some dumb redneck but I know, just as I know that he's not the bastard everyone thinks him to be, that he's actually one of the smartest people in our group. All those traps, the way he can track an animal for miles and shoot it right between the eyes from a hundred yards away…Daryl's fucking smart and capable and he will think of something; I have faith.

The two of us sit in silence for I don't know how long and eventually, I chance a glance up at him, peeking out from under my lashes. He's staring down at the ground, eyes glued to the dirt between his feet. There's a far away look to them, a fog that rivals even Mr. St James', and I realize he's processing my information, already thinking about what to do next. A sense of sweet relief begins to bloom in my chest.

However, then I notice there is something…off about his expression. He's chewing on his nails again or, rather, the skin because the nails are already all gone. Right now, it's his thumb that's wedged between his teeth, pulling at torn skin and I blink as the wound starts to bleed and he doesn't even notice, continuing to pull and tear and hurt himself. I've realized that Daryl does this when he's uncomfortable or on edge. With the intensity that he's going at it now…he must be both. Shit. Our situation must be way worse than I thought.

Suddenly, I lean forward without thinking and wrap my fingers around Daryl's wrist. Blue eyes snap up to clash with mine and I offer a small smile as I gently pry his hand away from his mouth, trying not to look at the droplets of blood caught in the dry skin of his lips. "You're bleeding," I whisper and he blinks at me as if he's realizing it for the first time. He rips his arm from my grasp, like I burned him, and roughly wipes his hand against his jeans. I let my own fall back into my lap.

"So what are we going to do?" I ask when he still doesn't say anything. Daryl narrows his eyes at me for a moment, a scrutinizing expression, but then he shakes his head, turning around to grab the crossbow that's leaning against the back of his chair.

"We ain't gonna do anything," he says gruffly. I open my mouth automatically, confused and objecting, but he cuts me off, standing in a fluid movement and towering over me. "I'm goin huntin."

Without another word, he tries to step around me, over me, but I'm scrambling up off the ground before he can and, abruptly, we're standing nearly chest-to-chest, half a foot of air between us. "What do you mean you're going hunting? I'm coming with you," I say adamantly. I almost always go with him, unless Merle does, and the older Dixon is nowhere in sight, more than likely off getting high somewhere. There's no reason I shouldn't go.

Daryl glares down at me, blue eyes blazing and nostrils flared. I never noticed how tall he was but, standing this close, I realize he's a good half a head higher than me. "No, you ain't," he stresses.

"And why not?" I'm not about to let him go without a good, goddamn reasonable explanation.

He growls, low and deep in his chest, and his lips thin into a dangerous white line. "Cuz goddamn it. I ain't about to fuckin starve and there ain't anything bigger than squirrel left round here. If ya don't want to die, I have to go farther out, away from the city. Spend a good day or two trackin a buck or doe. And I can't do that if yer tramplin along after me, scarin everythin off!"

I'm struck dumb at the end of his tirade, mouth hanging open, gaping like a suffocating fish. Daryl is heaving at this point, hissing air in and out of his lungs and he sneers at me, taking a step back and spitting to the side. I distantly remark that spitting was another one of his nervous ticks.

"Tch. Why the hell am I standin here wastin time explainin this shit to you?" he says. He shakes his head in disgust, whether at me or at him I'm not sure, and quickly steps around me, walking away. I blink at the space he used to occupy, my mind racing to catch up and, when it does, I spin on heel and take off after him, feet pounding against the dirt.

"Wait," I call out, not even minding my volume. Daryl had managed to get about thirty yards away before I catch up to him, circling the front of camp, away from the quarry. He doesn't turn around when he hears me, just about to duck under a string of cans when I reach out and grab his arm, throwing all my power into my arm to whirl him around. He stumbles due to my momentum and curses, trying to right himself.

"Son of a bitch! The hell ya think-"

"Let me come with you," I interrupt, panting. He glowers at me in genuine anger.

"Did ya not just fuckin hear-"

I wave my hand dismissively, cutting him off again. "I heard. And I still think I should go with you." He makes an impatient noise but I don't let him get a word in edgewise.

