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

25. Without Your Hand in Mine

JFC I can't tell you how sorry I am this update has taken .long. I had finals at the beginning of December and then when I came home apparently my family had stacked up 4 months of shit for me to do so I had to run around for a week straight getting shit done. Then it was Christmas and then I got the flu and I must have written this whole thing three times before I was satisfied and *inhales* I'm just so fucking sorry :(

Anyway. This is it! I've finished the first season! :D And it only took a year xD haha But really. A year. And i want to thank each one of you guys for reading and following this for so long! And even to the new comers, you guys keep Audrey's story alive so I thank you from the bottom of my heart! :)) More to come in the A/N at the end but on with the show!

Disclaimer: I own nothing but my OC and her specific plot line. I make no profit from this.

Warnings: language, mentions of gore and thoughts of suicide

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Chapter 25: Without Your Hand in Mine, I Got a Little Lost Along the Way

---

It's like something out of a dream. Or that blank void between consciousness and sleep, where the sun is a steadily growing light against your eyelids, warm and bright and encompassing. It's otherworldly, doesn't seem real, and for just a moment I wonder if I'm already dead and the afterlife really is just a cliché light at the end of a really long tunnel.

But then the light cuts out, the dream fades, and I'm left facing the dark black hole of reality with geeks clambering at my back and an unknown abyss stretching out before me.

My life is only a string of nightmares now. I'd do best to remember that.

People move without hesitation, Rick at the head and Shane not too far behind him. There are barked orders, hushed voices, and then I'm stumbling into the building, Carl's fingers tugging on my belt loop and Daryl's elbow nudging me harshly along. I cast a glance over my shoulder, see sharp blue eyes, a set scowl, and walkers shambling in the twilight beyond. They are so close now; so very close.

"Move," Daryl snaps. His crossbow clips my spine and the pain centers me. I whip my head back around and pay attention to what's ahead, hand slick along the hilt of my katana.

It's massive inside with vaulted ceilings and cold tiled floor. Rick's voice echoes hauntingly as he calls out, "Hello? Hello?!"

His voice returns desperate and frenzied, ricochets in my ears. I glance around as the others do; we look for people, a welcoming committee, anything, but the large, shadowed room appears empty. There's no one here.

A gun cocks, startlingly loud in the silence and I spare a thought for being wrong as I heft my sword up and slide to stand in front of Carl. Around me, the men put their fingers to the trigger and aim into the darkness before us, waiting with bated breath. There's the sound of shuffling steps and then a man steps out of the shadows, a heavy looking machine gun gripped in his shaking fingers. Lori gasps at my side.

"Oh god."

I sympathize. What's worse huh? Torn apart by walkers or by a spray of bullets?

"A…anybody infected?!" the man calls out. His words are high-pitched and reedy. He sounds almost scared.

Rick is the one to answer him, our self-appointed leader. "One of our group was…he didn't make it."

My hands burn at his words, acid where Jim's blood still clogs my pores. The katana shudders in my grip, my heart beats so hard it hurts, and I would have stumbled if it weren't for Carl, clinging to the back of my shirt. He's whimpering, quiet but still noticeable, and I focus on the feel of his small fingers digging into my spine as I shove the images of glassy eyes, bluebrownblue, away. I can't fall apart. Carl needs me; Sophia needs me. I vowed to protect them. Guilt makes me feel heavy but determination keeps me on my feet.

At Rick's words, the man steps further into the light. He's younger than I would have assumed, has almost a full head of blonde hair. Pale and wan, dressed in a thin grey t-shirt and sweats, he would seem downright ordinary if it weren't for the weapon in his hands. That knowledge makes me trust him even less. Something's always wrong with the ordinary ones.

"Why are you here? What do you want?" he asks. His eyes shift over our group, taking in the guns, pausing on my sword, before clicking back to Rick.

"A chance," the former sheriff replies. He hasn't lowered his rifle yet but his voice is pleading.

"That's asking an awful lot these days."

Rick huffs out a laugh and it's tinged with hysteria. "I know. Believe me, I do." He leaves off the please but it's there all the same.

There are a few beats of silence as the man approaches us. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Shane flex his grip on his shotgun, finger itching to pull the trigger. Everyone is tense and on edge, waiting for the shoe to drop. The CDC sign above our heads mocks us, taunts us as if to say you've arrived…possibly only to die. Fitting. My life's always been one big ironic, cosmic joke.

The man stops a few yards away and his eyes sweep us again. This time, however, he looks to our faces instead of our weapons. He pauses on each of the women, stops completely on the children. I wonder how we must look to him, this ragtag group, all sweaty and panting with fear bleeding out of our pores. I think we must seem downright pathetic, nowhere near as menacing as we should be. We must look like such easy targets.

I'm just getting ready to whirl around, hack my way back to the cars because I'd rather die fighting than begging, when finally, after an eternity, the man says, "You all submit to a blood test. That's the price of admission."

Shock is almost a pliable thing in the air. I blink…and blink again. What did he just say? I couldn't have heard right. It can't be that easy.

Rick doesn't share my disbelief. "We can do that," he pants out almost instantly. The man purses his lips…and then drops his gun. My knees almost give out in surprise.

"You got stuff to bring in, you do it now," he orders. "Once this door closes, it stays closed."

The men rush to obey, sprinting back to the doors we stumbled through not a minute ago. Fear leaps into my throat, the walkers had been so close before; surely they must be right beyond the glass doorways. But the men are back within two blinks, shouldering backpacks and duffels. It's only when I see Daryl jog through the door, hefting my hiking pack no less, that I realize I've been holding my breath. I exhale sharply and dots dance before my eyes.

Once everyone's inside, the man goes over to a keypad mounted along the wall and swipes a card. A green light glows and he says, "Vi, seal the main entrance." A whirling sound kicks on and I turn to see the shutters slowly start to drop. "And kill the power up here." There's a beep, as if in acknowledgement, and the lights begin to dim. Suddenly I hear a shuffling noise and a clang. The geeks have reached the doors. I whirl, expecting to see shattering glass and gnashing teeth but, instead, I only catch a glimpse of threadbare shoes and rotten toes through clear glass, right before the shutters slam down and we're left in eerie silence.

For a minute, everyone just stands there, silent and wide-eyed. No one seems to believe this is happening, not even the man that let us in. I wait to wake up in Daryl's truck, in my tent, in a tree, my long lost bed, but I'm left standing here in this dark, echoing room with a handful of terrified survivors pressed in around me. Someone jostles me and I click my eyes over to find Glenn, his brown eyes shining with the same dazed disbelief that's coursing through my veins. Predictably, Rick is the first one to break the silence as he introduces himself, lowers his gun and sticks out his hand. The other man, the stranger, looks down at the proffered limb but ignores it, glances around nervously and exhales shakily.

"Dr. Edwin Jenner," he responds just as the lights flicker, once, twice, and suddenly go out.

#

Dr. Jenner has a flashlight, a small thing, but it leads us to an elevator with minimal stumbles all the same. As we grope through the dark, the doctor rambles on about power conservation and even apologizes as we bump into things and each other. When we finally reach it, the elevator is cramped with all fourteen of us, plus luggage, stuffed in but we manage. In the end, I get crammed in between Daryl and Glenn with Sophia pressed against my front, my arms around her bony shoulders. I can hardly breath however. Glenn's elbow digs painfully into my, thankfully, uninjured side; Sophia's head is a dull pressure against my sternum; and Daryl's knuckles, wrapped around the barrel of a shotgun, repeatedly brush against my jaw, my cheeks, my lips, with each jostle of the elevator. He tries to shift over but there's simply no room. After the umpteenth time, he catches my eye, something tense but unfathomable in his blue orbs. Something in my head says I should smile at him, tell him it's ok, that I don't mind, but I can't manage it. My lips no longer work, only able to pulse dully in pain every time Daryl catches the split in my lip. There's suddenly a metallic taste in the corner of my mouth and my tongue chases it unbidden. Blood blooms along my taste buds, sharp, tasting like copper pennies against my teeth as I worry the once again bleeding crack in my lower lip. I'm just swiping my tongue across it a second time when the elevator shudders and Daryl's knuckle presses into my mouth. I taste salt and grit and Daryl before the hunter wrenches away so hard he bangs into the opposite wall. I stare after him with wide eyes, swallowing, but he won't meet my gaze. Instead, he turns to the man at the head of the elevator.

"Doctors always go around packing heat like that?" I look past Daryl's hand and back at the other man's automatic, now tucked against his shoulder. Sophia presses back closer to me and I curl my arm securely around her collarbone. The doctor half turns to address Daryl's question with a rueful smile.

"There were plenty left lying around," he says and there's a bitter quality to his voice. "I familiarized myself." He glances around the tiny space, takes in how we've all "familiarized" ourselves and goes on, "But you lot look harmless enough." His eyes land on Carl, who stands in the center of us, and his smile softens around the corners as he squints in mock suspicion. "Except you. I'll have to keep my eye on you."

Carl still seems frightened, there's a smudge of dirt across his cheek, but he manages a grin. It's thin and fragile…but there nonetheless. I try to let it fill me with warmth, with hope. It doesn't work, unsurprisingly, and I'm left staring at the gun cocked on Dr. Jenner's shoulder, half waiting for him to turn it on us.

The elevator stops after what feels like ages and we all file out into a long white hallway. No one's there to greet us but cement walls and stark fluorescent lights. There are no doctors, no other survivors. The silence raises the hair along my arms and I gently nudge Sophia back to her mother as we step forward. Everything in me wants to reach for the katana strapped to my spine but I refrain…for now.

We follow Dr. Jenner passed darkened doorways and empty offices. There are no windows and I'm just realizing that the elevator had gone down not up when Carol asks, "Are we underground?"

Jenner stops and glances over his shoulder. "Are you claustrophobic?"

"A little."

"Yeah well…try not to think about it," Jenner replies and then continues on down the hallway. I look up at the ceiling, non-descript white tile, like every public building I've ever been in, even school and shopping center, and think about how many tons of dirt are pressing down on me right now. I think Amy might six feet under but I might be six hundred feet. I might as well be dead and buried.

"Hey kid."

I blink and drop my gaze from the ceiling. Daryl stands a few feet away, dirty and tense, shotgun gripped tight and crossbow slung over an arm, our packs against his spine. His eyes are no less guarded and the blue of them cut like glass.

"Keep up," he grumbles and I find myself walking forward unbidden. I draw abreast of him, our arms brushing, and I think I see a flare of emotion in his eyes before Dr. Jenner's voice echoes down the hallway. Daryl jerks when the words reach us—Vi, bring up the lights in the big room—and he takes a step back, shakes his head.

"Come on." Without waiting for me to respond, he follows the voices down the hallway and I limp along his shadow, oh so very tired now.

A few minutes later, when Dr. Jenner opens his arms wide and gestures around the empty auditorium, vast shadows and dead computers, and tells us he's the only one left, the only heart beating for miles and miles and there is no cure, never was, it takes everything in me to not just buckle to the ground and sleep.

Sleep and sleep and sleep until darkness finally takes me.

I'm so exhausted.

Jenner says he's sorry. I don't even hear him. What's an apology but empty words?

I'm sorry Jim. I'm sorry Amy. I'm sorry Kaleligh and sensei and Mom, Irina, Manny.

I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'msorry.

I've been saying those words for years now and I'll be saying them till my dying day. They really make no difference.

Judging by the shattered, guilty look on Rick's face, I'm guessing he's come to the same realization.

---

Honestly, Daryl ain't surprised in the slightest. He never believed there was cure, always thought it was a pipe dream. That there is only one scientist left, though, that's unsettlin. He thought maybe there'd be a small team. Apparently, that was too fuckin optimistic.

Still, there are no walkers; the whole building's secure. There's AC and electricity and only one thin man with a gun. Things could be a whole lot worse, Daryl decides as they're led down another dim hallway. A whole lot worse than a small damn blood sample.

"In here," the doctor leading them says. He gestures them into what looks more like a classroom than a lab or examination room. The others file in obediently but Daryl hangs back in suspicion, glarin into the small room balefully. The doctor said it was only him, one man one gun, but he might've lied. Daryl tightens his grip on his borrowed shotgun and considers refusin.

But then someone bumps into him. It's a light jostle, doesn't even put him off balance. He knows who it is before he looks back and sure enough, the kids right behind him, blinkin in a daze, breathin on his neck. Her green eyes are glassy but not like before, not distant and detached. They're tired, bone weary, if Daryl wasn't lookin into her face he'd say they're the eyes of some old crone that's seen too many winters. The kid even moves like she's a century older than she is, everythin slow and careful, like she's made of glass under her paper-thin skin. Daryl looks at the splotches of color high on her cheek, under her eye, along her neck, blue and purple and black and thinks the kid's already long since shattered.

"Daryl?"

Caught, the hunter jerks his gaze away and steps back. "Get inside," he says and it has more bite than he intended. But the kid doesn't seem to notice, doesn't even flinch, and she just slips passed him into the small room. When he hears no commotion, no screams or curses, he follows suit.

The others have sat down in scattered chairs, normal lookin and plain. Mothers have their children pulled close to their sides and sit towards the back, the men formin a line between them and the doctor who is fishin around a desk, gloves on and what looks to be a syringe in hand. Daryl skirts him and goes to stand along the far wall, eyes scannin for threats. He finds a lot of nothin. Seems they really are the only ones here.

"I can take that."

Daryl starts a few minutes later when the quiet statement breaks the silence. He takes his eyes off where Grimes is gettin a needle in the arm and turns to find Audrey reachin for him, fingers slidin along his shoulder. He pulls away harshly, collides with the wall.

"What are you doin?" He tries to glare but is unsuccessful. He can't snap at her like he used to, though he tries.

The kid glances up at him with those tired, tired eyes. Shadowed and fathomless, Daryl remembers how she went to pieces in his truck and has a flash of worry that she might do it again. "My pack," she says instead of cryin. Her hand goes to his shoulder again and touches the thick strap diggin into the skin. It takes him a minute to realize what she's talkin about, her backpack that he'd hauled from the car. "I can take it now. You have enough to carry."

Daryl snorts. No shit. He's got his crap and hers, not to mention his crossbow and a heavy ass shotgun. It's an extra fifty pounds he's carrying at least. His back is screamin and his knees ache like hell. He shifts his shoulders, curls his finger along the kid's strap…and just tightens it.

"I got it kid. Don't need ya keelin over cuz then I'm gonna have to carry yer ass too." Avertin his eyes, he focuses on the doctor and Walsh, the gleam of a silver needle and the vial of bright red blood between them. Audrey exhales slowly along his neck, so close he can feel the heat of her skin along his arm. He hears Chinaman call her name on the other side of him and her heat leaves. Daryl thinks she's gone to the chink's side but doesn't look.

So, all in all, he's completely thrown off guard when a hand wraps around his shoulder and nudges him forward, totally tossed for a loop when that same hand tugs the pack down his arm so hard it drops to the floor with a thunk.

"The hell?!"

Daryl whips around, curses on his tongue, only to see Audrey bend down and heft up her pack, sliding it onto her left shoulder with a barely suppressed wince. Her emerald eyes find his when she's situated and he's surprised to see a spark to them, somethin of the spitfire girl that snarled in his face the day they met, that called him out on his bullshit, that wouldn't take no for an answer.

