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Chapter Text

When my company-mandated therapist asked what the worst part had been, I told her a story about one of the scars. It was a good story, about one of the gnarliest scars, the one that circled halfway around my throat and ran down my chest, ending on the upper slope of my breast. The doctors had asked me gently about reconstructive surgery, but I wasn’t worried about it or any of the other scars.

She nodded and made notes and asked about my nightmares, and I said they were getting better and she smiled, pleased. She believed it, my story about the scar being the worst of it.

It wasn’t.

The thing about torture is that it isn’t the physical that will break you. It’s the mental, always. The emotional devastation, the loneliness, the mind games, the constant stress and fear- they wear you down until you go numb or go insane or break down and give them what they want.

I’d gone numb, and even though the wounds were scars and the nightmares really were fading, the numbness hadn’t worn off. The worst part was I was afraid it never would.

The real worst part was I was afraid I didn’t want it to.

Then the news came that my brother had been shot in the line of duty, and the company deemed me sane and recovered enough to begin the severance process, and I was heading back to King County, Georgia with nearly as many medals as I had scars, several prescriptions I’d probably never fill, and a whole list of ‘worst thing I’ve ever seen’ moments that had me convinced nothing would ever phase me in life again.

Then, of course, the dead started rising.

I'd chosen my spot intentionally, perched just off the main road where I was hidden in the branches but could see clearly. Shane thought I was on watch for the dead, but Shane was always too damn trusting for his own good. The dead would give themselves away or they'd sneak in through the trees, and our noise-alert wires were far more useful for spotting them than one woman in a tree or Dale on the roof of his RV.

I was watching for the living. They were the real danger out there, already.

Shane thought he was hardened because of his years as a cop, because of seeing Rick fall, because of the choices we'd made together to get Lori and Carl out of there safe. Shane Walsh, I thought as I kept my eye on the road, rifle steadied in the fork of the branches in front of me, had no idea what people were capable of.

When government fell, people went absolutely batshit. I'd seen it, a few too many times for my comfort, and played a part in the collapse of everything everyone knew a few times, too. People were the real threat. We had to be careful who we let in up here, or we'd find ourselves in a worse place than we already were.

The dust cloud I'd noticed an hour ago resolved itself into a pickup truck and a motorcycle. I let out a slow breath, focusing on the people. Two men, both looking haggard and annoyed, and the one on the bike with a face that just screamed asshole to me for some reason.

But the back of the truck held camping gear, hunting rifles, and a deer that had been field dressed expertly. I was intrigued enough I'd stop them and ask questions, not just shoot them on-sight like I had the roving band of men who'd come through last week.

I'd gotten close enough to listen to them, and they said nothing I wanted approaching our camp with women and children. I hadn't bothered to mention them to Shane, either.

I fired in front of the truck's tires, watching through the scope as the driver expertly whipped the wheel to the side, skidding to a stop. Motorcycle Asshole had a gun in his hands, the bike down and him in a crouch behind it, as the driver hopped out of the truck to take up a position with a crossbow over the hood, too. It looked like they were arguing, I thought with amusement as Motorcycle Asshole's lips moved and Crossbow Man's shoulders jerked.

I left the rifle in the tree and dropped down, my pistol in my hands as I slipped from the trees and into the road. "Hey," I called to them.

They both jerked, weapons turned my way. Crossbow Man's eyes widened, flicking from me to the gun to the trees, and he looked like he didn't want to point that thing my way. Motorcycle Asshole had an entirely different expression, one I'd seen plenty. Motorcycle Asshole was a vet, I'd put money on it.

I studied them both, but the asshole in particular. "Army?" I asked into the silence as they studied me right back.

His lips curled up into something halfway between a smile and a sneer. "Maybe. You? Cause you got service written all over ya, sugar tits."

I snorted and didn't bother to respond. "What are you doing up here?"

"Headin' for the quarry. Get the high ground," Crossbow Man answered. "Hunt, survive. Get away from them dead fuckers."

I nodded. "And if I told you the quarry was taken?"

"Hell, sugar-"

"Call me sugar tits again and I'll take off something you're probably attached to while you sleep," I told him, no change in my tone.

He laughed, long, loud, and air-filling. "Shit. I like ya. If there's already folk up there, maybe there's room fer two more? Little brother here's a good damn hunter. Got us a deer already, an' we can get more."

"We?" Crossbow muttered.

I stared between them, letting the silence grow to uncomfortable. Crossbow shifted, frowning between his brother and me. Motorcycle Asshole's smirk just grew. Finally I nodded, tucking my pistol into the holster on my thigh. "Fine. Come on, follow me."

"Hold on now, sweetheart, maybe we's got some questions of our own."

I turned back, lifting an eyebrow their way. "Like?"

"Like who in the hell you might be, for one?"

I shrugged. "Call me Angel. Everyone does."

The archer shifted, looking like he wanted to ask, but he stayed silent. The other one looked me up and down with a smirk.

“Oh? That cause ya pretty ass fell from heaven and landed at our feet?” He asked, the smirk turning to a leer.

I gave him a flat, bored look. “Nope. Clawed my way up from hell. Got the scars to prove it. Broke a nail on the way.”

The asshole guffawed loudly, but it was the archer I paid attention to.

“So why Angel then? If it ain’t ya name? Said everybody calls ya that, means it ain’t ya real name,” he said, hunching his shoulders and looking away when I met his eye.

I sighed. Might as well tell the story, since I was bringing them back to camp with me.

“My name’s Harley. Harley Grimes. My dad’s best friend heard that and decided to get me a Hell’s Angel’s motorcycle jacket when I was a baby. It was funny, see, cause my dad was the sheriff. But Mom put me in it so often, my big brother thought the words on my back were my name. Started calling me “hell’s angel” all the time. “My little sister Hell’s Angel.” The best mom and dad could do to fix it was to get him to shorten it to ‘Angel’. It stuck,” I finished with a shrug, not wanting to go into the rest of it- how my Company-assigned code name had somehow been “the Blind Angel”, how Shane Walsh had called me his angel until he broke up with me my junior year of college, how even my nephew called me “Aunt Angel” or just “Angel” because it was so common now.

How my captors had called me “the angel of death”.

Motorcycle Asshole was still grinning. "Well, alright then, Miz Angel. Can ya ride?"

I glanced over the Triumph with a dismissive look. "Better than you, probably. Come on. Shane's probably having a fit by now."

"Daryl," Crossbow said abruptly. "Want a lift? I got space in the truck."

I glanced him over. "I'm assuming Daryl is you."

He blushed, and it was pretty damn cute. Cute didn't last long with me, though. "Yeah. Daryl. Daryl Dixon. Asshole over there with the big mouth is my brother, Merle."

I nodded. "Think I'll just stick with 'motorcycle asshole' for now."

Merle's laugh boomed out again, filling the air raucously. "I's fine with that, Angel. I's just fine with that."

Shane was pissed but I ignored him, as usual. It was easy enough to do. We'd been best friends my whole life, it seemed. And he was my ex as well. My first love, my first breakup, my first kiss, my first time having sex-

My first everything. We hadn't talked in a while, before; and it wasn't all because I'd been working. Some of it was me.

Rick getting shot had changed all of that. Then the world decided to end, and, well- old hurts weren't so important anymore.

Camp stayed fine. The new boys settled in, Merle terrorizing most everyone but especially his little brother. I kept a close eye on him and on Ed, the abusive motherfucker with the wife and kid who was on thin ice with Shane and I within an hour of being up here.

But we needed people, as much as we had to fear them, and Shane wouldn't let me show either Ed or Merle the error of their ways. I stayed out of camp, mostly, but I stayed close. I kept an eye on the road and let Shane think I was looking for the dead.

And I didn't look my sister in law in the eye, even when she sought me out at night around the embers of fire we allowed ourselves. I couldn't. She missed my brother, I knew. I missed him too. But it was more than that, and Shane met my eyes across the coals with the same guilt and sadness in his, and he knew.

Carl was the one light in the grim darkness of the end of the world, and we all did the best we could to keep that light alive.

I slipped back into camp in the early light of dawn to help with water delivery and do a check to see if anyone was heading out today. Glenn had made runs into the city several times, mostly successfully, and there was talk about sending him in with a small group to get a longer list. I was wholeheartedly against sending a group, but Shane would cave any day now. Hell, maybe today.

Daryl came out of his tent, his brother's loud snoring behind him and an annoyed scowl on his lips. He saw me and stopped. "Hey. Been out there all night?"

I didn't know anyone had seen me leave. "Maybe."

He nodded. "Ya quiet out there. I'm goin' out this afternoon, gonna go a ways out an' try to get somethin' better'n deer. Wanna come with?"

"Why?" I asked, surprised as hell. He wasn't unfriendly, but he wasn't exactly social either. Rather like me, I thought, and ignored that voice that sounded an awful lot like Shane's.

He shrugged. "Ya quiet. Another pair of eyes and hands cain't hurt. An' ya seem like ya could use some space from all of them."

His chin jerked in the direction of the now-stirring camp, and I made a face that I knew told him he was right. He huffed a small laugh, and I rolled my eyes at him. "They're- well."

"Yeah," he agreed. "I'll find ya when I's ready. Grab a pack or somethin', probably gonna be overnight."

Shane objected. "Are you shittin' me, Angel? Why are you going out there overnight?"

"I go out every night, Walsh," I snapped. "Dixon can use the backup. I'm good out there, and you know it."

He shoved a hand through his hair with a heavy sigh, a sure sign I'd won. "Just- be careful. I can't lose you, too."

I touched his arm and he pulled me to him in a one-armed hug. I leaned against his shoulder, eyes closed, taking the comfort for a moment. But only a moment. "You won't lose me. I'll bring back a deer or something. Give Carl and Lori a feast."

He laughed. "Better. Be safe, angel."

I heard the lowercase that time, and I moved away without a word.

Chapter Text

It became clear almost immediately what a compliment it was, heading out with Daryl Dixon. He moved like a ghost in the trees, better than many of the highly-trained military special forces operatives I'd worked with. He was silent, and he didn't say much either. I could appreciate that. Ever since I'd gotten back, conversation wasn't high on my list of enjoyed activities.

Something about being gagged in a cave for months would do that to a girl, I guess. Plus, you know, endless pain.

We stayed out overnight, as he'd said, and it was looking to be a bust. He'd gotten plenty of squirrel, which had me wrinkling my nose. He'd grinned at me.

"What, too much of a lady for squirrel?" he asked in a whisper as he dressed it and added it to the string of them slung over his shoulder.

I scoffed. "I've eaten worse. They're just tough to chew."

"What's the worst thing ya ever eaten?" he asked as we sat on the trail he'd sworn was deer sign. His voice was a breath in my ear, no higher than a whisper, and he never took his eyes off the path.

I thought about it. Wondered how to answer. With the truth? That in the caves, I'd eaten raw bugs and pig slop and whatever molded, rancid, spoiled scraps they'd given me to keep me alive, even if only barely? Or did I give a tamer answer? Something more expected?

He glanced at me, his eyes too knowing. "I see them scars. I ain't pryin'. Don't have to say shit if ya don't wanna. But I got some of my own, see, an' I know they don't come easy, scars like that. Can tell if ya want. I ain't gonna judge. Or say shit to anyone else. Or ya can pretend I never asked. Shit, here she comes."

He was all business again, sighting that crossbow on the doe now strolling along the path. For once, I was speechless not because I wanted to be.

She ran. He'd put three bolts in her, but she still ran. He'd sighed, glanced at me, and without a word we'd both scooped up our things and chased her.

Somewhere along the way, I found myself answering his question. But as usual, not really. "Bugs," I said, out of nowhere.

He glanced at me, eyebrow quirked up. "Yeah? They ain't great, but shit. Snake's worse, my opinion."

I felt myself smiling, surprised into it. "Snake's not bad. Personally, I think worms are shit. Too wiggly. Bad texture."

He was grinning back, openly now. Friendly and inviting. "Whatcha think about possum?"

My wrinkled nose said enough, and we both laughed. It wasn't long before I sobered, the smile sliding away. "I'm- I was- a spook."

"What?"

I'd startled him that time, and it made me smile again briefly. "A spook. A spy. An agent. I worked for the Company. Come on, your brother's Army. You know what I mean."

"The fuckin' CIA? What in the damn hell ya doin' in Georgia?"

That had me laughing again, and it felt good. I didn't do a lot of laughing these days. Hadn't since- since before everything went to shit. "Staying alive, just like you. My brother- Shane's partner, cop not gay," I added with a roll of my eyes. Daryl flashed me a quick smirk and I flipped him off. "He got shot. In a coma. I was- I was stateside already, going through the process to be let out. They sent me down. Then the world ended. Shane and I, we got my sister in law and my nephew out of King County when it all went to shit. We were heading to Atlanta, where we'd heard there was a camp, a safe zone, something. Watched them bomb the city. Grabbed a bunch of people stuck on the road with us, made our way up here."

There was silence as we trailed the deer, getting closer to camp now. I was fine with it, suddenly exhausted and wanting nothing more than my tent and a change of clothes, even if I'd have to be part of the hand-washing party to have those clothes be clean later.

"Can't believe there's a goddamn spook in Georgia."

I flipped him off, but we were both smiling.

He lead us through a thicket of bullshit, and I was bitching steadily at him mentally until we came out into a crowd of basically everyone from camp, Shane with his shotgun up and aimed at us. The look of relief in his eyes faded rapidly away to something else, something I didn't understand, and he took a step in my direction, reaching for my arm.

"Aww, hell. That's my deer!" Daryl yelled. "Been chasin' that thing for miles. Think we could just cut around this gnawed up part."

"I would not risk that," Shane answered him without looking. "Angel-"

"Angel?"

I turned, the voice familiar and impossible. Shane's hand grabbed my arm, and I stood there staring at-

At a goddamn ghost. At a wraith. A figment of my imagination.

For a wild moment, I thought maybe this was all a hallucination, all a result of the drugs and the rancid meat and the pain, and I was still in the caves, imagining all of it. Because I knew who was looking at me now, smiling at me now, couldn't be real. He couldn't be.

My brother was dead.

My brother was standing there, smiling at me.

"Rick?" I whispered. "Rick?"

I turned to Shane, and he had the same bewildered, frozen look in his eyes, because he knew. He knew Rick shouldn't have been there, same as I did.

He'd been with me. We'd both checked for pulse, for breathing. We'd done- we'd done everything we could. And then we'd left him, because we'd had no other choice.

I heard the shots before I got back to Rick's room. My head whipped up, the coffee in my hands dropping to the floor instantly as I dove for cover in a nearby doorway. Heart pounding, I eased around the corner to look.

Nothing. But the gunfire continued, single-shot rapid bursts with a pause in between. Someone coming through was a professional, and they were cleaning the place out.

I had to get to Shane. I had to get to Rick. My hand had dropped automatically to my side, where my gun had been hidden since I got back stateside. It wasn't there, because of course it wasn't, because I was in fucking King County Hospital.

What in the damn hell was happening?

I sighed and reached up to grab the only weapon I had on me, which I also absolutely should not have had but did anyway. The pin shoved into my twisted-up hair came out easily, and I pulled the sheath off the slim little knife and tucked it into my pocket. I put the knife through my fingers, blade out, and hoped I wouldn't have to try to take anyone on with that thing.

It was a last-resort weapon, the kind I'd wished I'd had in the caves numerous times. The kind intended for one use only, on one target only. The final option.

It sure as hell wasn't supposed to be used to take down an unknown number of armed gunmen in a hospital, but here we were. I'd done worse with less, I reminded myself. Not that I could think of an example, but I'm sure one would come to me later.

I made it back to Rick's room, where Shane was on the door looking wild-eyed. The power had gone out while I made my way down the halls, and I sure as shit wasn't going to talk about what I'd killed on the way. It used to be a person, I thought. I wasn't sure.

There'd been rumors, of course, even back before my time in the caves. It wasn't like I hadn't heard about the virus. But the rumors had been unsubstantiated, and despite all the reports that made it back to headquarters and trickled back down through the field offices to us operatives, they'd been largely dismissed as bullshit.

"Bullshit, my ass," I muttered as I swiped blood and brains off my hairpin knife and onto my jeans. "Hey. We gotta get the fuck out of here."

"What the hell is happening?" Shane demanded, wild-eyed as he pulled me into the room.

"I could be wrong," I whispered as the power flickered again and more shooting rang out, disorganized this time. "But I think the world's ending. Get Rick."

Shane hesitated. I frowned at him, then looked over at my brother. The machines that had been measuring his heartbeat and showing him breathing steadily were blank and black, and my heart stopped in dread.

"He dead?" I asked, voice blanker and harsher than I'd intended it to be.

"I don't know," Shane muttered. "I can't hear a breath, can't find a pulse. But there's so much goddamn noise-"

"Watch the door," I snapped. "There's dead people walking now, too. Just fyi."

"What the shit, Angel?"

I ignored him, heading to my brother. I checked for air on my knife blade, with my head against his chest, with the petal of one of his latest flower arrangements from the sheriff's department. Nothing. I checked multiple arteries, muttering to myself under my breath, and then I closed my eyes, my hand on my big brother's motionless chest.

"Goddamn it, Rick," I whispered, voice breaking. Tears burned in my eyes, but then the shooting came, far too close. "Goddamn it!"

"We have to move, angel," Shane said gently. "What do we do? What do we do?"

I kissed Rick's cheek, whispered an apology, and looked up into Shane's wild eyes. "We go. Get to Lori and Carl. Only thing we can do now is survive."

Chapter Text

"Shane, what the fuck?" I whispered as Daryl headed toward camp yelling for his asshole brother, and my asshole brother followed him with a look in his eyes that said there was trouble. "What the fuck?"

"I know. I know, girl. Listen, we gotta- gotta deal with Daryl real quick then I'll catch you up, ok, but he is not going to take the news well."

My eyes narrowed on his back as he jogged to catch up with Daryl. "What news? Goddamn it, I leave for one night-"

"Daryl. Daryl, just slow up a bit. I need to talk to you," Shane called, rubbing a hand over his face as he caught up to Dixon.

"Bout what?" Daryl asked, suspicion coloring his movements and his tone as he went still.

I recognized that stillness, and his eyes flicked from Shane to the guilty faces all around to Rick and back to me. I shifted, going on the balls on my feet so I could move fast when he did, because he would. Whatever had happened, it was bad. And considering Merle Dixon's loud ass hadn't responded to his brother and wasn't hitting on me in that almost automatic way that told me he was just being a goddamn dick, I had a feeling it involved his brother.

If there was one thing I knew about these two- and there was very little I truly knew about them- it was that Daryl was loyal to the motorcycle asshole to a fault. Literally. He should have ditched his big brother's worthless ass a long time ago, but he didn't. Merle caused problems, Daryl did his best to fix them. Even when Merle was an asshole to Daryl himself, he defended him with hot eyes and angry gestures to the others in camp. Especially Shane.

Shane, who sighed now. "About Merle. There's a, uh. A problem in Atlanta."

They circled each other, and I wondered if they even noticed. The group had gone to Atlanta after all, it seemed, and from the looks on people's faces as they watched, I could tell who had gone. Andrea, Morales, Glenn, T-Dog. Jaqui. They had the looks, the looks of guilt.

Daryl's face went flat, his voice empty. "He dead?"

"Not sure," Shane said quietly.

My eyes went from Daryl to Shane as Daryl got up in his face, all that stillness exploding into movement. "He either is or he ain't!"

Shane shook his head subtly, but my older brother chose that moment to step in, and I sighed as his “overly reasonable public servant” voice did nothing to calm Daryl. I listened half-heartedly, paying more attention to Daryl's movements than to what was being said.

Rick had handcuffed Merle to the roof when he'd beaten up T Dog and become a danger to the group. That was my brother, I thought with bewildered fondness. He rides into a group of people he's never seen before and takes charge, trying to keep everyone safe and alive.

"Hold on, let me- let me process this… You're sayin' you handcuffed my brother to a roof, and you left him there?" Daryl yelled it, spinning back to Rick with wildness in his eyes.

"Yeah," my brother said simply, and Daryl exploded.

He tossed the chain of squirrel we'd worked so hard for at Rick, but Shane came in with a flying football tackle I hadn't seen from him since he'd busted his knee his senior year and lost his chance at college ball. Daryl hit the ground, but Shane did too, and I moved in a blur as Daryl went for the massive knife at his waist.

"Knife," I snapped, shoving my brother out of the way and ramming my shoulder into Daryl's midsection as he tossed himself forward. Shane grabbed him from behind, in a choke hold, and I slapped both hands against Daryl's wrist, clapping his wrist between my hands.

He yelped, the knife flying, and glared at me as he struggled against Shane. "Best let me go!"

"Na, think it's better if I don't," Shane grunted.

"Choke hold's illegal!"

"Yeah, you can file a complaint."

I scoffed, scooping up Daryl's knife and shoving it through my belt even as Rick crouched in front of Daryl and asked in that super-reasonable tone if they could have a civilized conversation on the subject. Daryl held that look of rabid animal, but he listened, and Shane let him up.

Turns out, T Dog had dropped the key down a vent. But they'd chained the door to the roof, so the geeks couldn't get to Merle. And my idiot brother, it seemed, was going back to get him.

And Lori was pissed as hell. I didn't even blame her.

Then Rick mentioned the bag of guns he'd somehow left behind after getting trapped in a tank- I shot my brother a look that said we were going to have words later, and he half-shrugged at me in response- and that changed things.

"We have to go," I told Shane in a low voice. "And if he goes, I go. I failed him once already. I won't do it again."

Shane looked agonized, shoving a hand through his hair. "Don't do it, angel. Convince him not to, as well. Merle Dixon-"

"It isn't about Merle and you know it," I said with a sigh as Rick followed an angry Lori away from the others. "Goddamn it, he's been alive for how long and they're fighting already?"

"Yeah, that's- that's another thing," Shane said, his voice odd. "But we can talk about that later. Rick's not going back. Even for the guns, it's too big a risk."

I raised an eyebrow. "You gonna tell him that?"

"Fuck yeah I am."

"Good luck. When you fail, try to find him some ammo for the goddamn Python. He's out, and I know you have some in your bag somewhere. You always do. Dixon's going, no matter what. We need him, Shane. We need the food he brings in, and you know it." I added grimly.

His eyes went from Rick's back to Carl to Daryl to the others gathered around. "Fuck. Fuck!"

"I'll bring him back. You know I will," I whispered. "Shane. My brother's- my brother- how?"

"Shit, girl. I got no damn idea," he whispered back, pulling me into a hug. "He's- I don't even know. He was dead. Right? We didn't leave him alive in there?"

"He was dead," I confirmed, pressing my face into his shoulder. It felt good, too good, and I drew back. "Shit. Is my brother Jesus?"

Shane's short bark of laughter had us both grinning at each other until Daryl yelled impatiently.

I went after Rick before Shane could get to him, shooting a single-minded glare in Shane's direction when Rick came back from Lori's tent looking lost.

Get between me and my brother right now, and I will end you, Shane Walsh, the look said. And I meant it.