"Look. I know I'm not exactly light on my feet, at least not in the woods. But I'll do my best to stay quiet. I'll step where you step; breathe when you breathe. I won't say a fucking word. Just…please," I beg, hating how pleading my voice sounded but not taking back anything I've said. "Please let me go with you."

Now it's Daryl's turn to be struck dumb. The death glare he's been directing at me for the last few minutes slowly fades away, the ugly combination of a sneer and a scowl unhitching itself from Daryl's lips bit by bit, like a glacier slowly melting under the sun. It's replaced by a puzzled look and the hunter stares at me like, despite the time we've spent together, I'm still speaking a different language.

"Why?" he demands and I think back to all the other times I've offered my help to him and how he's asked this exact same question each and every time.

And, just like all those other times, I answer him in the exact same manner: honestly.

"Because how else are you going to drag back some big ass deer all by yourself?" I ask. "Not to mention watch your back so a walker doesn't come up and bite you in the ass? You can't, not alone. I just want to help Daryl. Just like I said before. Just help you…and help everyone else here, make sure they don't go hungry."

Sophia's face flickers before my eyes and I meet Daryl's gaze, trying to show him how serious I was about this; how I wanted, needed, to do this.

The older man considers my words, mulls them over from what seems like an eon. His eyes flicker over my face, unreadable, and I find myself squirming under their crystal blue color. But, finally, I can tell I've won, see the defeat in his eyes just before he growls and sighs. "Fine. But ya better keep up. I ain't slowin down for ya."

A relieved and giddy feeling spreads through me, almost making my knees buckle, and I grin up at Daryl. "Since when have you ever?" I reply. He rolls his eyes.

"Shut up kid and come on. We're wastin daylight with ya shootin yer mouth."

Still grinning, I'm about to follow Daryl when a thought draws me up short. "Hold up a minute," I say and Daryl groans, turning to narrow his eyes at me.

"The fuck's wrong now?" he gripes.

I ignore his hostility and rub at my chin, thinking. "We need supplies. Water, some granola bars or something. You know, in case. We can't just walk off into the woods with nothing. You never know what could happen. Just sit tight for a second and I'll run and grab something quick. It'll take no more than three minutes and then we can leave."

Daryl grumbles and I smirk, turning to leave, but he suddenly catches my wrist, tight, making me cast him a look over my shoulder in inquiry. "Then we're leavin alright? No more fuckin around," he grouses but there is no true heat in his words. I roll my eyes at him in return.

"Yes sir," I say, mock saluting him.

Not waiting for his response, I begin to move away, mind already winding through camp and into my tent, delving into my bad and the few supplies I have stashed there. But, before I can even finish the motion, a sight ten feet away brings me to a grinding halt and I feel the breath whoosh out of me, like I've been kicked in the chest.

"Leave?" Carl repeats, his blue eyes wide and uncomprehending, face drawn and pale. "W…where are you going Audrey?"

His voice sounds so small and scared and confused and I want nothing more than to wipe all those emotions out of him, leave him happy and content, but I can't even think of anything to say, my mouth hanging open, useless, as Carl continues to stare at me. Daryl is silent behind me and I know he's not going to be of any help so I try to kick-start myself into action, try to force some words of explanation off my tongue.

All that comes out is a stuttered, botched, unfinished reply. "C…carl. I…I don't…this isn't…you don't under…I'm not…Carl."

He starts to shake his head at me, slow at first but faster and faster, with something akin to betrayal on his face as he stumbles back, feet tangling. He opens his mouth, the inside black with a flash of white teeth.

"Mom! Shane!"

And before I can stop him, he's sprinting away; presumably back to camp, Daryl and my little secret tripping off his lips.

"Fuuuuuuck," I hiss out, staring at the spot Carl used to be standing, eyes wide, blinking, wishing with each flicker of my eyelids that the young boy had just been a complete figment of my imagination; knowing by the sudden sounds from camp that he hadn't been. "Fuck. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck!"