"I don't need to be coddled or pitied," she says to him. Her tone is not angry but there's a firm edge to it. "T…thank you for helping me…but I can help myself too." She stares him down; he doesn't object. Then the chink is callin her again and her eyes drop from his. This time, she does go, slowly and painstakingly, but she doesn't fall. Daryl gazes after her and ignores the itch in his skin that says follow, instead busies himself with the thought of that spark, of how even though it was small and faded quickly…it was still there.

The kid was a survivor, a fighter. He'd give her that.

"Dixon! You're up." Walsh comes to stand in front of him, face slightly pale and pinched. He jerks his head at where the doctor is waitin, vial in hand. Daryl scowls at him and pushes off the wall, pushes past Walsh. He stalks up to the doctor and sticks out his arm. He doesn't bother to sit or set anythin down.

The pale, thin man stares up at him with unease but doesn't say a word as he slips the needle under Daryl's skin and takes his blood. As the small vial fills with scarlet liquid, the hunter can't help but think bitterly that this is the most painless way he's ever given blood.

---

Glenn shifts uneasily beside me. At first, I try to ignore it. After the third time he bumps my shoulder and nearly sends me careening off balance, I realize it's a futile endeavor.

"Are you alright?" I ask at last. He goes still at my side and turns to me with apologetic eyes. I stare back blankly.

Cringing softly, Glenn rubs at the back of his neck, won't necessarily meet my eyes. I find it surprising he's even near me. After Amy, after Ji—

My muscles lock and bones scream and I ground myself in Glenn's shaky words to keep from shaking apart.

"Yeah I fine, I fine," he mutters quickly. Then, Shane calls for Daryl to step up to the plate and he flinches again. "Ok maybe not fine. I uh…don't really like needles."

I blink and turn to watch Daryl stick his arm out, watch the doctor stick the needle in. Blood fills the glass tube and I can't help but think how little the amount is, just a few drops, almost nothing. My mind flashes with pools of the crimson liquid, rivers and oceans of it. The skin of my hands burn in guilt and it is suddenly hard to breathe.

"It's not that bad," I say through numb lips. "Just a small prick and a few drops. Could be worse."

Much worse, much worse. You could be dying, dead, Amy. You could be Jim with his blood scalding in my pores.

Glenn clicks his eyes to me and they are full of guilt; I fear if I stare into those brown orbs too long I will be sucked in and swallowed whole. "Audrey," he starts, hand reaching around to curl around my shoulder. I slide out from under him and walk towards Daryl and Dr. Jenner. In afterthought, I try to shoot my…friend a small smile but it is no more than a pitiful twist of lips. Glenn frowns and looks hurt. I turn away so I don't have to see.

Just as I step up, Daryl steps back. He has a hand clamped on the inside of his elbow and his lips are a thin line. He seems uneasy, stiff, and, by the way he keeps glancing at Dr. Jenner, suspicious. When I shift to take his place, and he slides past me, the smell of blood drifts into my nose. I'm so familiar with the smell by now, grafted into my bones, but for some reason it makes me dizzy and lightheaded. I stumble without meaning to and, suddenly, there's a hand on my elbow and Dr. Jenner is standing right in front of me, pale and unsettled. I open my mouth to tell him thank you, purely out of reflex, when I feel the hand on my elbow tighten and automatically know it's not Dr. Jenner holding me.

Looking over my shoulder, I'm immediately met with hard blue orbs. They look disapproving and a little bit smug, as if to say I told ya so.

"A…are you alright? What's wrong?" Dr. Jenner's voice draws me away from Daryl's eyes. The older stranger has his hands out as if to steady me but they shake and when I look into his light brown eyes, they're frightened. It's not until I see him to that little hop and skip over my face, neck and well…rest of my body that I realize he's cataloguing my injuries and drawing his own conclusions.

"I'm not infected." The words come out unbidden and Dr. Jenner looks even more upset, like he's heard that one too many times before. I swallow and my throat is dry. Daryl's hand tightens almost to the point of pain. "I'm not," I repeat. Dr. Jenner eyes flicker over to the gun propped on the table behind him and I rack my brain for some way to explain.

In the end, it's Andrea who speaks up.

"She's not bit," the older woman speaks up behind me. I don't turn to look. "She got the crap beat out of her by this asshole, nearly killed her."

Some of the suspicion bleeds out of Dr. Jenner's expression. "And…and this uh person?" he questions. Daryl's nails bite into my skin and I cringe.

"He's no longer with us," Andrea says and suddenly, Daryl lets go. I crane my neck to see him but he's stalking away, pack and crossbow and gun hefted at odd angles. He goes to the back corner of the room but doesn't look up. My eyes fall and I see three red drops against the stark, white tile. I know if Daryl were close enough I'd see a thin trail of blood, snaking down his forearm.

A cleared throat draws my attention. Dr. Jenner is staring at me but no longer with fear. "Would you uh care to sit down?" he offers, directing me to a chair he had pulled up. I go to refuse but then Jacqui is abruptly at my side, guiding me down. The pity in their gazes makes my stomach roll and I stare resolutely at my lap. Dr. Jenner is decidedly gentle when he takes my arm; the left one, obviously, because Jacqui whispers to him that the right one is broken like I'm not even there. There's a tourniquet and some pressure, a muttered assurance and then a small prick. It's over before I know it and Jacqui's ushering me out of my seat and over into a new one. Glenn shuffles passed me and something in me wants to reach out and comfort him. But the moment is gone too quickly and I'm shoved onto my ass again until Andrea, the last of us, gives her own ruby vial.

And then we find ourselves at an impasse. It will take hours for our blood samples to process. If our blood was the price of admission, I'm sure Dr. Jenner wanted it for reassurance that we weren't going to suddenly take a bite out of him. Which means…I guess we're stuck in here for the time being. I look around the small classroom area we find ourselves in. Carpet and AC; electricity and the promise nothing is going to some up and tear us to shreds. I've had worse.

I'm just about to find my own corner of the room to hunker down in, I'm on fumes now, I just want oblivion, when Jacqui mutters something about us not eating in days. Dr. Jenner blinks and looks surprised, as if food isn't hard to come by. Like we should have been pulling up to McDonald's all this time.

"Do any of you have food allergies?" he asks rather suddenly. The question is random and we all share glances of confusion before muttering negatives. Well, except for Sophia. She apparently has a minor nut allergy.

Dr. Jenner nods, as if to himself. "I can work around that."

My brow furrows. What the hell does that mean?

#

An hour later and I have my answer.

If I were anyone else, anyone that had dreams instead of nightmares, I'd say I was dreaming, sleeping.

If I were anyone else, I would say I've died and gone to heaven.

But I'm not anyone else. I'm Audrey Lara Bennett. And I have no explanation for what's in front of me.

Bones are spread across the table, picked clean and gleaming in the fluorescent light. There are three separate carcasses on three separate platters. I still can't get my mind around it, staring down at my stained hands.

Since the world ended, I've been surviving on meager foods, tough and gamey and wild if it didn't come in a can. To see this…it almost sickened me.

I mean why the fuck did the CDC of all places…have roast beef, whole chickens and whole turkeys?! Not to mention the spices and condiments to cook them properly. My stomach gurgles happily, for the first time in months, finally full. It tells me not to question anything, that this is a gift horse and not to go looking for teeth. But I've done that one too many times and gotten bitten in the ass for it. My mind won't let me make that mistake, constantly asking what was the catch, where's the next shoe, when's it going to drop? The questions slam around inside my skull, so loud and grating, and I find myself reaching for the wine to drown it out.

Shane tries to stop me at first. He reaches out as if to intercept me, and our eyes clash, brown on green. That stubborn glint is in his gaze, the I'm older and a cop and therefore know better so listen to me glint that I've come to resent. I remember his self-righteousness, god it feels like centuries ago, when he decided I couldn't hunt with Daryl, when I shouldn't go with Glenn into the city. I remember that Shane Walsh is used to being listened to and respected. I remember that…I really no longer give a shit. Keeping his gaze, I wrap my fingers around the neck of the wine bottle, the chicken grease on my hands making my grip slip ever so slightly. Shane purses his lips but doesn't stop me as I pour a glass. He frowns when I take a heavy gulp, the alcohol bitter on my tongue, but doesn't say a word. By the time I'm pouring my second glass, he's resolved himself to look steadfastly away.

Good.

Around me, everyone is in a jovial mood. There's laughter and smiles, rosy cheeks and loud conversation. The small cafeteria is dark beyond the lights above our table and it almost feels as if there's this bubble around us; that nothing else exists. Jacqui says something to T-Dog across the table; he throws back his head and laughs, smacks the table as his body shakes. Beside him, Shane shakes his head but smiles too. The Grimes family looks almost picturesque at the other end of the table, Carl between his parents and Rick and Lori staring adoringly at each other. Sophia and her mother look happy too and completely at ease, the tension that had always resided in the lines of their pale faces now erased. Sitting right next to me, Glenn has tipped over the threshold of tipsy, leaning heavily into my side and talking loudly into my ear. Dale looks fondly at the two of us as he refills our glasses and I quickly avert my eyes, not liking what I had seen in his.

Someone curses quietly, so quietly that in the din of happy voices, I find myself turning towards the sound. Daryl sits off from the rest of us, perched atop the small bar that Dr. Jenner had pulled the liquor from. There's a bottle of what looks to be whiskey at his lips, half finished, and when he drops his arm there's a dark swatch of cloth in the middle of his chest. Looks like he missed his mouth a little. For the first time tonight, I feel my lips almost twitch into a smile.

"There it is."

Tearing my eyes away from Daryl, I turn and see Glenn staring at me with a sloppy grin. "There what is?" I ask, lips dipping into a frown. Glenn's grin dims and he reaches out, fingers brushing the corner of my mouth.

"You were smiling," he said. His brow furrows and he looks upset. "You don't smile anymore."

Something in me stirs, abruptly angry, and words like acid bubble up my throat. But looking at Glenn now, dark eyes wet, pale face morose and drunkenly open…I can't bring myself to do it. He's still my friend, somewhere under all the pressure in my chest.

"I'm just tired," I say in lieu of the other words battering at the back of my teeth. I reach up and grasp Glenn's hand that hand traveled to cup my scratched cheek. Curling my fingers with his, I draw our hands to lie on the table. Glenn still looks sad but is too drunk to argue. He just nods and drops his head to my shoulder, bill of his baseball cap clipping painfully against my jaw.

"'M tired too."

I reach around with my left hand, despite the flare of pain in my ribs, and pat his head awkwardly. He sighs, breath wine sour, and presses his face into my neck. I reach for my glass and chug the remaining dregs, draining Glenn's too when I'm done. My head swims and my face feels too warm. It's not enough though. My hands still burn hotter, the wine still looks too much like blood, and every time I close my eyes all I can see is an alternating slide show of Jim and Amy and Kaleigh, all these bodies, so many accusing eyes.

When no one is looking, I grab the bottle of vodka that lies abandoned, looked over for the sweeter wine. It's clear and tastes like fire going town, burns through my throat and eats a hole in my stomach. Rick looks over when I've downed half the glance and chuckles.

"Wine too much for you huh?" he asks with a grin. His cheeks are red and there's a fine sheen of sweat along his brow. "Water helps take the edge of he says." I almost burst out laughing, settle for smiling lazily, feeling slightly hysterical. He thinks it's water. I don't correct him.

"Hey!" Carl's voice cuts through the haze of my vision. He's tugging on his dad's sleeve indignantly, his face twisted into what should be a scowl. He's accomplished a pout. "Why does Audrey get to have some?! I want to try!"

Lori swallows her red mouthful hastily and shakes her head. "Oh no, no, no," she says, waving a finger in her son's face. "You are not having any wine."

"Aww come on! Mooom!"

Everyone laughs raucously and I find the noise grating. Taking another gulp of my "water", I hope to drown the noise out.

Dale stands up and refills everyone's wine. Glenn squints at his empty glass, mumbles that he doesn't remember drinking it, and waves the older man on. "You know," Dale starts and his speech is slightly slurred. "In Italy, children have a little wine with their dinner." He takes Lori's glass and grins at her as he pours. "And in France too!"

Lori, more than a little inebriated, reaches out and places her hand on Carl's glass, which suddenly has wine in it. I frown at the sight and try to remember when that happened, fail and end up taking another swig of burning fire.

"Well, when Carl is in Italy or France, he can have some then," Lori says. I want to point out that there probably isn't an Italy any more or a France but my tongue is heavy and sour in my mouth. It rolls around my teeth, a writhing thing, but I can't seem to control it.

Rick laughs and cajoles his wife, charming smile and blue eyes. Everyone shouts encouragement, even Glenn slurs something against my jaw, and Lori finally relents. Carl looks gleeful and snatches his cup up, puts it to his lips and swallows. His face contorts immediately and his tongue flops out.

"Eww!" More laughter, his mother pressing a kiss to his hair. "That tastes nasty!" The young boy shakes his head and reaches for more soda. Shane helps him pour it and ruffles his hair across the table.

"Just stick to soda pop there, bud," he says and his eyes suddenly click to mine. I pause, almost empty glass halfway to my lips and I know he doesn't think it's water. I also know he disapproves. I don't care. I down the glass and eye the bottle a few feet away, wondering when no one will be looking next.

Glenn beats me to it, however, grabs the bottle and takes a healthy swig right from the neck. He sputters and chokes, eyes watering and I find myself laughing. Someone quickly joins in and I look up. I know that laugh, deep and short and a little mocking. Daryl meets my eyes from the bar, flushed under the dirt on his cheeks, and points with his bottle of whiskey.

"I was wonderin how red Chinaman's face could get," he snorts. I giggle because Glenn's cherry now, rapidly turning maroon. More laughter joins in, I pat the still gasping boy's back and he falls into my neck again. When I look up, Daryl is staring at me with this peculiar expression. I can't name it, the edges are all too fuzzy, and then there's this ringing noise and Rick is standing up.

"It seems to me we haven't thanked our host properly," he announces. Dr. Jenner looks up in surprise from his separate table. His glass remains mostly untouched, the burgundy liquid rich and full. Despite the glaze to his eyes and the way he's slightly off balance, Rick's voice is surprisingly clear and steady. He makes some kind of speech; I can't track it. Then there's a toast and cheering, Daryl even shouts Booyah from his perch and I realize there's only a few swallows left in his bottle. Rick beams and everyone beams with him. I find it odd, that everyone looks to him now, a self-appointed leader. I wonder how Shane feels about this.

"So when are you gonna tell us what the hell happened here, doc?"

The laughter slows, smiles freeze. Shane stares at Dr. Jenner with piercing eyes. "All the other doctors, that were supposed to be figuring out what happened, were are they?"

Rick clears his throat and sets down his glance. People shift in discomfort and unease. I reach for the vodka again. "We're celebrating Shane," Rick says. The easygoing quality of his voice is gone and he sounds almost scolding. "Don't need to do this now."

Shane scoffs and the sound is scornful. Being replaced as leader doesn't seem to sit well with him. "Whoa, wait a second. This is why we're here right? This was your move," he says at Rick. "Supposed to find all the answers. Instead we uh…we found him." He laughs and jerks a thumb at Dr. Jenner who looks vaguely sick. "Found one man. Why? Come on man. Jim deserves an answer."