Rick's eyes, lingering on Lori, softened as I walked up. Then he yelped when I slapped him, hand going to his cheek. "Shit! What was that for?"

"For making me think you were dead," I informed him, horrified by the way I choked up and the tears springing to my eyes. "Do you know how long I sat there beside your bed?"

"Me? What about you, sis? They wouldn't tell us anything about you! Months. Months!" he hissed, the temper in his voice belied by the glassy sheen in his own eyes.

I glared harder, crossing my arms. "You got shot!"

"You got- hell, I don't know what you got!"

The taste of sweat and mold and someone else's stagnant breath filling my mouth, all the moisture leeched by the rag; dull aching pain in my muscles from the way they'd tied my hands to my legs, head jerked back, standard stress position but it was standard for a reason; fiery hot pain in my chest and on my neck from the oozing wound, probably infected; and hunger, hunger, hunger, but the thirst was worse-

I shook the thoughts away, but he'd already seen it in my eyes. He saw too much, my big brother, and always had. His face softened again, and he reached a hand toward me. I stumbled forward, tripping over my own feet like that time I was five and he was seven and I'd skinned both my knees trying to do what he and Shane had done and I was in tears from the pain. I collapsed into him, letting myself cry for the first time since I saw the lights fixed to the rifles and heard American voices speaking English, and a face had appeared in front of my bleary, unfocused eyes and told me they were here to take me home, ma'am.

"Blind Angel can see. Repeat, Blind Angel can see," the voice called as sunlight stabbed into my eyes, making me cry out and turn away. They'd supported me between two of them, but my big brother had always been enough on his own.

I clung to him, knowing damn well I'd be ashamed of it when I got myself together in a minute, but how could I not? He'd been dead. I'd known he was dead. I'd done everything I could to make that not be true, but the leaf hadn't moved and his breath hadn't fogged the blade of my knife and I couldn't find a pulse no matter how hard I tried or what artery I'd checked.

"I'm sorry," I gasped out as we held onto each other. "I'm so sorry. I thought you were dead. Rick, I really, really thought- I tried, but-"

"Shhh. I know. You got them safe. You and Shane, you got them safe," Rick murmured back. He held on to me as tightly as I did him. "Come on, Hell's Angel, you're tougher than this."

"Oh, fuck you, Ricky," I snapped back, pulling back to glare at him.

He grinned, but his eyes had the echo of dull horror everyone's had when they saw me for the first time. And sometimes the hundredth, I thought sadly. I looked away from his gaze, but he reached toward me, fingers hovering over the scar that ran from the outside of my eye to the right side of my upper lip.

"What happened?" he asked, barely a whisper.

I shrugged, shoving the pain and the terror away as Shane called his name. "A lot of shit. I'll tell you about it sometime. Let's go rescue the Motorcycle Asshole before Dixon blows a gasket and Walsh has an aneurism."

He gave me a look like he knew damn well I was lying. He usually did.

Lori was pissed. She rounded on me out of nowhere while Rick and Shane were arguing, her eyes flashing and her voice that bitchy tone I'd heard directed at both Rick and Shane a few too many times. She'd never tried it on me before, but then again, her husband had never proven me absolutely, unequivocally incorrect about his own death before.

"What the fuck, Harley? You told me he was dead. Dead!"

Lori was the only one who seemed to call me by my real name, and for some reason it pissed me off. Not that I minded my actual name. Hell, I kinda liked it. But she did it in a way that told me it was because she didn't like me much, I supposed. She was my sister-in-law, and I loved her because my brother did and she was the mother of my nephew, but I could honestly say the feeling was mutual. I didn't like her much either, and hadn't even when she and Rick started dating in high school.

Guilt was a bitch, though, and I tried not to snap back at her. She'd grieved him, grieved him so hard and so strong, but she'd been there for Carl through it all. She deserved some respect, and a little bit of patience. Because I had. I had told her he was dead. I'd told her and I'd told Carl, and here I was, the biggest liar in the world.

"Lor, I honestly don't know how he's alive. I swear to you, I checked everything. I checked for breathing three different ways; I checked all the major arteries for a pulse. So did Shane. There was nothing, Lori. Nothing," I told her softly, hearing the rawness in my voice, almost a plea. "He was dead. I don't know how he isn't, but he was dead."

She shook her head, arms clenched tightly around her waist. She didn't look at me, staring instead at Rick. "So make him stay. He just got back. His son needs him!"

"I know he does. But I can't. You know him," I said gently. "He won't leave a man behind to die like that. It's not in him."

"Merle Dixon is trash."

"But Rick isn't," I countered. "I'll bring him back, Lori. I promise."

"Like you brought him from the hospital?" she snapped.

I flinched, and she walked away without another word.

Chapter Text

The truck was quiet as we drove. Daryl was clearly lost in his own thoughts, worried no doubt about his brother. Glenn came with us because he knew the city, and he'd been on every run so far. Rick had asked him specifically along. T Dog sat quiet in the back also, determined to make up for dropping the key. Leaving Merle there weighed on him, so I didn't say anything, but in my eyes, he was an added weight we didn't need.

Rick I trusted with my back in everything but an all-out war situation, and that was only because he wasn't prepared for it. Daryl I knew could handle himself. Glenn we needed, and he knew the ins and outs of the city. T Dog was a good man, but good men often ended up dead.

In the driver's seat purely because he'd beaten me there, Rick sighed. He reached over and grabbed my hand, squeezing it once before releasing again. "Thank you."

"For what?" I asked, the sudden ending of the silence jarring.

"For coming. For Lori and Carl. For everything."

I scoffed, dismissing all of that. "I couldn't get you out. Shane and I, we tried. We knew we had to get to them when they started shooting people in the hospital."

"Jesus."

"How the hell are you here?" I asked, voice cracking again. "Don't get me wrong, Ricky, I'm- I'm so glad. But like- how?"

Rick shrugged, staring out the windshield with troubled eyes. I ignored the heavy feeling between my shoulders that told me the others were listening, because I couldn't do anything about it. They had to be as curious as I was, since we'd told everyone he was dead.

Rick sighed again. He'd always had a habit of that, I thought, lips quirking upward. "I just- woke up. In the hospital. Felt like no time had passed. I could see, hear things, every now and then. Shane bringing flowers from the department. Lori crying. The doctors. I thought I heard you, but that didn't make sense, since no one knew where you were. Then I just- woke up. The flowers were dead. Everything- everything was wrong."

"Shit," I muttered. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be. I went to the house. Saw the photo albums gone, so I knew they were safe, Lori and Carl. I just had to find them. Went to the station. Met a man and a boy who helped me, told me what was going on. I'd have died if it weren't for him. Morgan. That's why I have to get the bag, with the guns. It's got a radio. Station radios, that only work with each other. Morgan has the other one, and I promised- I promised."

"Of course you did," I said, rolling my eyes. "Do gooder."

"Spook."

Glenn made a noise in the back he tried to cover with a cough. I glanced at him, lifting an eyebrow with a small smile. "You good back there?"

"Uh, yeah. Yeah."

Daryl's eyes laughed at me for a moment before sliding back into an anger all too familiar to me, anger as a cover for worry, for fear. I flicked a look over the three of them, and T Dog had frank curiosity in his stare. He wasn't hiding it, and I appreciated that.

"I am, yes," I said casually, settling back into the seat and focusing on my smiling brother. "But you're a damn pig."

"Hey now," he said mildly. "You didn't tell them, did you?"

"That I'm a spy? No, of course not. Why would I?" I asked, completely serious. "That's classified."

"What's classified now days? Pretty sure the government's gone."

"Makes it even more important then," I countered. Atlanta appeared in the distance, the highway jammed with cars trying to enter. We sped up the wrong way, and I whistled. "Shit."

"It's bad," Rick agreed.

It was bad. But I'd still seen worse.

Glenn's path to where Merle had been left had me shooting him an interested, considering look. I'd known he was fast and sneaky, that he knew things the others didn't. But I wasn't who I was without knowing no goddamn pizza delivery guy moved through the city like this.

"Deliver a lot of pizzas on the roof?" I muttered to him as we crossed from one building to another.

He sent me a mild look. "Find a lot of threats to America in Georgia?"

I grinned. "I like you. Stay alive, ok?"

"That's the plan," he agreed.

Merle wasn't there. His hand was, and a puddle of blood. A quick glance told me the whole story, but Daryl's crossbow trained on T Dog had my gun whipping into place faster than Rick's Python clicked. Shane had found him rounds after all.

The bottom of that goddamn bag had come up with plenty of things that had saved our asses since the world went to shit.

Greif had Daryl considering pulling the trigger. I put my gun away, reaching out and shoving the crossbow down. Daryl turned tear-filled eyes my way, and I met the rage in his face steadily.

"He's not dead. Didn't bleed out, and the walkers didn't get in. We can trail him," I said. I kept my tone even and flat, reasonable but not trying for soothing. Daryl didn't need soothing, he needed someone to accept his rage and direct it. So I did. "He used a tourniquet. Not enough blood otherwise."

"Yeah," Dixon agreed after a pause. "Yeah."

He dashed a hand over his eyes, then carefully picked up his brother's severed hand, wrapped it in a bandana, and put it in Glenn's backpack. Glenn shot me a wild look, part horrified and part resigned. I couldn't give him an answer for that one, so I just shrugged and followed as Daryl tracked the blood trail.

I stayed just behind him, letting him lead but close enough he could direct everything toward me instead of the others, the ones who had left Merle behind. He did that, his attention so squarely focused on me that Rick flashed a look between me and him and frowned in that way that told me he was about to be a big brother and make a comment that was totally out of line.

Luckily, before I had to deal with that, we went for the bag of guns. Unluckily, someone snatched Glenn when we did.

Unluckily for them, I snatched one of them back.

Rick did not approve of mine and Daryl's method of questioning. It was mild compared to what I had in mind, but I let Dixon take the lead. Tossing his brother's hand at the guy was a good touch, and I crossed my arms and blotted out the sound of screaming in my memory and the smell of burning flesh and old blood.

The guy gave up his buddies pretty quickly. Gang members often did, in my experience.

We made a plan, or rather Rick did, and my personal opinion was that it was bullshit and we should just let me sneak in, maybe with Daryl, and kill them all. Ricky looked at me with concern when I suggested it, and shot my plan down with that reasonable tone I was going to rapidly grow to hate.

His stupid idea worked when the old lady crashed our standoff. The Vatos idiots were guarding a nursing home full of the elderly, people too old and too sick to run. They were doing a good deed, I thought disgustedly, and so of course Rick did a good deed right back and gave them some of the guns and ammunition from his bag.

We collected Glenn and left, me muttering about them being on borrowed time already and Daryl grunting agreement. We hadn't found Merle.

"He could be anywhere in the city," I said softly to Dixon as we followed Rick and the others back to where we'd left the truck. "We'll come back. I'll help you run him down."

"Why?"

I lifted an eyebrow at him, surprised by the question. "Why what?"

"Why would ya help? Ya call him an asshole."

"He is an asshole," I countered dryly, and Daryl cracked a hint of a smile. "But he's your brother. Mine just came back from the dead. I get it. Besides. I don't leave people behind."

The darkness of the cave, the smell of death, straining muscles-

"Thanks." Dixon's mutter broke me out of the pull of the memories that threatened.

"Hey, where's the truck?" Glenn asked ahead of us.

Daryl thought it was Merle, and he'd be heading back to camp with vengeance on his mind. We fucking ran, but I knew we wouldn't make it back in time if that was what was happening. Asshole he might have been, and high most of the time, but Merle Dixon had been in the Army and held the air of danger around him that said he'd done his job there.

He'd be professional about it, was all I could hope. The women and children would be ok.

I didn't think about Shane, who'd charge in and get himself killed trying to protect the others.

"It's very simple," I told the man beside me in a steady, reassuring tone I'd stolen from my older brother. "You point and pull the trigger. Don't point it at someone on our side."

Wide, terrified eyes met mine as the shouted orders crept closer.

"Focus, Tamir," I chided when he kept staring, not taking the gun I held out to him. "Do you want to die here?"

He shook his head rapidly, and I nodded. "Good. You won't, if you remember that. Take your wife, your son. Go get in that closet and close the door. If someone who isn't me or isn't wearing an American flag opens the door, shoot them. Ok?"

"Ok," he managed.

I crouched down to look in his son's eyes. "It's going to be fine. Just go with your parents now, ok? I'll take care of everything."

His son looked back at me, trust written all over him as he nodded. I shpherded them into the closet, closing the door, and took up a position watching out the window. Snow fell lightly, but not enough to obscure my view.

Soldiers were sweeping the street, clearing houses and apartments, clearly looking for something. Or someone, I thought grimly.

I glanced around the room, making sure nothing would indicate more than one person lived here. There were no dishes, no moved chairs, no clothes strewn about that weren't a woman's. Mine, actually, because this was my apartment and if soldiers were sweeping my street, there was a real possibility my cover was blown.

I wished I could have a gun in my hand, but a shoot-out wasn't the way. That's why I was a spy, not special forces, and I would talk my way out of this. Tamir and his family were going to America. They'd get out safely, and I'd get them to the safehouse for pickup as I'd promised.

I just had to survive this first.

The door burst open, guns pointed my way and orders shouted in the foreign language that sounded more normal to my ears than my own English after so long here. I held my hands up, answering in a calm but scared manner befitting the ambassador's aide I was supposed to be.

"What is the meaning of this?" I demanded as I was grabbed roughly and pulled toward the door. "What do you think you're doing?"

Camp was under attack, all right, but it wasn't Merle Dixon doing it. The dead were everywhere, everything chaos in the night.

Gunfire flashed in my mind and all around me, and I let out a long breath as my hands moved steadily of their own accord. Walkers dropped in front of me, but it wouldn't be enough. Rick was screaming for Lori and Carl, but I'd seen them already and knew they were with Shane. Of course he'd protect them before all else, and Carol and Sophia were there too, Ed the Abuser's family.

I saw myself firing, steady shots as I moved forward without a sound, but I didn't have any idea how it would be enough.

Shane called my name and I looked up. He held that stupid goddamn massive shotgun he loved for some reason, but he pointed at the gas cans piled in the corner of the camp now. My eyes narrowed and I nodded, because also at Shane's side was something I had no idea why he carried around.

A flare gun.

I dashed through the first opening I saw, picking off the sole walker now in my way, and made the gas cans while Rick yelled after me now. I danced through the dead, flinging gas everywhere, all over them, and when I flung the empty cans away from me, I grabbed Rick with one hand and Glenn with the other, shouting for Daryl to get T Dog as I hauled them both back away from the milling dead, all heading toward the RV where Shane had gathered the camp survivors.

Daryl had figured it out, and he shouted 'clear' over the general noise and chaos of Rick demanding to know what I was doing and Glenn panicking and people screaming and crying.

I watched as Shane's flare gun sparked the blaze seconds after another dead idiot shambled right into the coals of the fire, her dress going up instantly. Flame spread around, jumping from dead bastard to dead bastard, and everything got quiet.

"That'll do."

I glanced over at Daryl's mutter and grinned. "Hell yeah, it will. Now we gotta put it out before it spreads, though."

Chapter Text

Andrea's little sister was dead. There were others dead too, but Amy lay near the RV and Andrea wouldn't let us take care of her.

Daryl hauled bodies and made comments and was generally an asshole about needing to take Amy out before she turned. I tuned him out, leaving Shane and Rick to handle it, and went to Carl. He curled in one of the camp chairs, watching everything with wide eyes. Carol and Sophia were nearby, Sophia asleep, but Lori was in the thick of the argument.

It’d be handled. Things were being cleaned up, and I- I was tired. I sat down on the ground near my nephew, and he offered me a slight smile.

"That was pretty cool, Aunt Angel."

"What was?" I hadn't expected that. I'd expected him to be angry, I realized, about telling him his dad was dead. I hadn't talked to him since Rick had reappeared, and I wanted to apologize.

"Burning them. That was cool. You and Uncle Shane make a good team."

I studied Shane for a minute, currently arguing with Rick about something, and rolled my eyes at the look on his face. What the fuck was up with that? Usually those two got on like white on rice. "We do, I guess. Kid-"

"Uncle Shane already apologized to me for thinking Dad was dead. We thought you were dead, too. People can be wrong," he said, cutting me off before I could get the words out. "They got fish."

"I- what? Who got fish?" Confusion was rampant when talking to this kid today, apparently.

"Andrea and Amy. They got a bunch of fish, in the lake. We were having a fish fry. Uncle Shane and I tried to catch frogs, but we didn't get any. Then Mr. Ed, he hit Ms. Carol, and Uncle Shane- Uncle Shane beat him up. But we were gonna have a fish fry. Everything was ok, and then- they came out of nowhere and bit Amy."

Carl fell quiet and I worked my way through that. "Ed hit Carol?"

"Right on the face," Carl whispered. "It was bad."

"I bet," I said steadily, eyeing the crying Carol.

Morales chose that moment to drag Ed's body up to Daryl for him to drive the pickax into his skull so he wouldn't turn. The bastard looked rough, even without the walker bites ripping his skin. I reached up and covered Carl's eyes as Carol, weeping, stood and took the ax from Daryl.

She slammed it into her husband's head over and over, until she collapsed crying and Daryl gently helped her back to Sophia. There was a look of pity and understanding on Daryl's face, and I thought about him saying he had scars, and how they didn't come easy.

He met my eyes and jerked his chin in a gesture of solidarity I didn’t know if I’d earned. Maybe he saw the same understanding in my eyes I saw in his.

By then Carl had batted my hand free. "Come on, Aunt Angel. I've seen it before."

"Doesn't mean you need to keep seeing it," I said flatly. "I'm really glad your dad's alive."

"Me too. I know you thought he was dead. It's fine. He said you guys had every reason to think he was."

Lori chose that moment to walk up, glaring my way as she crouched in front of Carl. "Hey baby. You need to try to get some sleep. We're going to be leaving soon, ok?"

"Leaving?" I asked. "Where are we going?"

She didn't look my way as she tucked the blanket around Carl. "Wherever Rick decides we're going."

That was decidedly unhelpful, but I recognized my cue to leave. I rose, ruffled Carl's hair with a smile, and headed to see what my brother thought was a better idea than staying here.

Jim had been bitten during the attack. He'd kept it secret so he could help as long as he could, but Jacqui found out and Daryl wanted to kill him and Rick and Shane were against that entirely. My brother, bless his save-everyone heart, thought there might be a cure out there somewhere.

I didn't have the heart to tell him there wasn't. We'd heard the rumors, on the job, and we'd have heard if there was a cure, too.

Now Ricky wanted to go to the CDC, and Shane was arguing for heading for Fort Benning, where there'd been noise on the radio that there was a safe zone for survivors. They were arguing about it in the woods, because of course they were, and I was somehow going to be drawn into it.

"Just like fucking middle school," I muttered.

They were toe to toe at that point, but they both turned to look at me in unison. I laughed, long and loud- too loud, probably. There were walkers around, after all. But the identical looks on their faces- I couldn't help it.

It really was just like fucking middle school.

Both of them were smiling when I got myself under control, Ricky with that full-on big brother smirk and Shane with a haunted softness in his eyes I pretended not to see. Like I pretended not to see so many of his looks, since I'd shown up at the hospital in King County and surprised the shit out of him.

"What's so funny, Hell's Angel?" Rick asked, eyes dancing.

I gestured between them. "The two of you. Shit, you're bickering worse than when we were all kids. And somehow I'm getting stuck in the middle of it."

"Ain't putting you in the middle of shit, sweetheart." Shane's amused expression had faded back into stark seriousness, and I wanted to roll my eyes again so badly it hurt. "I think it's a bad plan. If anything-"

"If anything, they'd know."

I did roll my eyes at Rick's near-snarl. "Both of you are wrong. Both of them are bad ideas," I cut in before the bickering could get back up to full force.

The both glared at me. Rick had taken his cop stance, the one he'd stolen from our dad when we were kids and had been frighteningly successful with even then. Shane glared almost up at me, head ducked slightly, and for a moment I was sixteen and he was eighteen and I was swimming in hormones that made that look paralyze me for hours.

I shook that thought away- but not entirely the hormones, because Shane angry had always and would always do something for me, even if we weren't together anymore- and stuck my tongue out at them while crossing my eyes. Or as close to it as I could get, since the scar around my right eye made the more subtle movements like that difficult.

It worked, though, both of them shaking their heads with quiet chuckles. "Brat," Shane muttered.

"Always has been," Rick muttered back.

"Now that you're united in your general irritation at the kid sister," I said mock-cheerfully. "Let's actually talk. Shane, Fort Benning is too far. We've been talking about it off and on since we got everyone up here, and we haven't tried for a reason. It's too far, and we'd never make it. Not with the kids and the women."

"You're a woman," Rick pointed out.

I shot him a withering glance. "I'm a weapon, not a woman. Anyway, Shane, Rick's right about the Fort, like we've said all along."

Rick took a stance that held some high-school smugness to it, so it was time to deflate that real quick, too. I speared a finger his way as I kept talking. "But Rick's wrong, too. The CDC won't have anything. Rick, there is no cure."

"You can’t know that-"

"Really?" I asked dryly. "I wouldn't know that?"

He ground his teeth together, another childhood tell that had my lips quirking. I'd missed him so goddamn much. I'd missed both of them, him and Shane, and the three of us arguing just like this. It hadn't been the same, since everything ended. Shane and I, we'd fallen back into a rhythm, sure. But it was the rhythm of exes, not friends. Not best friends, like we'd always been. Him and Rick, him and me, me and my brother- after they'd gotten over their preteen 'too cool for girls' stage, the one brief period of time when my being younger and being female had made me unacceptable companionship, we'd been a tight-knit unit. Ricky had always been more than just my brother, he'd been my best friend, just like Shane.

I was starting to think he held Shane and I together, though neither of us wanted to admit it. We tried to act like we didn't care about all those high school firsts, though I hadn't been Shane's, of course. So all the firsts were mine. But we'd tried to pretend they didn't matter anymore, and they did. They lingered.

But with Ricky back… the glue cemented, and we were us again. And I'd missed it so much, it hurt to have it back, somewhere deep inside my gut.

I'd take that pain, though, I decided as Rick shifted and it was Shane's turn to smirk. It was a good kind of pain.

"You can't know for sure. You were gone," Rick said softly after a moment. "You were- were-"

"I was hog tied in a cave, being tortured, yes," I interrupted with firm, intentional blandness. "But I still know shit. If one of you insist on being proven wrong, the CDC is a better option, and you know it, Walsh," I added as he started to scowl. "But make a decision. Everyone back there is waiting for it. Shane, you've been the leader this whole time. Lori will go where Rick does, and you know I have to as well. Don't make me chose between you two. Y'all figure it out."

I walked away, the devastation in both of their eyes too much to handle.

By the time they came out of the woods, they'd reached an agreement. Which basically meant Shane had capitulated, but that worked for me. It reminded me of all the other times Ricky had gotten that look and we'd ended up doing things his way.

And his way was, unfortunately, often right.

The Morales family decided not come with us. They were heading where they had family, and I could both blame and not blame them.