My hands bury themselves in my hair, yanking at the roots in abject frustration and anger. Fuck. I'm screwed. No. No, we're screwed. Daryl and I. The both of us. Carl's going to tell Shane about what he heard, what he saw, Daryl and I on the edges of camp, talking about leaving, and the cop is going to come barreling down here, more than likely with everyone else in tow, and shove his gun and Daryl's face and completely misunderstand what's going on here. He'll probably think that Daryl's trying to kidnap me or something and all hell will break lose and then Merle will probably show up, just to give some flavor to things and because Murphy's Law just loves to bend me over (2), and end up stabbing me in the skull for not listening to him. And, somewhere in all of this, before Merle kills me, I'll more than likely blurt out something about our food crisis, in an effort to explain things to Shane, and then everyone will know we are about to starve and they will begin to freak out and…fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

I pivot around and try to say something to Daryl but, just as I get his blue eyes into focus, his snarling lips and rigid posture, my name rings out through the air.

"Audrey!"

Have I said fuck yet?

It's a breath and a blink later and suddenly, Shane comes tumbling through the underbrush, shotgun in hand, Lori wide-eyed behind him and Jesus Christ; I might as well have predicted the future. Within seconds, Shane is standing in front of me, Lori, Carl, Amy, Andrea, Glenn, Carol, Sophia and Morales making a semi-circle of onlookers behind him. The set up briefly reminds me of mine and Shane's spar a life time ago and I can't help but think this confrontation will end up coming to blows too.

Shane has his mouth pressed into a thin line, his eyes hard and glaring at Daryl over my shoulder. His gaze drops down suddenly and there's a tight pressure around my wrist, a split second iron manacle, before it's abruptly released. It takes a moment for me to realize that Daryl had still been holding my wrist, fingers overlapping, completely encircling the bone. The sight makes Shane's mouth grow thinner and, the gun that had been pointed at the ground up until this point, twitches just the slightest bit upward.

"Dixon," he grits out and, despite that fact that his voice is as flat as can be, it would take an idiot not to notice the hostility lurking beneath the words, an undercurrent of lava under a frozen lake. "What's goin on here?"

I feel Daryl go tense behind me and I can almost taste his retort, some kind of fuck off that will really not help our situation, so I interrupt before the hunter can make things any worse than I already have.

"S…Shane," I stammer, frantically scouring my brain for some kind of excuse. Nothing is forth coming and the silence echoes out condemningly. "I…I know this looks…but nothings wrong ok? Carl just overreacted and-"

"I did not," the boy cries out and, I love him, I really do, but I mentally beg him to kindly shut the fuck up. I do my best to shoot him that message via my eyes but Shane starts talking again and I have to return my attention back to him.

"Carl said Dixon grabbed you and that the two of you were leaving," he says calmly and I wince at how much Carl misinterpreted everything. The truth was bad enough. This lie was catastrophic. I hear a few people gasp at Shane's words, Carol's face goes wan white, Lori looks vaguely disgusted, Amy looks pissed to hell, and I start waving my hands hysterically, unconsciously moving to stand in front of Daryl who, as of it, still hasn't said a word.

"No! No that didn't…well it did happen," I amend, remembering how Shane had seen Daryl's hand on my wrist and knowing that denying Carl's words completely would just look like a shitty attempt at a cover up. "But…it's not like it sounds. Daryl and I were just joking around."

Oh shit. Now that sounded like a shitty attempt at a cover up. Son of a bitch. Groaning, I take a deep breath and close my eyes, shutting out everyone's faces and their expressions, trying to gather my thoughts and my wits.

"Alright," I breathe when I've calmed down enough. I open my eyes and meet Shane's gaze, drawing it from Daryl. "Alright. Carl did hear Daryl say that but he didn't mean leaving as in getting the hell outta Dodge. And he wasn't dragging me anywhere by the wrist either." I feel the need to exemplify that because Shane keeps looking at my wrist like, if he stares hard enough, he will see bruises forming and that will give him cause enough to start some shit. "We were just going to go hunting."

No one seems convinced, glowering past me at Daryl like he's somehow making me say this, a puppet dancing on a string, and I can't help the scowl that forms on my face. "It's true! We're running low on food so I, I, asked Daryl if we could try and find something so we don't starve." I hadn't meant to say that, honestly, but it just came out and holy crap.

