"Did you hear my covert narcissism I disguise as altruism…

I wake up screaming from dreaming, one day I'll watch as you're leaving

and life will lose all its meaning for the last time."

– Antihero, T.S.

Daryl

How do I keep ending up in situations where Mila's sleeping on me and I'm stuck under her– except not in the way that I want? Perv. After the day she's had, she trusts you enough to actually sleep and you're thinking about inappropriate shit. We're still on the porch swing, more of a bench really, but now her head has slid down from my shoulder to lay on my thigh. A position which makes it all the more difficult not to let my mind wander. Raven is flopped out under us, her breath coming out in steady puffs. The night air has a chill to it and although I think about putting my over Mila for warmth, I don't want to do anything she isn't used to unless she's awake to tell me to fuck off. I'd briefly considered getting up, but I know how hard it is for Mila to sleep and to be honest, I'm not ready to call this moment over. The screen door creaks open and closes gently, as Rick's boots thump across the porch.

"Looks cozy," he remarks, amusement in his voice.

"Shut up," I grumble back. The bags under his eyes mirror Mila's before she knocked out. "What's the plan?" I keep my voice low, trying not to disturb her, and quickly glance down to make sure she doesn't stir.

"Herschel is letting Lori and I stay here tonight, so we can be with Carl. T-Dog took the couch, while Glenn took my truck." I'd already seen Glenn come out and climb in with an armful of blankets. Rick's tiptoeing around the unspoken issue.

"There's not enough room for us. We're gonna have to go back to the highway," I sigh, wiping a hand down my face. He nods apologetically.

"She's done a lot for us today– you too– so if it were up to me, you'd be stayin'. But it's not up to me. Maybe it'd be different if the living room weren't already occupied. I asked Herschel if MIla should stay, in case somethin' happens, but he said Carl's stable."

As inconvenient as it is, I understand. Half our group has already overtaken the house, and I'm sure Herschel only needed one look at me to decide he didn't want me sleeping anywhere near his daughters. Biting my cheek, I take a second to deliberate. We've been out here for maybe an hour. Not enough time for Mila to get the rest she desperately needs, but waiting is just putting off the inevitable. The sooner I wake her up, the sooner she can sleep uninterrupted.

"Alright, we'll get goin'. We'll be back in the mornin' to check on Carl."

"Appreciate that. G'night." Rick wearily walks back to the front door and disappears.

Hovering a hesitating hand over her shoulder, my mind races. What's the least startling way to wake someone up from a dead sleep?

"Mila," I try, my voice calm and steady so she won't think we're in danger. "Mila."

She is out. I finally lower my hand to place it on her elbow, gently shaking her back and forth.

"Mila."

Nothing. If this is how hard she sleeps, no wonder her body won't let her. If I were a walker, I'd be halfway done with a leg before she wakes up. I run my hand up and down the length of her arm, from elbow to shoulder, and give her more of an aggressive shake. This time, she stirs a little, her eyelids fluttering as she tries to open them against the weight of sleep.

"What's wrong?" she mumbles, her voice thick with exhaustion.

"Nothin', but we gotta go back to camp. You can't sleep in the swing all night."

"Why not? I'm comfy here." She stretches out a little before curling deeper into my thigh and almost immediately falls back asleep. The cute gesture loosens a surge of warm affection in my chest, making me quietly laugh.

"Come on." I grab her shoulders and pull her to a sitting position, making her groan. "They're all gonna be worried about you. Once we get back, you can sleep for as long as you want."

"Fine, fine," she squints at me in the moonlight. "Are we taking the bike?"

"Either that or walkin'. A mile and a half will go a lot quicker if we don't walk."

"Maybe I should stay here so I can check on Carl throughout the night. I could sleep on the floor by his bed."

"Nah, Herschel said he's stable. You should get some real rest."

I examine her tired face with soft eyes. She'd sleep on the floor by his bed? She just met this kid not even a week ago, but you'd think she's known him for years with how much she cares about him. The warmth from before amplifies, making my heart feel like it'll burst. I clear my throat and stand, putting space between us.

"What about Raven?" She leans forward over her knees and runs a hand down the dog's back, top to tail. Shit. I'd forgotten about her.

"Don't s'pose she can ride a motorcycle?"

"I'm betting not," Mila giggles, rubbing her eyes.