Actually, I realized as I swung into Shane's Jeep without asking, I didn't give a damn one way or another. The people I cared about were piling into the convoy, and Shane grunted at me as he rounded the hood to slide into the driver's seat.

I might have stolen driver from Ricky given the opportunity, but with Shane, I was always the shotgun rider. Old habits died hard, I supposed, and I'd been his passenger princess more than a few times in our youth.

"Sure you don't wanna ride with Dixon?" he asked as we finally, finally, got moving.

I'd considered it, knowing the silence would have been peaceful and refreshing. I shrugged. "Not this time."

"Fair enough."

We stayed quiet as the group picked its way out of the quarry, but when we hit the open highway and picked up some speed, the wind rushing around through the empty Jeep frame, Shane reached over in an automatic gesture I could tell he didn't even realize he was doing and grabbed my hand. I let him, because the look in his eyes as he stared ahead, one hand casual on the wheel, told me he was thinking and it wasn't good.

"He's alive. He's alive, angel. How in the- he's alive, and he's already back taking charge, and I just- what the fuck?" he finally said, a babble of words tumbling over each other.

I squeezed his hand in mine. "I know. I know."

"He was dead."

"He was so dead," I agreed.

My tone made him bark out a sharp laugh, turning to flash me a grin that stabbed into my heart. High school years flashed by, high school and college when we were young and carefree and certain it'd be just the two of us, hands gripped loosely while he drove, just like this, forever.

Forever had an expiration date, as it often did, but I shoved that away and focused on the friendship that never did. "I don't know. He doesn't even know. But he's back. It's a good thing, right?"

"Hell yes. I wanted- I wished for him back so damn often."

"Me too," I said softly, thinking of other times when I wished for my big brother. Or for the man holding my hand in his like it was nothing.

Hands wrenched up, above my head, and cold air all over my skin, the lash of a whip and the burning sting of a blade, and-

I forced that away, back into the dark corner where I'd locked it and all the other shitty memories, and focused on Shane, here and now. "Are you good with this?"

"With what? Going to the CDC?" He snorted. "I think it's a damn fool mission, for sure. But so is Fort Benning, and he's determined, girl. You wouldn't believe some of the shit he said to me after you left."

I lifted an eyebrow but didn't press. Shane changed the topic, deliberately taking it lighter, and I relaxed into the familiar banter as we talked about everything from high school football to current events- or well, current before the world ended. I reclaimed my hand as he relaxed, leaning back against the seat and watching the world flow by in a blur.

I couldn't see. They'd blindfolded as well as gagged me, and for a disorienting moment I thought I was back at the Farm, being tested on how to survive using senses other than sight. I could feel the tingle of air on bare skin over every inch of my body, and I shivered slightly.

Being naked didn't phase me, not anymore. It didn't make the dull terror rise like it had the first few times. I'd been out there too long for that. I'd been through the Farm, and through worse in boot camp before that besides.

But the air was cold, and I hadn't eaten since….. Hell, I didn't know when I'd eaten last. I didn't know when I'd had water, or sleep, or anything. I didn't know where I was, either.

There was only darkness, and cold air, and the taste of someone's rancid breath filling my dry mouth from whatever they'd shoved into it.

I couldn't crack down on the capsule in my back tooth, and I didn't want to anyway. I wouldn't break. And I'd be rescued.

I didn't flinch when the door slammed against the wall, a man's voice speaking low filling the silence. I didn't flinch when the first strike hit my back, or the knife traced up my thigh and dug into the tender flesh at my hip. I didn’t flinch at the first cut, or the second, or the third.

I blacked out just as they started on the gang rape. That time.

It took longer than it should have to reach the CDC. We ended up calling it and stopping for the night when we spent too long clearing a traffic snag and evening started to fall.

Camp was set up with brutal efficiency. Ricky and Shane decided who would go on watch when, and when Rick started to say my name Shane shook his head and muttered in a low voice I’d be out all night anyway and not to bother.

So he’d noticed after all, I thought. I drifted away, leaning on Shane’s Jeep and staring out at the road into the night.

“Goin’ in the woods. Wanna come with?”

Startled, I took my hand off my gun to roll my eyes at Daryl’s smirk. He was goddamn quiet when he wanted to be, and he obviously liked that he’d gotten the drop on me. “Not tonight. Gonna stay close. Keep an eye out.”

He grunted an acknowledgment and faded into the night without another word. I liked that about him. He knew everything didn’t need discussion. Unlike Ricky, who could talk a dead horse back to life if only to tell him to shut up.

I heard the footsteps hours later, by then sitting on the hood with my back to what was left of the dying fire. Rick had already brought me food, and I knew by the tread who it was.

“Plan on sleepin’ tonight?”

I shrugged as Shane leaned next to me. “Maybe. For awhile, at least.”

“Should. Cat naps in my car ain’t enough, you know. Especially when you’re waking up like you did.”

I grimaced. He’d noticed the nightmare, then. It shouldn’t have surprised me. “Don’t ask.”

“I wasn’t going to, but I’ll listen if you want to talk about it.”

I finally looked at him, studying the familiar lines of his body as he leaned on the hood in a way I’d seen a thousand times before. Suddenly I didn’t want solitude. I didn’t want sleep. I didn’t want to stare at the road and try not think.

“Hey, Walsh.” I waited till he turned to me, eyebrows lifted in question, and flashed him the look.

It was all I had to do. All I’d ever had to do, since the first time.

His eyes turned amused and predatory at the same time. “Shit, girl. Now?”

“Now,” I agreed, sliding down. “Everyone’s asleep except Dale, right?”

“Yeah,” Shane agreed slowly. He tangled his fingers into my hair, tugging lightly until my head tipped back and he studied my face. “Shit. Why not. Dale can’t see for shit anyway. Same rules?”

“Same rules,” I agreed in a whisper, staring at his lips. “Still just exes. Still friends.”

“Aight then,” he whispered back, and then his mouth was on mine and his hands pulled me in, moving over my body with confident skill as he maneuvered me into the backseat.

I went willingly, letting the familiar taste and scent of him overtake the memory of pain and fear and grunting bodies, the taste of stale breath in my mouth, the sounds of flesh slapping against and into mine.

Shane was familiar, was home. Shane was first love and first fight, a comfort in the darkness as he slipped my jeans down, leaving my shirt on. We’d done this a handful of times since I’d gotten back, when flashbacks threatened to overwhelm me and all I could feel was enemy hands on me and pain, pain, pain.

He knew what it was. It was comfort, nothing more. My therapist would call it escapism, but my therapist was probably dead, so what did that matter?

It felt good, and it helped. His hands on me, they helped. He knew to leave my shirt on, because anything could happen and because of the scars. The first time he’d seen my body…. Well.

We left our clothes mostly on, knowing what this was and what a risk it was. We fell into each other because we were sad, or we were lonely, or we were hurting.

And for a few moments, we were better.

As he shuddered and fell, his voice was a whisper in my ear, breathing my name. It was the only time he called me Harley, when he was lost in me, in this, and it did me in every time. I fell along with him, the cry I wanted to utter stifled by his mouth claiming mine again, this time in a kiss soft and slow and filled with the years of good and bad and everything else between us.

Chapter Text

Dead littered the ground outside the CDC, and with the sun setting, everyone had a right to panic- including Shane. Something else was going on with him, though. I didn't know what it was, but even as the geeks started closing in and Daryl and I picked them off one by one, I moved figuring out what the hell Walsh's problem was further up on my mental to-do list.

Right after survival, actually.

My brother pleaded with the un-opening door of a building, and I'd have called him insane if it weren't for how often he'd made minor miracles happen before. He swore the camera moved, and I didn't have the energy to argue with him, since most of my brain space was being used with plotting a plan out of this death trap that included knocking Ricky out and dragging him over my shoulder.

Lori would be pissed, but she and Carl and Rick would all be alive, so Lori would get over it. Probably. Eventually.

And then the door opened, because Ricky Grimes really was Jesus. Damn him.

"He's never gonna let us hear the end of this one," I mumbled to Daryl as we watched T Dog, Glenn, and Shane make a run for everyone's stuff.

Daryl shot me an odd look, but there was amusement in his eyes. Yeah, he had a brother too, I thought as the doctor reminded us all that once the doors closed, they wouldn't open again.

They closed, and I had a feeling there was something I was forgetting as they did. Something about what the doctor had said, something about the way he'd looked over us all-

"Come on, Angel, get your ass in gear," Shane said, grabbing my arm and pulling me with the rest of them toward the elevator.

Price of admission was a blood sample. It didn't bother me, but some of the others got woozy. We hadn't eaten well in days, after all, but Jacqui's declaring we hadn't eaten at all was a bit of a stretch.

But Jenner looked shocked. He provided us a feast fit for kings, with wine and harder stuff to boot. I ate like the others, sipped my wine, and in the cozy glow of everyone's laughter, I watched the doctor.

He had an air of permanent sadness about him, even as he smiled. He glanced at the clock on the wall, counting down slowly, and I frowned. I stared at it, knowing there was something I needed to remember, some piece of critical information that was swimming somewhere in my mind that I couldn't recall.

Shane killed the mood, because he was good like that, and the trail of whatever elusive thought I'd been chasing vanished. I rolled my eyes and laughed with the rest of them as Daryl got the party going again, probably drunker than he realized, and with just an edge of mean in his voice that I decided to watch out for.

But the laughter was back, Walsh properly chastised for being a buzzkill, Carl and Sophia looked relaxed for the first time in weeks, and Ricky smiled at Lori and Carl with that expression that said he was getting laid tonight. I shouldn't know that about my brother, I thought as I bit my lip to keep laughter in and looked away from them making goo-goo eyes at each other. But he didn't exactly make it hard to figure out.

Daryl collapsed into the chair beside me, his face flushed with the wine and the laughter. "Hey."

"Hey," I echoed, amused and curious.

He refilled my glass, not spilling a drop, and I took an obligatory sip. "Thought ya looked lonely over here."

"Oh?" I studied him, and he studied me back, piercing blue eyes less cloudy with alcohol than I'd thought. "What makes you say that?"

"Look in ya eyes. Wish he had somethin' decent. Like moonshine."

"Jesus," I muttered, half-choking on my next sip. "Moonshine is not decent. Could go for some Jack, though."

He gave me an appraising look now, a smile hovering on his lips. "Didn't take ya for a Jack girl."

"What kind of girl do you think I am, then?"

He leaned in close, stage whispering. "An interesting one."

I scoffed, laughing like he'd intended. "Go away now, Dixon. Don't act too much like your brother."

"Brother'd have everyone here pissed off already," he agreed, standing and swiping up the bottle he'd brought with him. "Imma just tease Glenn a lil. No harm, no foul. Ya are, though. Interesting. And deadly. Angel, sure. But angel a' death. I like it."

With that he was gone, and I stared after him, wondering just what in the hell all that had been about.

It stayed with me, his 'angel of death' comment. It wasn't the first time I'd been called that, for sure. It got tossed around often, especially after my code name had been assigned and my handlers, who knew my real name and my nickname, lost their shit over it.

The Blind Angel, I mused. I waited while the others showered, wanting the place to myself for that, and smiled when the bottle of Jack mysteriously turned up in the room I'd staked out as my own when I went to collect the last of my clean clothes. A gift from Dixon, no doubt.

I'd looked lonely, he'd said. I hadn't been, not actively, not surrounded as I was by the noise and the laughter. But maybe I was. Maybe I missed something, something I didn't have and couldn't put a name to.

It wasn't a person, not really. Or a place. It wasn't homesickness. I hadn't had a home since I'd dropped out of college after Shane dumped me and went straight to the nearest recruiter's office. I guess maybe King County was home, but I didn't miss it. I hadn't fit in there, not since I'd left.

It was a feeling I missed. Something…. Something I couldn't put my finger on. Something my Company-mandated therapist would probably want me to figure out, and she was most likely right, but I didn't have the luxury for self-reflective musing, I reminded myself as I turned the lights in the showers down low.

I had to survive. I had to keep all these people alive, especially Carl and Lori and Ricky and Shane. They were my people, my family, my only loyalty now that my country I'd fought and bled for was in shambles.

I stared in the mirror as I took a drink with shaking hands, knowing that I shouldn't. I didn't look in mirrors anymore, not since getting back. Not since that first time, in the hospital room, when I'd finally been able to move around on my own, however difficult it was hampered with the IV and the bandages, and I'd seen- I'd seen.

I turned the lights off to shower. Kept my shirt on when having sex, which Shane had realized after the first time, when he'd seen everything and frozen, horror crossing his face and completely killing the mood. He'd walked away, or maybe I had, and I hadn't seen him for hours. He came back with blood on his clothes and tattered knuckles, and we hadn't spoken about it. Not once.

He'd asked, tentatively, when I'd gotten back. Sitting on either side of Ricky's bed, just the two of us and the beeping machinery and the sounds outside the room, and he'd asked if I wanted to talk about it. If I was ok.

I'd told him I had a shrink, thank you, and I just wanted to worry about my brother. He'd nodded, shoving a hand through his hair and not meeting my eyes.

After that, and after the failed hookup, we didn't talk about it. He'd gone to lift my shirt the second time, and I'd grabbed his hands and said 'no', and that was that. Pattern formed.

Now I looked in the mirror and I shivered. I traced the edge of the scar along my neck, down my breast. I still remembered the knife. They'd let me see that one, taking the blindfold off. I'd been convinced I was dying that time.

I'd been convinced I was dying a lot of times, actually.

They'd asked me why I didn't bite down, end it all. I'd told my bosses I knew I wouldn't break, and I had information that we needed. I'd learned more from my captors than they'd learned from me, and it was true. Men talk, and I knew how to listen. All I'd had to do was listen and think, there in the cave.

Listen and think and hurt.

I turned away from the battered, scared body in the mirror, not wanting to see the devastation anymore. I'd been rewarded. Given the highest honors a spook could get. I think I might have had a medal of valor in my dresser in Rick and Lori's spare bedroom. I wasn't sure, and I didn't care.

They'd taken the capsule out of my tooth as soon as I got back. They'd put me on suicide watch, because aside from telling them what I'd learned, teeth chattering as I shook from exhaustion, malnutrition, dehydration, pain, fear, whatever, I hadn't responded to anyone for a long time. They'd assumed-

They'd probably been right, I could admit now. But I hadn't been thinking about suicide, not during that time. I'd lived. I'd gotten out. Like hell was dying then. I'd been making plans. Plans to get back over there, plans to find them and take them out myself, one at a time, like one of Carl's superhero villains. Like an assassin.

Like the angel of death.

The spray beat down, hot water long turned cold, and I didn't care. I sat in the floor of the shower, shivering, and kept drinking. If I kept drinking, I could stay just ahead of the tide trying to sweep me under, the tide I couldn't give in to because I didn't think I'd ever get back to the surface if I went down.

They'd hose me down. They'd spray off the dirt and the blood and the shit, because there was always dirt and blood and shit, shit from the animals, shit from myself, hell, I didn't know. They'd piss on me themselves, into open wounds, onto my face, and they hosed that off too.

Then they'd shove my face into the ice-cold water, hold me under while I struggled, no air no air no air cold cold cold-

Then they'd pull me out and knuckles on my face and screaming questions, asking for secrets, secrets I couldn't tell them, secrets I wouldn't tell them, secrets I had no way of knowing.

He smelled like Tom Ford. His scent came first, overpowering to my heightened senses. When they blindfolded me- The Blind Angel- I knew he was coming. He was worse than the others, with his cultured voice and expensive cologne and the pinky ring he'd never take off. He was the worst one.

He whispered, he didn't scream. He asked, he bargained. He spoke reasonably, his touch was always gentle- at first. Until it wasn't. Until that pinky ring collided with whatever part of me was most bruised already, and ripped open my skin. Until his whispered voice turned cruel, his gentle touch turned to an air-crushing grip on my throat, his expensive scent lingered on my body long after he was done thrusting into me and had painted my wounds with the proof of his enjoyment of pain.

I'd kill him first, I swore then. I'd find him, and I'd know him by his voice and his scent and the way he moved. I'd memorized his walk, his touch, the feel of his hands- soft and smooth, lotioned and manicured; I knew what they felt like on every part of my body, inside my wounds and inside me. I knew him. I didn't need his face or his name.

I'd find him, and I'd kill him first, and then he'd see what the angel of death could really-

"Jesus fuckin' Christ. You ok?"

I gasped as the water abruptly cut off, the voice in my ears not cultured and threatening but rough, harsh with concern and an edge of alcohol. I blinked away the water in my eyes, not sure if it was from the bucket my head had been plunged into or my own tears, but someone was in front of me and I couldn't get away, if I tried to run that would only make it worse, and besides they'd gotten out chain this time, after I nearly slipped the rope and-

"Harley. Shit. Harley. You're shakin', and bleedin'. What the hell happened to ya? Hey, Imma grab a towel, wrap it around ya, ok? But I gotta find out where the blood's comin' from, and there's glass all over the damn place. Might need to pick ya up, carry ya outta here so ya don't get cut up worse. Can ya answer me? Let me know that's aight?"

I frowned, focusing on the words and the voice, a voice I knew but not from here, not from the caves, not from-

I blinked into harsh light, not all-consuming darkness, and piercing eyes stared into mine with concern in them. No malice, no hatred, no desire for my pain or my body or my secrets, just worry. I was shivering, teeth chattering together so hard I struggled to get words out. "D- D- Dixon," I managed on my third try.

"Yeah, that's me. Hey. Ya with me? I gotta find out where ya bleedin' from, ok? An' if ya move, ya gonna get cut up worse. Imma pick ya up." He held my eyes, studying my face until I managed to nod. He nodded back, tone smooth and steady, his movements deliberate and controlled. "Aight. Here we go. Imma put an arm around ya back, and under ya legs, ok? Ain't weigh nothin', could throw ya over my shoulder and into the next damn room without an effort. Shit, ya eat anythin' tonight? Fuck. Aight, I'm standin' up. Gonna head over to that bench where ya put ya clothes'n'stuff, aight? Set ya down real gentle, then I's gotta find where ya bleedin' from. Shit, that's kinda lot of it."

He did what he said, narrating his movements all the while, and as my heartrate settled and my head cleared, as the memories of the caves and the ghost of Tom Ford scent faded, shame crept in. He'd done this before, I thought. Taken care of someone fucked up and making a mess.

He shifted the towel he'd wrapped around me only a little at a time, checking me over thoroughly while allowing for as much privacy as possible. He hardly touched me, asking before he did for me to turn my arm or extend my leg or tilt my head so he could see better. It was only if I didn't respond or didn't move that he'd gently do what he needed to, telling me all along what he was doing and why.

I hated it. I appreciated it. I wanted to disappear into the floor.

"Aight. It ain't too bad, just lotsa little ones. What the hell happened?" he asked finally, sitting back on his toes in a crouch to look at me. Then he shook his head. "Nope, never mind. Ya still shivering. Get dressed, aight? I'll go stand over there, watch the door. Everybody's asleep, but still."

I managed a small shrug as I tossed the towel off and stood before he could. He didn't blush, to his credit, and I started pulling on my jeans rapidly. Underwear wouldn't help with the shakes, and it wasn't like we had a lot of those clean anyway. "Doesn't matter. Just- just a body," I managed through the teeth that wouldn't stop chattering. "Already seen it, so what's the difference?"

"Ain't the same as watchin' ya get dressed," he muttered, looking away. "Wanna talk about it?"

"About what, specifically?"

He shot me an annoyed look, and for some reason that made me smile through the shakes. He frowned, but something in his eyes cleared a bit, too. "Difficult, ain't ya? Lemme clean the shower floor up. Blood'n'glass everywhere, don't want no one else to get hurt. Or freak out."

I grimaced, but I grabbed the towel he'd given me and went to help. It didn't take long before he splashed some water around and declared it good enough. I tossed the glass-filled towel into the trash can and caught a glimpse of my face in the mirror in the process.

I was pale, my teeth chattering, and the scars stood out, as did my eyes. I turned away quickly, taking a deep breath and trying to figure out what to say to get this awkwardness over with. "Um. Thanks."

"Don't mention it. Hey, ya comin' to my room or I goin' to yours?"

I whirled, staring at him in the dim hallway light. "Excuse the fuck out of you?"

He flashed me a grin. "There ya are. Don't get ya panties in a twist. Ain't leavin' ya alone after that. Know a goddamn flash back when I sees one. Merle gets 'em- got 'em? Shit. Anyway, saw 'em plenty with Merle. Yours seemed pretty fuckin' rough. Ain't leavin' ya alone; might slip back into it and hurt yourself more. So. My room or yours?"

I glared, but I couldn't fault his logic. And the company would be nice, especially since he'd already established that he wouldn't press. I sighed. "Doesn't matter."

"Mine's closer. Come on, Angel." He led the way, not touching me, and I hesitated before following the tattered angel wings of his leather vest down the hall.

Chapter Text

He didn't ask questions. He just gave me the camp cot, turned out the light, and laid down on the floor with his pack under his head as a pillow, same way he slept out on the road. I shifted, uncomfortable, and the stings from the series of small cuts annoyed me as my skin moved.

How in the hell could I withstand months of complete mental and physical torture, but some goddamn glass scratches drove me crazy? I shifted again, trying not to disturb Dixon or make too much noise.

He made a sound that felt an awful lot like a laugh. "Glass cuts sting like a bitch."

"Yeah," I muttered, frowning at the ceiling. "Sorry. I can go-"

"Stay put, damn it. God, ya difficult."

"Fuck you," I fired back, annoyed.

He did laugh this time. "Naw. Ain't into taking advantaged of people."

Ouch, I thought as I winced. "Fair enough, but also, fuck you twice."

"What'd I just say?"

"Goddamn it," I muttered, giving in and laughing as well. "Anyone tell you you're an asshole?"

"Yeah, but my brother's worse," he countered, amusement still coloring his voice.

I snorted. "Yeah, he is."

Silence fell again, this time far more comfortable. It was the silence we'd shared in the woods, not the tense, awkward thing that had grown in the room when the lights went off. I rolled onto my side, curling up around the couch cushion from the room next door I was using as a pillow. It made me wonder why the hell Daryl hadn't gotten one for himself, too.

"Listen. Won't pry, cause shit knows there's shit I don't wanna talk about. But I also won't tell nobody, like I said in the woods, if ya wanna share. That looked pretty bad, and- well, I saw ya. Ya been through something," he said softly, voice no more than a whisper.

I stayed quiet, wondering what to say. How did I respond to that, honestly? Did I even want to? He didn't speak again, and the silence wasn't heavy or waiting. He'd said what he meant, and he'd meant it about not prying.

I found myself talking. "I was- captured. In another country. Won't say which one; it's classified."

His snort had my lips quirking upward against my will, and I rolled my eyes in the darkness. "Yeah, whatever. Still won't say."

"Ain't gonna make ya," he said, so casually it didn't feel forced.

It relaxed the last of my guardedness, and I let myself speak of it to the first real person in my life. My therapist, my bosses, they didn't count. They were Company people, those who had to know. Daryl was a person. He'd look at me differently, or maybe he wouldn't, but either way, I'd have to live with the consequences.