I really did predict the future.

"Ask Shane. Ask Glenn," I continue, seeing the general looks of disbelief and mistrust. "They'll back me up on that."

As one, the rest of the group turns to Shane and Glenn. The younger male holds up his hands in a don't look at me gesture, and so Shane becomes the center of attention. A muscle in his jaw is ticking, and now it's not just Daryl he's glaring at; anger is directed at me as well, deep and hot in his dark eyes.

"Shane?" Lori speaks up, gazing at the back of his head in question. She's wrapped her hands around Carl and draws him close; as if to protect him, shield him. Perhaps to ground herself as well. She looks scared, eyes blue and wide, just like her son. I feel like a complete bastard now for dropping this right in her lap.

The former cop scowls at me, at Daryl, at the pair of us, and sighs, shoulders dropping as he turns to address the rest of the group. "We're running a little low," he admits and everyone starts talking at once, chaotic and confused.

"What do you mean low?" Andrea demands loudly.

"You can't be serious!" her sister echoes.

"What are we going to do?" Carol nearly whimpers and the rest just dissolves into a discordant din of voices, like multiple waves crashing against the shore at once, a general roar.

"Hey!"

The frantic conversations die down at Shane's commanding tone, leaving wide eyes and anxious faces. The older man tosses his shot gun across his shoulders and I can only imagine his expression: the steel line of his jaw, the powerful, authoritative look he is giving them, every inch the cop he used to be. "Everyone just needs to calm down," he says. "We're going to be fine. I already have a plan to fix this so no one needs to worry. Tomorrow, Glenn is taking a small group of people to do some recon in the city." I blink at his words, and shoot a look towards the young Asian but he looks just as surprised as I am so Shane must have just pulled this 'plan' out of his ass. But he's smooth with it, rides the false, lying wave of security all the way back to shore as he says, "It's taken care of."

Running an exasperated hand through his hair, Shane pivots to fix his glower on Daryl and I again, almost snarling at us as the afternoon light glints of the 22 hanging around his neck. "Which is why I didn't want to say anything," he grinds out and the accusation is as clear in his tone as if he had said the words, Audrey you fucked this up.

For a moment, guilt overwhelms me and I duck my head, cowed. An apology is already dancing behind my teeth, rattling in my throat, but before I can say it, release it into the air, a sudden thought strangles it in my lungs.

Shane's condemning and disappointed face looms in my minds eye, along with Lori's and Amy's and Glenn's, the accusation bright in their eyes but really…what have I done wrong? Ok yeah, I might have let the cat out of the bag but the rest of camp was going to find out sooner or later, one way or another. Them finding out now is not the end of the world, no pun intended. But I wouldn't have needed to even say anything in about the food situation in the first place if Shane hadn't put me in that position, against a rock and a hard place. No one would have believed I was going to go hunting with Daryl if they didn't know about current circumstances and, if they didn't believe, well…shit was going to hit the fan and I wouldn't be surprised if Daryl ended up in handcuffs or…well…the apocalyptic equivalent anyway.

A deep irritation bordering on indignation simmers in me at that fact: the fact that everyone just sees the hunter as some rabid dog, good enough to bring some food in but not much else. That they think he would just drag me away to do what? Rape me? Kill me? Hello. That's the other Dixon brother. Daryl would never do anything like that. Why can't they see that? If he was going to do these horribly atrocious things…then why bring me back to camp at all? Why not just have his way with me in the middle of the woods, with no one around to hear me scream, and just kill me there? No one would even know. But Daryl didn't do that. He brought me back, safe and sound save the small gash on my face that was merely an accident. How did no one see this, notice it, and contemplate what that implied?

The answer is simple: because they didn't want to see it. To them, Daryl is just some inbred, white trash, redneck and that's as far as they need to look. It pisses me of. Daryl saved my life; without him chasing after me, which he did not have to do by any stretch of the imagination, I would have waltzed right into Atlanta and right into the arms of thousands of walkers. I'm indebted to him. I wonder if that's why I feel so defensive of the hunter or if it's because something Sensei said to me, the day he gave me the katana that is strapped to my back at this very moment, is still ringing and echoing in my head, as if he had just said them mere seconds ago instead of almost a decade past. Something about good and bad and how things are not always as they appear.