The name, said aloud, is like a knife to the gut. The air is pulled from my lungs and I'm left gasping, vision bursting with flares of color, all redscarletred. My throat feels tight, there's something pressing down on my chest, and tears burn my eyes.

"Thank you."

"Thank you."

"Please Audie. Don't let them take me."

Fire pools in my stomach and I think I've finally been torn apart, blood filling me up, internally bleeding. But then I taste the bitter after sting of vodka and I realize I've just taken another gulp. The alcohol pushes the memories away and I going for another drink when Jenner starts talking.

"Well, when things got bad, a lot of people just…left, went off to be with their families." His eyes travel around the table and they are deep and brown and sad and I don't like them very much. I stare instead at the pockmarks on his cheeks and try to trace patterns out of them as he continues. "And when things got worse, when the military cordon got overrun, the rest…bolted."

Shane frowns and looks unconvinced. "Every last one?" His tone is very sharp, confrontational. He's always up in people's faces.

Dr. Jenner looks irritated by the question. "No. No, many couldn't face walking out the door. They…opted out. There was a rash of suicides." He grows quiet and looks off to the side and I can't see his sad, sad eyes anymore. "That was a bad time."

Silence follows his story…until Andrea breaks it. I don't look at Andrea either, haven't since we got here. She looks a lot like Amy. Maybe cuz they're sisters. I don't know. It hurts though.

"You didn't leave," she tells Dr. Jenner. She sounds too…sturdy. I try to think if she had anything to drink but can't remember. "Why?"

"I…I just kept working, hoping to do some good."

I snort, I don't mean to, and mutter to myself, "That's stupid. There's nothin left to do."

Glenn goes rigid next to me and his lips skate the skin on my neck. It feels…wet. He groans and levers himself up, fixes Shane with a watery glare. "Dude, you are such a buzzkill man," he slurs. Shane almost looks guilty and drops his eyes. Everyone is silent, the good mood gone.

I reach for the vodka, tilt my head back, and let the word narrow to the lava scorching down my throat.

#

The ceiling is white. It's textured, bumpy. I raise my hand above me and imagine feeling the bumps beneath my fingers. My fingers start to tingle and then I can't feel them so I drop my hand and instead let my eyes do the work. There are three water stains and two cracks on the ceiling. I trace them, find shapes and patterns, make them move, until my eyes burn and water. But I can't close them. I'll fall asleep if I close them. I don't want that. Not at all.

Sighing, I lever myself up into a seat position. The room wavers, my stomach dances, and I stare resolutely at my bare feet until it stops. My toenails are naked and bare and I wiggle them, thinking that at least something of my skin is unmarked. But then my bandaged foot catches my eye and I frown as I remember the discoloration of my ankle, black and blue and ugly. My ribs had been no better; my wrist worse. Fresh from the shower, water dripping from my hair, I had stood in front of the mirror and stared at my too thin, broken body with disinterest. My hipbones were too sharp, my skin pale and pallid where it wasn't bruised and cut. I looked like a skeleton. Gross. I turned away from the mirror and got dressed in the main room, redid my bandages and ignored the blood that I could still feel on my hands. I look at them now and smile at their red tinge, flex my fingers and think of red, condemning Rorschach blots across my knuckles. Like Lady Macbeth, I can't get my hands clean. (1)

When the red starts to hurt my eyes and my head and my chest, I look away, try to find something in the room to grab my attention. I can't remember how long ago Jenner led us to the rooms, how long ago people slurred goodnight. I'm restless, though. I don't wanna sit. But the room is small and offers me nothing, a desk and some bookshelves, two water stains and three cracks. Or something like that. I…I don't know what I want to do but I know I can't do it in here. But this is the CDC, high walls and cement and six hundred feet under. It's my refugee camp, my salvation, just a few months and miles and deaths removed. There has to be something to do around here. Pushing off the couch, I stagger to my feet. There's a pulse of pain in my ankle but it's very distant, too far down and too much alcohol in between. I like it. I should have started drinking sooner.

"Drink, drink, drink, drown, drown, drown," I hum to myself.

I don't know why but on my way out I dig through my pack and fish out my journal. Maybe I'll find Carl and Sophia and read to them. Dr. Jenner said somethin bout a rec room. I think…

The doorknob is a little tricky to handle. I have to squint and fight with it. The mental is cold under my skin and my fingers keep slipping, numb and slick, slick, slick with bloodredblood. When it finally does open, it catches me off guard. I tumble through the doorway, close my eyes because I don't want to see the ground when it hits me…but I don't hit the ground. I hit something though, warm and soft, moving. A body. I've hit someone. The alarm that should burn through me is delayed and sluggish; the thought walker doesn't even compute. Blinking at the warmth I'm leaning against, not moving away like I should, I look up and find Glenn's brown eyes looking right back down at me.

"Whoa! Are you ok?" he asks and his words come out funny.

That's a weird question. I don't know how to answer it. What's ok? I'm alive. Is that ok? And drunk. That's more than ok. For some reason I don't think that's what he's asking for so I settle for, "The doorknob wouldn't let me out." Hmm…my words sound funny too.

Glenn laughs at that. Maybe that was the right answer. He smells clean now, no more sweat or dirt. He's in sweat pants and a t-shirt. He's not wearing a hat. I frown and reach up, run my fingers through his hair. It's soft and slightly wet, not greasy and gritty. I curl my fingers because I like the feel.

"You look weird without a hat," I tell him honestly. I press my hand down on the top of his head, try to hide his hair and imagine it's a hat. It kind of works. "You should always wear a hat. Glenn wears hats."

"All my hats are dirty."

"Glenn wears hats," I say firmly and he nods in acceptance.

"Ok."

The two of us stand there while I try to push all his hair under my hand, pulling it away from his forehead, when he suddenly squints at me. "Wait. Where are you goin?" His eyes drop and he sees my journal, reaches for it clumsily, but I hold it out of reach. For some reason, I don't want him to see it. Something tells me it's a secret but I don't know why.

"I dunno," I say when he pouts at me. "I can't sleep. I was gonna see if Carl and Sophia wanted to read a bed time story."

Glenn makes a half aborted gesture down the hall, yawns around the words, "Carl and Sophia went to bed. I saw them a few minutes ago."

I frown and drop my hand from his hair. It falls back into his eyes. "Oh…well…" I trail off. I don't know what to do now. Maybe I can find my way back to the cafeteria and see if there's any more drinks. But not wine. The wine tastes bitter and I don't like it.

However, before I can move, Glenn slides in close and breathes in my face. "Do you wanna go to the rec room?" he whispers like a secret. His eyes are dull like marbles and there's a weird smile on his face. "There were books in there. You like books."

I do like books. But I like drinks too. Can I have both? Both sounds good. But I want drinks first. Pursing my lips, I look longingly down the hallway where the cafeteria was and shift to go but Glenn grabs my wrist suddenly and pain flashes white behind my eyes.

"OW!"

Crying out, I shove Glenn away and I collide with the wall behind me. Tears sprint to my eyes and my stomach roils, the alcohol threatening to come back up as my wrist screams in agony. The pain's too close, the break too bad. It hurts.

"Au…audrey?! Oh god. I'm sorry! I'm so sorry! I didn't mean…I just wanted to show you…I'm sorry!"

Glenn starts towards me but I slide away along the wall. He takes another step forward, I slide another foot back, gritting my teeth at the pain. He stops and stares at me and his eyes are wet too, his lip trembling. He looks miserable. But why? His wrist isn't broken.

"I'm sorry Dree," he sniffs and Amy's nickname hurts even worse than my wrist. "I'm sorry I hurt you. I'm sorry…you don't like me anymore."

That gets my attention, draws me away from the pain. Still cradling my wrist to my chest, I tilt my head at the young man that stands in front of me hanging his. "What…what do you mean I don't like you? You're my friend. I like you."

Most of the time anyway. When he's not being suffocating. When's he's not asking a lot of questions. But I don't say that. Something tells me I shouldn't say that.

Glenn snaps his head up and he looks happy now, amazed, his eyes bright and gleaming now. "You do?" he whispers like he can't believe it. I nod to confirm and he grins from ear to ear. It's a little lopsided and I can tell how chapped his lips are because he's getting closer and his breath still smells like wine even though he showered but he tastes like vodka and…

Oh.

Oh.

I freeze in shock as Glenn's lips press lightly against mine. My brain stutters to a halt and I can't move. Glenn sighs and leans in closer, his mouth firmer; his hands cradle the back of my skull and he's kissing me. Glenn is kissing me. I'm kissing Glenn.

"Glenn is cool and all, and kinda cute in a dorky way, but I think he's like…best friend material. I don't think I'd ever date him. Would you?"

Amy's voice filters through my head and this time it doesn't hurt. It's just confusing. Because I don't like Glenn. I mean I like Glenn but I don't…like Glenn. I told Amy that. At least I think I did. But Glenn's kissing me. Does this mean Glenn likes me? What do I do? I…my head hurts. I don't know what to do and Glenn is backing me up against a wall and he's panting into my mouth and that's his tongue and I can't.

Clamping my lips shut, I twist my head to the side and Glenn's mouth lands against my jaw. He breathes there for a moment, moist and hot, before I wiggle my left hand between us and push against his chest.

"Stop," I try to say but it comes out no more than a harsh rasp. "Please…stop."

Glenn does. He stops…and he pulls away. My eyes fall to his lips and they are red and gleam wetly. My head pounds and I drag my eyes up to meet his. I wish I didn't.

They are dark, so dark, brown bleeding into black. They are endless, bottomless, and so very, very sad. His expression is contorted, shaking lips pressed tightly together, brow furrowed and lined. Every inch of him screams hurt and I'm…lost.

Suddenly, Glenn stumbles back, careens into the other wall. I reach after him unbidden but he's shaking his head. My hand falls listlessly to my side. Glenn laughs and it's bitter. He won't meet my eyes. "Had to try right?" he says. I'm confused and thrown for a loop, I want to ask him what he means but he cuts me off.

"Good night Audrey. I'm…sorry." With that, he turns and staggers off down the hall, hand pressed to the wall to keep his balance. He goes a handful of doors down and then slips into a room on the right. He doesn't look back; he doesn't say another word. The click of the lock echoes through the hallway and I'm alone with my head pounding and my wrist pulsing and my mouth tasting bitter.

I stare after Glenn for I don't know how long, wondering what just happened, trying to get my head on right. But nothing makes sense and I feel sick. Blindingly stooping down, I pick up my journal from where it had fallen to the floor. The leather creaks in my hand and I hug it to my chest, closing my eyes and letting my feet take me to the only place I can think of.

---

There were no beds, the doctor had said. They'd have to make do. Like the offices were just bare cement and wooden chairs. Tch. Daryl stares at "his" office and takes the final swig off his bottle of Jim Beam. The room's bigger than half his old house, with a huge leather looking couch and throw pillows. Daryl's slept on worse.

He moves into the room slightly staggerin; drops his things by the door and shuts it after him, throws the lock. He's tired as fuck and more drunk than he should be. Somewhere at the back of his mind, Daryl knows it was stupid to drink this much, that he should be on his guard, always, cuz he has no one else to watch his back now. But he couldn't help it. The shit was there and there were no walkers, couldn't be, everything shut up and out. So he took a bottle and chugged it. His head swims and he stumbles over to the in suite bathroom, empty bottle of bourbon fallin from his lax fingers. It rolls across the carpet and under the big desk but Daryl ignores it and throws open the bathroom door.

Chrome and tile, glass shower and big mirrors. City folk. Spoiled as fuck.

Daryl collapses on the toilet and tugs at the laces of his boots. He kicks them to the side and starts on the buckle of his belt when something occurs to him and he walks out into the main room again. He snags his crossbow from where it was propped next to the door. He may be drunk but he ain't gonna be caught without protection. Draggin the crossbow into the bathroom, he leaves the door ajar and strips out of his grimy shirt and stiff, dirty jeans. He'll wash them after he washes himself.

The water's hot when he steps in and he curses before gettin the temperature right. He tilts his face into the spray and just stands there, lets the dirt run off him in brown streams. Brain hazy and blood warm, he scrubs all the crap of the last few days off him. He strips away the quarry dirt; he strips away the pyre's soot; he strips away the blood, his own and others, and the sweat and his brother and the kid's tears he can still feel cloggin his pores. He lets it all wash off him and circle the drain between his feet and doesn't give them a second thought. He lets his mind go blank cuz he's full and drunk and tired and he just doesn't care bout shit anymore. It's a warm shower, his first and months, and he's gonna take it for what it was worth.

And then he's gonna sleep on that fuckin couch and not give two shits for the others and they can just let him be. He'll sleep for days and eat and drink and sleep some fuckin more.

As if the universe is flippin him off, just as he's finished think that, someone knocks on his door. Daryl freezes, thinks maybe he heard wrong, prays he did, but the sound repeats, quiet and persistent. Goddamn it. ]He snarls and turns off the water, pissed even if it had started to grow cold.

As he searches for a towel, Daryl thinks that if it's Walsh or Grimes he's gonna give them a warnin and slam the door in their faces. First the door, and if they didn't leave, his fist.

The knockin continues.

"I'm comin," he barks and yanks on a pair of jeans over his still wet legs.

Stalkin over to the door, he throws it open ready to spit in Walsh's face…only to glare over the top of Audrey's head. He blinks and the insults wither and die on his tongue. The kid stares up at him, green eyes big and bright and…begging. Surprises filters through his veins, overlappin the alcohol.

"O…oh. You were showering," she says and her eyes fall to his bare chest. His cheeks burn and he crosses his arms in front of him.

"What d'ya want?" It's the middle of the goddamn night. The kid should be fuckin sleepin, passed out on her own couch.

But she's not. She's standin six inches from him and frownin, the bruises on her face twistin in the dim light of the hallway. He wouldn't know or anythin but he thinks she looks upset. "What happened here?" she asks. Her hand suddenly reaches out and stops just a hair's breath from his ribs. He can feel the heat from her fingers and it takes him a minute too long to realize she's talkin bout the bruises the vatos left behind. He squirms and scowls.

"Nothin," he growls, droppin his arms to cover the shadowed bootprints. He's not thinkin bout Atlanta or those vatos or…or nothin. "Look kid what are ya—"

"I can't sleep," she blurts out. He hadn't noticed before but her speech is slurred. He narrows his eyes and takes in the glaze of her own, the way she sways on her feet. She's drunk, higher than a Georgia pine. He tries not to snort.

"And? What's that got to do with me?"

The kid bites her lip and then flinches when it irritates the split. Her hair is damp and the longer ends stick to her neck, her jaw line. She looks like a wet puppy and Daryl tries to keep up his scowl. "Everyone else is asleep. Can…can I come in?"

Daryl balks and almost chokes on nothin. Can she what? What the hell is she askin? He stares at her, small and thin and bruised in his doorway, and thinks maybe he's dreamin. Except he wouldn't dream of this. He wouldn't. Cuz that's…stupid.

Fuck his head is pulsin.

He thinks bout turnin her away, tellin her to get to bed and sleep it off, but then she just kinda stares at him and she looks pathetic and he can't be an ass, doesn't have the energy for it. Especially when she breathes out, "Please?" Too tired to argue, and rememberin his debt, Daryl opens the door and steps back. She slips inside and he thinks just ten minutes and then he'll kick her out.