"I've seen a lot of bad things. My cover got blown," I added, voice going grim. "They don't know how. I don't either. But they scooped me up, and I chose to live. To not use the capsule."

"Suicide pill?"

"In my tooth," I acknowledged. "But I could handle it. I knew that. And I didn't think- I didn't think it'd take that long for them to find me. Turns out for awhile, no one was looking. But I held my ground. I never cracked. And I learned things," I added, voice dropping. "Things we needed to know."

"Shit. Tough bitch, ain't ya?"

I laughed, like he'd meant me to. "You have no idea."

"Bet I don't. Know how ya got some of 'em. The scars. I can tell what did ‘em. I got- I got some, too. Belt scars. Nothing like what you went through. Just my old man. But some of 'em, I cain't tell what they are. Can't imagine, honestly," he said gently. "You'll be ok."

"I know I will," I whispered, eyes filling at the simple statement. He meant it. He believed I'd be ok.

Silence fell again. I took a shuddering breath, wondering if saying the words would banish the ghosts still lingering in the room. "They called me the angel of death."

He was silent, and I wondered if he'd fallen asleep. "Fuck," he whispered viciously. "I- shit. I didn't mean anythin' by it."

"I know." I reached out in the darkness and brushed his shoulder with my fingertips. I hadn't expected him to be that close, and for a moment I was startled. But then I was glad. The pain in his voice, the guilt, was so strong, I couldn't help but want to take it away. "It wasn't you, Dixon."

"Yeah, it was. Don't try to pretend it weren't. I'm sorry."

I had to accept it, when it was said that starkly. "Fine. Apology accepted. My code name was 'the Blind Angel'."

"Damn. Think they'd be more subtle than that."

He sounded mildly disgusted and I couldn't help but laugh. "It was randomly assigned. Everyone got a kick out of it. But I was good at what I did, so my codename got out. And the Blind Angel became the Angel of Death."

"Still sorry."

"Shut up." I waved away his apology in a gesture he couldn't see. "There was one- one bastard in particular. I had a list. He was at the top."

"I'll find 'im if you cain't."

"Shit," I muttered as I giggled. "I doubt any of them survived this. Anyway. Thank you. For getting me out of there. And for- well, for not looking at me like a goddamn monster, honestly."

"Why in the fuck would I? It's just fuckin' scars. We all got 'em. Yours are just visible, is all. So's mine. Some of 'em, anyway," he muttered.

I didn't think I was supposed to hear that last bit.

The hallway lights crept under the door, sending strange shadows everywhere. I could hear the others stirring, and I wondered how many hangovers were happening after last night's festivities.

I also wondered how awkward this morning would be for me. I glanced over the side of the cot to find Daryl laying pretty much where he'd collapsed. He'd rolled over at some point, and his rip-up shirt had shifted to the side enough for me to see the edges of scar tissue on his back.

Shit, I thought to myself. He'd said he had them, but I'd never seen them. I'd thought- I'd thought they'd be nothing much, the kind of scars everyone collected over the years. Ricky had some, Shane had some. Some of them scary, sure, from knives and bullets and bad guys, but nothing like mine.

Daryl's were. They were the ugly kind, the deep kind, the kind that spoke of how much pain went into getting them. The kind you looked at and knew there was no heroicism involved, no bad guys being defended against. That was the kind of scar that came from pain being dished out, pure and simple, and dished out for the hell of it. For the fun of it, even.

Footsteps sounded in the hall, and I saw the moment Daryl went from asleep to awake in the way his muscles tensed. He flopped onto his back, rubbing his hands over his eyes, and I stretched and hoped he wouldn't be able to tell I'd been staring.

I hated it when people stared at mine, after all, even if they were a little hard to miss.

"Hey," he said quietly.

"Hey." I echoed, swinging to sit up same as he did.

He had one knee up, arm propped on it, looking like he regretted a few of last night's glasses himself. I fought back a grin and he scowled at me like he knew what I was thinking. "Ain't hung over," he muttered. "Just- got a damn headache."

"Whatever you need to tell yourself, Dixon," I said pleasantly. "Thank you. Seriously."

He waved off my thanks as he shoved himself to his feet, grabbing at his crossbow. He started to sling it over his shoulder but hesitated, finally putting it back down and settling for shoving his massive knife into his belt. "Ain't nothin'," he said over his shoulder. "Delt with a lot worse with Merle. Just needed someone to shock ya out of it. Make sure ya weren't hurt too bad. Doin' aight now?"

"Yeah," I said softly, not sure I liked the comparison to Motorcycle Asshole's high ass. But beggars can't be choosers, and women breaking down in a bathroom can't exactly question who manages to play white knight, when it could have been far worse. "I'm good."

Oh, god, it could have been my brother.

He met my eyes and nodded as I shoved my feet into my boots. We went for the door at the same time, neither of us feeling the need to say much else. It was the easy silence, not the awkward one, and I was grateful.

Before he opened the door, he tilted my head with a gentle hand on my chin, running a fingertip over the cut on my neck before nodding again, like he was satisfied. He reached for the door and I found myself speaking without thinking.

"Little cuts like that are annoying as hell. But then, so is Walsh." I added the end with a wicked smile for the man pausing mid-stride outside Daryl's door, his eyes widening when he heard my voice and saw me behind Dixon.

Daryl just snorted, glanced over Walsh and then toward me. "Lookin' for food," he said with a jerk of his head, and he headed off.

"Right behind you," I answered, closing his door with a lifted eyebrow Shane's way. "Morning. You look like shit."

"Feel worse," he muttered. He eyed me, and I waited patiently for him to ask. "What the hell you doing in there with Daryl?"

There it was. I shrugged. "Crashed in his room last night. We were talking. Why?"

"You two do more than talk?"

I headed after Daryl, wanting food of my own now. "Do you care?"

"Only in the sense that we're all living real close to each other these days, and don't need any- any relationship drama."

Shane fell into step with me, and I shot him a look. He was smiling, a teasing light in his eyes that said he wasn't serious and he sure wasn't jealous. That was good, since I'd have had to remind him that he wasn't exactly in a position for jealousy. But there was none of that there, just the ribbing between friends that had colored our interactions prior to our being together and sometimes returned after we'd broken up.

It was usually me teasing him about whoever he had the hots for that time, but whatever. I could take it as well as dish it out.

"Relationship drama, is it?" I asked, narrowing my eyes at him. "How about your relationship drama?"

Something passed over his face too quickly for me to figure it out before he scowled. "What the hell you talking about, Angel?"

"What the hell's going on with you and Ricky?" I fired back, my agenda item from the day before moving back onto the top of the list. "You two don't fight like this, at least not since you both had sex for the first time and realized you were into entirely different types of women. What gives? He's back, and you're acting like you're in middle school again."

Shane rolled his eyes, but there was a shadow of guilt in the expression. "We ain't never fought over girls, and we're never gonna start."

"No, just over dick size, and the fact that I know that is disturbing.” We’d reached the dining room now and my brother turned to look at me with major concern in his expression.

As well as major pain in his eyes. He was positively grey, with an edge of green. But Glenn was worse, I thought as I swept over the rest of our little gathered company. Glenn looked like he wanted to die.

Ricky just looked like he wanted a steak burrito and a donut. I whistled, and both he and Glenn flinched. "Damn, boys, yall had a rough night. Carl, don't say 'damn'."

I ruffled his hair as I passed him, heading to collapse into a chair beside Daryl, who shoved his plate my way without a word. I picked at the eggs, knowing powdered when I saw it, but food was food, and I was hungry.

"Will you leave me alone?" Rick demanded. "I've already gotten shit from Lori. And Carol. Shane, you feel as bad as I do, brother?"

"Worse," Shane said dryly. "But your sister thinks we're fighting. Possibly over dick size, but my head hurts to much to tell."

"Shane," Lori snapped, covering Carl's ears. She glared across the table at him and Shane winced.

"Sorry, Lor," he muttered, shoving a hand through his hair. Then he met her eyes and held them, his expression far too intense for an offhand comment about dicks around Carl. The kid had heard far worse. "I mean it."

She looked away, and my eyes narrowed between the two of them, but then the doctor came in and we were all thanking him for everything and Dale started hitting him with questions immediately.

I stared at the clock on the wall, trying to figure out what it was that had been eluding me last night, in all the chaos. Because there was something, something I should have remembered about the CDC, from years and years ago….

I grabbed Daryl's arm as we stood up to follow Doctor Jenner and see what he was researching, what he knew about the walkers. "Get your bow," I said in a hushed voice.

He shot me a startled look, but nodded without asking any questions. I made a side trip to my room, snapping my thigh holster into place and twisting my hair up. As I slid my hairpin into place, I wished like hell I could remember whatever it was that had me so uneasy about this place.

"You know what, screw you, Shane!"

I lifted my eyes from my book, looking around at my brother's furious voice. Usually that was how he talked to me, I thought as I shoved my bookmark into place and rolled to drop down out of the tree.

I landed with a thump- I was still working on that move- and dusted myself off, leaving the book behind as I went looking for the source of the scuffling sounds I could hear now. It'd be Ricky and Shane, of course- it was always Ricky and Shane, and I was annoyed they'd kicked me out of their little club for being too little and being a girl. I was eleven, dang it, not six. And I could do anything they could do.

And better.

I crossed my arms as I found them, rolling on the ground looking more like they were imitating grown-ups at night than like they were fighting. I sighed loudly, dramatically, hoping that would get their attention, but it didn't.

Shane got a foot on the ground, used it as leverage, and had Ricky pinned for a split second. I hesitated, sisterly loyalty at war with friendship with Shane and this morning's hair-pulling at breakfast from Ricky, but then Ricky swung at Shane and actually hit him, right in the eye.

Shane howled, falling backwards onto his butt with a thump, his hand pressed to his face. Then his other eye narrowed, got dangerous and mean, and he was back on my brother in a flash.

There was no question now, I thought with a sigh. I had to get involved, before Shane hit Ricky too hard and before our dad noticed what was going on out here and they both got grounded. If Shane couldn't come over, who was I going to play with? Sarah S. two houses down? She liked Barbies and talked about kissing boys.

I tossed myself into the fight, grabbing Shane in a headlock before either of the boys knew what was happening and dragging him backwards off Ricky. He flailed, yelling, but I held on grimly, just like he'd taught me. But not too tight; I didn't want him to pass out or anything.

As soon as Ricky scrambled to his feet, panting and grinning, I let Shane go. He shot upright too, standing side by side with Ricky with matching looks of annoyance and vague pride.

"Whatcha think you're doin', Angel? Getting into a fight like that with older boys?" Shane demanded. "You could get your ass beat, and then we'd be in serious trouble!"

"First of all, you'd be in serious trouble if I hadn't gotten involved," I fired back, rolling my eyes at them. I stood up, dusting off my jeans and glaring right back at them both. "Second, I ain't gonna let anyone beat on my brother. And third," I added hotly before Ricky could speak, "I had you, fair and square! Now kiss and make up, and Shane, got put some peas on your eye before it swells and you two get in trouble and I have to play princesses with Sarah!"

I stalked back to my tree, scrambling up to finish my book, before either of them could say anything.

"Sorry, man," I heard Ricky say sheepishly as I settled against the trunk. "Your face ok?"

"Better than yours," Shane fired back.

I shook my head and focused on the words in front of me, letting them sort themselves out.

Chapter Text

Watching brain death on a screen was interesting, but I was more concerned with the clock in the corner counting down. Counting down to what? That feeling that I was missing something nagged at me, stayed at me even as Rick and the others talked with the doctor.

And then it hit me. I whirled and grabbed Carol's arm. "Go get our shit. Go, ok? T, go with her."

"What's goin' on?" Daryl asked, the first to turn from the doctor to me.

"I just remembered what's been bothering me," I told him, and I heard the ice in my voice as I stared at Jenner.

He stared back, his face calm. I was on him before Rick could grab me, my knife at his throat. "Tell them," I hissed. "Tell them what that countdown clock is for."

"So you know," he said softly. "Why didn't you stop everyone from coming in here? You knew."

"I just remembered," I admitted, guilt crawling down my spine. "It's been a long time since I dealt with biochemical warfare, and I've been through some shit since then."

"What are you?" he asked.

The others kept yelling questions at me, but Shane was holding them off for now. Carol and T Dog came back, and the doctor reached over, despite the knife at his throat, and pushed a button.

The doors slammed shut, and even I heard the click of a lock. My eyes never left Jenner's, though Daryl started beating the doors with an axe. Rick grabbed my shoulder.

"Angel, what's going on?" he asked, voice low.

I smiled at Jenner, but it was cold. "This is the Center for Disease Control, Ricky. They have everything stored here- bioweapons, small pox, everything. It burns."

"What?" Lori's voice was sharp and frightened, and I had everyone's attention now.

"The building. I'd forgotten, and that's my fault. I'd have never let us come here, otherwise." I took my eyes from the doctor long enough to shoot an apologetic look at my brother. "The CDC destroys itself. When it runs out of fuel in the generators. It burns. To burn the samples, so they don't get out."

"Shit," Rick muttered. "Shit!"

"I told you once the doors shut, they wouldn't open again."

Shane screamed, firing his shotgun repeatedly into the computers near Jenner's head. I didn't flinch, didn't take my knife from his neck.

"Open the doors," I said calmly. "There's ten minutes on the clock. We can get out. You want to die here? That's fine. Open the doors."

"I can't," he whispered. "Protocols."

"You can open these," I countered. "Fuck protocols. Everything ended. Open these, and open the blast doors topside. Give us a chance."

I wasn't Ricky. I didn't persuade people and do miracles, not like he did. I found people's weak spots and exploited them. I convinced them to do what I needed from them by bribery, threat, force, and sometimes persuasion, sure. But I had weeks, months to work on them. I didn't persuade in an instant, not like Ricky could.

But something moved in the doctor's eyes as he glanced past me. Then he sighed, and reached for the computer again. A few keystrokes later, the doors opened. "I can't open the ones up top."

I nodded, because protocols be damned or not, there were some things even the head of a facility didn't have access to. And Jenner wasn't the head. I took my knife from his throat, Rick and Shane already hustling everyone out and to get the rest of our shit on the way.

Jacqui stayed where she was. Andrea too. I stared at them, then turned to leave, grabbing my brother's arm as he hesitated. "Let's go. We've only got six minutes."

"But- I can't-"

"Go!" Dale yelled it, crouching down by Andrea where she sobbed.

Jacqui seemed completely resolved, but Andrea was wavering. I met Jenner's eyes. "Still time for you."

"No, there's not," he disagreed. "Hey. You didn't tell me what you are."

I smiled, but didn't answer. He could die curious, since he’d tried to take us out with him. He called for Rick as we made it to the doors, and my impatience had my hand dropping to my gun. If he held us up-

He grabbed Rick's shoulder, whispering in his ear, and my brother's face went pale and disturbed. We didn't have time for whatever that was, though, because the clock ticked down to five minutes, and we still needed a miracle topside.

"Come on, Ricky!" I yelled.

He was right on my heels, hustling me up. I felt Jenner's eyes the whole way.

Topside, it was chaos. Shane tried shooting the glass. Daryl and Glenn were hitting it, but everything bounced right off. I closed my eyes, looking for peace among the panic, trying to think. What was it? What would bust through-

Carol tugged my sleeve. "I found this in your brother's pants, back at the camp. Will it help?"

I looked down at what she held out and started laughing.

"Watch your pretty little head, Angel."

I shot a glare over my shoulder as the house shook, rubble falling from the bombs going off all around us. My boss grinned at me, holding a chunk of plaster he'd apparently snatched before it hit me. The glare softened into a roll of my eyes. "Like that's big enough to hurt me."

"Maybe not, but there's too much information in there for us to be losing it, now. And I can’t have you with a TBI spilling your guts about state secrets."

"Brandon, you're an idiot," I told him flatly. Probably not the best thing to say to your boss, but he just laughed.

We'd been together on this station for three years. If we couldn't insult each other a bit in the middle of a crises, who could?

And we were in the middle of a goddamn crisis. The city was under attack, and we were evacuating the station. Which meant a lot of work first, including shredding and burning the paper files that made up the lifeblood of this place. We were in the vault, a room very few were allowed to go, and we were knee deep in shredded files.

Where else did people have battery backups to run paper shredders but camp lanterns? I wondered as we kept working frantically.

Another rattle shook the building, far closer now. Close enough we both ducked, and Brandon's eyes were wide as he met mine.

"Too close," he said grimly. "They're going to- yep."

Sure enough, the remnants of our special forces team came at a dead run. "Time's up, sir. Ma'am. We have to evac, right now."

Brandon glanced at what was left. "We can't. There's sensitive information in this room, and we have to-"

"We have to get you out alive, sir," the soldier disagreed.

I did some rapid thinking, and then I smiled. My boss caught it and frowned. "I don't like it when you make that face, Blind Angel."

"So look away," I retorted. "Got a grenade handy, gentlemen?"

The operatives looked startled, but one of them nodded. I held out my hand for it, and he hesitantly handed one over.

"Good," I said. "Now, get going. I'll be right behind you. But this room has to be torched. This is the best way to do it. Hustle!"

Brandon hesitated. "I should be the one doing that."

"Boss, no offence, but you haven't run in years. Get moving. I'll count to ten, then I'm pulling the pin. If I beat you out of here, that's your fault."

Daryl and I went through first. Shane and Rick started hustling everyone through the hole the grenade had blown in the glass, and I had so many questions for why my brother had one of those, but now wasn't the time.

I could feel the blood trickling down my neck from my scalp, but it wasn't time for that either. I grabbed Rick and Shane by the shoulders, pulling them both out of the building as they hesitated, clearing waiting for Andrea or Dale or Jacqui or maybe even Jenner himself.

"Minute and a half!" I snapped, the seconds ticking down in the back of my mind.

I'd learned to keep time without a watch years ago, back on the Farm, when I'd sat in the dark while everyone else slept. It was a useful skill, and more reliable than a lot of things now days.

They each grabbed my hands, and we ran. Lori stood in the door of the RV, screaming for Rick, and he let go of my hand with a squeeze as Shane pulled me toward the Jeep. "Down, down, down, down," he chanted, throwing himself into the floorboard of the front seat.

I jumped in after him, countdown going steady in my head.

Ten, nine, eight-

Andrea and Dale climbed through the wreckage of the glass. I felt Shane's relief and knew Rick would be feeling the same thing, but the countdown reached four while they hustled and I was afraid they weren't far enough.

I had no idea what the blast radius for this would be, and I could only hope we were all far enough away to survive.

Three, two-

I laid on the horn of Shane's Jeep, the best warning I could give them, and tossed myself down in the floorboard with Shane. His arms snaked around me, pulling me close with a hand curled over my head, as the world lit on fire.

After, ears still ringing, Shane punched the gas on the Jeep, leading the group away from the biggest walker attraction in the area. We didn't have a clue where we were going, but Dale's RV, Carol's Bronco, T Dog's van, and Daryl in his pickup, his brother's bike loaded in the back, followed after us.

When the sound of the explosion left my ears and we were far enough away, I sighed. "Pull over."

"What?"

He seemed startled by the sound of my voice, and I gestured impatiently at the buildings all around. "Pull over. We need a plan. We need to talk to Ricky."

"He hates it when you call him that," Shane said, throwing on his blinker and looking over his shoulder before pulling to stop on the side of the road.

Ever the cop, I thought with a roll of my eyes. The rest of the caravan pulled over too, everyone pilling out and bunching up at the RV before heading toward us in the Jeep. I swung out, tossing a smirk over my shoulder at Shane. "Why do you think I use it all the time? Hey, Ricky. Where are we going?"

"I don't know, but I do know you need to quit calling me that," my brother said in his dry-patient voice that usually meant he was pissed and we were going to fight.

"What, you gonna pull my hair or pinch me behind Mom's back?"

He looked about ready to blow a blood vessel, and since it had been a bit of a stressful day for everyone, I relented, patting his arm in apology. "Seriously, though," I asked. "where are we going?"

Rick looked out at nothing a troubled expression in his eyes. "I don't- I don't know."

"Where's Dale's map?" Shane asked, trying to keep some sort of order as everyone started talking at once.

I sighed. "Ok, people. Take a piss break if you need it, stretch your legs, get water, debate seating arrangements. If anyone has any injuries, now's the time to take care of that, too. Rick, Walsh, Dixon, grab a map and let's talk."

"How about your face?" Shane asked as I started for the RV.

"You always seemed to like it well enough," I fired back, the retort as automatic as breathing. I slapped my brother's arm on the way past him. "Come on. You can see how think my skull is while we find the map."

He followed me, and blessedly, no one else objected. Inside the RV, I crossed my arms and stared. "Out with it."

"Out with what?" he asked. "You should get that cut cleaned up. See if it needs stitches."

I shrugged. "Then do that, while you tell me what Jenner said to you in there. Your mind's not here, and we need you. You and Shane seem to have decided you're in charge, so we need you to be in charge."

He made a face, passing a hand over his eyes like his head hurt. "Maybe I don't want to be in charge."

"Then you shouldn't have taken over and decided on the CDC instead of Fort Benning," I said cheerfully. "Come on, what'd he say? It was important, or he wouldn't have grabbed you."

Rick stared off into the distance before sighing and grabbing a paper towel from the tiny kitchenette. He dabbed at my face, which stung like a bitch, but I did want to know if there was any glass imbedded in it, so I let him. "He said- he said- We all turn."

"We all what now?"

"We all turn. Into them. It doesn't matter how we die; if we get bit or not. We all become like those things out there."

I stayed silent, digesting that while Rick continued to assault my face with the paper towel. Finally, he put it down.

"Doesn't need stitches after all," he muttered. "What the hell do I- do we tell them?"

I scoffed. "Absolutely not. Have you seen them? Dixon's good people, and we know Shane can handle his shit, but other than that- they'd lose their shit. We don't tell them anything they don't need to know. Didn't you learn that while being a cop? People prefer not to know everything. It makes them feel safe."

"Shouldn't you be freaking out over this?" he asked abruptly, like he hadn't heard a word I said.

Which wasn't exactly atypical, and I rolled my eyes. "Why? I already knew. I mean, not for certain, but I had my suspicions. I took these assholes out, at the quarry. Before you decided to resurrect yourself. They were bad news, trust me. I heard what they had to say, and it wasn't good. I came in while they were alseep, slit their throats."

Rick was staring at me, wide-eyed. I snorted.

"Don't look at me like that. I've done worse. But anyway, a few days later, I saw a dead fucker, and I could have sworn he was one of the ones I killed. Couldn't get close enough to find out for sure, but- yeah. I had my suspicions. I'm not all that surprised," I finished. "Don't tell them. They'll freak out. They need hope."

"Don't we all need hope?"

"I don't believe in it, anymore," I said softly. "Not for me. I believe in confronting reality head-on. Speaking of, Dixon and Walsh are going to wonder what we're doing if we don't get back out there. We need a direction, Ricky."

"Goddamn it, Angel, enough with the Ricky nonsense."

Chapter Text

"I guess I'm losing hope that you can hear me."