And suddenly, I'm no longer the slightest bit contrite. All I've done is try to help these people and, just like with Daryl, they've thrown it back in my face. Why are they condemning me for trying to keep them fed? Because I'm choosing to be near Daryl? Last time I checked, none of these people are my parents and I'm seventeen years old. I am not a fucking child. In fact, I don't think I ever had the chance to be so anything they say along that line has no fucking bearing at all.

Squaring my shoulders, I lift my chin and meet Shane's still accusatory glower. Something in my face must trip him up because he blinks, the anger slipping a bit, faltering, as surprise takes its place. I do my best not to sneer, do my best to stay as diplomatic as possible because that is what Sensei and Mom taught me. To reign in my wild anger and be human about things like this. In all honesty, I want nothing more than to throw a goddamn fit and punch something.

"Well I'm sorry Shane," I drawl out, answering his previous barb at me. "But it's the truth isn't it? Daryl and I needed some reason to go out or it would just seem like we were lying." My fingers flex against my thighs and I can't stop the last jab. "Not that it's really any of your business if were lying or not but that's besides the point."

Shane gapes at me, at the thinly veiled hostility in my words, and I can see everyone else do the same behind him. I grit my teeth and stand unapologetic.

"We...we were just worried about you. We…we still are," Lori suddenly speaks up and a few others bob their head in agreement. All of them are looking at me, confused hurt in their expressions and something in me wants to apologize but I shut it up and shut it down. I have nothing to apologize for. I have done nothing wrong.

But I'm not completely without understanding. To some degree, I can see where they are coming from. However, ignorance only goes so far. There has to be some give and take here and all they've been doing is taking. Either way, I try to keep as much anger out of my voice as possible, giving Lori the benefit of the doubt even if she won't return the favor to Daryl.

"You don't have to worry," I reply. "Daryl and I have actually gone hunting together in the past." Surprise overtakes the older woman's features and the look is contagious because it spreads like a virus, jumping from one person's visage to the next.

"Yeah," Shane abruptly grunts and I zero back in on him. "And look where that got you." He gestures vaguely at my face and I feel eight pairs of eyes automatically trace the faint scars on my cheeks, my temple, their gazes like fire against my skin.

I try not to fidget in discomfort and school my expression into stoicism. "Accidents. Honest to god accidents and nothing more. Hunting is a dangerous job Shane. Not that any of you would know."

I throw the last comment like a dagger and watch with a dim flare of satisfaction as everyone flinches. It's getting more and more difficult to be diplomatic about this when no one else is even trying and I can feel my calm resolve start to break, shifting along the fault lines. "And speaking of hunting, Daryl and I need to head out before it gets completely dark. Don't wait up. We'll be a day or two. " Without waiting for their comments, or their permission, I spin around and am about to brush past Daryl, not even looking at him, when Shane stops me dead in my tracks.

"No."

Freezing, I stare into the forest in disbelief for a moment before glancing back over my shoulder. "Excuse me?" I ask. My voice is low and quiet, dangerous, the calm before the storm that I feel raging inside of me. The fault lines spread, silk fine webs spidering out in all directions. Shane doesn't appear deterred; if anything, he's more resolved. He squares his jaw and widens his stance, almost as if he's bracing himself.

"I said no," he repeats and I hear the authority of a police officer in his words, the confidence of a man who is used to being listened to. "You aren't going out to the middle of nowhere with nothing but some backwoods hillbilly as your backup."

I don't know what Daryl's reaction to being called a "backwoods hillbilly" is but I damn sure know what mine is. Making a strangled noise in the back of my throat, I'm advancing towards Shane before I can even think, before I can even blink, watching as everyone takes an involuntary step back. They are all looking as me with shocked and stunned expressions, thrown for a loop by this new Audrey they see before them, wondering where the docile one went, the one that smiles and reads to children and does anything anyone asks. Well, here's a fucking news flash. I am that Audrey. I can be kind and, with my background and the memories I still retain, the goddamn memories literally carved into my skin, I do everything in my power to try and help people, be moral and nice and treat people the way I wanted to be treated when I was a little kid growing up. The golden rule goes pretty far with me.