The kid's limpin towards the desk at the back of the room when he turns around. Watchin her gait, his eyes go to her ankle to see new bandages…and a lot more bruises and scrapes than he realized. She's wearin sleepin shorts that hit her mid thigh and what looks to be a guy's grey tank top so her arms and legs are bare. Daryl abruptly thinks Chinaman when he sees the shirt, feels hot under his skin, but then he reads the letterin on the back.

LINARDOS

Dalton High Track Team

Dalton…she's from Dalton. He remembers her shoutin that the day they met, blood trailin down her cheek, her green eyes full of tears. And the track team…he can see that shit. The way the kid ran from him though he woulda guessed cross-country. But that's a guy's shirt...and the kid's last name was Bennett. Daryl frowns at the bold crimson letterin in a stupor. Then his drunken mind whispers that "Linardos" was her boyfriend and Daryl is glad that the kid's turnin round and talkin now cuz he almost punched himself.

"Seems you finished it," she says and waves the empty bottle of Jim Beam that had been under the desk at him. She almost pouts when she asks if has anymore. He's bout to say no, cuz honestly he hadn't thought to grab more from the cafeteria, but then he suddenly remembers somethin and, cuz he wants some more too now, he goes over to his duffle and rifles through it. A few minutes pass, more than they should but Daryl can't get his fingers and his goddamn brain to work together, and he finally fishes out the bottle of Jack Daniels he found on his last hunt. The one he meant to share with…

"Here," he grunts. He twists the cap off and takes a gulp before he hands it to the kid. It burns on the way down and he relishes in it. Audrey ambles up to his side and takes the bottle with a small smile, puts the bottle to her lip and swallows. This close, she smells of soap, clean skin, and a little bit of alcohol. Her face pinches and she shakes her head at the potency. Daryl laughs and takes the bottle back.

"Can't hold yer liquor kid?" he mocks. She frowns at him and her eyes are green as glass.

"Can too. Just…not used to it." To prove her point she lunges out to grab the bottle, misses, and pitches forward. Her slight body collides with his chest and he stumbles, off balance with liquor and surprise. They titter for a moment and then the momentum knocks them back unto the couch. Audrey groans against his collarbone, breath hot, and rolls off a split second later. Daryl blinks into thin air, frozen with shock, shovin away the thought of her thin bones pressed hard against his.

"Ow," the kid breathes next to him. He starts at the exclamation and goes to stand up but she beats him to it. Fumblin and jerky, the kid clambers to her feet only for her knees to buckle halfway up. She ends up slidin to the ground, back against the sofa, legs splayed out in front of her. "Ow," she says again and this time it's a whine. Her head flops back, her neck, with Merle's dark fingerprints, bared to him, and her eyes lazily settle on his face before slippin out of focus.

"I fell," she states sadly and Daryl just stares at the sprawled figure at his feet. He doesn't know what to say, doesn't know what to do, the kid's drunk and so is he and maybe they're friends but he ain't gotta say anythin bout it. He glances at the bottle still in his hand, a splash of whiskey trailin down his wrist from the fall, and takes a swig. It's smoother goin down now and Daryl slouches as warmth pools in his gut.

On the floor, Audrey wiggles around, wincin at aggravated bruises. She stays quiet for Daryl doesn't know how long, mutterin under her breath as he puts a dent in the Jack.

"Can I have some more?" Daryl looks down and the kid's neck is craned back again, her hand reachin for him. He's bout to tell her no, she's on her fuckin ass and had enough, but she ain't his kid and he ain't Walsh. He hands over the bottle silently and she fumbles it to her mouth. As she drinks, she stares at him, eyes hazy and unfocused. After her third swallow, she cradles the bottle to her chest and gestures sloppily at him with her chin.

"Who's Lilah?" she slurs. Daryl frowns at her and then goes rigid, a spot high on his left pec burnin hot. He tries to ignore her but she's persistent, puts the Jack down and points at his chest. "You…your tattoo. It…it says Lilah right?" She squints and leans forward, tries to read it better, but Daryl jerks to his feet and staggers to his duffel. His clothes are all dirty, caked in dirt and dried sweat, they fuckin reek, but he yanks on a shirt and buttons it up. His fingers fumble and the buttons come out uneven but he ends up covered. He looks back at the couch and the kid's starin at him. He scowls at her and, for the first time in a long time, the expression is hateful.

"None ya damn business," he snaps at her. Cuz it's fuckin not. She needs to shut up, she has no idea and—

"Was it your wife? O…or girlfriend?" Daryl freezes, blood burnin hot and cold. The kid is starin at him with wide eyes, one leg tucked under her, bottle between her thighs. There's this curious, earnest light in her drunken expression but Daryl feels anger sear hot through his veins. He bares his teeth and jerks his head at the door.

"Leave," he grunts. Audrey blinks and her mouth falls open.

"W…what? N…no wait. I didn't…I'm sorr—"

"Get the fuck out!" Daryl's drunk and he's tired and he's pissed. He doesn't realize he's movin till the kid scrambles to her feet and backs away. It's the fear in her eyes that finally stops him, bright and sharp and cuttin. He grinds to a halt and they are standin on opposite ends of the couch. Audrey pants, eyes big and frightened and the alcohol burns in Daryl's gut. He feels sick and disgusted cuz he knows she's seein Merle, seein the poison they share in blood, and waitin for the next blow.

---

Daryl's angry. I didn't mean to piss him off. I was just curious. The tattoo is large and black, the name prettily written with flairs off the ends. (2) I like it and I just wanted to know. I didn't even mean to say it; the words just came out. Fuck. Fuck. My head swims and my heart hammers painfully beneath my ribs. Daryl stands a few feet away, breathing harshly, bottle clenched in his fist. His blue eyes are wild and hard and my head keeps thinking MerleMerlehe'sgoingtohurtyou. But I don't really think that. Daryl's not like Merle. I know that. Daryl saved me and he…he fed us, the squirrels and the deer, and the stitches he did and then…Jim…he didn't…I…

"I'm sorry," I gasp, head spinning, Jim's face and blood splashing against the back of my eyes. "Sorry."

I try to go around him, get out, out the door and go somewhere…else but my foot catches on the bottle of Jack on the floor, it tips over, and I fall to my knees. No one catches me this time and the impact jars my bones, makes every bruise burst with pain.

The silence that follows rings in my ears. Daryl doesn't move, doesn't say a word, and I stare at the whiskey stain in the carpet, tracing the flashes of color that come with each pulse of pain. I don't know how long I kneel there but all of the sudden Daryl is standing in front of me, picking up the Jack, nearly gone now. I don't mean to but I flinch away. Daryl steps back.

More silence. I don't know where Daryl is, out of my line of sight. I think maybe he left but I don't want to look up because if he did…I'm alone. And that means he hates me. I don't want him to hate me; I never did. I've always just wanted to be his friend but he never wanted it and now he hates me cuz I killed his brother like I killed Jim and Amy and Kaleigh and I asked him about his tattoo and I shouldn't have because maybe his wife or girlfriend Lilah is dead and I shouldn't have asked and—

"My ma."

I start at the quiet slur and snap my head up. Daryl is on the other side of the room, near the door, staring at his bo—bare feet. His feet are bare. I tilt my head at the sight, used to his boots, but then I remembered he said something. His ma…his mother? A piece of hair hangs in my eyes and I tuck it behind my ear.

"Y…your mom?" My gaze goes to his chest again but he has a shirt on. I frown at it, thinking I can make it go away, but the green, plaid material doesn't move.

Daryl scowls at my question. He still looks pissed but his eyes aren't so hard. They remind me rivers and lakes and an ocean I've never seen. He takes a drink from the remaining Jack and nods curtly. Oh. Okay then.

"My mom's name was Lisette," I tell him abruptly. His eyes finally click to mine and they're confused. I'm confused too. Why did I tell him that? I'm not supposed to talk about that though I can't remember why.

Suddenly, a thought occurs to me. "Lisette and Lilah," I giggle. "LLLLLisette and LLLLLilah. They both start with L!" For some reason, this is really funny to me and I clamp a hand over my mouth to stop the giggles from spilling out. It doesn't help and I collapse sideways, leaning on the couch still laughing.

"Uh kid?"

I loll my head back on the sofa cushions and look up at Daryl, mouth trembling with a smile. The older man is staring at me like I have two heads and I reach over to see if something is growing out of my shoulder because my one head hurts already and I don't want double the headache. My fingers brush something hard and warm and I start in surprise—do I really have a second head?!—but when I turn my head all I see is the black spine of my journal inches away from my face, resting on the couch cushions. I frown at the sight, wondering how that got there, when I remember something.

"Oh! Oh!" I scramble for the book and pull it into my lap. The pages flutter open and something falls out. I pick it up gingerly and grin at the item in my hands. "Look," I call to Daryl. "See?" I hold my hand out and he stares at it for a while, not moving. My smile slips and I drop my hand, stare down into my lap.

Mom smiles up at me, frozen and pretty. I don't remember where the picture was taken but I know it was an ambush deal. Mom's blue eyes are surprised though her smile is easy, and the angle is off balance. I trace her dark red hair with the tip of my finger and suddenly feel sad. "This is my mom," I say quietly. The floor creaks and Daryl's bare feet peek into my peripherals. "Her name was Lisette." Now that he's closer, I turn the picture towards him again. He stands over me and looks down at it. His blue eyes—blue, blue, they look like Mom's—click to mine after they take in the image.

"Ya said that." I frown. Did I? I can't remember. Daryl hesitates for a second but then sits back down on the couch. As far away from me as he can but…he's not yelling anymore. That's good right?

Hoping it is, I slip the picture back into my journal but a flash of color catches my attention. I follow it and find myself staring at brightly colored in, bright red and dark blue. The words swim uneasily before my eyes but they jar a memory. Biting my lip, I reach over carefully and nudge Daryl's jean clad leg. He jerks but doesn't move away.

"What?"

I try to turn to show him but my ribs scream in protest. Wincing at the pain, I lift the book a little instead so he can see over my shoulder. "Our bet," I remind him. "Remember? I…I bet you something. Something about poems…oh! I bet I could find a poem you liked!" I look behind me and smile at him, memories of blue lakes and blue eyes and nice words. "Did you forget?"

Daryl purses his lips and doesn't respond for a moment. Then he snorts. "Not that old kid," he grumbles. "Just thought ya gave up already."

"Never! I'm still going to win. Here. I'll show you!"

---

Daryl watches as the kid shifts so her shoulder is pressed into the couch and she's half facing him. She drops her chin but he can see her brow his furrowed and her tongue peeks out of the corner of her mouth. She's concentratin real hard and Daryl wants to roll his eyes. But he doesn't. He humors the kid cuz...cuz she looked like she was gonna cry, starin at her Ma's picture.

Speakin of that, he doesn't know how to feel bout her just droppin bits of info on him like she did, these pieces of her past, piece of herself. It confuses him, makes his head ache, so he chooses to ignore it, focusin instead on the kid's voice as she starts to talk.

"I…I like this one. It's by Robert Frost." She clears her throat and brings the book closer to her face. Daryl smirks when he realizes she can't get the words to fully focus. But then she starts to recite.

Some say the world will end in fire,

Some say in ice.

From what I've tasted of desire

I hold with those who favor fire.

But if it had to perish twice,

I think I know enough of hate

To say that for destruction ice

Is also great

And would suffice. (3)

Her speech is still a little slurred but her voice is quiet and firm, just like every other time she's read. He still doesn't understand how she likes these words so much but…maybe…he likes that she still likes them; that she's still the stubborn ass kid that he dragged back to the quarry. He'd take that stubborn, mouthy her any day. Better than that detached robot from the quarry, with her friend's blood smeared across her cheek. Better than the weepy girl in his truck.

But he can't say that, not when she's lookin at him with those green eyes. So, he says the first thing that comes to mind.

"Tch. Wasn't that asshole wrong? Never thought it'd be walkers huh?"

The kid laughs and it's light, airy. She's been laughin all night and Daryl squirms at how it raises the hair along his arms. "I don't think F…Frost was that visionary," she hiccups, flippin through pages again. Then she shakes her head and sticks her tongue out at him, like she's five fuckin years old. "You're…you're difficult Dixon but I'm still gonna win this! I—"

She abruptly stops mid-sentence. Her mouth works slowly over some words, though no noise comes out, and she exhales quietly. Daryl frowns at her, unnerved by the silence. His fingers curl along the neck of his bottle of Jack and he thinks about finishin it off but the kid suddenly snorts and laughs. This time, however, the sound is dry and sour.

"Somethin funny?"

Audrey shakes her head. "No," she says and her voice sounds almost sober. "Not really. Just somethin caught my eye." This time, she doesn't even warn him, just starts readin.

GOD says to me with a kind

of smile, "Hey how would you like

to be God awhile And steer the world?"

"Okay," says I, "I'll give it a try.

Where do I set?

How much do I get?

What time is lunch?

When can I quit?"

"Gimme back that wheel," says GOD.

"I don't think you're quite ready YET." (4)

Daryl doesn't have a response but the kid apparently doesn't need one. "We never really knew how to steer," she says oddly. "But I don't think God did either." She traces her fingers across the words and then looks up. Her smile and eyes are off; she looks more sad now than drunk.

"That not speak to ya Dixon?" she asks abuptly.

He rolls his eyes and goes for the Jack but changes his mind at the last second. He offers it to her instead and she takes it without question. "Well I'll get there," she says before gulpin down the last swallow. "Eventually." All of the sudden, she drops the empty bottle to the side and palms her brow. "Ugh. My head's killin me." Daryl wants to point out that she's had half a bottle of vodka, probably a bottle of wine, and some Daniel's; he's surprised she's even conscious. But he doesn't. Mostly because the kid's groanin low in her throat and slumpin to the side.

"Hey! Hey kid!" Daryl reaches out but stops short from touchin her shoulder, thinkin back to how she flinched away from him, how she probably saw his brother. His eyes are drawn to the black splotches along her neck and his head pounds steadily. Audrey, oblivious to his inner turmoil, presses her face into the carpet and moans, mumbled gibberish leaking out of her lips. Daryl gnashes his teeth, wonders what do to, wonders if the kid's gonna be sick or cry or what.

She ends up doin none of those things. Instead, after a few tense minutes, her body goes lax and she subsides fully into the carpet, sprawled out and loose. Daryl stares down at her, feels a second's alarm, but then he realizes she's fallen asleep.

On his floor. In his room.

Shit.

He rubs a hand across his mouth, bites the skin around his thumbnail. He can't wake her up; she's long gone, passed out. And he's not bout to fuckin carry her back to wherever she came from. He was her…friend. Not her goddamn servant.

So the only thing left was…for her to sleep here. Daryl growls under his breath and eases to his feet. He's careful not to step on her fucked up ankle; he doesn't need her screamin and Walsh burstin in here. The asshole might just shoot him. "Cause me nothin but trouble kid," he grumbles under his breath but, unlike the last time, he doesn't say she isn't worth it and neither time did he actually mean it.

Daryl staggers over to the light switch and, after grabbin a quilt from his duffel, he flips it down. The room descends into darkness; light from the hall leaks in from under the door and there's a small air freshener, probably long since used, that glows dimly along the far wall. It's enough for the hunter to pick his way across the floor and tumble back onto the couch, enough so that he doesn't even jar the comatose kid. She sleeps on undisturbed and Daryl finally shuts his eyes, hopin his sluggish mind will quickly drift off to sleep.