The sound makes me take another step back, needing more distance to ensure I don't do anything impulsive– like kiss her again. We never talked about it and I'd like to keep it that way. I can live a little longer without the humiliation of outright rejection. Every day I've known her, I've learned more and more that she's too good for someone like me.

"Then I guess we leave her here? And come back in the mornin'?" Mila looks up at me with wide, sad eyes. "Oh, she'll be alright. She lived in the woods alone up until yesterday."

"I know… but she doesn't anymore," she gives her another pat before heaving off the swing. "Makes me feel like a bad dog mom."

"You're a fine dog mom, now let's go." I trudge down the steps, hearing her footsteps close behind.

"Who's sleeping in Rick's truck?" she questions, pointing at the feet hanging over the dashboard.

"That would be Glenn."

"Hold on a sec!" Mila runs over to the truck and pulls open a door, beckoning Raven in. "Glenn, Raven's staying with you tonight." A quiet "huh?" tumbles out of the cab before she shuts the door again. "At least I know she'll be warm now."

"Yeah, and I'm sure Glenn won't mind one bit."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Her brows crinkle in confusion, making her look even cuter. Too good for me, too good for me. Maybe if I chant it, it'll sink in.

"Jus' that he seems to have taken a likin' to one of the daughters. Maggie, I think. And Maggie loves Raven." I shrug. Why am I talking about this? Since when do I care about this shit? Still, it feels like something to bond over. A secret we're both in on. She laughs, waiting for me to climb on the bike before throwing a leg over. Her arms are warm as they slide under my jacket and wrap around my waist. After a lifetime of either being touch starved or on the other side of an angry fist, I'm still getting used to how good her light brushes can feel.

"See? She's making friends already. You're next."

Scoffing, I shake my head and accelerate back onto the road. As we fly by trees and cars, Mila leans her forehead against my back. Satisfaction puffs my chest, both from her close proximity and because she seems to genuinely enjoy being around me. Being wanted, not just needed, is a new experience for me. Her whole body softens and relaxes, like she can actually let her guard down. What a goddamn honor. Wait? Is she too relaxed?

"Hey!" I shout over the roar of the engine, giving her thigh a tap and making her jump, "No sleepin' back there." She squeezes her arms around me tighter and sits up taller.

"M'not." She definitely was. "Wide awake. So awake." I roll my eyes, but say nothing. A few minutes later, we're rolling back up to the RV. Knowing it has to be late and not wanting to wake everyone up, I park a bit away from camp and stall. Mila's hands press on my shoulders as she dismounts the bike before I kill the engine. When I turn, I'm surprised to find her waiting for me. I figured she'd be off to the car she claimed, ready and eager to go back to sleep, instead of shyly hovering.

"Need somethin'?" I ask, confused. She looks up at me and bites her lip, making me barely hold back the groan that wants to leave my mouth. Whatever she needs, I'd probably give to her without a second thought. Hell, I'd go back to the farm and carry Raven the whole way back if she really wanted me to. "Spit it out." She shakes her head, embarrassed, and turns to leave.

"No, nevermind, I'll be okay."

I reach out and grab her by the wrist before she can get too far. She doesn't turn to face me, but doesn't pull away either. Her pulse thrums under my fingers.

"Just say it."

"Well… Raven helped me sleep, but she's not here. I'm so tired, but it'll never happen if…" She trails off, but I hear her loud and clear. It'll never happen if someone's not next to her. Someone being me.

To be fair, I was just wondering what to do myself. I'd been sleeping on the ground of the RV, in between Andrea and Carol, but going in now would mean making a bunch of noise and probably too many questions that I don't feel like answering. I figured I'd find some other abandoned car, but now…

"Alright. Let's go."

We fall into step, the all encompassing silence in the air making it feel like we're the only two awake in the whole world, until we hit her car. She abruptly stops and wrings her hands.

"You don't have to do this if you don't want to or, like, you feel bad for me or something."

"I ain't. I don't. Sittin' in a car alone or with you, makes no difference to me." That isn't totally true, but it's as honest as I feel like being. I pop the hatchback and motion with my arm. "Now, get in."

Mila does as she's told, crawling into the back, while I try not to creepily watch her do it. She leans back on her elbows and scoots over to make room for me, looking unsure and then confused as I slam the door down. I walk around to the passenger door and climb in, reclining the seat back as far as it'll go. Despite the silent invitation, I want her to feel comfortable and not like I'm taking advantage of the situation.