But piss me off and see what happens. I only have so much compassion and so much patience. Exhaust both of those…and just fucking wait and see what I will do.

When I'm a foot away from Shane, who to his credit hasn't flinched, I stop. And wait. And wait. And, finally, when everyone can't hold his or her breath any longer, I speak.

"Shane…my last name is not fucking Walsh. I am not your daughter. You are not my father. So do not presume to tell me what to do like you know fucking better. I understand that you've somehow become the leader of our ragtag group and are trying to make some executive decisions but I am an adult and I can make my own decisions. And, right now, I've decided to go out and hunt with Daryl so no one starves. Understand?"

I speak the words as slowly and clearly as possible, so he will get what I'm saying, not only hear but listen as well. But Shane must be willfully deaf because he just adamantly shakes his head at me and draws himself to full height. For a split second, I have the insane thought that he's going to like beat his chest and assert his male dominance by hollering like a gorilla and I have to curb the instinct to laugh.

"You're only seventeen; in the state of Georgia ya gotta be eighteen to be considered an adult," Shane says, words flat and sharp, ripped from the pages of some law manual and crafted into a sword to stab at me. "You don't have a say and, seeing as I'm a public official, I say that you aren't going. End of discussion."

I'm staring open mouthed at Shane, letting his words tumble in my head, rocks in a dryer, and suddenly, I'm doing this horrible combination of a scoff and a laugh. The resulting sound is nasty, mean, and it's exactly how I'm feeling. "Oh my god," I laugh, shaking my head in disbelief. "What the fuck is this? I'm not asking you to go out for the night to some goddamn party. And, let me reiterate the point of since when have I needed your permission Shane?"

Snorting, I throw out a hand and gesture dramatically around us. "If you haven't noticed, the world has freaking ended. Sorry to burst your bubble but you aren't a "public official" because there is no public anymore. It's just us: less than two-dozen people surviving day to day here. You can't threaten to write me a ticket and, unless you're going to handcuff me to the RV of shoot me in the leg, you can't keep me here."

I don't know when this became less about the food and starving and more about Daryl and me but I can't seem to keep my mouth shut, indignation shoving barbed word after serrated phrase off my tongue. But now, I'm done. Done with arguing and defending and trying to make Shane and everyone else see my side and…hell what was my point again? You know what? Fuck it. I'm just done.

Sneering in disgust, I swivel around and open my mouth to tell Daryl let's go but, in an extreme moment of déjà vu, Shane latches unto my wrist and I am rendered immobile. But unlike when Daryl did it, Shane's grip is tight and unforgiving, nails digging into my skin, and when I'm whirl to demand he let me go, I'm suddenly thrown back three weeks into the past, Daryl at my side, blood on my face, and a wild, unnamable, unexplainable urge to step away from Shane coursing through my veins.

"Audrey," he says and finally, there's a hitch to his voice, anger seeping through the cracks. "You are not going. I let you go and-"

"You aren't letting me do anything," I snap and try to yank my wrist from him. "I'm going and why the hell are you being stubborn about this? I'm trying to help Walsh!" I've never called Shane by his last name before and my mouth feels sour around the word. "I'm trying to get food and here you are stopping me. Do you want us to starve?"

The former, and yes I mean former because he isn't one anymore, can't be, cop scowls down at me like I'm the one being difficult. "Don't be stupid; of course I don't," he growls. I open my mouth to argue but he cuts me off. "But if you go into those woods, you aren't going to come back. You're just a kid and all those wa-"

"I'm not a kid," I snarl. "And that's bullshit. You just don't want me to go cuz-"

"Jesus Fucking Christ!"