I slipped out onto the rooftop in the dawn light, following my brother. He'd put his uniform on, like he had every day so far, and grabbed the radio to get in touch with the man and boy who'd saved his life. We'd found a building, cleared it, crashed for the night.

I didn't know if I'd slept more than an hour or two, but I'd been awake when Rick headed up, picking his way through the clustered sleeping forms of those of us who were left. Shane, on watch, had looked after him with a frown, and he'd squeezed my hand as I passed him to follow.

"But there's always that chance, isn't there? That slim chance. It's all about slim chances now. I tried to do everything right. To keep people safe. I tried, Morgan. I tried."

I scuffed my boots on the rooftop so I didn't scare the shit out of him, and he tossed his arm around my shoulders without looking as I joined him at the edge of the roof. We stared out over what was left of Atlanta as he talked into the radio, more a purging of his own tangled emotions than an update for a man left behind.

I didn't think even Rick believed he was still out there, and Ricky believed the best until there was no choice but to not.

"Our group's smaller now. We lost another, the day before last. It was her choice. I won't say I blame her, but she lost faith," he said into the radio.

I scoffed. I did blame her. Choosing death, just because living was hard? That was the coward's way, in my book. It left those behind who gave a shit, like my brother, to mourn and to question what they could have done differently.

It was one of the reasons I hadn't bitten down on the kill capsule in my tooth, even when it was at it's worst. Even when all I wanted was for the next hit, the next cut, to be the one that killed me and got it over with. I wouldn't do that to Rick, to Carl, to Shane, to anyone who'd ever given a shit about me.

"The CDC was a dead end. But I met a man there. A scientist. He told me something. He told me…"

I put a hand over Rick's, lifting his finger from the talk button. "Don't. Not on open air. I know it's your beat-up, bullshit radios that can only hear each other, but we can't let that out. Not if we're not telling our people."

He grimaced, but nodded. "It doesn't matter. What matters is, we're moving on. Atlanta's done. We're gonna try for Fort Benning. We're facing a long, hard journey. Maybe even harder than I can imagine. But it can't be harder than our journey's been so far, can it? A hundred and twenty five miles. That's what lies ahead. And I'm trying hard not to lose faith. But I can't. If I do, the others- my family, my wife, my son. My sister. She's here with me right now. There's just a few of us now. So we've got to stick together, fight for each other. Be willing to lay down our lives for each other if it comes to that. It's the only chance we've got. Be careful out there, Morgan. I hope you and Duane are ok. Stay off the road. Keep moving. Keep your eyes open. I don't know, just- just be safe. Maybe we'll see you in Fort Benning someday. Rick, signing off."

He lowered the radio and pressed a hand to his eyes, the weight of the world on his shoulders. My brother shouldn't have had to deal with this, I thought. I should have stepped up, stepped into the shoes he was filling now, simply by being who he was. My last name was Grimes, too, wasn't it? Just because Rick had stayed and started down the path of filling our daddy's shoes as sheriff didn't mean he had to be in charge of everything. Carry all that weight on his own.

"I should have known," I whispered. "About the CDC. I did know. I should have- I knew it was a bad idea, but I just couldn't think of why. I should have remembered."

"Sis…" Rick sighed. He turned us, his arm still over my shoulders, and pointed out over the bombed out wreckage of Atlanta. "How many cities like this have you seen?"

I stared at the dead shambling in the streets in the distance. "Like this? None."

"I don't- I don't mean them. The dead. I mean, the destruction. The end of the world. All that around us. How many ends of the world have you seen happen in other places?"

I didn't answer. I didn't know how. Too many. None at all. A place became a war-torn shell, a hollowed out wreck of what it had been, but the world just kept going. It never really ended.

"Exactly," my brother whispered. "You've got all that in your head, all those endings, all those secrets, all that information rattling around in there. And you're beating yourself up for not remembering a scrap of that information, about something you'd never see coming. Who could have seen this, Harley? Who?"

"There were rumors," I whispered. "Even before I- even before the caves. There were rumors about a virus. Being bred somewhere. About the dead rising. We dismissed them. All of us did- the Company, the others. We spooks, we talk. We collect rumors and whispers and learn from them. All of us had heard the rumblings, but we all thought it couldn't be true. Just some scare tactics from Russia, Iran, North Korea, someone new- it couldn't be real, right? Biochemical warfare, sure, but this? The dead walking? It couldn't possibly-"

I shrugged off his tightening arm, not wanting reassurance in that moment. I wanted my brain to work, to connect the spider's-web strands of things I'd heard and things I'd seen and things I remembered into the clear picture I'd always been able to form.

But ever since the caves, ever since my cover had been blown and I'd been scooped up and addressed as 'Harley Grimes', not 'Emma Sanderson', the cover I'd been working under, it was like there were gaps. There were pieces I couldn't fit into place, strands of the web missing, and I'd been trying to fill in those parts with other things- thread, twine, tape, whatever would stick and make the pattern whole.

But nothing did. I couldn't work out the big picture of the world anymore, couldn't twist and turn it until it made sense and all its secrets revealed themselves like I had always been able to do. It was just the dead, and the dust, and the blood, and the ruin.

And my big brother, trying to lead us all with a sheriff's hat and a six-shooter.

We left behind Daryl's truck, Shane's Jeep, and T Dog's van. Shane made a face, patting the doorframe with one hand, before he headed toward the RV. I fell into step with him, knowing how he felt about that damn Jeep.

"You gonna be ok, Walsh?"

He shot me a look. "It's a damn car, Mini Grimes."

"Excuse you." I shot him an affronted look as Rick and Daryl stepped over to join us. "I think Carl's the mini Grimes now, thank you very much."

Rick laughed. "Shit, what'd you say to make him pull out that old insult?"

"I asked if he'd live without the Jeep." My grin was wicked and real, feeling the comraderie between Shane and Rick as my brother slapped Shane on the shoulder and made some joke of his own that had Shane rolling his eyes. "So. What's the plan?"

"Same as on the way to the CDC," Rick said easily. "Daryl's in the lead, on the bike. RV next, then we'll bring up the rear. Single honk if you need to stop. You hear it, everyone pulls over. Go easy on us, Daryl," he added with a hint of a smile Dixon's way. "We won't be able to go as fast as you."

"Can ya ever?" he muttered. His eyes flicked to me. "Want a ride?"

Shane snorted, Rick shook his head, and I turned to size up the bike consideringly. "What is that, a Triumph? How the hell do your arms not get tired?"

"Shit, it was Merle's, not mine. Want the damn ride or not? Figure the RV's gonna be tight as is."

I shrugged. "Yeah, might as well. Can I drive?"

"Ever done so before?"

"I've driven a tank before. Same thing, right?" I asked as we headed away, mostly just to get a reaction out of Shane and Rick.

I wasn't disappointed.

"Did she say a tank?" Ricky asked, sounding shocked. Shane's noise of affirmative in the back of his throat had me grinning as I hopped on behind Daryl.

"So, how fast are we going on this thing?" I asked as I wrapped my arms loosely around him.

"Fast enough ya gonna need to hold on better'n that. Why, ya scared?"

I laughed. "Dixon, I rode a four-wheeler through a firefight halfway around the world once. This is nothing."

"Someday, I wanna hear all ya stories. Cause I'm pretty sure ya makin' some of this shit up."

"You'll never know for sure," I said cheerfully. Then Rick honked the horn, and we were on our way.

It didn't take long before we hit a traffic snarl that had me sizing up the RV and the cars littering the road.

"Can we get them through that?" I asked dubiously.

Daryl grunted, already pulling the bike around to cruise toward the RV's open window. Dale asked the same thing, and once again the ever-verbose Dixon jerked his chin in acknowledgement. To his credit, we would have made it, too. But of course, Dale's bucket of rust blew the hose we'd had to put in on the way to the CDC, when we'd left Jim behind to die at his own request.

I stepped off the Triumph, actually grateful to be able to stretch and move around. I set my hands against my back and bent backwards, and Dixon laughed softly behind me.

"Too much for ya?"

"Nope," I disagreed. "But riding bitch sucks. I want to drive once we're through this shit."

"Not a chance, Grimes," he fired back. "Dale. What's the word, man? Gonna be able to get that hunk of junk back to life?"

He strode off to confer with Dale, and Shane and my brother converged on me. "Hello, boys. We foraging in the cars like Dixon's already doing, or did you have other plans for the day?"

Shane didn't bother to respond to that. "We gonna make it through this shit if we do get that thing started?"

"Probably. We can move cars if we need to, since we're here for a bit," I said with a shrug.

He was eyeing a Hyundai speculatively. "Can we get that going, too?"

"Tired of the RV already?"

"Thought I'd give your ass a break from that bike," he retorted. "Seriously, Rick, is this a good idea?"

Rick and I both stared at him. "Walsh, Fort Benning was your idea to begin with," I said flatly. "What gives?"

"I dunno. Nothing, I just- got a bad feeling about this place, is all." He shoved a hand through his hair, turning in a slow circle. "Just seems- I don't know."

"It's a graveyard, Walsh. They never feel right," I said quietly. "Come on. Let's see what we can find."

We split up, wandering off in different directions. I heard the shouting and looked back to find Shane dumping water on his head, Glenn laughing nearby, and couldn't help but smile.

They were good people, these people. They deserved all the hope for the future they could get, even if it was only in the form of clean water in the back of a delivery truck.

"Where in the hell are we going to put all of it?" I mumbled, staring at the size of the truck. There was no way we could take it all. Damn it.

I moved on, knife in hand, and put down a few walkers as I went. I didn't know what I was looking for, exactly, but so far, I hadn't found anything useful. Then I glanced in the backseat of a mom mobile, past the blood-splattered car seat that made my stomach turn, and saw it.

The stuffed unicorn was some kid's favorite toy, I thought as I crawled into the van to retrieve it. Carl wasn't one for stuffies before all this, and the end of the world hadn't made him any more inclined to them, either. But Sophia was. She carried around a doll, a little tattered rag doll that made her look younger than she was.

She'd love it. I retrieved my find and slid back out of the van, glancing around automatically to check everyone's places. No one was in sight, and on top of the RV, Dale waved frantically my way from a prone position.

"Shit," I muttered as I heard them.

Chapter Text

I scrambled back into the van, crouching down between the seats. There was no time to try to close the door, if it even would, so there was no way in hell I'd go prone and make myself completely unable to fight. Nope, I'd stay somewhat on my feet and probably die that way, too, if the dead took any notice of me.

Hopefully, the smell of death everywhere would cover my own scent. I waited, listening to shuffling feet growing closer and wishing I had any idea what the others were doing. Carl, Rick, Shane, Lori- were they ok? Carol and Sophia?

I needed to- I needed to keep my ass right where it was, I decided as I pulled myself back into the van again. The dead had reached my hiding spot, and I'd been inching my way out without really meaning to. Now I got myself into the best position I could, part covered but part ready for action if they decided to do some exploring, and waited.

I'd always been good at waiting. My eyes had gone half-closed, and while I heard every shuffle and groan and moan, I'd been drifting somewhere above it all, thinking. I did a lot of thinking, all the time. Brandon, my boss until we'd had to burn our headquarters, had told me it was my best trait, but it would get me into trouble someday.

My teachers in school had never been all that fond of it, really.

The walkers had passed, or almost had, when the scream rang out. I exploded out of the van, dropping the stragglers who'd lingered, and sprinted full-out for the RV where I'd left the others. They began emerging from under cars and Dale lifted himself up from the top of the RV, and I skidded to a halt at Shane's side.

"Who screamed? What's wrong?" I demanded.

"Sophia!" Carol's sobbing yell was smothered by Lori, but my heart sank at the single word.

"Sophia got scared. She ran. Rick went after her," Lori said, not looking properly at either Shane or I.

I wanted to ask what in the damn hell her problem was, but now really wasn't the time. Not with Rick out there, and a little girl on the run. "Shit," I muttered. "Ok. Lets-"

"Let's what, Harley?" she snapped. "Let's leave them behind?"

I turned slowly as a hush fell over the group. "The fuck you think I'd say that for? That's a little girl. That's my brother."

"You left him in that hospital."

"I thought he was dead," I snapped back. "This isn't exactly the time, Lori. You want to pick a bitch fight with me later, ok. But right now, we need to find my brother and Carol's daughter. That ok with you? Carol," I said, voice far more gentle as I turned to her. I still held the unicorn in my hand, I realized, and I held it out to her now. "I found this. Thought Sophia would like it. Will you hold onto it for me? To give to her when we get back?"

She took it, stroking the thing's fake fur absently. Tears were on her cheeks, horror in her eyes, and I wondered how many years that bastard she'd married had been beating her up for her to be this passive now. I nodded. "Thank you. Which way did they go? Were there any walkers after them?"

"Two of them. Chasing my baby." She pointed out where they went and I grimaced, looking down over the side of the highway. That was a rough slope, but it was doable.

I turned to Shane. "Stay here. Get them moving cars, collecting what we've found, but stick close. And put someone else on watch."

"Where do you think you're going?" he demanded.

"To find my brother?" I stared him down until he nodded, running a hand through his hair. "Good. Glad we're in agreement. Now-"

"We are not in agreement," Lori hissed. "Why are you going? Why not Daryl? He's the tracker."

"Daryl ain't been asked yet, but I's plannin' on goin' anyway. Little girl's out there," Dixon commented, already studying the trees and the grass nearby. "But leave me outta this. Angel, we goin', best get."

"I was about to ask, so thank you," I said dryly, eyes fixed on Lori. "Listen. Again. Any other time, we can have this fight. But right now-"

"Somethin's comin'."

Daryl's voice had all of us whipping around, facing the trees with weapons drawn for those who had them. Andrea, covered in blood, stared like she wanted it to be a walker, and she might just decide to let it eat her. She was also a problem to handle later. Or to let someone else handle. Fuck it, I wasn't a babysitter.

Out of the trees came my brother, covered in mud and water and blood. I lowered my gun, a small sigh of relief escaping, and then I realized he was alone.

"Rick? Where's Sophia?" Carol asked wildly.

He'd looked exhausted, but his head snapped up and scanned the worried knot of us watching him. "She didn't come back?"

"You sure this is the place?" Daryl asked, leaning into the little alcove formed by the tree roots.

"I left her right here," Ricky said insistently, panic in the undertones of his voice. "I drew the walkers way off in that direction up the creek."

"Without a paddle. Seems where we've landed," Daryl muttered.

I couldn't help the amused snort. "No shit. Come on, Ricky. Two walkers? You couldn't handle that?"

"I wasn't exactly prepared, Angel," he hissed, emphasizing my nickname. "I figured she just took off and ran back to the group. I told her, go that way, and keep the sun on her left shoulder."

"Hey Short Round, why don't you step off to one side. You're messin' up the trail," Daryl called to Glenn, annoyance in his voice.

I didn't know if it was over being out here, asked to hunt her down; at my brother for leaving her; or at Glenn for being in the precise spot he happened to be in, but I left him to it and focused on the brewing argument between Shane and Ricky as Shane questioned if Sophia knew her right from her left.

"She understood me just fine, Shane," Rick snapped, an edge to his voice that matched the one in Walsh's.

I really, really needed to know just what the fuck was up with the two of them, damn it, I thought as Shane started in about being exhausted and not sure what all stuck. Thank god Daryl cut in, saying there were clear prints and she'd done what Rick said.

"Let's spread out. Make our way back," Dixon called, slinging the crossbow over his shoulder and grabbing a tree to pull himself up the bank.

He turned and held a hand out my way at the same time Shane did, and I ignored them both to pull myself up. Dixon's eyes gleamed in amusement, but Walsh just looked pissed. He'd been looking pissed a lot these days, and I was very, very curious. My boys did not need to be at odds with each other, because that would make things very difficult for all of us, what with them thinking they were in charge and all.

I was beginning to suspect they weren't, really. But that begged the unfortunate question of who was, and I had a sneaking suspicion it was me. I was not a fan of the idea.

In the same sudden shift of perspective Walsh seemed to be having often these days, he grabbed my brother's hand, pulling him up, and clapped him on the shoulder. "Hey. We're gonna find her. She'll be tuckered out hiding in the bush somewhere."

Daryl paused, crouching down to stare at the leaves on the ground. "She was doin' fine till right here. All she had to do was keep going. She veered off that way."

I glanced from him to Shane to Ricky to Glenn to the sky. We had too many people out here, leaving the others unprotected. Most of our guns and all of the people skilled enough to use them were clustered right here talking about why she might have gone that way and what to do now.

"Shane, you and Glenn need to go back," I cut in before Rick could say anything. "We need more guns back at the road. Daryl, Rick, and I will keep going and find her. They're going to panic up there," I told him flatly when he frowned and started to argue. "We both know it."

"She's right," Daryl said. "And all of us don't need to be out here followin' the trail. I can do it myself, comes down to it."

"Nope." It was cheerful, but firm. "We don't need anyone else wandering around alone."

"So why don't you go back?" Shane asked, glaring.

"Because either you or Rick need to go, and Rick won't. I'm going to stay with Rick so he doesn't lose his shit stressing, and Lori isn't happy with either of us, so if we both go back without Rick, it'll be a nightmare."

"What about Lori?" Rick asked.

Shane and I both ignored him. "Get up there, keep them from panicking, Walsh. You know I'm right."

"She is," Rick agreed. "And I have to keep looking for her."

"Yeah, I know you do, brother," Shane muttered after a minute. "Alright. I'll keep 'em busy scavenging cars. Think up a few other chores."

"Alright, Wonder Twins," Daryl muttered. "Let's go find her."

"You know we're not twins, right?" Amusement colored Rick's voice, and I tried not to roll my eyes at him. "I'm two years older than she is."

"Don't matter none. Same damn person, practically."

Daryl followed a path so faint I couldn't tell what he was using as a guide. Rick was definitely lost, and Dixon's snarky 'you want a lesson in tracking, or you want to find that girl?' had me grinning.

"I like him," I told Rick in a low voice as we followed along behind him. "He's fun."

"Course you do. Two peas in a pod, you and him," Rick muttered back. "I don't- why'd she veer off? I told her- I told her."

"Because she's a kid, and kids in general are stupid. Dixon here will find her." I squeezed Rick's shoulder as Daryl paused, head tilted to study something we couldn't see. "What do you mean, two peas in a pod?"

Rick gave me a look, made a vague gesture. "Don't talk much. When you do, it's usually to make trouble. Want to take care of people but don't like them very much if you're being honest. Hiding something that messed you up."

"I'm not hiding anything," I retorted, annoyed.

Something rustled in the trees, and all three of us dropped to a crouch. It was a single walker, and I watched in amusement as Daryl and Rick made gestures to create some sort of plan where Rick distracted it and Dixon came up behind.

I stayed where I was as they split up, then dropped on the thing from overhead and rammed my knife through its skull before either of them got where they'd been heading. Daryl strolled up, crossbow loose in his hands, and Ricky's face was a thundercloud.

"Guess that works, too," Daryl drawled.

"What in the hell was that, sis?" Rick snapped.

I ignored them both, wiping my knife off on the walker's tattered clothes and looking at it closer. "Blood's fresh, around its mouth. It fed recently."

Rick pulled on gloves he'd had in his pocket, moving me to the side. "Let me take a look."

"Yes, officer," I muttered, but I let him take over. I knew where it was going as he found skin under the fingernails and flesh between the teeth. We'd have to cut it open. To see what it fed on.

Please, god, any god that might be out there, do not let us find parts of that little girl in this thing's stomach, I pleaded. My eyes met Daryl's and I saw the same thing reflected in them. Rick flipped open his pocket knife, but Dixon straddled the dead bastard, pulling the giant blade from his belt.

"I'll do it. How many kills you skin and gut in your life? Anyways, mine's sharper." He plunged it in, shooting me an annoyed glance at my muttered 'now, now boys'. "Seriously?"

"You walked right into it, Dixon," I said with a shrug. I set a hand on Ricky's shoulder, and he reached up to cover it with his as Daryl's knife tore through the dead man, releasing an awful stench.

He plunged the knife in again, hacking away, and we waited in silence. "Now comes the bad part," he said, glancing at us with as much disgust in his face as was no doubt in ours.

He had gloves of his own, thank fuck, as he dug around in the innards, scooping flesh and tendons and rotten things out of the abdomen. Rick looked like he wanted to puke, but Daryl muttered about a big meal and how he could feel it in there until he got the gut bag out.

They sliced it open, and I let them. There were some things you just did not volunteer to do if you didn't have to, and while my stomach was pretty strong after everything I'd been through, I sure wasn't going to willingly dig through the contents of anything's stomach.

Daryl pulled out the skull on the tip of his knife, and we all breathed a little easier. "Looks like the bastard had himself a woodchuck for dinner. At least we know," he added, sending the skull flying.

"At least we know," Rick agreed.

He stayed where he was for a moment even as Daryl scooped up his crossbow and kept moving. I pulled my brother to his feet when he took my offered hand, seeing the fear and guilt steadily growing in his eyes.

We had to go back. It was heading toward dark, and we all knew that wandering around out there without light was a good way to get more of us lost or killed.

We arrived back right on the heels of an argument, it seemed, with Andrea staling off and Shane looking annoyed and Carol staring at us with wild fear in her eyes. She asked why we'd come back without Sophia, begged us to keep looking for her.

Daryl's voice was so gentle as he spoke to Carol, apologetically telling her it was no good to be out there in the dark. She cried and begged, and Ricky did his best to calm everyone down. But of course, Carol saw the blood on Daryl's pants and the news we'd cut open a walker to see if it had eaten her daughter had her sinking to sit on the barrier.

"How could you just leave her out there to begin with?" she demanded of Rick. Lori sat beside her, trying to reassure her, but Carol was focused on my brother. "How could you just leave her?"

Ricky defended himself, going down to a crouch in front of her, and to my surprise- and gratitude- Shane came to his defense as well. I stared at nothing as Carol's voice cracked and broke.

"My little girl got lost in the woods."

Ricky walked away from everyone, guilt so strong it radiated off him in waves, and I couldn't go to him. I faded away in a different direction, looking for a perch to keep watch during the night. Because the night was coming, and it was going to be a long one.

He was late. I sipped at my tea and tried not to be impatient, because it was hardly the first time a source hadn't been on time. But we were this close- this close- to it being the right time to set him into action, and he'd promised me. If I didn't get him to lift the memory drive for me, so we could copy the new codes stored on it, we wouldn't be able to keep tracking communications and movements, and we'd be dead in the water until we found a new way.

I needed this to go well. This last one, and then he and his family would be heading to the states for a new life. We were so close, I could taste it.

And if he didn't show, years of work would be scrapped.

A shadow passed over my table and a man paused, holding a newspaper. The café was busy, so it wasn't unusual to have him ask if the other seat was taken and if I minded sharing. A graceful gesture had him sitting, spreading out his paper and sipping from his own china cup.

"I'm out."

He said it while studying the headlines, his lips not moving and his voice barely heard. I turned the page on my book, engrossed in the story. "Excuse me?"

He sipped, used the cup as cover. "I received a box today. I am finished helping you."