"Aren't you going to be uncomfortable?"

Turning my head to look at her over the center console, I swallow thickly as she lays on her side facing me, head propped up by her elbow. Something about her position makes this seem like the most intimate, bed-like situation we've found ourselves in yet. I'm suddenly grateful and regretful that I turned down her offer to jump in the back.

"Nah, I'll be okay," I assure her, even though my legs hardly fit in front of me. I've had worse. She looks skeptical but stays quiet. We settle into comfortable silence, other than her constant tossing and turning. I can practically hear the gears turning back there, despite how tired she must be.

"Why'd ya become a nurse?"

It's a question that has been floating around my brain all day, and it seems more appropriate to ask than the one I really want to know.

"Oh. Um, to help people, I guess." Her tone carries an undercurrent of something else, something hidden– buried under the canned and overly rehearsed answer.

"Could've done something that didn't involve blood and gross shit," I counter, as she shifts again and sighs.

"Sort of. It's kind of a combination of things. I had a… health thing, when I was a teenager. I thought I was dying. My body just stopped working." I hold my breath in anticipation, not expecting the story to be so dramatic. She stares blankly at the ceiling as she speaks, almost as if she's talking about someone else's life. "No one believed me until it was almost too late. They thought I was making it up or something." My heartbeat pounds in my throat while my chest painfully constricts. What the fuck? Who doesn't believe a kid?

"Thankfully, it was reversible and obviously I'm fine now, but that's why I decided to do pediatrics. I wanted to fight for kids when others wouldn't. I could be the one who believed them."

"Pediatrics? I thought you worked in an ER?"

"I did– in a children's hospital. We'd get the occasional adult, but not often."

Something deep inside of me melts as I imagine her within sterile white walls, trying to make scary situations even a little less terrifying for the kids she treated. She took the shit situation she got handed and tried to make something good out of it. How different would my life have been if I'd had even one adult who'd given a shit? If even one person had come looking for me when I was lost in the woods, like I did for Sophia? A tiny beacon of hope shining in an otherwise lonely existence. Unaware of how she's just affected me, Mila continues.

"It was still mostly selfish though," she says quietly, almost shamefully.

I furrow my brows and abruptly snap out of my thoughts. Huh?

"What the hell are ya talking about? How is that selfish?"

"'Cause, I… I didn't do it only for them. I also did it so I could feel good about myself, like I was a… good person, or something." She says this like it's the worst possible thing anyone could've done.

"If you do good, doesn't that make you a good person?"

These mental gymnastics are confusing me. She's been as good of a person as any I've seen, and I've only known her for a few days. Is it because she murdered John and his buddies? That seems like justice served to me.

"I don't know. I think I was just doing it to make up for who I am or something." As if realizing she's saying too much, she abruptly clamps her mouth shut and stares up through the roof of the car. "Anyway, that's why."

"You're overthinkin' it," I grumble. "I don't know what you reckon you have to make up for, but you've done a hell of a lot just in the short time we've had you."

She doesn't answer, but I know she's heard me. It's gotten me thinking about the shit Merle and I used to pull, even up until a month ago. We only stopped at the campsite to see if we could rob the place blind, planning on being long gone by the time they noticed. I didn't feel right about it, never did, but I wasn't the one who called the shots. I'd been letting Merle do what he pleased for thirty odd years and the apocalypse didn't seem to be a good time to break the status quo. Bar fights, getting high, selling product, working in chop shops, sleeping around– what the hell would Mila think of me if she knew all of that? She thought she was a bad person and didn't pull half the shit I did. Shame consumes my brain, pulling up memories I don't want to think about. I'm sinking in the quicksand of my past and unable to claw my way out, suffocating by the minute. You're the bad person.

"Daryl-"

Before she can say anything else, I absentmindedly put my left arm through the front seats to rest– well, hang– in the back. Her fingers graze my arm and then spread across my skin, resting on my forearm.

"Thank you."

I don't reply, too caught up in my own spiral down nightmare lane, but when I turn around again, she's asleep.

—-

Mila

I wake to find myself alone, the sun glaring through the back windows. The passenger seat is still reclined, as if Daryl could still be lying there, but that's the only sign that last night wasn't a dream. I'd been so sleep deprived and exhausted that I half feel I could've made the whole thing up– at least if I weren't still wearing a shirt soiled with Carl's blood. I crawl through the back to reach the door and hop out, stretching my arms over my head. Where'd Daryl go?