The explosive words interrupt me mid-sentence and I whip my head around to see Daryl spitting harshly to the side, aggressive and enraged as he strides forward. He's been quiet all this time, hasn't said a word since Carl ran off, sounding the alarm like Paul fucking Revere, but now I see that he's reached his boiling point. Shane grows tense in front of me, his grip on my wrist tightening to the point of pain, but Daryl only glares at him, a stare that could melt gold, as he approaches.

I pry my tongue off the bottom of my mouth. "Daryl?" I ask, warn, wondering what he is doing but he sneers at me as he passes, eyes malicious and irate, a different man than I had been talking to mere minutes before.

"All of ya'll can argue all ya damn want. Yer wastin my fuckin time." He storms past Shane and I without another word but I call out to him, trying to tug free of Shane but the bastard won't let go and Daryl doesn't stop.

"Damn it Daryl," I curse at his back, watching as the others part to let him past, Lori and Carol drawing their respective children behind them as he draws closer. "Wait a minute! I'm coming with you!"

Finally, the hunter pauses and I have half a moment's time to feel relieved before he throws me a look of contempt over his shoulder, the blue of his eyes like ice daggers, and keeps on walking, stalking away with the words, "Ya ain't worth the goddamn trouble," floating back to smack me in the face.

Then he's gone, weaving through the sparse underbrush back towards camp, not even sparing a glance back at me. The silence that follows the last echo of his footsteps is deafening and all I can hear in the thud of my heart and the harsh panting of my breath. No one says anything and it's like we've frozen in time. Or at least I have. Trapped in some glacier, staring out at the world but unable to move. But then, someone shifts in the grass, steps on a twig, and the sound is like a gunshot that starts a race, kick starting the world again.

Sound comes back to me, the murmurs of Lori and Andrea, the whispers of Amy and Glenn and I can feel all their eyes on me and I'm suddenly so fucking pissed I could cry.

Not even saying a world, I coil the muscles in my arm and wrench my wrist from Shane. There's a split second of burning pain and then my momentum has me stumbling several feet back, my arm colliding so hard with my gut I'm sure I've bruised myself. Shane snaps his head towards me, mouth half open to say something, but then his face goes white and his eyes go wide as they look down and a silent gasp, an exhale of air, rattles out of his mouth. I cast half a glance down but all I can see is red and I don't know if it's blood from my gashed wrist, Shane's nails having carved deep furrows in my skin, or the crimson filter that's descended over my eyes but the sight jerks me into action all the same. Gritting my teeth, I snap my head up and Shane is saying something but I can't hear a word over the roar in my head and I'm stalking forward without meaning too, shoving the bigger man roughly out of the way before I break out into a sprint, barreling past the rest of the onlookers, the wind snatching their comments and cries.

I'm running at a full tilt before I know it, legs catching in brambles and bushes. I don't look back to see if Shane or anyone else is following me; I know they must be. But I'm faster than any of them, save perhaps Glenn, but he can't stop me either because my goal quickly jumps into sight, the blue-grey material of the Dixon tent rising fifty yards in the distance.

Fuck Shane. Fuck all of them. I'm going hunting with Daryl and there was nothing they could do about it. I know, somewhere under the rage, that my fury is overreacting and I usually don't act like this. For the most part, I'm level headed, logical. But fuck, I'm only human and Daryl's words keep looping around in my head, like a broken record, and despite the fact that he's said them before, that time they had been said in jest, joking and teasing. This time around…he sounded almost like he meant them, like I wasn't the worth the trouble, and they simultaneously make me so fucking angry, because it sounds like I'm back to square one again with the damn Dixon bastard,and dig deeper than I want to admit, hurt more than I want to say.

Because "ya ain't worth the goddamn trouble," sounds an awful lot like "ya goddamn worthless bitch," and I thought I had heard the last of that shit the day Social Services finally took me away, five years too late but better than never.

At this point, I don't know if I want to yell at Daryl or just forget what he said and follow him along on to his hunt. There's a wild urge to just get away propelling me forward but, beyond that, it's indiscernible. I'm about to find out though, because I can see him now, thirty-five yards away, thirty, twenty five-

And then I realize he isn't alone, that Merle is standing next to him, and my feet falter and I don't know whether to stop or keep going but, suddenly, the choice is made for me because Daryl abruptly yells something at his older brother, face twisted in rage, and he decks Merle right across the cheek, the crack of bone against bone piercingly loud as Merle is laid out, flat on his ass.