My mind whirled. What on earth could have happened? "What was in the box?" I asked without looking at him.

"My son's finger."

Shit. I turned another page, fiddled disinterestedly with my mug's handle. "Are you sure?"

"Do you think I would mistake my own child's flesh?"

I met his eyes now, burning fear and anger filling them. "Tell me everything."

They'd taken his son. Threatened his wife and daughters. I killed them, but it was too late. I didn't save the boy, and when I met him at his son's grave, he turned hard, angry eyes my way.

"Angel of death," he spat out. "Your arrival heralded the end of everything good for us. You killed him, American. Is that not enough? But now you want our country too? Our way of life? You bribe us for secrets when you could chose to help simply because you can. And now my son is dead, and my wife is sick with grief and my country is in ruins. Leave us. Leave us with what little you have allowed us to have in your wake."

Chapter Text

That night went slowly, as it always did. I fell asleep on the hood of the Hyundai Shane had been working on, stretched out under the stars. No way in hell was trying to go in that RV. It was far too crowded, and between Carol crying and Lori's glares, I was sort of over all of these people.

I woke up to find Daryl leaned against the hood, staring at the light turning the sky from black to blue to pale gold. "You watching me sleep like some sort of weirdo?"

He flipped me off without looking my way, then held out a box of cigarettes toward me. "Was watchin' the camp. You just happened to be here."

"Yeah, whatever." I waved away the smokes, sliding down to stand beside him. "We looking for her today?"

"Yeah. Rick'll give in to all of us goin'. Should stop him. They'll muck up the trail."

"So tell him that," I retorted. "He doesn't listen to me."

"Think ya the only one he listens to, sometimes." Daryl blew smoke out of his nose and flicked the cigarette away. "Whatever. They'll all come, an' I'll still find 'er."

"I know."

He shot me a glance, enigmatic in the dawn light, and stalked away wordlessly. I didn't spend too much time worrying what that was all about, because Shane came out of the RV, followed almost immediately by Rick. I sighed, setting my hands against my back and stretching. "Let the games begin," I muttered, seeing the looks on both my boys' faces.

I managed to keep a fight from breaking out- possibly a fistfight like when they were thirteen, but more deadly- and got them on the same page. Then Shane told us both about Dale collecting the guns, specifically Andrea's, and how Shane had decided it wasn't a bad idea for only the three of us to be carrying. I shot him a look and then one at where Daryl was coming out of the trees with a squirrel in hand, and he'd sighed and changed it to four of us.

I had a feeling both Shane and Ricky had decided 'spook' was the same as 'cop', and I was now considered just like them. What that made Dixon, I didn't know. I'd let the boys keep their ideas about my role for as long as they wanted, but I wasn't a cop. I wasn't tied to the idea of law and order. Information was my game, and I'd do whatever it took to get it and to use however was best for my people.

I didn't tell them I'd gone wandering that night, along the highway. I'd slipped between the cars for several miles in either direction, just looking. There was a turn off about half a mile back on the highway, and there were tire tracks on the road that looked fresh. I wasn't a tracker like Daryl, but there was someone down there. Someone alive.

I'd been tempted to go check it out, but on my own at night in unfamiliar territory didn't seem like the best idea I'd ever had. I'd take Dixon tonight, I decided. If we didn't find her and move on, that is.

I knew Fort Benning would be a bust, too. I'd even shared that with Rick and Shane. They'd debated, disagreed, argued, and finally decided that it was the closest thing to a good idea we had, despite my saying repeatedly that the best idea would be to find a fortified position and take it over for ourselves. Somewhere defendable, with walls.

A castle would be nice, I thought idly as I waited for the others to get moving and Rick to declare it time to go. With a moat and a drawbridge. We could dump gas into the moat if the walkers surrounded us, and light the bastards on fire. That could be fun. Carl would get a kick out of having a drawbridge.

"Hey, you ready, Angel?" Ricky called, sounding impatient.

Like he was the one waiting for me to get it in gear and get moving, instead of the other way around. I jogged over to where the group was gathered, and Rick rolled out a leather bundle Carl had apparently found in some dead bastard's truck the day before. "Everybody takes a weapon," he declared.

Glenn looked entirely too pleased with his choice, and Andrea- predictably- started bitching immediately about needing guns, not knives. Shane fired back about not popping off rounds every time a tree rustled or at the wrong moment, and how the four of us were carrying and that was enough.

"So you need to get over it," he added.

I shot him a look as Daryl outlined his plan to take the creek up five miles, then come back on the other side, since it was Sophia's only landmark. Shane shot me a look right back, and once again, I figured discussing things with him in private was more of a priority than I'd been treating it these days. I shifted over to his side as Rick rattled off more instructions, then got into a mild debate with Lori and Dale over Carl going or not.

"Little harsh, Walsh," I said in an undertone.

"What? Andrea? She needs it. People need to learn how to accept what they're told." He glared around at everyone equally, and I whistled.

"What crawled up your ass during the night, Officer Walsh? Cause you sure are in a mood."

He shoved a hand through his hair, turning to glare specifically at me. "I'm fine. What's your problem?"

"Apparently, I need to learn how to accept what I'm told," I said dryly, eyebrow lifted. "Shane. Seriously. Are you ok? Cause you don't seem like it, and I'm worried about you."

"I'm fine," he snapped, but his eyes shifted away from mine, over into the distance. "I'm fine. Just worried about that little girl is all."

"Bullshit." I met his glare and didn't flinch. "You're worried about her, I know. But something's got you all wound up tighter than Mrs. McAllister's hair in that bun."

His lips twitched involuntarily, no doubt picturing the severe school librarian like I was. Miss Janson, the assistant, had been so warm and loving and always welcoming, but Mrs. McAllister had been old-school, Catholic nun level of tough about that place. And her steel-grey hair, never out of place, had been pulled back so sharply we'd always questioned if the reason she was so often mean was the headache from yanking her whole face back with it.

"Look, I know we've got history, but we're still friends, man. Talk to me," I said softly.

He looked tormented, opening his mouth like he was going to speak and then shaking his head. He rubbed at his head again, hand in his hair, and I thought he'd really open up this time.

But then Daryl whistled and yelled about wasting daylight, and Rick was at my side with a smile for me and look of reservation for Shane that had me seriously considering sending everyone else after Dixon and hosting a little therapy session right here and now, with me in the starring role of preventing my two favorite people from beating the shit out of each other and forcing them to talk instead.

Seriously, what the fuck was up with them? But we set out regardless, both of them pretending everything was fine. Did Ricky blame Shane for leaving him in the hospital? Why would he, when he so clearly didn't blame me? What the fuck was I missing?

I watched Shane and Rick instead of looking for Sophia, and I felt bad about that, but there were so many eyes scanning and calling for her already that it didn't seem like I'd make much of a difference. Maybe if I split off from the group, heading out to check a different path, but Rick had declared that it didn't make sense to that, and so here I was. Backing my brother up and trying to work out the shape of a puzzle with crucial information missing.

I needed an informant, I thought. But who the hell would know what was going on with them? If anyone else had asked that question, the answer would have been simple- me. As it was, my only two choices were Lori or Carl.

Lori didn't like me much right now, and while I couldn't blame her in some ways, I could wish she'd get the fuck over it. I hadn't been her favorite person ever, really, but she'd never been as outright hostile toward me as she was now. She blamed me, and she blamed Shane, if the way she avoided him now was any indication.

That only left my nephew, and I didn't like thinking of him as a source. But on the other hand, there were things I needed to know, and people all too often forgot how much kids saw and heard and understood. I'd used children a few times before, never in an official capacity- the Company wouldn't accept that- but unofficially, kids were amazing resources for information gathering.

I debated mentally some more, but then Shane and Ricky got into an overly civil little squabble about absolutely nothing, and that did it. I fell in place with Carl as we got moving again, slowing slightly as I got him talking about what his mom was making him work on for schooling. Because Lori was, much to my infinite amusement. Carol had been too, both of them having Carl and Sophia and the Morales' kids doing lessons in notebooks and workbooks they'd rustled up somewhere. I couldn't imagine Lori had stopped now.

But apparently, she'd slacked off quite a bit since we left the CDC. Something about almost dying had made math homework not seem as urgent, apparently.

I listened as Carl talked, realizing by the eagerness in his voice that he'd been ignored a lot lately. Everyone had been focused on survival, since the CDC. Hell, he probably hadn't even gotten to talk about his own fear for his missing friend much.

Guilt was a bitch, I thought as I chewed the inside of my lip, and I hesitated to bring up his parents and Shane. Then Daryl's low whistle had me ruffling Carl's hair, leaving him with Lori, and heading to the front of the group to stare at the tent with Daryl, Rick, and Shane.

"She could be in there," Shane said.

"Could be a bunch of things in there," Daryl countered. "Stay put."

He moved to go forward, and I went with him, circling to the back end of the tent. He met my eyes before he opened it, then glanced over his shoulder at Carol. Ricky asked her to call out, so Sophia would know who it was, but I already knew by the smell that whoever or whatever was in there, it wasn't alive anymore.

There was blood spatter on the back of the tent, too. I could see it, but I also knew they'd have to look for themselves. While Carol called her daughter's name, I met Daryl's eyes. I shook my head, just enough that he'd catch it. He frowned, but his eyes went guarded.

The boys coughed and gagged when Daryl unzipped the thing and drew the flap aside. He ducked in, and I stared at nothing until he came back out, not wanting to hear Carol's desperate questions about what he'd found.

"Some guy. Did what Jenner said. Opted out," Daryl said flatly. "Ain't that what he called it?"

Church bells filled the air out of nowhere.

The church we found didn't have a steeple or bells, as Shane pointed out. It didn't matter to my guilt-driven brother, who took off at a dead run across the graveyard.

"Guess we're going," I mumbled. We all ran after him.

There were three dead in the pews. I shot my brother a look when he raised his gun, trading mine for the knife I'd claimed from Carl's haul. It was bigger than the one I'd been carrying all along, and sharper at this point. I started forward with Dixon at my heels, and I took the first one before the others had made it all the way inside. I turned the next, only to almost lose my shit laughing when Daryl made kissing sounds and had the ugly bitch turning his way instead.

I shoved the knife through her skull from behind and he danced out of the way with a disgusted expression as she fell toward him. I rolled my eyes, openly grinning, and he scowled back.

The church was clear, but there was no little girl hiding in it.

Daryl stalked toward the altar, where a truly gruesome depiction of Jesus hung on the cross. He looked like a goddamn walker himself, and I regretted all the joking references I'd made to my brother being Jesus.

"Yo J.C. You takin' requests?" Daryl demanded of the statue while Rick screamed Sophia's name and Shane started insisting it was the wrong church, because it didn't have a steeple.

It wasn't the wrong church. I'd noticed the speaker on the side as we came up, and I was the only one who didn't jump out of their skin when the bells started chiming again. Glenn beat me to the wires, ripping them loose and stopping the sound, and I leaned in the doorway as everyone stood there in mute silence.

She was dead. That little girl was dead, and I knew it. I wandered back into the woods before anyone bothered to ask me where I was going or what I was doing. I didn't know. I didn’t know what I thought we should do, but somewhere deep inside I'd already accepted that Sophia was gone, and we wouldn't find her.

It was time to move on, for the good of all of us, I thought. But Ricky wouldn't accept that, even if her mother did. So what did we do? Did we keep searching for the little girl? Or did we leave the plush unicorn behind, and the child too, and try to save the rest of our lives for just a little bit longer?

I didn't know if I slept or passed out. Either way, it was a relief. The pain disappeared, and for the first moments as I returned to myself, I could forget where I was and what was coming next.

Either I'd be alone and miserable and bored, or they'd come. One of them or many. Either option meant pain, and I'd rather have it delivered fresh at the hands of someone I could hate than deal with the cold, miserable aftermath alone.

Hating myself would make me crack down on the capsule in my back tooth, the one I thought about often these days. How long had it been? I couldn't have said. Endless cycles of pain, terror, hatred, pain, silence, blankness of blessed oblivion, only to wake to more pain.

I was tired. I was hungry. I was weakening, and I couldn't afford to.

He'd slipped up yesterday. I assumed it was yesterday, anyway. The last time I remembered being conscious, anyway. Tom Ford had been here, and when he'd finished with me, he'd been speaking to the men who'd drag me back to my cell. He'd said something, something I had to remember. Something important, and I couldn't-

Damn it, what had he said? I needed to remember it, to keep it in the forefront of my mind, because it was the answer to many questions, and- and-

My back screamed as I shifted, trying to get comfortable. So did my ribs, and between my legs, and my thighs. The bottoms of my feet were numb, which was a good thing, I decided as memory trickled in.

My feet over the fire, flames flickering around them, licking up toward my ankles, burning, burning, burning, searing-

I shuddered back from that thought. Pain was easy, though. It was the words Tom Ford said that stuck in my mind, and had me thinking lingering thoughts about the capsule.

'You aren't here for information, angel. Or for trading. They do not even know we have you, your country. We are holding you for our own amusement, now. We know you will tell us nothing. We know you can kill yourself at any time. You can choose to let this end. We just want revenge. For all of ours. For everything you've done to us. Angel of Death,' he breathed in my ear. 'No one will save you. End it yourself. Bite down.'

'I'll bite down on something," I'd managed through the white haze. He'd been digging his fingers into the wound on my thigh the whole time, and I could hardly hear through the pain.

But the words… the words lingered. No one is looking for you. They don't even know you're gone.

I could end it, and nothing would be lost. But here I was, grimly holding on. And for what? I asked myself as I trembled in the dark. For what?

For one more day, I decided. For one more day, I'd hold out. If they didn't find me today, I'd reevaluate tomorrow. But I could hold out for one more day, and they'd come for me, and I could tell everyone what I knew about Tom Ford and his plans. I could save lives, hundreds, thousands of lives, if only I held on.

I could do it, I decided as the door slammed open and hands grabbed me roughly. I could do just a little bit longer.

Chapter Text

Shane called my name with barely controlled panic, voice low. I dropped from the tree I'd climbed right at the edge of the clearing and held my hands up in the universal gesture for 'the fuck you want, bro?'. Everyone had gathered in a tight little knot outside the church again, and Shane shoved his hand through his hair and jerked his shotgun to indicate I should come over. He set the shotgun on his shoulder, the other on his hip and stared me down as I strolled up.

Between that and my brother's hands-hooked-in-his-belt, head-ducked cop pose, I made my stroll even more nonchalant than I would have. They were going to lecture me about disappearing, and I wasn't in the mood.

"What?" I asked when I reached them. "What's the problem?"

"You think disappearin' while we're already searching for one person is a good idea there, Angel?" Shane demanded.

I turned dead eyes on him and blinked slowly. "I didn't disappear. I took watch. You're welcome. What's the plan? We need to get moving back up the far side of the creek before it gets dark."

"I'm not going back. I can't- I can't," Rick said slowly.

"Yeah, that'd be what me'n your brother were just arguing about, see," Shane interrupted. "Then we noticed you weren't with us, and we got-"

"Your panties in a twist. I gathered," I said dryly. "Rick doesn't want to go back yet. We're going to run out of daylight hours, and the rest of them aren't used to long marches. So, I'll stay out with Ricky, you lead the rest up the far side like Dixon planned."

Shane glared at me, but Rick was staring out at the trees with that tormented expression that said he was staying no matter what. "Fine," Shane snapped. "But we'll stay with Ricky, not just you. Daryl'll be enough to keep the others in line. Glenn will help. Aight, people," he said louder, clapping Rick on the shoulder.

"Don't call me… Ricky," my brother sighed, rubbing his hand over his eyes. "I just have to keep trying. We need a miracle, and finding her? It's important."

"I know," I told him. I kissed his cheek and headed toward the others to help Shane deal with Lori and Andrea, the two most likely to object. "And we're always going to call you Ricky."

Andrea objected, but more about the guns leaving than about us splitting up. Especially after Rick tried to give Lori his Python, and Daryl ended up producing a little peashooter out of nowhere and muttering that he had an extra.

Carl came with us, and I caught Dixon's annoyed look as he headed off with the others. He'd be in a mood later, I thought as I turned to follow Rick and Shane. Having to deal with all the bitching and moaning would make him want to claw out of his skin.

Better him that me, I decided, falling into step with my nephew. "So," I asked brightly into the heavy silence. "What's the plan, boys?"

Carl looked between the three of us, his eyes bright. "We should call out for her. She's probably scared."

"She probably is," Rick agreed. "But if we call too loud, we might bring other things to us, too. Not just Sophia."

"Oh. Yeah."

The kid looked downcast, so I hooked an arm over his shoulders and stage whispered in his ear. "Your dad has always been a buzzkill."

"Angel, please," Rick said, sounding pained.

"See?" I whispered again, winking.

Carl grinned openly now, and Shane tossed a look back over his shoulder at us with a smirk of his own. It was us against Rick for a moment, and it felt so good. I ruffled Carl's hair as we walked, gesturing toward his dad's back. "You know, your dad used to get very unhappy with me and Shane, Carl. Not only did we call him 'Ricky'-"

"You still do," Carl pointed out.

"We still do," I agreed. "And he still hates it."

"Yes, he does," Rick muttered.

"Anyway. Not only that, but we used to get into all kinds of trouble and then blame him for it," I finished.

"What kind of trouble?"

Shane laughed. "Oh, little man. The kind your mama would tan your hide- and mine!- for even thinkin' about getting into."

Carl looked delighted when Shane turned his way, hesitating so the kid was walking between the two of us now. Rick, just ahead, shook his head, the tips of his ears turning pink. I knew he was probably rolling his eyes so hard it gave him a headache, but I wasn't exactly going to stop now.

"We once went out to the park and-"

"Absolutely not," Rick said firmly, turning around and leveling his finger my way. "You are not tellin' my son that story. Do you want to get me in trouble with his mother?"

"Might as well, the rest of us already are," I shot back cheerfully without thinking. "I mean, shit. Never mind. I won't tell that one."

"Better not. Hell's Angel," he added pointedly.

Carl's eyes narrowed. "Why does Dad call you that?"

"Because your Aunt Angel is trouble, just like the biker gang," Shane drawled.

"Biker gang? Aunt Angel's in a gang?"

I started laughing. "In a manner of speaking. He's not wrong. He's not entirely correct, either, but…"

"So what are you?" he asked, eyes wide and curious. "And, I know Mom said we shouldn't ask about it, but- why do you have all those scars? Do they hurt?"

I froze, all three of the adults going quiet. I hesitated, then touched his shoulder gently. "No, they don't hurt. Scars don't. They're just memories we can see, kiddo. I have the scars because of what I did, before all this. I worked for the government, like your dad and Uncle Shane. But I was in other countries, getting people to tell me their secrets."

He nodded. "Did they hurt when you got them?"

"Yeah," I admitted, shivering in the sunlight. "Yeah, they did. But it's over now."

"Do you know a lot of secrets?" he asked as we started walking again.

"I do. Want to know one?"

He looked delighted. "Yeah!"

"Ok. Let's see, what's a good secret you should know?" I mused, tapping my finger against my lips. I waved Shane and Rick along with an innocent smile. My brother glanced from me to Carl's delighted face, and he shook his head fondly as he wandered up ahead of us.

I heard and chose to magnanimously ignore Shane's comment about 'the children back there'. Instead, I kept one eye on the trees and the other on the kid as we fell in behind the boys, a few steps back where we could talk without being immediately overheard.

"I know a good one," I said in a low voice. "How about this? Your dad over there, big tough leader and protector of all?" I paused until I was sure I had Carl's rapt attention, then raised my voice enough to be sure Ricky could hear. "He's totally scared of mice!"

Carl burst out laughing; Ricky whirled around with a scowl; and Shane grabbed his shoulder and drug him forward, trying so hard not to laugh himself as he kept Rick from spoiling the moment with Carl and I. I crossed my eyes at my big brother as best I could, sticking my tongue out.

"I got scared when the damn thing ran over my feet in the middle of the night," Rick complained to Shane.

"Yeah, I know, brother. Just let it go, man." Shane advised, still struggling to stay composed.

"I was nine!"

"So was I, man. And I helped her catch it."

Rick froze where he stood, eyes whipping to Shane's in a hot, betrayed glare. I grabbed Carl's shoulder, holding him back while we both giggled madly, until Rick finally shoved a finger in Shane's far too amused face and shook his head. "You- you. Don't listen to your aunt's secrets anymore, Carl," he added over his shoulder, but his eyes were fond and happy when he found us leaning on each other in our giggles.

"Come on, children," he muttered, adjusting his hat and shaking his head. "Let's keep going. Quietly."

We did, Carl staying at my side just behind Rick and Shane. He was smiling as we walked, and I loved to see it. He didn't smile all that much, not really, and I saw now what I'd been missing with only photos and video chats and that one Christmas I managed to get home for since he was born. He was a cute kid. He seemed pretty cool, overall, and I figured we could hang.

"Hey, Aunt Angel?" he asked, tilting his head to glance up at me.

I lifted an eyebrow in question, inviting him to continue. After a pause, he asked if I wanted to know a secret he had. I glanced toward Rick, but he and Shane were deep into a hissed discussion, their faces hard again instead of friendly and happy. Carl was watching them too, a shadow in his eyes.

"What's going on, kid?" I asked him softly.

He hesitated, then stopped walking all together, looking down at his feet. I stopped with him, keeping Ricky and Shane in my sights, but focused on the kid. He needed some attention, and whatever he was going to say, I had a feeling it was important. Maybe even the missing piece to the puzzle I was going to ask for earlier, but hadn't been able to.

"It's about Mom," he said in a low voice. "And- and Uncle Shane. They're mad at each other, and I think Uncle Shane's mad at me, too. But they also- I mean, I heard them talking, and-"

"Carl."

Rick's voice was a low whisper, and I turned, gun up to see what the threat might be. It wasn't one.

A deer stood in the path, so close we could almost touch her. Carl and I crept up to where the boys waited, Carl staring at the doe with such delight in his eyes, our need for food vanished from my mind. The three of us stood together, my arm looped through Ricky's, head tilted to Shane's shoulder and his hand against my back, joined as we used to be in this perfect moment as we watched Ricky's boy shift closer and closer to the still buck. Fuzz still coated his antlers, he was so young.

Sunlight filtered in through the trees, turning the world green, and everything was so peaceful, so golden, I could forget what had happened to all of us and believe, for a breath, that we were all ok. That everything was right.

Then the gunshot shattered the air, and Carl's body fell backward in slow motion.

Chapter Text

Getting to the farm was a blur. I couldn't feel my body; couldn't feel the ache of fatigue I knew bleed into my muscles and bones. Couldn't feel the gut-churning fear I knew guided every jerking movement of my hands, my legs, my speech.

Carl fell with the deer, and I moved. I'd been on the man between one heartbeat and the next, Shane at my back but too damn slow. I'd cut my fist on his face, and the stick I didn't remember grabbing at his throat, clinging to his back from behind, cutting off his breath as I stared at my brother over his son's fallen, bleeding corpse.