No such fuckin luck. Minutes pass and Daryl still lies wide-awake. The couch is fine, it's a lot damn softer than his cot; hell, it's softer than his bed that he had before his house burned. It's quiet too and Daryl's drunk, doesn't feel nearly as tense as he had sleepin in a tent, one eye always on the lookout for geeks. But he can't goddamn sleep! He stares at the shadows above his head and listens to the kid breathin on the floor and...and...

Sonva bitch.

Daryl clenches his eyes shut and tries to shove away the thought dancin at the back of his mind, tries to ignore it and stamp it out but it wont leave him alone. He counts to 10, counts to fuckin 100. Doesnt help. In fact, it gets worse, the thought causin pressure in his head and it travels to his chest and...there's nothin goddamn for it.

Snarlin to himself, Daryl sits up and slides off the very end of the couch. He wobbles unsteadily on his feet for a moment before he turns around and stares at the floor.

In the dark, the kid's nothin but a vague shape. Her hair is a darker stain around her head but the rest of her is just shadow and nothin. Daryl stands there for a minute, contemplates layin back down, knows it will do no damn good, and just moves from the gut. He's slow though, careful. His fingers fumble in the dark but are soft when he finds the curve of Audrey's knee, the slope of her hip. His face burns but he ignores it, kneels to the ground and pushes his hands farther. The kid mumbles in her sleep; she doesn't wake. Daryl takes a deep breath, ignores the warm, bare skin he's touchin, and hefts the kid into his arms.

She's light, bones hollow like a bird's. Given the way her skin looks so thin sometimes, so fragile, he aint surprised. Even drunk, as he rises to his feet, her weight doesn't make him stumble. Daryl feels a momentary wave of guilt, unbidden and stupid, because the kid's obviously malnourished and he had been the one to hunt and-

"Daryl?"

The sleepy murmur of his name has him freezin, snappin his head down to look at the kid's face even if he can't make out her features.

"Go back to sleep kid," he says quickly, maybe a little too gruffly, cheeks hot.

Audrey sighs against the ridge of his collarbone and presses her face into his neck. She mutters somethin but it's to garbled to understand and Daryl moves quickly to drop her on the couch before she can wake up again.

The second she's situated and Daryl is sure she aint bout to tumble to the floor, he goes to step away. But the kid—and he doesn't how she does it, in the dark, drunk off her ass, and half asleep—manages to catch the belt loop of his jeans and holds fast. Daryl blinks down in the darkness, thinks she just clung to the nearest thing in her sleep, but then she starts to talk again.

"Thank you," she mumbles, her eyes still closed. Daryl skin suddenly feels too tight and tries to untangle her fingers from his jeans.

"'S nothing, kid. Sleep."

But she's relentless, won't quit, and grips tight to his fingers instead. "For Jim," she continues and Daryl's confused. "Thanks for n't hatin me...cuz I killed him." Her words sound so heartbroken even though she's not even fully awake and Daryl doesn't know what to say. But the kid's used up all her energy apparently because her hand goes suddenly lax in his and her breathin deepens. Daryl gnaws on the corner of his lip and shifts so Audrey's hand drapes across her ribs, next to her right, bandaged one. She sighs and Daryl finally steps away. She doesn't stop him, lost to sleep, and he quietly lies down on the floor a few feet from the couch.

Only to get right back up again and toss his worn, blue quit across her. Cuz he's hot anyways and doesn't wanna walk all the way back to his duffle to put it away.

When Daryl finally situates himself on the ground, nearly parallel to the couch, he stares up at the ceilin and flexes his fingers. They sting with warmth and muscle memory and Daryl frowns as he rubs the calluses along his palms. Pickin the kid up, he thought he had felt somethin along the backs of her thighs, pressin against his arm through the material at the back of her shirt. He thought he felt...something rough, ropy, somethin like ridges. His mind is just startin to name them, word dancin at the fringes of his thoughts, but sleep finally catches up to him and he starts to drift.

The second before he falls completely into oblivion, however, he thinks he hears the kid whisper, "I'm sorry about Merle." But he can't be sure and he falls into darkness.

---

My eyelids burn red and I'm surrounded my warmth. Someone hums a familiar tune and I chase the words I can no longer remember. I feel as if I've forgotten something but it's no more than the ghost of a memory. It can't be important. I feel safe and happy and good. Nothing I have forgotten can be so important.

"Sissy? Sissy, wake up!"

Someone's calling me. Sissy? There's only one person who calls me that. I struggle to the surface, eyes as heavy as lead. From nowhere, a sense of urgency fills me, tells me I have to open my eyes nownownow. I feel so heavy, so tired, but I fight it. With everything I have, I fight and fight and fight until my eyes crack open and light floods my vision.

I blink against the stark brightness, once, twice. For a moment, I think I've been blinded; but then the light starts to fade and my vision clears slowly but surely.

Blue eyes sparkle with mischief and a disheveled blonde halo is shot through with morning light. A giggle reaches my ears and then there's a bright, white smile to go with it. Irina reaches down and pats my cheek, her skin soft and warm. "Good morning sleepy head," she says. I stare up at her and my chest feels suddenly tight. It hurts, like my heart is being squeezed in a fist. I want to tell Rina to get off me but I realize she's kneeling by my side, not across my chest. What is this pain?

"Hey! Mama said to wake Audie up nicely. Don't poke her in the face!"

I turn my head at the upset exclamation and my ribs constrict tighter around my lungs. Manny tilts his head at me, his thick brown hair sticking up in odd directions. His chocolate eyes look worried. "Audie? Audie, are you okay?"

Okay? Am I okay? Something tells me I shouldn't be; something tells me that I'm not. But every time I try to remember why, my head hurts and there's this red flash. It tells me stop, don't look. Afraid, I turn away and look back at my little brother. My chest hurts so much and I feel like I'm about to cry. Unbidden, my hand goes out and touches Manny's head, slides along his cheek.

"I'm fine," I croak out and it tastes like I lie though I don't know the reason. "Just tired Manny."

Irina bounces next to my hip and I turn to see her grinning at me. Her freckles stand out against her pale skin and there's a golden curl hanging between her blue, blue eyes. "You can't be sleepy syestra," she giggles. (5) "You slept forever! Breakfast is ready! Come eat with us!"

Breakfast? But…I just ate dinner. Laughter echoes across my mind and the bitter taste of alcohol before the flash of red blinds me. Stop. Don't look.

I put my hand to my forehead and rub. I…I must be wrong. It's morning. Time for breakfast. "Ok Rina. I'm up, I'm up!" Grabbing my little sister, I tuck her to my side and tickle her. She explodes into giggles and I swing my feet off the bed. Manny retreats to the door but returns with my slippers, ugly purple things with googly eyes; a present from Mathias.

I smile at him. "Thanks Manny." He nods, Irina giggles in my ear, and I go to put them on.

Only to freeze half way because my feet and legs are bare, white and unblemished. That's not right. They…my ankle is sprained, the skin the same eggplant color as the slippers on the ground. And my legs…they're scratched and cut up. But why? My head pounds, flashes of red, and I let go of Irina to cradle my head.

"Sissy? What's wrong? Sissy!"

"Audie que pasa?! Audie! M…mama!"

Mama…mom. He's calling Mom. The pounding in my temples gets worse, all I can see is red. He's calling for Mom…but he can't. He can't call Mom because…because Mom is…

"Now what is all of this commotion?"

Everything stops, even my heart, my lungs. Irina wiggles against my side and is gone; I hear Manny shuffle away too. My eyes are clenched shut but slowly drift open and I'm left staring at my Mom. Her dark red hair is piled high atop her head; she's in pajamas and there's a smear of pancake batter across her cheek. She stands with her hands on her hips and Irina and Manny cling to her legs. She's frowning at me.

"Audrey. Why are you scaring your brother and sister?"

Words don't come to me; all I can do is gape. My chest is suddenly so tight I can't even draw a single breath. My head feels like it might split open. And all the while my eyes flash with red. Stop. Don't look. Stop. Don't look.

"Mom," I manage to rasp out. Tears come to my eyes and I don't know why. My Mom's angry expression withers and she suddenly looks concerned.

"Sweetie? What's wrong?" she asks. She comes over and sits next to me on my bed, Irina and Manny clambering up too. "Did you have a bad dream?"

A dream? My head aches. I can't remember. There's the sensation of pain and I think I hear screams. All I can see is red and I turn away from it. Stop. Don't look.

"Y…yes," I say. "I…I must have had a bad dream."

My Mom frowns and gently pulls me into her arms. She smells like bacon grease and pancakes, and under that is the scent of her lilac shampoo. I cling to her and breathe it all in. "A bad dream," I whisper into her hair. "It was all just a bad dream."

"It's ok honey. It's over now. You're here; you're safe." She pets my hair, fingers combing through the long strands. Manny crowds against my spine and Irina wiggles into my lap. It's warm and safe and good. I cling to all of them and just breathe, trying my best to ignore the ache in my chest that makes me want to cry.

A few minutes later we detangle. My Mom's bright blue eyes stare into mine and my heart pulses with pain because I know that color…from somewhere; from a dream.

Blue eyes and blue lakes, a stark blue sky.

Kid!

The word screams through my skull and I palm my forehead, seeing only red. No…I can't look. It was all just a dream, a very bad dream. I don't want to go back there. I just won't look.

"Sissy?" I open my eyes and Irina stares at me, looking scared. "Sissy, why are you crying?"

I shake away my thoughts and the words and the images. I don't look. Instead, I smile at my sister, smooth down one of her wayward curls and kiss her forehead softly. "It's nothing Rina," I tell her. "Sissy is just being silly. Why don't you and Manny go to the kitchen and sit down? I'm going to brush my teeth and I'll be right there."

Like a slate wiped clean, Irina smiles and squirms off my lap. Manny slips to the ground too and I press a kiss to his hair. "Go on. I'm fine." My two younger siblings smile and run out the door, the sound of their feet on the hardwood hallway floor and their laughter drifting back towards me.

"They're growing up so fast." I turn to see my mom wistfully staring at the door. "Soon enough, they'll be leaving for college just you." She looks at me and smiles but I'm not listening. College…something about college.

"Before all this crap I was going to be an English major. You think I'd waste all my time and money on something pointless?"

I said that. I remember. But to whom? And why?

"Audrey hurry and get washed up or your pancakes are going to get cold." My Mom pinches my nose and stands. I blink up at her and try to remember what I had been thinking about…but it all slips away.

"Pancakes…right sorry. I'm going." Mom smiles and moves to the doorway but she trips halfway across the room. I cry out in alarm and reach for her but she catches herself on my dresser near the door. As one, the two of us look down to see what she had fallen over.

It's a baseball cap. It's dusty and dingy, a faded red color. I know that cap…I know it. My head screams in pain and I have to squint, tears in my eyes.

Mom sighs exasperatedly somewhere out of my line of sight. "I swear! Audrey, you need to tell Mathias to pick up his stuff more regularly. I think we still have a pair of his shoes in the coat closet!"

Mathias? I frown at the cap. But…but…

"Mathias doesn't wear caps." My lips feel numb as I say it and suddenly, my head stops hurting, the pressure is released. Mom freezes near the door and looks up. There's something akin to fear in her bright blue eyes.

"What? Of course he wears caps," she says and there's a frantic edge to her voice. "He wears them all the time."

Kid!

The word repeats loudly but it's no longer in my head. It seeps through the walls, down the hall, from the windows and the ceiling and the floor. I stare at my feet for a moment but then look up at my Mom. Tears slip down my cheeks and I now know why my chest feels like it's caving in.

"Mathias doesn't wear caps Mom," I say. "He doesn't like anything to ruin his hair. But I know who does."

My Mom shakes her head, clings to my dresser, and now there are tears in her eyes. That just confirms everything because my Mom never cried. Not even at the end.

"Don't say it Audrey," she begs me. "If you don't say it, you can stay here. With us. Irina, Manny, Sensei, Mathias, Annie Marie, and Kaleigh. You can stay and not worry about anything. You can be safe and warm and happy."

I smile and my heart shatters, tears hot in my mouth. "This is a dream Mom," I tell her. "Nothing but a dream. You're…you're all dead." I laugh and it hurts, god it fucking hurts; I avert my eyes and look around the room, all my posters and things from my past life. "And I knew it, all along. My mind just didn't want me to remember, tried to stop me. But I knew; my chest hurt so much from seeing you because I knew."

Lifting up my eyes, I look at the woman across from me that's nothing more than a memory. "I love you Mom. I wish I could have told you one last time." My Mom's face contorts and then shatters into a million pieces, falling to the floor like glass and shifting into fine sand. Around me, the room starts to dissolve; piece by piece it all tumbles down. The door falls away, as does the smell of bacon and pancakes, the voices of my siblings crystallizing and exploding. My walls melt, taking pictures and posters and memories along with them. The last thing to go is my bed, warm and soft and good. I look down at the quilt Mom made me, bright green to match my eyes, uneven and shoddy because she never really could sew, and then that too is gone.

I fall into darkness, head over heels, and the last thing I think is how I wished I could have stayed.

#

"Kid!"

I wake up with a start, the remnants of a dream fading away, and snap open my eyes. Only to close them automatically and realize I'm dying because my brain is slowly sliding out of my ear. God. My fucking head.

Someone snorts. "Yeah. That happens when ya get piss ass drunk." It takes me a moment to realize I spoke out loud and then another to recognize Daryl's voice.

Opening my eyes again, slower this time, I squint into the light and find myself staring at a white, tiled ceiling. Not a tent. My brain takes a couple of minutes to play catch up and remember we're in the CDC.

Head still feeling like it's about to split down the middle, I shift my face to look around me. Blue fabric dances along my peripherals and when I flex my fingers I find a warm, worn quilt. What? Continuing on, I find myself on a soft couch, head cushioned on a throw pillow. I don't remember how I got here; I don't remember much at all. There was dinner and drinks—a lot of fucking drinks—and then…a shower and…

Someone moves around the room and I sit up in alarm, head and stomach both protesting the movement. Daryl looks up from where he's lacing his boots near the door. He's dressed in clean jeans, a new clean, brown, plaid, sleeveless shirt and he's free of all dirt and grime. He still has some scruff and hair on his chin but it's weird to see his skin scrubbed and pale.

Suddenly, this image of a shirtless Daryl in jeans, with bare feet and water dripping from his hair flashes across my mind. I wince when a pulse of pain follows it and drop my head into my hand.

"Fuucck," I groan. My head is swimming and bile rises in the back of my throat. I barely manage to keep it down. "What…what happened?"

"Ya got shitfaced," Daryl supplies from somewhere in the room. He's on the move again but I don't have the energy to look up.

Okay. I remember drinking. That was a horrible idea. Why had I done that?! Fucking stupid. But then… don't…

A thought occurs to me and I shift my face to stare at the door through slitted eyes. My stuff is nowhere to be found. Instead, Daryl's duffle and crossbow and shotgun occupy their space, which can only mean…

My heart stops and my body flushes hot. Dread fills me up to the brim but when I look down, I thankfully see Mathias' track shirt still covering my chest. The blood unfreezes in my veins—I'm still clothed thank Christ—but I feel no less queasy. Clearing my throat, which hurts way more than it should, I go to ask the question rattling against my teeth.