"Mila!" Dale calls from the top of the RV, "Good morning!"

"Hey Dale! What time is it?" He dutifully keeps his watch wound, so he's the only one who could ever answer this question with any kind of accuracy.

"Just after 9. Heard you had a big day yesterday. How's Carl doing?"

9?! In zombieland, that may as well be noon.

"He seems to be out of the woods," I reply, trying to sound more optimistic than I feel. They always are until they aren't. "But I'd like to go see him soon to check."

"Ah, of course. Daryl went out early this morning to go look for Sophia again, but should be back soon." Concern etches his weathered face. "Are you okay? You haven't had a moment to breathe since you joined us."

A soft fondness wraps loosely around me. Sure, Dale tried to make Andrea's decision for her at the CDC and he could be a bit self-righteous at times, but his heart is always in the right place. He finds order in the morals we uphold for ourselves, not whether there are still laws to tell us how to act. From what I can see so far, he truly is like the grandpa to everyone– for better or worse.

"I'm okay. There hasn't been much resting since this whole thing started, so it doesn't feel too different than usual."

"I'm just glad we found you when we did– for both your sake and ours."

"Me too." More than you know.

I pull open the metal RV door to find Carol staring blankly out the window.

"Hi Carol, how are you holding up?"

She turns at my voice, as if she'd been so deep in thought she hadn't even noticed I'd come in. Her eyes are empty and swollen, a result of intermittent crying with only brief moments of relief. Cool lakes of glacier blue stained crimson from fear and the unknown.

"Oh, you know. Best I can. I should be out looking for her though, not sitting around here."

I know why she can't go. She lacks Daryl's abilities for tracking and direction, can't kill a walker, and is more likely to end up a victim while out there. Still waking up, my muddied brain struggles to conjure what to say. Nothing can fix this.

"That just means you'll be ready and waiting for her, if she finds the highway again."

It is the most likely scenario. Finding her in the woods is hunting a moving needle in a haystack and this is the only familiar landmark Sophia knows. Carol shoots me a grateful smile, before returning to stare out the window.

"Daryl's back," she offhandedly remarks and my cheeks immediately heat up. Does everyone notice how much time we spend around each other? Can they all tell I have a giant, unrequited crush? Embarrassment prickles over my skin at the thought of the group seeing me as a lost puppy following him around. Despite this, I can't ignore the call of my feet to meet him outside the RV.

"Hey," he calls out, his gravelly voice extra low– presumably from hours of disuse.

"Hi. Anything?" It's a dumb question, as he's visibly empty handed, and I know it but I can't stop the flicker of hope from sparking up naively inside me. He shakes his head and adjusts his crossbow on his shoulder.

"Nah, didn't see nothin'." Disappointment hangs heavy in the air. "I'm sorry I left ya, just got up early and figured I should go lookin' for her."

"No, don't be– that was the right call. I just got up anyway, so you didn't even wake me. Thank you for staying with me at all." I probably only slept because of you. Don't say that out loud.

He dips his head and becomes fascinated with the ground, giving me a curt nod. Shit. Did I make him uncomfortable by asking? Am I a giant creep? Can he hear my thoughts?

"We should go back to the farm, see Carl. Make a plan to look for Sophia."

"I'm ready when you are."

"I think everyone should come back with us too. It doesn't make any sense to keep goin' back and forth." What if Sophia comes back? As if confirming my theory that he can hear my thoughts, Daryl answers. "We made a sign for Sophia and put some supplies in one of the cars for her. We'll come back every day to check."

My relief is palpable, briefly outshining the disappointment of another morning with no trace of Sophia. Of course Daryl thought of contingencies.

"Okay. Whatever you think."

Fifteen minutes later, we pull up to the front yard with the RV in tow. Raven excitedly jumps around on the porch when she sees us, but doesn't bark. Good girl. I'm happy to get off the bike and get some space, after spending the whole ride staring obsessively at the freckle on the back of Daryl's neck and admiring the way his hair flutters in the wind. Maybe I am a creep.

Everyone filters out to meet us, tipped off to our arrival due to all the noise. A layer of tension permeates the air around if Herschel will let us stay, but no one addresses it.

"How's Carl?" Dale asks cautiously.

"He'll pull through, thanks to Herschel and his people," Lori replies with a reassuring smile.