My feet stutter to a stop now, ankles catching, knees knocking together and it's a miracle I don't end up on my face. I remain upright, if only just barely, just in time to see Daryl spit something at his brother, words or saliva I can't tell. He straightens then and looks up and I know he sees me, our eyes clash and collide, and even if I can't tell what's behind them at this distance, I know he sees me at the very least. But he acts like he doesn't. Pretends I'm not even there and just tears his gaze from mine and snatches up his crossbow, storming into the woods behind his campsite before I can even take another breath. The second he disappears, I'm automatically shifting forward to follow, he can't get too far, I can catch up to him.

But then I catch sight of Merle, who's struggling to sit up and he catches sight of me and I can't move because under the blood Merle has gushing from his nose, I can see the fury, directed at Daryl, directed at me, and I know he won't hesitate to shoot me in this moment, if I give him the opportunity, the opening.

I take a step back, my eyes flickering from Merle to the spot where Daryl disappeared, and I consider going around, mind running a mile a minutes. I can backtrack and circle camp and catch Daryl before he gets to far. And yet, the second I half turn to do so, I see Glenn and Amy round the RV, panting, and they see me before I can hide and, within seconds, they are only a handful of yards away. I twist my head the other way and Merle is swiping at his nose with the back of his wrist, glaring promises of death at me and I realize…I'm trapped. Between a rock and a hard place, unable to move, and Daryl's getting farther and farther away and…son of a bitch.

I'm able to spare the woods one last glance, imagining the flicker of Daryl's sleeveless shirt blending into the trees, before Glenn skids to my side and I am shackled, Glenn on one side and Amy on the other, bound and chained and subdued with nowhere to go, the words "ya ain't worth the goddamn trouble", circling an endless drain in my head.

---

TBC :)

(1) This is actually a little thing my own grandmother taught me as a child :] It basically translates into "baby jesus, take the hiccups away. With five little drinks of water, let them stop." It sounds better in Spanish lol x)

(2) Murphy's Law- whatever can go on will. It's personally, the story of my life. T.T

And there we are :) What did you guys think? A lot of stuff happened in this chapter. I read some of your guys' requests and I hope I incorporated enough of them to please :) And, speaking about reviews, THANK ALL OF YOU SO MUCH! :D I had a HUGE influx of reviews last chap and i want you all to know what every single one of them made me SQUEAL in happiness. I just LOVE how much you all love my story :) It really humbles me and makes me feel honored.

That includes all the nonnie (anonymous) reviewers as well :) I do my best to personally PM every reviewer in thanks but I can't to that with nonnie's so i'll do it here :)

Thank you so much:

~Aquice :) And your english was just about perfect so don't worry about that :D I'm glad that you like my humble writings so far and I'm honored that I deserved a review from you.

Zysea :) You aren't a nonnie but I couldnt PM you for some reason so I'm thanking you here :) And i don't know about being one of the best stories out there, I have read some really epic ones, but I'm so happy you think so highly of me X) I hope I keep entertaining you during lunch break and you're welcome for reminding you about the Giver. :) lol

~Sierra :) Norman and Sean were amazingly sweet :) They were just so down to earth and not high off themselves :) Glad you like the detail and there should have been a lot of that in this chap so i hope that made you happy ^^

~just passing by :) I don't know if it's a good thing that i creeped you out but you're welcome? :) haha And i'm awed that you read it in one go o.o As for Daryl and Audrey's relationship, thanks :) I always wanted something natural. I hate when people just automatically jump each others bones right off the bat and then call it love -_- I wanted something different, deeper, and I'm giddy that someone else appreciates it ^^

~Andrea :) No you rock :) lol And i didnt really address Daryl and Audrey's bet but it will pop up soon again don't worry ;)

That's all for now :) Next chapter starts show cannon so stay tuned for that! :D Please keep up the reviews!

Until next time!

~Shadows