"D…daryl?" The hunter pauses on the other side of the room where he's busying himself with something. There's a cautious light in his eyes. "Wh…what am I uh doing here? I…in your room I mean?"

I can't remember. I don't remember anything and it makes me feel sick and god what if I said something to Daryl? Something stupid or, even worse, personal? My head pounds in mocking and I cradle my skull to keep it from coming to pieces.

It takes a minute for Daryl to reply but when he does, it's in typical Daryl fashion. "Tch," he snorts as he stops to the desk at the back of the room. "How should I know? Ya knocked on my door in the middle of the night, came in, and passed the fuck out. I had to sleep on the goddamn floor cuz ya took the fuckin couch."

"T…that's it?" I ask. Swinging my feet off the couch, I sit on the edge and stare at Daryl's back. The hunter shrugs and I still can't see his face.

"That's all I remember. The hell ya want from me?"

"N…nothing! I…was just curious." Something about Daryl's words doesn't sit right with me but I can't pinpoint what. Not with my head swimming like it is. Daryl mutters something that I can't hear and then he's swinging around and walking towards me. Stupidly, I clutch what must be his quilt to my chest and stare at him in confusion. He rolls his eyes when he sees me.

"Ya need to eat and then get out. Everyone's already bein curious bout you kid and I don't need those assholes on my back." I frown and wonder what time it is, am about to ask, before I realize Daryl's holding something out to me and the smell reaches my nose.

One minute, I'm sitting on the edge of the couch, staring at the plate of eggs and bacon that Daryl is holding, and the next I'm bolting across the room and falling down at the toilet. Pain flares in my ankle and side and wrist but it all is eclipsed as my stomach tries to crawl out of my mouth.

Between the bouts of vomiting and dry heaving, I think I hear Daryl laugh.

---

As the kid vomits in the bathroom, Daryl laughs and thinks it must be her first hangover. He feels kinda sorry for her. Yeah, he's not in much better condition, his head is killin him and before breakfast it was like somethin died in his mouth, but he hadn't vomited. He hasn't vomited because of a hangover in years.

Listenin to the retches through the half closed bathroom door, he sets the plate of cold food down on the couch and goes over to his stuff. He picks up his crossbow and scowls at the three remainin bolts. His first thought is that he'll need more before he remembers where he is and realizes he won't have to hunt any more. At least not for a long time.

He doesn't know why but the thought doesn't sit right with him; it almost feels like a lie.

The flush of the toilet tears the hunter from his thoughts and he looks back toward the bathroom. The sink runs for a minute and it sound like the kid is washin her mouth out. Daryl hears her gargle and then spit, the water turns off and the door creaks open.

Audrey leans against the doorjamb and runs the back of her wrist across her mouth. There are black circles around her eyes and her skin is paler than usual, her bruises standin out vividly in stark relief. She looks small and slight crumpled there and Daryl feels somethin in his gut wrench when she looks up at him with pleadin green eyes.

"If I asked you to kill me," she rasps quietly. "Would you do it quickly?"

Daryl pushes back the thoughts of Merle and guilt and instead rolls his eyes again. "Quit bein melodramatic," he grunts. "Here." Fishin into his pocket, he pulls out the bottle of aspirin he snagged from the doctor and grabs the bottle of water he brought back. Audrey sighs and shuffles closer and he holds out the items to her. "Take these and then see if ya can eat somethin."

The kid reaches out slowly and takes the white pills from the palm of his hand; she drops them in her mouth and chases them with a sip of water. Her eyes never leave his and he squirms beneath their color.

"Thank you," she whispers and Daryl is suddenly thrown back to last night and her drunken confessions. He averts his gaze and ignores the heat in his cheeks.

"Not doin it for ya. Just don't want Walsh or Chinaman up my ass all day." It's a lie and he knows its; by the way he sees the kid grin out the corner of his eye, she knows it too.

"Well regardless. Thanks." She doesn't say if she meant for the food or the pills or last night but Daryl thinks maybe she means all of the above.

"Eat kid," he says and then he goes to the bathroom to finish off washin his clothes.

---

The food tastes bland and cold but I reluctantly try to eat it anyway. My stomach doesn't know whether to be thankful or pissed so it ties itself in painful knots with indecision. Thankfully, I don't get a chance to choke down very much. After only a few bites, a commotion sounds off in the hallway. I pause, fork halfway to my mouth, and frown at the door of the office.

"The fuck is goin on?" I turn to see Daryl standing in the door of the bathroom, what looks to be a sopping wet shirt clenched in his fist. I shrug and set the plate down.

"I don't know." The hunter growls something but I'm already on my feet, limping towards the door. I press my ear to the wood and voices reverberate back to me, getting louder and louder. Frown deepening, I open the door a sliver and clear sound bleeds into the room.

"Dr. Jenner! Dr. Jenner please wait. Where are we going?" That's Lori's voice.

"Jenner." And there's Rick. But I don't hear the doctor's reply. I open the door a little wider but then a blur of white passes me followed by a moving myriad of colors. More questions are thrown and ignored and I open the door halfway to watch everyone turn the corner, following Dr. Jenner God knows where.

"What the hell?" I mutter to myself. What was that about?

I'm contemplating whether or not to follow them when Daryl makes the decision for me.

"Get a move on kid or we'll lose 'em!" Glancing over my shoulder, I meet blue eyes that are a lot closer than I had assumed. The hunter cocks an eyebrow at me and I start as I process his words.

"Oh! Yeah uh sorry." I fling the door completely open and pad into the hallway, Daryl right on my heels. The two of us are silent as we follow the other voices and I can't help but think I'm not the only curious one around here.

We find the others in the big auditorium room that Dr. Jenner had first led us to. This time, however, all the lights are on, and one of the far walls is flickering with color. It takes me a moment to realize the wall is not a wall at all but a large screen. I turn to Daryl and he meets my gaze with a weirded out look. The two of us move quietly into the room and join the others near the front.

"Few people ever got the chance to see this," Dr. Jenner is telling the rest of the group. "Very few." Everyone shifts among the computers, finds a spot to stand. I look around, try to find a chair because my ankle is killing me and so is my head, though slightly less since Daryl gave me that aspirin, but instead I find Glenn staring at me from a few stations away. There's this odd look on his face, an expression like pain, but he looks away quickly and I'm left to stare at the side of his face. What was that?

Carl's voice interrupts my thoughts and I turn to see him pointing at the large screen. "Is that a brain?" he asks Dr. Jenner beside him. I frown and look at the screen to see that in fact Carl is right; there is some kind of 3D diagram of a person's head and brain projected on the screen.

"Yes," I hear Dr. Jenner respond. "A very extraordinary one. Not…that it matters in the end." His voice gets very sad at the end and I drop my eyes to look at him but he's staring at the screen still. "Vi, take us in for EIV."

"Enhanced internal view," the female computer voice drones back and then the screen shifts. It rotates the picture of the head and brain horizontally…and then zooms in and keeps on going.

"The hell?" Daryl mutters and I turn to see he's not too far away, maybe a station or two to the left. His brow is furrowed in confusion as he stares at the blinking screen.

Shane clears his throat from somewhere in the room. "What…what are those lights?" he asks.

Now, I may have been otherwise academically inclined…but that doesn't mean I didn't pay attention in Biology. I recognize the alien looking webs in front of me, know that the flashing lights are electrical impulses. But why is Jenner showing us brain activity?

"That's a person's life," Jenner begins to explain. "Experiences, memories. It's everything." He gestures at the screen and turns to address everyone. "Somewhere in all that organic wiring, all those ripples of light, is you—the thing that makes you unique. And human."

He pauses to let that soak in and there's a harsh noise at my side. Daryl scowls at the doctor and folds his arms across his chest, hands tucked into his armpits. I don't know how but I recognize this as one of his many defensive positions. "What? You don't make sense ever?" he growls.

Dr. Jenner purses his lips and looks irritated. "Those are synapses." He says the word slowly and empathetically. I frown because I can hear his condescending tone. "They are electric impulses in the brain that carry all the messages. They determine everything a person says, does or thinks from the moment of birth…to the moment of death." His eyes drop away from the hunter near the end and slide back up to the screen. His voice is tinged with melancholy again.

Rick shifts a few rows away and I see him walk towards the now quiet doctor. "Death? Is that what this is? A vigil?" he asks. My blood runs cold for an instant. A vigil? Is…is this in real time? Are…we watching someone die?

"Yes," Dr. Jenner says and I cast my eyes wildly about as if the dying person is in the room with us before he softly continues. "Or rather the playback of the vigil."

"This person died?" Andrea moves in my peripherals. I don't look at her though because every time I do I'm reminded too much of Amy. "Who?"

"Test subject 19. Someone who was bitten and infected and volunteered to have us record the process." I take in Dr. Jenner's words. So this person is dead…has been for a while. They were bitten…and infected. Suddenly, I know why Dr. Jenner is showing us this.

"Vi, scan forward to the first event," the doctor commands. The computer responds and the screen above us seems to fast-forward. It stops quickly but the picture is no longer the same. Where the brain used to be all blue and white flashing lights, it now has a nest of dark branches, near the base of the skull. My stomach roils at the sight but I can't turn away.

"What is that?" Glenn speaks up. Dr. Jenner clears his throat and I have this sudden, simultaneous urge to tell him to shut up and speak faster. I don't want to know what happens after infection but if I don't know I'll come apart at the seams.

"It enters the brain like meningitis. The adrenal glands hemorrhage, the brain goes into shut down, then the major organs." As the doctor speaks, the figure on the screen writhes and the brain continues to go dark, little by little, until, abruptly, all the synapses go out. Like someone flicked a switch. The body stops moving.

"Then death." Dr. Jenner goes quiet, drops his head. "Everything you ever were or ever will be…gone."

I stare at the screen, at the dark brain and still figure. So. This is what happens. This is what happened to Amy and my family and to—

"Is that what happened to Jim?" I hear Sophia quietly ask her mother. Carol shushes her but says yes anyway. Something breaks in my head and I want to shout no it's not because I killed him dead look at this blood on my hands but before I can confess, before I can be condemned, Jenner is speaking up again.

"Scan to the second event."

I look up, my vision slightly blurred with tears, and watch the screen fast forward again. "The resurrection times vary wildly," Dr. Jenner narrates. "We had reports of it happening in as little as three minutes. The longest we heard of was eight hours. In…in the case of this patient it was two hours, one minute, seven seconds."

At the end of his statement, lights flare on the screen once more. But it's not the same. The lights are dim and red, centered near the base of the skull. The rest of the brain is dark.

"It restarts the brain?" Lori sounds incredulous. Dr. Jenner laughs dryly.

"No. No just the brain stem. Basically, it gets them up and moving."

"But they're…not alive?"

Jenner turns to Rick, gestures at the screen. "You tell me," he says and he sounds like every teacher that ever tried to get their students to arrive to a conclusion on their own, no hand holding, no coddling.

Rick moves his eyes from the doctor to the screen. He shakes his head slowly. "It's nothing like before. Most of that brain is dark."

"Dark, lifeless, dead," Jenner adds. "The frontal lobe, the neocortex, the human part—that doesn't come back. The you part."

"So they're not human." Everyone turns to me and I realize I've spoken out loud. I can't help but go on now. "They're…shells. They're not…"

"Who you knew?" Jenner finishes for me. I nod and he smiles grimly.

"No," he says. "They're not who you knew. They are just husks, driven by mindless instinct." My chest almost feels a little lighter at that but not by much. Not by much at all.

Suddenly, someone gasps and we all whirl back to the screen. Nothing moves, the brain is dead, and now there's this furrow right through the middle of it. "God. What was that?" Carol exclaims.

Andrea moves again, walks closer to the screen. "He shot his patient in the head," she remarks and her voice is oddly removed. I wonder if she's thinking of Amy. My heart clenches at the thought of my late friend and my eyes burn. "Didn't you?"

Jenner doesn't respond, just tells the computers to shut off. His face screams guilt and regret and pain, etched into every line on his face. Andrea, however, doesn't relent. She follows him as he walks to a computer and her voice is hard, flinty.

"You have no idea what it is, do you? Do you?!"

The older doctor sighs and looks around at the rest of us. "It…could be microbial, viral, parasitic, fungal." He shrugs as if to say take your pick.

Jacqui sniffles somewhere to my right and her voice breaks when she says, "Or the wrath of God?"

"Well…there is that." He smiles as if he's privy to some secret joke.

Andrea keeps at the doctor, demands answers, for Amy I'm guessing. But the more she asks and the more Jenner answers…the more I don't want to hear. He tells us how he hasn't heard from anyone in a month, he tells us how he can't know for sure who, if anyone, is left. He tells us we're basically all alone, all that's left. He tells us it's just about hopeless.

I walked all the way from Dalton and for what? I survived this long and why? What's the point? Sensei's voice whispers to me that I must endure but I can't find a reason any more. All my old family is dead; my new one has been dropping like flies. What am I fighting for?

I find myself sitting and not knowing how I got there. I stare at the ground and listen to the others argue and fight, deny that this all can't be true. But I don't struggle with it. I'm suddenly so tired and…fed up. The high from last night is gone, the laughs and lightheartedness. And I'm stuck with this bitter reality.

"You can stay and not worry about anything. You can be safe and warm and happy."

My dream comes back to me like a punch and as I stare at the floor between my bare feet, a single tear slips out of my eye and plops to the ground. Mom and Irina and Manny. They…it was like none of this ever happened. We were happy and safe. It was good. Maybe I should have stayed there, just never woken up.

"Man, I'm gonna get shit-faced drunk again," Daryl mutters from my side and I think I'll join him. I'll drink and drink and drink and maybe this time…I'll leave well enough alone and listen to Mom's advice.

Distantly, I hear Jenner say we're running out of fuel, that we only have an hour left. Vi adds in that something called "decontamination" will occur when all the fuel is gone. Someone demands to know what that means. Jenner walks away without a word. I sit there and stare at my feet and then I begin to laugh.

"What the hell are you laughing at?" For a second I think it's Daryl addressing me but when I look up, it's Shane. Oh well. I grin at him lazily and get to my feet. I ignore everyone's eyes and go to follow Jenner.

"If anyone needs me, I'll be in the cafeteria," I call out. "Eat, drink and be merry for tomorrow…well you know the rest."

No one stops me as I go and as I walk the hallways alone, I wonder how much vodka I can down in one hour.

I wonder if there's enough to kill me.

---

The group goes it's own way after that. The women and children go to the rec room, the old man accompanies them. The men go off to search for somethin and Daryl lets them, returns to his room instead.

He's not alone for long, however. Maybe five minutes has passed, where Daryl stuffed all his clothes—still damp but fuck it—into his bag again when there's a knock at his door.

Unsurprisingly, the kid stands there with fists full of liquor. She doesn't even ask to come in this time around, just slides passed him and into the room.

"Come in," he grumbles sarcastically as he shuts the door. Audrey ignores him.

"You want to start with shots or something else?" she asks in way of greeting. In her left hand is a bottle of fine whiskey; cradled awkwardly in the crook of her right elbow is a bottle of tequila. She regards him with dead eyes and a cocked eyebrow and, when he doesn't reply, she goes for the whiskey.