"And Mila and Shane. We'd have lost Carl if not for them," Rick shifts on his feet, dipping his head in my direction.

Feeling embarrassed at having attention drawn to me, I avert my gaze only to catch Shane's eye on the fringe of the group. He's been acting even more standoffish than usual and apparently shaved his head at some point last night. Goosebumps rise on my skin, chilling me to the bone. None of this is sitting right with me. We were almost done. We'd gotten all the supplies and just needed to find an exit route. Otis was laying down fire for me so I could run, and then he said he'd meet me once the coast was clear. What the hell happened after that?

Heschel informs us that a funeral for Otis will be taking place, and they'd like us to be there. We each stack rocks in a pile, taking the place of where his body should be, and stand in a half-circle as Herschel reads from his Bible. Religious stuff always makes me comfortably uncomfortable, a byproduct of growing up having it forced on me, but I try to diplomatically set aside my personal feelings and make space for the grief this family is enduring. Whatever makes them feel better.

"Mila and Shane– would you speak about Otis and his last moments?" Herschel's voice interrupts my thoughts and catches me off guard. No one said I would be talking. Shane's feelings about this must mirror mine, judging by the look on his face.

"I'm not good at it. I'm sorry," Shane explains, as I shoot him a glare. Otis died for us– saying anything at all is the least we could do.

"You two were the last ones with him in his final moments. Please," his wife cries, and guilt twists in my stomach. Maybe Otis should've ran and I should've stayed behind to buy him time. Maybe then we both would've gotten out. Would things be different? Or would this be my funeral instead?

"I'll do it," I say, my palms already sweating. I've never liked public speaking, even in the best of times. "Uh… I didn't know Otis long, obviously, but I feel like I got a good idea of his character in the short time that I did." His wife's sobbing is only slightly distracting, but also acts as motivation to come up with something that will comfort her when she thinks back to this moment. "Just the fact that he would volunteer to go with us to help save Carl shows the man he was. On the way over, he could tell I was nervous and he kept me talking about random things– being a nurse, where I grew up, what it was like around here before– to keep me from spiraling in my own thoughts." I sniffle as my voice cracks, the sadness around us contagious. "We got cornered, and he told me to run while he covered me. He was brave until the end, and I wish I'd had the opportunity to get to know him more."

That seemed like a natural ending, so I step back into my position as Shane steps forward. He tells his own account of how it went down, but one line stands out to me like a flashing neon sign.

"I ran into Otis after we all got separated, he had made it back outside. We encountered a group of walkers and he pushed me ahead– said 'I'll take the rear, I'll cover you.' Just like he did for Mila. If not for Otis, I'd have never made it out alive and that goes for Carl too. It was Otis. He saved us both."

The gears in my mind turn as I flash back to running into Shane, and nearly shooting him in reflex. I roughly exhale and drop the pistol's barrel to face the ground, scanning behind him for another figure.

"Where's Otis?" Motion catches my eye in the distance, the moonlight illuminating a crowd of walkers huddled around something I can't see. Bile rises in my throat, but I desperately hope to be wrong.

"He's gone."

Tears prick my eyes and my lower lip wobbles. I may not have known him well, but he's a human being and he kept me safe despite being a near stranger. My attention falls to the shotgun in Shane's hand, confusing me. How did Shane manage to get Otis' only weapon?

"Come on! We gotta get out of here!" Shane barks, pulling my arm and dragging us away from the undead making their way toward us.

I wander over to where Daryl is leaning on a tree, watching the ceremony but not quite a part of it, and take my spot next to him. At least, it feels like my spot lately. The place I know I'm safest and most myself, when I'm not acting like a total idiot.

"So, did that totally suck?"

He looks over at me, carefully examining me like I'm a painting in a museum. Butterflies swirl in my stomach from the intensity of his stare, but I also can't look away– not wanting to miss one second of absorbing the way his eyes dance around my face.

"Nah. You did good."

Despite the brevity, his words send pride rippling through my veins. Is this what I've been reduced to? Needing someone's external approval to know how I should feel about myself? Apparently, yes. I consider my next words carefully and try to keep my tone neutral, not wanting to influence his opinion with my own.

"And does anything seem… odd about Shane? Or his story?"

Daryl's jaw tenses, just the slightest bit, as he glares ahead into the distance. He hasn't actually spoken, but words aren't needed. He knows what I know. Shane is full of shit.