But he wasn't a corpse yet, not yet; and the fat man's wheezing words and Shane yelling had somehow resulted in my belt around Carl's torso, my jacket balled up and strapped to the wound, my nephew in my brother's arms, bleeding all over his uniform and Rick's back running, running, ahead of where I shoved the fat man along at the point of my gun and Shane dragged him by the shoulders.

Half a mile. Get to the farmhouse, ask for Hershel.

I'd heard the words, the fat man breathing too hard to run anymore, and Rick hadn't slowed down. I glanced from him to Shane, and Shane's eyes promised he'd reach the farmhouse alive, and bring the fat man with him.

Dead, I swore to myself. If Carl- he was dead, that man.

I'd run after Rick, run after Carl, watching Carl's limp hand bounce at my brother's side and feeling nothing. Feeling numb.

Hershel, the old man who strode out of the farmhouse doors unarmed and unafraid, wasn't a doctor. He called for his kit; he took charge like he knew what he was doing; he whipped out a stethoscope and had his family, his people swarming Carl immediately like a well-trained emergency room crew, but he wasn't a doctor.

It was his people that gave it away. The sheer responsiveness to his calls told me that. The girls were his daughters, but the older woman wasn't his wife. The boy wasn't his son. But they responded to him calling orders with understanding and a lack of panic that said they'd done this kind of thing before. Emergencies were normal for them, and it was normal for them to help out.

I watched while Rick talked, begged to know if Carl was alive, and they answered and shifted him out of the way so they could work. The kit, the tools, they were medical but they weren't-

A veterinarian, I realized. The old man who was promising to do everything he could, the old man who was the best chance my nephew had at not dying, was a vet.

I grabbed Ricky and pulled him outside.

Shane and the fat man ran up. They asked if Carl was alive, and my brother smeared his son's blood over his face, from where it was on his hands. I turned away as Shane tried to clean it off, the two of them bonded now.

Whatever secret Carl had known that caused the rift between them, it didn't matter. Whatever they had to fight about, it was gone.

They were a unit in this moment, tight-knit and unpartable, and I was just outside of it somehow. This was them as they'd been since I left, the two of them against everything, and Shane had my brother's back.

And there I was in the background, the angel of fucking death.

The old man asked about his blood type, and luckily Carl and Ricky were the same. My mouth went dry, and in a strange way, I wanted to laugh. I was a universal receiver. Any blood type, I could take it. There were universal donors out there, people with that precious blood type that could give to anyone, and I'd have given anything to be one of them in this moment. To bleed for Carl, to bleed for something good. But as usual, all I could do was take.

Otis, the fat hunter who'd shot my nephew, started freaking out as Hershel talked about the number of bullet fragments. Six of them. Six fragments to dig out of my nephew's small body.

They dug their fingers into the cut on my side, ripping open skin that had started to heal, and it wasn't pain, it was agony. They laughed, they jeered, their bloody fingers digging into my flesh, white hot and burning and stabbing and-

I swallowed down the nausea. He'd survive. He'd survive, because I had, and this man was trying to save his life. Not trying to hurt him. It wouldn't be fingers shoved into holes for the sake of it, for the pain of it; it was precision and care. It was healing, and sometimes- sometimes healing hurt, too. But he'd get through it, and he'd have a scar of his own, but it would just be the memory of pain.

Memories could be locked away. Could be forgotten. Could be ignored.

They sent us out of the room when Rick started talking about how Lori didn't know. He was freaking out, and while I didn't blame him, it also didn't help anything. I watched Shane do his best by my brother, and I wished there was something, anything I could do or say.

"Why'd I let him come with us?" Rick asked in the silence. "I should have sent him with Lori."

"You start that," Shane said quietly, his face grim, "you'll never get that monkey off your back. "

"Little girl goes missing, you look for her. Simple."

I turned away, closing my ears. I didn't want to hear. I couldn't hear, not if I was going to stay in this soundproof, painproof numbness and do what needed to be done.

Because things would need doing, and soon. Hard things, the kind of things my brother and Shane weren't cut out for. If the vet didn't save Carl, I'd kill the fat man. His people would object, would fight back, but I'd just kill them too.

A life for a life. And if it was Carl's life, I'd take the lives of everyone here in retribution.

The door burst open, one of the women summoning Rick to give blood. Carl's cries reached my ears and I was in the room before I knew it, my hands searching for a weapon at the sight of Patricia holding the boy down and Hershel digging into him.

Ragged, rough-edged, gasping sobs of pain from my nephew, and I-

I blocked the sound, blocked the sights; forced the rawness of my own strangled screams from my throat and my ears, and tossed myself over Carl's body along with Shane, holding him down as Hershel snapped out orders and Maggie hooked Rick up for a transfusion.

Carl went limp, and Hershel held up the first bullet fragment.

The old man said Rick couldn't go more than fifty feet from Carl's bed. Shane and I guided Ricky back out into the sitting room of the farmhouse, and I heard my voice tell Maggie and Otis that the kid was stable for now.

Rick needed Lori to know. His voice was a broken plea, begging, and I stirred against the wall, ready to volunteer if only I could get the words past my lips.

Lori would be so angry. She’d hate me forever, if I was the messenger with this need.

"I'll handle it," Shane said firmly. "I'll handle it. But you have to hold up your end."

"My end?"

Shane's smile was twisted. "Yeah. Your end is being here for him. He's your son. Rick, man, even if he didn't need your blood, you think there's any way I'd let you walk out that door right now? Man, I'd break your legs if you tried, you know that, right? If something happened- if- if he slipped away, and you weren't here, you'd never forgive yourself for that. And neither would Lori."

He was right, I saw. He was right. And in that moment, hearing him talk and seeing the wild devastation in his eyes, I thought maybe Carl was Shane's nephew even more than he was mine. Shane had been here, after all. He'd been here the night Carl was born. He'd driven Rick to the hospital, from the station. He'd been here for every birthday, every Christmas, every milestone, every illness.

Shane had been in that boy's life more than I was, and yet he was handling this better than I was too.

He talked to my brother about Lori, while Rick was in the hospital. The strength she'd shown, how Rick couldn't imagine it. And he was right. Lori had been a quiet fortress, a rock. She'd held it together and held Carl together, and in some ways held Shane together, too.

And now Shane did the same for my brother, their foreheads pressed together, joined in the fear and the heartbreak of parents for their child.

I was numb. No fear, no pain, no heartbreak. All I thought of with my nephew lying in there, probably dying, was cold revenge and how to enact it. I could hold the thought of his death in my mind and not shy away from it, not feel horrified by it. I could accept it. I could accept that the last smile I'd see on his face had been with the joy of the deer in his eyes, and I could keep going.

I really was a monster, I thought. I should have been sickened by myself, but I wasn't. I wasn't anything.

Hershel came to the door. There were things he needed, and it wouldn't be easy to get them. I stared at him, and I spoke for the first time since I'd entered his house.

"Got a list?"

Chapter Text

I took Otis because he knew the way, and I wanted him close to me. His life was mine, if anything happened to Carl, and I didn't want even a chance of him slipping away.

Shane shot a wild look between Rick and me, clearly wondering where he needed to be. Someone needed to get Lori, after all, and someone should be with my brother and make sure he kept his head on straight for that boy.

"Stay," I said to Shane softly. "I can handle it."

"You could," he agreed. "But I don't trust Otis. And I'm- girl, I'm gonna go mad if I stay here."

"So go get Lori," I offered instead. "I can handle Otis. He's nothing to me, and you know it."

"I should go." Walsh clearly wasn't listening to me, not really. "You should stay here. He's your nephew."

"He's yours more than mine, Shane," I said. "You've been here. Stay. I mean it."

He couldn't. He'd stared at nothing, then confessed that he couldn't face Lori. Not yet. "She blames me already. For Rick getting shot. For leavin' him behind. For a lot of things, really. I can't- I can't have her blame me for Carl, too. It's selfish, I know. But Maggie offered to find her, find everyone else. I'm going with you."

We loaded into Otis's pickup truck, heading to the high school where FEMA had set up a shelter. Get what we need and get out, we promised Rick. Because clearly we’d planning to linger. Maybe have a nice dinner out, then mosey on back.

It was a silent drive. Otis tried to speak, but Shane shut him up before I could. I wished I'd ridden in the bed of the truck, honestly, instead of being pressed in the middle between Otis's sweating body and Shane.

Shane's leg was warm against mine, a warmth that threatened to spread through the numbness, and I needed that. I needed to be blank and smooth, a weapon and a warrior, who would do whatever needed to be done and get back alive.

The looks Hershel and Otis had exchanged when talking about this place had told me everything I needed to know. It was overrun, and they knew it. The likelihood was that we weren't coming back, at least not all of us. And in the old man's eyes was the fear that Carl wasn't going to make it, even if we did.

It was overrun. I'd been correct. The medical trailer across the field had a small horde of the dead shambling around, some in uniforms I recognized and some in civilian clothes. It didn't matter who they'd been in life, though. All of them were hungry, and all of them were between me and what I needed for Carl.

"I'll make a run for it," I whispered to Walsh. "You keep them off me."

"The fuck you will," he hissed. "You can't make that, girl. None of us could. We need a distraction. What do we got? Use that pretty head of yours to think, not get all self-sacrificing on me."

I scowled at him, but I used that damn pretty head of mine to think instead. Night was closing in, which wasn't good for us in terms of the dead, because they could smell and we couldn't see. But how to distract them? If the cars worked, I'd say someone start the blue lights on the car in front of us and then fucking book it away, while the others slipped in and got what we needed, but from the looks of them, that wouldn't work too well.

But…

"Hey, Walsh."

"Shit, I know that tone," Shane whispered, resignation in his voice. "What you got, angel?"

The flares worked, and we made it to the trailer. Inside, we scooped everything we needed into two packs, and I stared at the treasure trove of what was left and wished I'd brought a third. As it was, I stuffed syringes and bandages into my pockets and Shane rolled his eyes at me.

"That's all of it?" he muttered to Otis, who had the list.

Otis confirmed, and Shane opened the door so we could all sneak back around the dead bastards and the flares, and-

"Oh, shit."

It wasn't that easy, because of course it wasn't. They'd lost interest in the flares, and as soon as he opened the door, Shane had drawn their attention. No possibility of retreating into the trailer and trying to come up with something clever with what was in there- oxygen tanks could explode, probably, I could work with that- it was time to run. They'd have clawed the feeble walls out in no time, and we'd have been further up shit creek without that paddle Daryl had mentioned only the day before.

God, the days were long after the world ended. Long, or boring as fuck. No in between.

We ran, but at every turn there were more of the fuckers waiting for us. We ended up heading in the old direction we could- inside the high school. The grill gate wouldn't hold the ones after us for long, and I gave Shane a long look as he ran a hand through his hair and panicked.

"Come on, Walsh. Otis. We have to move." I heard something in my voice, something that hadn't been there since I got back from the caves. Someone else was taking over, someone I used to be. The person who ran spec ops in the darkness before turning to the intelligence gathering side of things. The person who frequently bent and stretched and even outright broke the laws and rules of order to get what she needed and to protect her sources.

The Blind Angel seeped into my voice, into my blood, into my bones, and I took command of my team in the darkened school knowing we wouldn't all make it home. I'd do my best, as I always did, but there would be a moment when I had to choose. One of us or all of us. One of us or Carl.

The Company's special forces team recruited from the elite of the military branches. And then they taught them what we needed them to know.

Intelligence could be anything from an analyst to an operative. I'd skipped the analytical route, of course, partly because that never would have suited me and partly because I'd come into my role in the Company so ass backwards anyway. People didn't jump from spec ops to intelligence operative. But I did.

In the darkness, I held up a hand to the team of five impatient men, all itching to go in and kill something. They were SEALs, and I was just a spook, and they didn't have any idea why they were being held back by the one they thought they'd have to babysit.

But it was because shit creek had been my homeland for so long, I didn't need the canoe to survive, much less the goddamn paddle. I counted down in my head, the clock running steadily closer to go time, to the moment of truth, to when the planes overhead would have clearance to bomb the absolute ever-loving shit out of this place and destroy everything moving in it.

We had someone to get out of there first, and we were rapidly running out of time to do it, and the big tough bastards didn't know why I was holding them back.

Three, two, one-

I dropped my hand, and we crept forward into the darkness about to come alive.

It stopped being a headlong, panicked run as soon as I took charge. Shane fell in without seeming to notice he was doing so, and Otis would have followed anyone. But it was me, it was the Blind Angel, who would get us the fuck out of here and save my nephew.

I made for the gym on purpose. Getting off the ground was key with how close they were on our heels, and my bet was the bleachers would be folded and against the wall. Every gym had windows, and it might have been a shit drop, but we could pick them off us either from the bleacher on the inside or the windows to clear the outside. Or one of us could drop down and make a break for it, leading the others free.

Not all of us making it home didn't mean I had to sacrifice someone else, after all. Everyone was an asset, and everyone was a sacrifice if it came to it. Even me.

I was right first about the bleachers, then about the windows. Even better, while the drop wasn't great, it was also clear. No walkers waiting. Which meant we didn't have to waste any of our limited ammo.

Shane caught on and started giving directions to Otis, who knew what I knew before Shane did. Otis stared at me, a look in his eyes that wondered if I'd known this was coming, and said what Walsh should have realized all along.

He wouldn't fit through the windows.

Shane started to panic, but I didn't. I took the pack Otis held out to me with a nod, and he started talking about the boys' locker room nearby and how he could get through there. I let the two of them make a plan to give him a head start, and I focused on getting Walsh and I the fuck out of here.

There was always a third plan, after all. And that one usually meant I lived and someone else died.

It was a matter of calculation. It wasn't even that I wanted to live. I'd have sacrificed myself if it had given the best odds of them getting away with the supplies Carl needed.

But that wasn't how it worked out, and as Walsh limped, leaning on me, and Otis staggered and shuffled too, all of us down to one shot each and out of breath, running out of options, I knew what had to happen.

I was fast. I had wind still. I was strong, and I wasn't hurt. I could take both packs and the odds were fifty-fifty I'd reach the truck safely. But they were heavy, and with both of them- well, fifty-fifty wasn't good enough odds. Not when there were other options.

Walsh could move faster than Otis. If the dead were distracted, we shared the weight like we currently were- old man too out of breath and exhausted to carry the bag and run meant Shane had one and I had the other- we could get there. It was closer to seventy-thirty odds, which wasn't ideal but was better.

Otis, on the other hand-

Otis wouldn't make it. And we could fight that and all die, or we could use it and Walsh, Carl, and I would live.

It was a matter of calculation.

I moved too fast for Walsh to stop me. Otis never stood a chance.

I whirled out from under Shane's arm, machete in my hand a blur, and I'd sliced open the man's hamstring before he could do more than scream at the pain. I kicked out his other knee and he went down, and then I danced backward, but I didn't think about the weight of the pack slowing me down.

Shane screamed my name, questioning what the hell I thought I was doing, and I ignored him. Otis screamed too, wordless and saying he'd kill me, but the only way he could do that was if he didn't let the fuck go of the bag he'd managed to latch on to.

We struggled as the dead closed in.

The single shot rang out and I was free. I took down the lead walker with my machete, leaving it stuck in the dead bitch's hair. I grabbed Walsh, wild-eyed and pissed as fuck, and tugged him back into motion.

"Come on," I said grimly. "We have to go. Carl lives."

"Carl." It was a dazed murmur, and I knew in my gut that Shane and I would never be the same after this. He'd probably never forgive me, but that was ok. That was fine.

I'd calculated the odds of that, too.

Chapter Text

My brother was too pale. That was my first thought when I screeched to a halt in the front yard, not bothering with the driveway.

They piled out of the house, Rick and Lori, Hershel and Maggie, and my brother looked like a goddamn ghost in the headlights. Lori was there, I realized a beat later. Maggie had found them.

We handed the packs to Hershel, Carl's name the only thing coming from both mine and Shane's lips, and there was still a chance. Still a chance, the Blind Angel whispered in my head, satisfaction in her voice.

That was enough.

Shane leaned against the truck, as far away from me as possible. Rick had clung to us both, and even Lori had reached out, gripping my hands tightly in hers for a moment. I'd ended up on the railing of the porch, them on the steps. T Dog sat in a rocker nearby, all of us silent and waiting.

He'd needed his arm stitched up. Apparently Merle Dixon getting the clap on occasion had saved his life. I'd laugh about that, later.

If Carl made it through.

We all rose when Hershel came out, Maggie and Glenn behind him. Glenn had brought T after Maggie had scooped up Lori. Daryl, Andrea, Carol, and Dale had stayed behind at the RV, partly because Dale refused to leave his beloved vehicle and partly because Carol refused to leave the only place Sophia would know to go.

"He seems to have stabilized."

I didn't hear anything else. I didn't care to.

I stayed on the railing, watching the light in Carl's room. Dimly, I could hear Patricia wailing. I could hear Lori's stifled cries more clearly, and I could hear her whisper for Shane to stay.

I wondered what that meant, but not enough to care about it much either. I was done caring for the night. Maybe for the week. It didn't matter.

I slid off the railing and disappeared into the night. I'd take a tree, or Otis's truck bed, or hell- maybe I'd walk all the way back out to where the others were camped on the highway. I didn't know, and it didn't matter.

Morning found me in the branches of the tree, out near the edge of the field. I'd caught a couple of hours, but the lack of sleep was starting to drag on me, weighing me down. I'd have to let myself rest soon, or my body would take over and ensure it with or without my permission.

I'd barely stepped onto the porch when Shane walked out, dressed in oversized, baggy overalls and with his head shaved. All his thick curls were gone, and I blinked in surprise. "Shit, Walsh. That's a change."

He glared at something just over my shoulder, brushing past me without a word. I grabbed at his arm and he ripped it away from me, turning till we were toe to toe and close enough to kill. Or kiss, and the thought flickered through my mind. I could use something to break the tension, ease the weight left behind by being the Blind Angel again.

He snarled and backed away, still not speaking.

"Whatever," I muttered.

The front door opened again as I watched Shane limping off to who knew where, which probably wasn't the best idea he'd ever had, considering his ankle. My brother's hand fell on my shoulder and squeezed, both of us watching Shane.

"It was a hard thing you two did. Having to leave Otis behind like that. He made a choice, to make it right after- after shooting Carl. But still. Shane'll be ok. Just needs some time."

I kept my expression clear and smooth through years of practice lying and being surprised. "I'm sure he will. How's Carl? Still stable?"

"Carl's- Carl's gonna be ok. Thanks to you and Shane. And Otis. Harley, I can't thank you enough."

I shot him a look. "First of all, ew. That's my nephew. Why would you need to thank me for shit? Walsh either. Don't piss him off like that. Second, who's Harley?"

Rick's smile was slow, but it spread across his face all the same. He was still too pale, but he'd be fine as well. He'd given a lot of blood for his boy yesterday, and his body needed time to recover. "Yeah, yeah. Angel," he added, pulling me in for a hug. "Not to sound ungrateful, but- why don't you use the bathroom up there and get a shower? You're wearing an awful lot of blood. I'm sure you can borrow some clothes from Maggie or Beth."

"Such a dad," I teased lightly. We left Walsh leaning on Otis's truck in the morning light.

He'd made a choice, same as I had, I thought as the door closed behind me. He needed to learn to live with it.

I didn't regret my choice, not one bit. Carl was going to be ok. He was pale and still in pain, but he smiled when I slipped into his room and started telling Lori about the deer and how close he got to it, and wasn't that so cool, Aunt Angel?

Lori's smile when she looked at me was genuine, which came as a surprise. Apparently, whatever I'd done to piss my sister in law off so much had been either forgiven or forgotten. For Rick's sake, and Carl's, I could say that I was glad. Otherwise, I didn't much care, if I was being honest.

It settled over me like a blanket, the lack of fucks to give. It sat well on my shoulders, warm and familiar and comforting, and it made the makeshift funeral without a body much easier. When Otis's widow asked what his last moments were like, what his last words were, I'd been prepared to give a bland answer, one that satisfied her but didn't reveal what I'd chosen to do.

I wasn't ashamed of sacrificing him. But I knew firsthand that other people couldn't accept that choice.

Walsh answered instead, giving some bullshit speech full of plot holes about Otis making a last stand, and the only thing he said that mattered was if anybody's death meant something, it was Otis's.

He refused to look at me when he was done, and I murmured some words of agreement, and the old man finished the service.

He stalked out of the RV dressed in his own clothes, which had apparently done wonders for him since he made a beeline straight for me, grabbed my arm, and started hustling me off out of range of the others.

Dixon's eyes lingered on us and I rolled my eyes at him and waved him off. Walsh wanted to talk finally? We'd talk. Hell, it was probably a good thing.

But he needed to get his hand off my goddamn arm, so I wrenched free and planted myself firmly in place when I'd decided we were far enough for a civilized discussion not to be overheard. And if he started yelling, well- that was on him. I leveled Shane with a pointedly blank stare. "Can I help you?"

"You- you. Shit, girl. What the hell was that? What was that?" He hissed the words, up in my face, eyes blazing.

I blinked slowly. "I literally came out of my tent and you drug me over here. I'm going to need some context clues for this discussion."

"Context- don't be a bitch," he scoffed.

"Don't be an ass," I fired back pleasantly. "Seriously, what the shit?"

He turned, hands on his hips and jaw locked as he stared out away from me. When he sent me that customary glare, so familiar from a thousand small arguments and a few big ones, too, I could feel the smile trying to creep over my lips.

Probably not the best time for that, so I shut it down and waited.

He rubbed a hand over his head, a new version of an old habit, before finally grinding out words through gritted teeth. "Otis. What was that? You- you cut him. You hamstrung a man, and kicked him down, and-"

"Left him for bait." I finished, interrupting the strangled-off words. "I did, yes."

"What the fuck, Angel?"

I met his eyes steadily, allowing him to see me. Dropping the mask I so often kept in place and letting him see the cold within. "I ran the calculations, Walsh. I considered all the angles, and I knew what you knew in that moment. What I'd known all along. We didn't all make it back. It was lose one of us, or lose all of us. And if we lost all of us, we'd lose Carl too. You can look at me like that all you want," I said, my voice dropping as something like horror crawled over his expression and took up residence in his eyes. "You can stare like I'm a monster. I made plans the minute we moved through those school doors. I knew how it would end then, and I figured it out. I figured out what it would take to survive."

I took a step toward him, getting into his space, and he stared at me with a clenched jaw and clenched fists. "I'm Angel, Shane. I'm the Blind Angel. I make those plans, those calculations, and I save lives at the cost of others. What's one man for three others? Good odds, that's what."

"That's bullshit," he snapped.

"Is it?" My voice had gone arctic now. I smiled, and it wasn't a pleasant one. "Did you make any hard calls on the job, Shane? Did you chose someone else's life for your own? For my brother's? A bad guy for a civilian, an officer, yourself? It's all the same thing. It's a choice, and I made it. You did too. You could have put me down out there. You could have hauled ass and left us behind. You could have shot Otis in the head, put him out of his misery. But you didn't."

He turned away, paced, came back. Glared harder at me. "That is not the same. It is not the same, makin' calls on the job. We could have- we could have made it."