"Crown it is." She cracks the top off the bottle off the Crown Royal and dumps the tequila on the couch. The plate of eggs she had abandoned earlier bounces with the movement and tips over on the floor. The kid doesn't even flinch. Tipping back her neck, she pours whiskey straight down her throat as she walks over to the big office desk. She sputters and coughs, curses as it burns but quickly goes for another. Daryl purses his lips at the sight but doesn't stop her.

When she reaches the desk, Audrey shakily hoists herself up. She's still in the clothes she slept in last night, short shorts and a guys tank top with Linardos stamped across the back; her feet are still bare. Daryl looks away and goes for the tequila instead.

They drink in silence for a time, Daryl pacin bout the room and the kid perched on the desk. It's Audrey, of course, that breaks the silence.

"It's funny," she says out of the blue. Daryl pauses mid step and shoots her a bemused scowl because he can't find anythin funny bout their situation.

"What the fuck is funny?"

Audrey doesn't flinch at his harshness, just continues to stare into space and gulp down whiskey. "Well not funny. Maybe ironic. I mean, we come all this way right, for a cure. And the cure we find is something that's been right in front of us the whole time." She puts her fingers to her temple, in the shape of a gun, and mimes pullin a trigger. "How simple right?"

Daryl's insides twist and he feels like he did when Audrey smashed skulls back at the quarry with him. Uneasy. He looks at the kid and realizes her eyes have started dull again. She's checkin out.

And it makes him angry. So angry that he starts pacin again, sharp, repetitious motions. "That's a cop out kid, and you know it," he snarls as he passes her. She shrugs and sticks her good leg out when he passes again, toes brushin the outside of his thigh.

"Cure, cop out. Same difference." She takes another swig. "You heard Jenner. There's nothing left."

"So what? Ya just throw in the towel? When'd you become a coward?"

A glint leaps into the kid's otherwise flat eyes and Daryl can't help but internally smirk in victory. "I'm not a coward," she says, an edge to her words. "I'm just…tired."

"Cry me a river, we're all tired."

"That's my point!" She sits up a little straighter and points at him with the whiskey bottle. Amber liquid splashes onto her wrist. "We're all tired. So why are you fighting? Why not just give in and drink to the last?" She raises her bottle as if in toast and looks at him to answer.

Daryl frowns and goes to respond…but can't think of anythin to say. He doesn't wanna give up but…he doesn't know why. The kid has a point. Why fight? Why?

Before he can find out, there's a loud whirlin sound and the room is suddenly thrown into darkness. Audrey gasps quietly, if only in surprise, and Daryl goes tense. Darkness is never good; you can't see what's comin for you in the dark. On edge, Daryl moves from memory to the door, hears voices out in the hallway. He wrenches it open and sticks his head out, sees people comin out their own rooms.

"What's goin on? Why's everythin turnin off?" No one answers him and suddenly, there's a tug on his hand. He jerks back and the bottle of tequila transfers to the doctor's hand as he walks passed without a word. Daryl stares at his back incredibly and moves to automatically follow. It's only when he feels a tug on the back of his shirt that he realizes the kid's followin him, right on his heels.

The doctor keeps walkin but he answers Daryl's question. "Energy is being prioritized," he says over his shoulder. At Daryl's back he hears the old man cry out in indignation.

"Lights aren't a priority? Or air?" It's then that Daryl realizes he can't hear the A/C anymore and the knot in his gut tightens.

Shruggin, the doctor keeps goin. "It's not up to me. Zone 5 is suting itself down." He turns the corner at the end of the hallway and goes in the direction of the big room with the screen.

Daryl feels a flare of heat spiral through his veins. "What the hell does that mean?" he demands. "Hey! Hey!" He reaches out and grabs the doc's shoulder. He's shrugged off violently. Daryl gnashes his teeth and keeps up his barrage of questions. "Hey asshole I'm talkin to ya! What do ya mean it's shuttin itself down?! It's a building! How can it do anythin?"

The doctor snorts. "You'd be surprised." Daryl scowls and goes to grab the cryptic sonva bitch but the asshole moves dows the stairs and Grimes catches him there.

"Jenner, what's happening?" the cop demands. His voice is low and tight. Daryl thinks fuck cuz shit must be headin to hell fast.

"The system is dropping all the nonessential uses of power. It's designed to keep the computers running to the last possible second. That started as we approached the half hour mark." He walks as he talks and at the end of his explanation, the group rounds the corner into the big room. The huge red clock declares 31:28, 31:27, 31:26 and the doctor says, "Right on schedule."

The doctor reaches the circle of computers and pauses. He takes a swig of Daryl's tequila and hands it back. The hunter snatches it fast and some spills on the ground.

"It was the French," he says and Daryl frowns in confusion before realizin the doc ain't talkin to him. He follows the other man's line of sight and finds the older blonde frownin too.

"What?" she asks.

"They were the last ones to hold out as far as I know. While our people were bolting out the doors and committing suicide in the hallways, they stayed in the labs till the end. They thought they were close to a solution," the doctor tells them before mountin the stairs that lead to the computers.

"What happened?" someone calls out after him. Daryl doesn't turn to see who it was.

The doctor stops again and turns to look at them. Daryl doesn't like what he sees in the man's face, his brown eyes. "The same thing that's happening here," he responds, gesturin out around them. "No power grid. Ran out of juice." He tears his eyes away and then laughs before lookin back at them. Daryl thinks the doc's gone crazy when he says, "The world runs on fossil fuels. I mean how stupid is that? You'd think after all this time we'd come up with better methods of energy."

There's a moments pause where the doctor's words soak in and then the rest of the group comes to Daryl's conclusion: the doc is batshit. Walsh gets pissed, rounds on the doctor, but Grimes is afraid. Daryl can see it in his eyes. The former sheriff tells his wife to get their things and that they're leavin. He gives the same order to everyone else and, though Daryl hates to take orders from anyone, he finds himself movin to comply cuz he doesn't like that huge clock countin down on the wall or the look of resigned relief on the doc's face as he goes to sit at a computer.

But before anyone can move an alarm goes off abruptly, loud enough to rupture eardrums. A flashin red light follows and that robot voice from the computer echoes through the room, "Thirty minutes to decontamination."

The doctor rushes to a computer and types away at somethin. Daryl doesn't give a shit. He whirls around and finds the kid right behind him, wide eyes lookin up at the red flashin lights and bottle of whiskey lax in her fingers. Daryl doesn't think; just reacts. He reaches out and grabs the kid's shoulder, spins her around and nudges her to the door.

"W…what—?" the kid starts but he cuts her off.

"Shut up kid! We gotta get out of here so come on!" He tugs her towards the door and everyone is followin suit…until there's a sharp, loud beep followed by a whirlin noise and the doors suddenly slam shut, metal plates risin from the bottom and blockin the entrances.

"Di…did you just lock us in?" Daryl hears the Chinaman scream. "He…he just locked us in!"

Daryl doesn't want to believe it; he stares at all the doors, lookin for a way out, but it's all metal and shut up. They're trapped.

And it's cuz of the fuckin doctor. Daryl feels his blood turn to lava and he whips around and runs for the motherfucker currently sittin at a computer as if he didn't just seal their graves.

"You son of a bitch!" he hears himself roar. "You locked us in here!" He lunges for the doctor and manages to grab him by the shoulders before he's ripped away by Walsh and the nigger, their arms hard and barrin. Daryl fights them with all that he has, teeth bared, spittin curses and throwin punches cuz that fucker locked them in here and he knows in the pit of his gut that it's a death sentence. Daryl Dixon wasn't bout to roll over and except that though. Fuck that.

He elbows Walsh in the ribs and the asshole's grip slips; he's just tore out of the nigger's grasp too and goin for the doc again when the kid is suddenly in his way. Her hands are up, palms out, and they push firmly against his chest. He sees her face grimace at the pain in her wrist but she doesn't relent. Daryl snarls at her and she sets her jaw right back. She doesn't say a word but for some reason, Daryl subsides. He thinks it has somethin to do with last night and him drunkenly yellin at her, the way she flinched and looked afraid. More than anythin, more than tears or a dead look in her eye, Daryl hates it when the kid looks scared. Especially when it's directed at him.

Beyond the two of them, Daryl hears Grimes and the doc arguin. Grimes demands the doors be opened; the doc says it's pointless, that all the doors to the surface are locked down. Daryl gnashes his teeth and shouts over the kid's shoulder, "Well open the goddamn things." He tries to move but Audrey holds him at bay.

The doc frowns and shakes his head. "That's not something I control. The computers do." He looks around and finds Grimes, points at the former cop. "I told you that once the front door closed, it wouldn't open again. You heard me say that!"

Someone whimpers, Daryl thinks it's one of the kids, and the doc's face goes soft. It pisses the hunter off more.

"It's better this way."

Grimes growls and whirls on the doc. "What is? What happens in 28 minutes!?"

The doc averts his eyes and goes back to typin but Grimes has finally had enough. He grabs the back of the doctor's chair and yanks it around, screams his question again. But the doc doesn't take it sittin down. He jumps to his feet and gets in the former cop's face.

"Do you know what this place is?!" he shouts. His eyes have gone wild and the veins in his neck stand out. "We protected the public from very nasty stuff! Weaponized smallpox!" As he shouts, he paces around, get's in everyone's face. He turns to Daryl and the hunter goes rigid but the kid spins around suddenly and pushes her spine into his chest as a way of physically barrin him from movin. The doctor continues to rant. "Ebola strains that could wipe out half the country! Stuff you don't want getting out! Ever!"

Everyone is silent and just stares at the insane doctor. Daryl feels himself startin to pant from adrenaline, from anger. The doc glares at them all but then suddenly subsides, moves back to his seat and sits. When he speaks again, he's quiet and calm and that makes him seem even more batshit.

"In the event of a catastrophic power failure" he says quietly. "In a terrorist attack, for example, HITs are deployed to prevent any organisms from getting out."

Another flare of warmth scalds through Daryl's veins cuz the doc is usin that stupid mumbo jumbo that he can't understand. But, apparently, no one else understands either.

"HITs?" Grimes asks. The doctor sighs and orders the computer to define.

The female voice echoes through the room and rattles off some long-winded explanation. There are big words and more jargon and it makes Daryl's head spin but he understands one word and that's enough.

Explosives.

Audrey goes rigid along his chest and around him, people start to cry. Grimes goes to his wife, holds his kid; Walsh tears at his hair and disbelief burns through them all. As the computer falls silent, the doctor inhales sharply and there's this odd smile to his face.

"It sets the air on fire," he breathes and Daryl wants nothin more than to rip his goddamn face off. "No pain. An end to sorrow, grief…regret. The end…of everything."

One of the kids start to openly sob, loud and gratin, and Daryl can do nothin but stand there as the clock counts down to their deaths.

---

12:00

11: 59

11:58

I stare at the bright red numbers, at how they shrunk little by little. I find it kind of fitting that their color is red. Red for blood, red for life, red for death. It's fitting. It really is.

Across from me, sitting on the floor in the arms of their mothers, Carl and Sophia weep. Lori and Carol fare little better and around me, people pace and curse and fret. I hear a shattering of glass and Daryl roaring for Jenner to open the door. Jenner stays silent, stares up at the screen where the bright red numbers are and I see him mouthing the decreasing digits. He's accepted this; wants this. Others do not. Soon, I hear Shane and T-Dog shouting and the echoing clang of metal on metal. I turn and see them going at the door with axes. I want to say just let it be.

Over the din of Daryl grunting and hacking away at the doors, Jenner turns to Lori and Carol. "You should've left well enough alone," he tells them, like he's read my mind. "It would've been so much easier."

"Easier for who?" Lori snarls. Her eyes are large and wet and her voice shakes. She clings to her son and glares at Jenner with righteous anger.

"All of you," the doctor goes on gently. He really is compassionate. He gave us one last night free of worry, a last meal, and now he is giving us a painless way to go. I feel I should almost thank him. "You know what's out there," he continues. "A short, brutal life and an agonizing death."

I think of Amy and Jim, Simon, Rebecca, Abby, Mr. St James, the Morales family…I'm just so very, very tired. Jenner turns to Andrea, talks of Amy, but I don't listen. I watch the clock and think of Irina's giggles, my Mom's bright red hair, Manny's gap toothed smile. Maybe, just maybe, I'll see them again. Even though I don't necessarily deserve it.

Above my head, Rick gets in Jenner's face and snarls, "I don't want this."

Shane walks up suddenly, drenched in sweat. Rick tears his eyes from the doctor and turns to his best friend but the other former cop just shakes his head. "Can't…make a dent," he gasps out. I look over his shoulder and there doesn't even seem to be a scratch along the door he'd been hammering away at.

Beside me, Dr. Jenner sighs. "Those doors are designed to withstand a rocket launcher," he explains as if he's talking to children.

There's a sudden rush of footsteps and I look up to see Daryl sprinting up the stairs, dark rage, not unlike his brother's, bright in his eyes. "Well yer head ain't," he roars and goes to swing the axe in his head at the seated doctor. Rick sees him coming, goes to intercept him and all the men follow suit.

"Whoa whoa! Daryl stop!"

"Back up! Back up!"

"Drop the goddamn axe Dixon!"

It takes me a minute to realize I'm on my feet and moving but then I'm standing in front of Daryl, reaching up and grabbing the axe he still has poised above his head. He scowls at me, his eyes shouting for me to step aside. But I don't. I take the axe from his hand, the weapon heavy, and the men shove him back. He snarls and stalks around the other side of the computers, paces back and forth like a trapped beast. I follow and stand between him and the doctor, axe leaning against the computer at my back.

Rick and the other's continue to argue with Jenner. Nothing changes. The doors don't open and no one budges from their resolve. Everyone still wants out; Jenner keeps the doors locked shut and tries to make them see.

"There is no hope," he entreats with Rick. "There never was."

I laugh under my breath because I've come to realize that, if only miles and months too late.

But Rick is relentless, won't let up. "There is always hope," he says adamantly. And the two sides go back and forth, an endless repetition, and nothing changes. Andrea is like me, she's tired. She had to see her sister die and put a bullet in her head. She's had enough. She tries to persuade the others but to no avail. Carol starts to sob louder than her daughter and rounds on the doctor seated before her.

"This isn't right!" she wails. Tears stream from her pale, blue eyes. "You can't just keep us here!"

Dr. Jenner leans forward, his eyes and voice soft. "One tiny moment," he tells her. "A millisecond! No pain." He says this like he can't understand why no one else wants it. Like he's confused at why these people cling to life, what they fight for. I think maybe…it's just habit. We cling to life out of habit because we know nothing else.

"My daughter doesn't deserve to die like this!" Carol cries out. I turn to her and see Sophia's freckled, frightened face. In all honesty, her daughter doesn't deserve to die period. But that's not the way of the world. Things die and tragedies happen and there's no rhyme or reason. You have to accept it. I wish I could save them, I said I would, I promised, but…maybe this is salvation.

Shane apparently doesn't think so. As Dr. Jenner continues to try—"Wouldn't it be kinder, more compassionate to just hold your loved ones and wait for the clock to run down?—the former cop reaches for his shotgun and abruptly cocks it. People start to shout again, Rick runs to grab his friend's gun, the men go to subdue him, but unlike Daryl, he subsides for no one and nothing. His eyes are wild, crazy, dark, and I remember the day I met him, how I stepped away with a fear I couldn't place. Maybe this is why.

I don't try to stop him.

"Open that door," he growls quietly to Jenner. The barrel of his shotgun presses harshly against the doctor's cheekbone. "Or I'm gonna blow your head off! Do you hear me?!"

Rick gets in Shane's face, whispers urgently in his ear to back down, how they'll never get out otherwise. It doesn't look like Shane is listening and I turn to look at the clock.

7:15

For the first instance in a long while, I wish time would speed up instead of slow down.

To the side of me, Shane screams in rage and I hear a gun go off just as I'm yanked painfully to the side. I cry out and stumble but hands quickly steady me. Hands with calluses, warm and worn. I look up into Daryl's blue eyes and look over to the computer I was standing out. There are a few holes from where stray pellets from Shane's gone had punched through the desk, the computers. A few holes right where I had been standing.

"Thank you," I tell Daryl quietly. Even if I'm waiting to die, I'm grateful to do it with a few less holes and a lot less pain. He scowls at me and looks away, right to where Shane and Rick wrestle for the shotgun. Shane loses, ends up on his back with blood in the corner of his mouth from where Rick had clocked him. Rick spits some words at him and Shane snarls right back. People shuffle and cry and Jenner just turns to look at the clock again. I think I see him smile.

"I think you're lying," Rick says fervently after a time. He whirls on Jenner and stares at him with piercing eyes. The doctor blinks, faces his accuser.

"What?"

"You're lying," Rick repeats. "About no hope. If that were true, you would have bolted with the rest or taken the easy way out. But you didn't. You chose the hard path. Why?"

Dr. Jenner sits up straight and slowly shakes his head. There's a bitter twist to his pale lips. "It doesn't matter," he says quietly.

"It does matter. It always matters. You stayed when others ran. Why?"

The bitterness of Jenner's expression bleeds into irritation, then anger. He spins on Rick and leans into his face. "Not because I wanted to," he grits out empathetically. "I made a promise to her." He points at the screen, at red numbers, and I feel confusion before he continues, "My wife."

"T…test subject 19 was your wife?" Lori stutters out in reference to the brain we saw on the screen earlier, the infected one that Jenner ended up killing.

And oh. It makes sense now. All of it. I look at this pale, thin doctor and understand him so much it physically aches. He made a promise, a last promise to someone he loved. To someone he cared about. And it's kept him, bound and chained, all this time. It wasn't of his decision, his making.

He did it because he had no other choice. He had to honor his wife's last wishes.

As I had tried to honor Sensei's.

"You must never, ever, give up. No matter the trials, no matter the tribulations, no matter the difficulty, you must endure, you must continue on. Remember this Audrey Lara Bennett. Remember this and never forget it."

Behind me I hear clanging again. I turn to see Daryl hacking at the doors with the axe that is no longer at my side. I wonder if he made a promise to someone. I wonder if that's what keeps him going.

"Your wife didn't have a choice," I hear Rick say. "But you do. And that's all we want: a choice, a chance."

"Let us keep trying as long as we can," his wife adds, her voice wavering around tears.

I look back at Jenner and see something in his face give, resignation flooding his expression. "I told you topside's locked down," he sighs. "I can't open those." But, despite his words, he goes over to a computer, types something and then there's this soft beep. Something hisses and everyone whirls to see the doors lower and the hallways gape wide. At one of the exits, Daryl spins around and gestures to everyone.

"Come on! We gotta get the fuck outta here!"

I turn to the clock.

4:31

People start screaming, everyone starts running. Except for Jenner…and me…and Andrea…and Jacqui. I look at the older woman in surprise but she stares back with watery eyes. She's tired too.

Rick thanks Jenner and the doctor replies with words I can't hear; whispers something to the former cop before Lori drags him away. I shift backwards and try not to draw attention to myself like Jacqui has done. T-Dog tries to pull her towards the stairs but she bats him away, crying openly now.

"No! No, I'm staying," she cries. "I'm staying sweetie." T-Dog gazes at her with incredibility and attempts to persuade her but Jacqui has made her decision. We all have. She pulls away quickly, tells the others to go, and walks back towards me. Suddenly, everybody is staring and I feel their eyes like lasers on my skin. Glenn blanches, his eyes wide and horrified. I feel a stab of guilt for leaving my friend alone in this godforsaken world but I just don't have the energy anymore. I just want to rest.

"A…Audrey!" He screams my name, tries to fight back to me, but Shane catches him across the chest and shoves him to the hallway.

"Come on man! We gotta go! It's no use! We gotta go!" Glenn struggles the whole way, tears in his eyes, and I catch his gaze one last time to mouth I'm sorry.

"No! No! Audrey! Audrey, don't do this! Don't do this!" His shouts echo back to me even as he's dragged away. A tear slips down my cheek, unbidden, and I whisper a quiet goodbye to my last friend.

Jacqui comes to stand beside me and she envelops me in her arms. I let her, give her this last comfort and maybe myself some too. Jacqui is not Mom but…she's kind and sweet and maybe I have come to love her in the short time we had been given.

Beside us, Dale has stayed behind to try and convince Andrea to leave. God, I want to scream at him it's useless. Andrea has no one left, just lost her last family two days ago. She's…done. Just so done. I open my mouth to tell the older man to go, I don't want him to die if he has such a desire to live because of some stupid endeavor, but I don't have the chance. Just as I'm taking the breath to say those words…a hand suddenly forces itself between Jacqui and I, wraps completely around my waist, and hauls me backwards.

Jacqui cries out in shock and I scream in pain, ribs on fire, but the pressure doesn't relent. I struggle and fight, lash out, and finally connect with something that gives. A grunt brushes the shell of my ear and I'm dropped abruptly. I barely catch myself on a computer station before I'm whirling around.

Daryl stands a few feet away, rubbing at his ribs and his face is contorted into the most horrible scowl I've ever seen. His crossbow sticks out at an odd angle over his shoulder and my sword sticks out over the opposite, my tanto at his hip. I blink at him but don't get the chance to talk.

"Kid, get yer fuckin ass into gear and let's go," he growls at me. I frown and slowly shake my head.

"Daryl," I start. "I'm…I'm not—"

"Oh don't fuckin give me that bullshit! Ya ain't stayin and dyin like some pussy! Now come on!"

He lunges for me but I stumble away, shove him back with my good hand. "No Daryl!" I shout. His blue eyes go wide at my tone and I purse my lips. "No," I say softer this time. "I'm not going. I'm…tired Daryl. I told you. Just so tired."

Daryl bares his teeth and his eyes are like glass, cutting into me. It's like the first day we met all over again, me pinned against a tree, Daryl staring at me in disgust. "So what? Yer gonna give up cuz life's hard? Newsflash kid! Life ain't meant to be easy! Ya gotta suck it up and roll with the punches!"

"Well I'm tired of rolling! I've been rolling with the punches all my fucking life and I'm done! Daryl, my family is dead. So are all my friends. What's the point?! Give me a goddamn reason!"

"Yer wrong."

Daryl's words are quiet, so different from the previous shouting and I freeze. "What?" I ask in confusion.

The hunter meets my gaze and his expression ripples—hard to soft and back again. "I said yer wrong. All yer friends ain't dead. What bout Chinaman?"

I sigh and run a hand through my hair. "Glenn will be fine without—"

"What bout me?"

I balk at that last part and stare at Daryl in nothing but shock. He scowls back at me but the expression isn't all anger anymore. It…it almost looks hurt.

"Huh? What the fuck bout me?" he snarls. "Ya goddamn come into my life and fuck it up and won't take no for a fuckin answer. Ya try and try and try to be my "friend" for god knows why and ya whittle me down to nothin. Ya make it so I have no other choice, get under my fuckin skin, and now yer just gonna check out." He spits to the side, shakes his head like a wet dog. "Fuck you. I ain't havin it."

I gape at Daryl, tryin to process his words. He…he considers me a friend. But I thought…

"And what bout yer Ma?" he goes on. I snap my head up. "Her name was Lisette right?" How…how did he know that? "What bout her? Ya think she'd want ya to do this? Just give up? If she was worth bein a mother, than she wouldn't."

"My Mom was an amazing mother!" I say because I can't think of anything else, can't process anything else. Daryl's eyes glint at my and he bares his teeth again.

"Yeah? Fuckin prove it."

I stare at him and want to argue but…he's right. It hits me like a bolt of lightning. Mom wouldn't want this; neither would Sensei or…or any one of my friends. They'd be…so disappointed in me; after everything I've been through and survived, for me to give up like this…it's a disgrace. And if there is an afterlife, if I do get to see all my loved ones again, I don't want to look into their eyes and see disappointment.

That's a reason right there.

It happens so fast I can't even track it. One minute I'm standing there, and the next Daryl is tugging me to the door and I'm running. At the last second, I look over my shoulder and see Jacqui smiling at me, waving beside Jenner. I think she looks almost proud.

Goodbye Jacqui I think but then I have no more time to idle because Daryl is pulling me along so fast, my bare feet are burning across the carpet. The elevators don't work—no energy left to be spared—so we have to take the stairs. My whole body aches and burns but I don't stop. I keep running and not for a second does Daryl let go of my hand.

On the second floor flight, there's the sound of this massive explosion and the floor shakes. I have this horrible thought that we're too late, we're about to die, be set on fire, but Daryl doesn't even pause and when we burst through onto the first floor, we see one of the huge windows to the outside have been shattered. We don't question it; just run for the opening.

When we get there, however, there's glass everywhere and my feet are still bare. I jerk to a stop, gasp out, "Daryl! My feet!" And he understands instantly because the next second, he's hoisting me up and into his arms bridal style. I flail and my arms go around his neck and shoulders, cling tight as he jumps out the window and onto the walker littered grass. He stumbles slightly with my weight but starts running almost immediately. I turn and look ahead of us, see Dale and Andrea twenty yards away. The rest of the group seems to have made it back to the cars and I have this split second sense of relief before the RV starts to honk rapidly and Lori sticks her head out the window to scream, "Get down! Everyone get down!"

Daryl hears her and suddenly dives for this pile of sandbags. The impact drives the breath out of my lungs and my vision dims with pain as Daryl covers my body with his and yanks a sandbag over us.

There's a moment of silence, broken only by my rapid heartbeat and Daryl's harsh pants in my ear and then…

The world explodes.

---

The ground shakes as if the world were splittin in two. Daryl's eardrums pop, his bones grind together, and there's this searin heat that spreads over them like they've stepped into a volcano. Daryl curls in tighter around the kid beneath him and waits out the initial explosion. Debris rain down heavily, striking the sandbag draped across his back, his exposed legs and feet. He grits his teeth at the pain and rides it out.

When it's over, he shoves the sandbag off of him, looks back and sees a giant fireball where the CDC used to stand. The bright flames and heat sting his eyes and he ducks his head. Audrey's hair is the first thing to draw his gaze. Dark and unruly, it spreads across the green grass like a stain. It doesn't move and for an instant, Daryl's afraid he had crushed her.

But then she coughs and groans, rolls over and blinks up hazily at him. She's alive and Daryl wants to laugh. "Come on kid," he mutters to her, slips his arms underneath her and picks her up again. She squirms and tries to protest, but he starts to run as walkers begin to approach and she quiets down. He passes the RV on the way to his truck and Chinaman is standin in the door, lookin at him with wide, wet eyes and Daryl averts his gaze cuz he doesn't want to see the gratitude in them. He didn't do it for the chink; hell he didn't even really do it for the kid. He did it for himself cuz he's a Dixon and he's a selfish bastard.

They get to his truck and he dumps her inside, pulls her swords and his crossbow off as he runs to the driver's door and throws those in the bed beside Merle's bike. He's pantin his lungs out when he slams the key into the ignition and starts her up. His arms ache and his legs feel like jello. There are burns along his calves and bruises along his spine where debris had fallen and shoved his crossbow down hard. He feels like death…but he's fuckin alive.

Turnin to his right, he looks the kid over. She's sittin there wide-eyed, starin at the inferno before them, face bathed in orange light. She's pantin too, sweat on her brow and blood along her lip and temple. Daryl reaches out without thinkin and wipes away the blood on her cheek, feels the liquid slick and warm on the pad of his thumb.

Audrey clicks her eyes to him and stares. She doesn't say a word; he doesn't either. They just stare at each other until the other cars start to pull away and he has to follow suit. He tears his eyes away and jerks the truck into drive, presses on the clutch and lurches forward. He follows Walsh's Jeep closely and doesn't look back at the burnin CDC.

And he doesn't make it half a mile before Audrey is pressin tight into his side and just breathin, head against his shoulder and legs drawn up close. He doesn't say anythin and neither does she. But Daryl blames it on the adrenaline when he shifts and drapes his arm across the back of the seat, his fingers sometimes brushin against the kid's exposed shoulder. He blames it on the endorphins and tries not to remember the sickenin fear he felt when he thought he was gonna lose her.

The CDC burns to nothin in his rearview, a plume of black smoke risin to the sky, foolish hopes and dreams comin to ashes and cinders in the early Georgia morning.

---

(1) In Shakespeare's play Macbeth, Lady Macbeth goes mad after she and her husband murder King Duncan. In her delusions, she keeps seeing her hands coated in the king's blood and no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't wash it off.

(2) Norman Reedus (who plays Daryl) has a tattoo in the same spot. His tattoo says Norman, in memory of his late father who he was named after. I thought I'd change it a bit to fit my story of Daryl's background. :)

(3) Fire and Ice by Robert Frost

(4) God's Wheel by Shel Silverstein

(5) Russian pronunciations for "sister". The Russian spelling is сестра.

A/N: And there ya go. More angst, more fluff ( a first) and some more insight into Audrey's past. What did you guys think? :) I thought writing drunk Audrey was a bit of a challenge so I hope that came out ok :/

Again. So sorry about the wait and if you want you can totally bash me in a PM or something x( Still thank you guys for reading and reviewing! Even the guest readers, for which I have a few responses:

Kate: I can't believe you read his story for 7 plus hours :O Omg thank you so much! That's a compliment in and of itself! I'm so glad you think the characters are in character and love that you find Audrey so fantastic :) Also really happy you were moved by the Audrey/Jim scene and I'm sorry the update took so long but I hope this super long chap made up for it!

Gloria: Happy that you're loving the story and I don't think I screamed so much as I did in the finale!

Amanda: Thanks for the compliment! :D And yeah season 3 is a freaking roller coaster!

Jofrench22: Gah! You make me blush! If you think it's perfect that makes my year ^_^ You were correct in your assumption of Audrey trying to stay and I hope Daryl's rescue was up to par with your expectations ;) Audrey didn't really rebecome friends with Glenn. I actually think I made the situation worse with unrequited feelings! Sorry D: But I cried when Lori died and i didnt even like her that much! This show messes with my emotions!

: Does a belated christmas/new year's/norman's birthday present worK? :/ Sorry about the wait! Thank you for reading!

Sosh: Eeek! Thank you for saying that and hope you review after this update! ^^

Anna: Thank you for saying I'm a good writer. You don't know how happy that makes me ^^ I try!

Jenner: Hmm...i saw your name and was like "Doctor? O.O" haha but thanks for reading and happy to be of service ^^ To answer your question I'm a Texas girl :) Born and raised but not a hick. I live in a big city ;) My profile says more about me! But thanks for reviewing and hope to hear from you again!

That's it for now! :) Thank you guys so much! I love you, happy belated holidays and new year!

Until next time!

~Shadows