"Whatever you need to tell yourself, Walsh," I said tiredly, suddenly too exhausted to deal with this anymore. To deal with him and his raging morality anymore. "Whatever helps you sleep at night."

I turned to go, and he grabbed my arm again. I looked pointedly at his hand and then up at him, eyebrows lifted in warning. He scoffed, but didn't let go. Instead, he leaned closer, eye to eye with me.

Close enough to kiss again, I thought, but that wasn't on his mind. Not right now. It wasn't on mine either, not with him staring at me with that ugly look, like I was monstrous for more than just the scars littering my body.

"I'll lie for you. To all of them. Because if they knew, well. They wouldn't take it so good, see, and we need Hershel to look after Carl. But you and me? We're done, girl."

I sneered, the pain from his words turning hard and mocking in an instant. "Oh, Shane, when were we ever not? Just because we fucked a few times after the world ended didn't make us anything. You dumped me years ago, remember? I thought we were being friends, but have it your way."

I pulled free and this time he let me.

"Yo, Grimes."

I didn't bother to look up from my homework, just waved my pencil in the air in greeting. Shane plopped down beside me, leaning on his elbows against the picnic table with his legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles.

I finished reading, scribbled down the answer to the last question, and leaned my head against the open books with a groan. "I hate Mr. Richards's class."

"Oof. Yeah, that's probably Rick's fault."

"Great," I groaned. "Paying for the sins of my brother, what a joy."

Shane's chuckle was sympathetic. "You almost done with all that, nerd?"

"You finished catching a ball in spandex yet, jock?"

He laughed, long and loud, and I lifted my head from the table to smile over at him and enjoy the sight. He was worth a look, that was for sure, and the other girls scattered around the courtyard definitely agreed. The head bitch in charge- self-appointed, of course- was looking my way with narrowed eyes and an overpainted frown, and her courtiers were sneering in my direction too.

It really bothered people when Shane came to hang out with me, for some reason. Probably the fact that he was a senior, and a football player, and had dated a quarter of the school's female population and left them with broken hearts to move on to the next girl, I figured. And the fact that despite that history, he always came back to me.

It gave me a little smugness, even if Shane only saw me as a friend and that would probably never change. I'd been harboring my secret crush on him for long enough now that I'd accepted it. I'd always be the best friend, or the best friend's little sister, and that was fine. I could handle that, especially when he was leaning beside me and smirking my way with a light in his eyes that spelled trouble.

"Shit," I muttered, closing my book firmly on the unfinished homework. Whatever Mr. Richards had in store for me next could wait. "I know that look."

He leaned closer, his eyes dropping to my lips for a heart-stopping beat before he winked. "What look?"

"The look that says Rick and I are going to be grounded," I said dryly. "But it'll be worth it. Come on, Walsh. Spill. What dumbass plans are you dragging me into today?"

He reached up and brushed a stray hair caught by the wind back behind my ear, sending shivers through me. Then he wrecked it, as usual, by running his finger down my nose like I was three. "Heard about a bonfire tonight, maybe."

"A senior bonfire?" I rolled my eyes. "Well, guess you and Ricky can have fun, then. Flirting won't get me to cover for your asses, though."

"Aww, don’t be like that. Besides," he added, shoving to his feet. He bent, his hands on my shoulders digging in and massaging. He leaned close to my ear and whispered. "I told them you were my date. You're coming to, if you want."

Shit, I thought as my eyes fell half-closed and his thumbs worked the base of my neck, right where I got a crick all the time. I was so fucked.

Chapter Text

Ignoring Shane Walsh wasn't exactly a problem for me. I'd had plenty of practice at it over the years, after all. Maggie loaned us a map, and Rick, Shane, Daryl, and I bent over it with the old man. Terrain and elevations on the county survey map got my brother oddly excited, and I shook my head at him as he started talking about search grids and getting organized.

She was dead, and I knew it, but I'd be going out there searching all the same, until we knew for sure.

"You shouldn't be going out today, Ricky," I said quietly as he started talking about teams.

He shot me a look, but the old man agreed. "You gave three units of blood yesterday. You wouldn't be hiking five minutes in this heat before passing out. And your ankle- push it now, you'll be laid up for months. No good for anybody," he added to Shane.

Dixon scoffed from beside me. "Guess it's just me then."

"What am I, invisible?" I demanded, annoyed. "I'll go with you."

"You sure?"

I ignored my brother. "Whatcha thinking, Dixon?"

Daryl shot me an apprasing look and then nodded. "Head to the creek, work our way from there?"

"Sounds good to me," I agreed.

"I can still be useful. I'll drive up to the interstate, see if Sophia wandered back." Shane didn't look my way and I didn't look his. I didn't give a damn what he did, but if he kept busy maybe it would keep him from thinking too hard and losing his shit more over Otis.

"All right, tomorrow then," Rick said, clearly giving in. "We'll start doing this right."

"That means we can't have our people out there with just knives," Shane said flatly. "They need the gun training we've been promising them."

Hershel objected to everyone carrying on his property, and I ignored Rick's order to respect Hershel's wishes by simply not putting my gun on the map with his and Shane's. I was going out with Dixon anyway, and when I got back, I'd just hide my piece. They weren't taking it from me, and I didn't give a single solitary damn what anyone thought about it.

Daryl shot me an amused look like he knew what the hell I was thinking as Shane asked a question I'd also been considering.

"I hate to be the one to ask, but somebody's got to. What happens if we find her and she's bit? I think we should all be clear on how we handle that."

Ricky had a look like he'd sucked on a shit-covered lemon, but Shane had a point.

"We do what has to be done, right?" I said.

Rick nodded. Maggie seemed appalled. "And her mother?" she asked sharply, staring from Rick to me. "What do you tell her?"

"The truth." I heard the coldness in my own voice.

Shane's jaw twitched as he grabbed his Glock back off the hood. "I'll gather and secure all the weapons. Make sure no one's carrying till we're at a practice range off site. I do request one rifleman on lookout. Dale's got experience."

"Our people would feel safer. Less inclined to carry a gun," Ricky agreed, all of them focused on the old man. He nodded, giving his consent, and Daryl touched my arm.

"Hey. Gonna go grab a few things, then let's get out of here if we's goin'. Burnin' daylight."

I fell into step with him as we headed back toward where the others were setting up tents and stringing laundry lines like they'd done it a few times before. We had, after all. He glanced at me from the corner of his eye.

"Givin' up your gun?"

I snorted. "I'll say I did and they won't be able to prove I didn't. Neither will you."

"Shit. Wouldn't try."

"Good man, Dixon."

I sat on the steps with Ricky, neither of us really speaking. Daryl had vanished to do whatever he needed to, and I'd grabbed a protein bar from our meager stash and refilled a canteen with water to take with me. Other than that, I was pretty well set.

"I should be in there with Carl," Rick said quietly. "But I feel like I need to be out here."

"Why?" I asked.

He rubbed his forehead, still pale and drawn looking. "I don't know, really. Just- things. Things seem strange."

"Things are strange." My dry gesture at the world around us made him scoff.

"I mean with the people. Hershel's kind, and this is a good place, but he-"

"He doesn't want us here," I finished for him. "I can tell. We use supplies. Draw attention."

"I'll change his mind. We could stay here," Rick mused.

"We'll stay until Carl's better," I agreed. "Then we can work from there."

"And until Sophia's found."

I didn't say anything to that, hesitating. I wanted to tell Ricky what I suspected, wanted to get him thinking about the possibilities. Before I could work out what to say, Daryl appeared around the corner, heading for the woods.

"Daryl!" Rick called, shoving to his feet. I followed, amused by the abrupt departure of my brother and by Dixon's apparent desire to leave me behind. "You ok on your own?"

"Excuse you," I said dryly.

Rick shot me a look. "Are the both of you ok on your own out there?"

Dixon scoffed. "I'm better on my own. Don't worry, I'll have her back before dark."

"What am I, your prom date?" I asked, somehow both amused and irritated.

He flashed me a quick grin and we both started walking, but Ricky wasn't finished yet.

"Hey. We got a base. We can get this search properly organized now."

Daryl glanced from me to Rick, hitching up his crossbow. "You got a point, or we just chattin'?"

"My point is it lets you off the hook. You don't owe us anything."

I rolled my eyes skyward as my brother took a half step toward Daryl. Dixon's face closed down completely and he turned on his heels.

"My other plans fell through," he snarled over his shoulder. "Come on if ya comin', Angel."

"Good job, asshole," I muttered to Rick.

"What?" he asked, clearly confused.

I shot him a withering look and jogged after Daryl.

"My brother's an idiot, but he means well," I said after we'd walked in silence for an hour. Well, I walked. Daryl stalked. He went everywhere with such constant swagger it made me wonder if he was always pissed off or if he just Was That Way.

Daryl jerked like he'd forgotten I was there, glancing from the corner of his eye as he shrugged one shoulder. "Dunno what you mean. Seems aight."

"What he said as we were leaving? I thought it pissed you off, him saying you weren't obligated to look for her."

"Oh, that." Daryl went quiet again, then shrugged. "Don't fuckin' care, really. Forgotten already. Ain't out here for them, anyway. Out here for her."

"Sophia?"

He nodded. We emerged from the trees into a clearing, both of us stopping to study the abandoned house nearby. He swung the crossbow off his shoulder and I pulled my knife.

"After you," I muttered.

"Why cain't you go first?"

"You've got the shoot-y weapon," I said blandly. "I think that means you get to be first."

"Damn. Gotta do all the work around here."

I heard the smile in his voice even if it wasn't on his lips, and stayed at his shoulder as he moved forward. He kicked in the doors and we split to clear the two front rooms. I fell in at his side as we headed toward the back end of the place, faint creaking from the back door on loose hinges the only sound in the stillness. It was almost oppressive, and I could feel my shoulders tightening in anticipation.

Anticipation of what, I couldn't have said. But it was there, palpable in my stomach, as we moved further in.

Daryl checked the last room, a little add-on off the kitchen, and nodded that it was clear. I wandered into the kitchen, looking for signs that anyone had been here this side of the last century, and didn't find much.

Daryl whistled. I turned and he held up the small can of something, open and stinking. It was clearly fresh, or at least fresher than anything else around, and I nodded. I scanned the room as he did the same, wondering if there was even anything to find, or we were out here chasing ghosts.

I opened the cabinet on a whim. "Hey, Dixon."

My whisper shattered the silence, and shattered the feeling of tense anticipation. We'd found something, after all, but it wasn't a little lost girl. He glanced in over my shoulder, eyeing the nest clearly made by human hands for hiding in.

"Small. Could be her."

"Could be anyone," I countered. I hesitated, but it needed to be said, and if I could say it to anyone, it was this man. "Daryl."

"Don't."

His back was to me, but I heard the knife-edge in his voice anyway. I sighed and followed as he headed for another room, still looking for clues. "Daryl, come on. We have to think about it."

"Naw, we don't. Shit, you don't wanna find her? Why ya out here then?" He slammed through the backdoor, calling Sophia's name loudly, like he didn't give a shit what else might hear him.

I stared back over my shoulder at the little mess of blankets in a cabinet and hated myself for being this bitch, but he needed to think clearly about it, damn it. I followed him out, and found him staring at a white flower blooming in a riot of green. "Dixon."

"Shut the hell up. She ain't dead, an' Imma find her."

I grabbed his shoulder, jerking him around to face me. He glared, a fist half-raised falling immediately. He didn't like being touched, much less being touched in anger, and I got it. I did. But everything I'd been holding back since Sophia's scream was threatening to break through the dam I'd erected between me and emotions in a dark cave halfway across the world, and it spilled over into anger. Anger that no one else could see fucking reason; that no one else in this group of idiots could do what needed doing to survive. Anger that Daryl had told me to shut up. Anger that Shane looked at me like a demon come to life, the Angel of Death fallen, and now Daryl looked at me with heat in his eyes and all I could see was him thinking the same.

Fine. They want me to be a demon, they want me to be the bad guy, I'd be the bad guy. I got right in his face, forehead nearly touching his, and ground the words out from between clenched teeth. "She is."

"The fuck ya mean?" It wasn't hot, volatile anger, spewing like a volcano. That's what I'd expected from him. It was soft, hesitant. I'd have said timid, but there was nothing timid about the man or his expression.

I backed up, sneer on my lips as I gestured wildly. "How many days? This is day three, Daryl. Day three. Little girl, alone in the woods, no weapons, and the dead looking to eat her. She's dead. It's just the odds."

"So why ya out here?" He spat the question at me again with as much venom as a snake.

I shrugged, the anger draining away as abruptly as it had come. "Because it's important. She's important. No one should go missing and not be looked for. I know what it's like, to disappear and no one notices."

He stared at me, the anger still an echo in his eyes, but there was something stronger in them now. Curiosity. Understanding. He jerked his shoulder, hitched up his bow. He turned away from me, back at the flower. "I got lost in the woods fer three days once, when I's a kid. Told Andrea about it the other night. Survived off berries and raw squirrel. Old man didn't notice I's gone. Merle was in juvie. Sucked ass, but I made it back. Headed to the kitchen, made the biggest goddamn sandwich."

"Shit." I laughed involuntarily, the idea of kid Daryl coming home feral and wild and parking himself in front of the refrigerator making me smile. "That explains you."

"What about me?"

"Why you're out here," I said softly. "Looking so hard. Ricky's an idiot, but he's right. You're not the only one who can look for her; and you've done a lot. You can relax a little, let others take the lead. But you don't, and you won't. I wasn't sure why. I knew you would, mind," I added as he glared again, like he had at Rick. "But just not why. Now I know."

"Sucks bein' lost. Just wanna find her," he muttered.

"If she's dead, we can still find her," I said gently. "I know you want to find her alive. I want that too. But this isn't the kind of world where lost kids go home and get a sandwich. Not anymore."

"Think my life's been all sunshine an' roses, do ya? Angel Grimes?"

Fury was back in his voice, fury and ice, and I lifted an eyebrow at him in surprise. "The fuck you get that idea? I've met you. People like you and me aren't forged in sunshine and roses, Dixon. We're made in blood, sweat, and pain."

He scoffed, but didn't say anything else. He stared out beyond me again, fiddling with the crossbow strap.

I sighed. "I was missing for two months, Dixon. Locked in a cave, blindfolded, raped and cut and burned and beaten and starved. For two months. They didn't know I was gone for the first one. No one was even looking for me for an entire month, while I was holding out and holding hope that I'd be pulled out of there any minute now. They found me eventually. They looked, and they found me, and I'm alive. But that was before all this. If I'd been taken three months after I was, no one would have come for me. I'd be dead in those caves, a torn-up dessert for shitty people before the dead even got near me." Bitterness washed my voice, and I couldn't stop it. I was thinking about broken bones and cut muscles, about fingers in my flesh and piss stinging in open burns and-

His hand touched my shoulder and I slapped it away as I spun, breath sucked in raggedly. For a moment, Tom Ford lingered in the air.

Then it was just woods and wild filling my nose, and Daryl's hands held up in clear surrender. "Sorry," I muttered. "Point is, I know. I'm out here because I know. But I also know the odds are, she's dead and we're looking for a corpse. Maybe even a walking one."

"Maybe," he said after a pause. "But we found somethin'. An' tomorrow we'll find somethin' else. Ya got home. I got home. She can too, Angel."

He turned before I could say anything else, picking the white flower from amid the green and cradling it gently between his rough, bloodstained palms. "Come on. Best be gettin' back."

I followed him in silence, like I'd followed him out here.

Chapter Text

Shane stared at nothing on the edge of camp, leaning against a tree and generally looking like someone had pissed in his cornflakes, dumped them on his head, and then made him eat them anyway. I split off from Daryl with a jerk of my head in Shane’s direction, and Dixon nodded. I felt his eyes lingering on me as I jogged over to Shane, but when I glanced back he turned immediately away.

Shane jerked upright when I got close and started to walk away. I sighed, put on a bit of speed, and fell into step with him. He was heading out into the field with the determination of someone who wanted to convince me he was on a mission, but sure as hell wasn't.

"Gonna fuck that ankle up worse, Walsh." I didn't say anything else, shoving my hands into my pockets and waiting. He'd crack eventually. He always did.

One time while we'd been together, he'd been pissed at me for something- I didn't even remember what anymore- and he'd tried to give me the cold shoulder and the silent treatment. I'd let him stew on whatever had crawled up his butt for about two hours before plopping myself in the passenger seat of his Jeep when he said he was going for a drive and just not moving.

He'd cracked in five minutes. I thought it might take a bit longer today, but I had all the time in the world. And he needed to talk, because I could see how thin of a thread he was hanging on by.

It didn't take five minutes, actually. It took far less. He stopped hobbling along and turned to glare at me. "What the fuck do you want?"

"I want you to talk before you explode like a stick of angry dynamite."

He grabbed his hat and adjusted it on his head, and I wondered if the man had even changed at all since high school. He had the same tells, the same mannerisms, the same verbal ticks when he was feeling different things. I knew him inside and out, and I hated how he looked at me like I was a total stranger. He'd known me just as well, once upon a time, and I missed that. I missed having someone who knew me that well in my life.

And I knew it was me who'd changed. But that didn't make it any easier when his eyes lingered on me like he was meeting me for the first damn time.

"Walsh," I said slowly, reaching for his arm. He didn't jerk away, and I took that as a good sign. "You're mad at me for making a choice. But you made the same one, didn't you?"

He scoffed. And in that moment, I got it. He wasn't mad at me. Or he was, but that was because it was easier than being mad at himself- which was where the anger really lay. He shook his head, jaw clenched so tight I thought he might break a tooth, but then he started to speak.

"That's- that's the problem, see, Angel. I made a choice. I did. I'd have left Merle fuckin' Dixon to die on that roof and not felt a lick of guilt over it. I left that man there, shot him in the damn hand so he'd let go of you, and I listened to him scream while I hustled your ass away from him."

I chose not to interrupt at that, despite the clear revisionist history going on with that claim, and kept my mouth shut to listen. He was talking, which was what I'd wanted from him. I wasn't about to stop that now. Not when he was working himself up into a damn rage, and letting it flow, and that was what he'd needed.

Always a brooder, Shane Walsh, I thought as he tossed his hands in a cut-off gesture. He'd brood and brood, then go off like a landmine when looked at the wrong way. And then, usually, he'd be fine.

A controlled explosion, just him and me, was far better for us all than someone like Carol or Lori or Andrea triggering the bomb. But I'd been hustling his ass away from Otis, not the other way around, and I'd be clarifying that point to the man later, for sure.

"And you're just as a calm as can be about it. Cut the man's leg open and left him there to fuckin' die, like- like some kind of sacrificial goddamn lamb. And it don't make you even blink. And what's worse-" He cut off, shaking his head. He stared down at his feet, then cut his eyes up toward me without moving his head. "What's worse is, I didn't blink either."

"Yes, you did," I said softly. "You yelled at me, in the moment. I didn't listen, but I heard you. You made a choice, but I made it first. Shane, you're not the monster. I am."

I heard the exhaustion in my own voice as I said the last words, admitted them out loud when I'd been mentally fighting them. I was a monster. A weapon honed and forged. A loaded gun. I could deal with it; I could accept it and be that, because I didn't have another choice. After everything I'd been through, I was a monster.

"The Angel of Death," I whispered. "That's what they called me. That's what I am. The Blind Angel was just a codename, but the angel of death- that's me, Shane. You don't need to take responsibility for Otis. I killed him. I left him behind. I knew what I was doing. I'd calculated out all our chances, every path that I saw. And I chose to leave him and save myself. That's what it came down to- him or me. Him or you. Him or Carl. I chose my people and myself and I'd do it again that exact same way."

Shane was shaking his head, staring at the ground with his jaw working. "No. I mean, yeah, you did. But it ain't just you who's a goddamn monster, sweetheart. I am too."

"Why? Cause of Otis? Shane, you chose to hurt him to save me. I chose to hurt him with the only intention of hurting him and saving myself. It's different."

"No, it ain't, but that's not- that's not even it. I'd have left Merle. Like I left Rick. I don't even blame Lori for hating me, Angel, she- she has every right." His voice had broken, the anger fading to anguish, as he adjusted his damn hat again.

I grabbed his hand and he finally looked at me properly. I stared into his eyes, willing him to listen and actually hear me. "We left Rick, Shane. We did. I made that decision, too. We both checked for heartbeats, for breath. There wasn't any. What the fuck else were we supposed to do? You saw them. You saw them shooting the staff in the hallway. They'd have shot us too, trying to contain it. We had to get out and get to Lori and Carl. What else were we supposed to do?"

"I sure shouldn't have slept with his wife!"

The words exploded out of him, the landmine finally tripped, and stunned me into complete silence. I stared at him, not having a clue what my face was doing, and too bewildered to really care. He'd what? He said what?

He sneered at me, scoffing as he looked away from whatever was going on with my face. Shaking his head, he turned to walk away. "Yeah. See. That's what I fuckin' thought. You left a man to die, and even you think I'm some kinda monster now, too. The fuckin' bad guy."

My lips moved, words not actually making it out of my throat the first time I tried. I licked my lips, got a goddamn grip on my wildly racing thoughts, and firmly tried again. "Shane. What the fuck. Are you saying? I'm confused, not judgmental, damn it."

He scoffed again. He was good at the scoffing. But he dropped his head, voice softening from the bitter anger as he spoke. "I- I slept with Lori. A couple weeks before Rick got back, I- we- shit."

I stared. It fit into the web, slotting into the empty place and lacing all the threads together into a coherent picture, but yet- I couldn't fully comprehend it. He'd- he'd slept with Lori. He'd fucked my sister in law.

My ex-boyfriend had fucked my sister in law. My ex-boyfriend had fucked my brother's wife. And I'd- I'd fucked my ex-boyfriend, after.

Did- did that mean I'd fucked my brother? Oh god. Oh shit. Oh holy fucking-

I slammed a lid on that horrifying thought, breathing deeply to stop the sudden churning nausea in my gut. No, of course not. Of course that wasn't what that meant. It meant nothing but that I'd slept with my ex, who had also-

Slept with my brother's wife. Oh, sweet mother of fuck, I thought. No wonder Lori was so angry. No wonder-

"What the fuck, Walsh," I managed, mostly because Shane was looking at me and clearly waiting for a response. "But- that's- it's- it's Lori."

"You think I don't know that?" he hissed. "That is my best friend's wife. And I- But she- shit. Shit!"

I darted for my room, slamming the door behind me and leaning against it, breathing hard. My hands shook as I grabbed for my phone, calling the one person who would understand the horror of what had just happened.

"Girl, I am almost to your house, what's the problem?"

"Get here faster," I hissed. "But come straight to my room. Do not, I repeat, do not go anywhere near Ricky's!"

Silence on the other end. "The fuck, Angel?"

"Trust me," I whispered desperately to Shane. "And hurry the fuck up. I mean it." I hung up the phone and started pacing, unable to settle down. "Hurry up, hurry up, hurry up," I chanted to myself.

My door banged open not long after, slamming shut again as a wild-eyed Shane appeared, looking like he'd seen a ghost. "What the fuck?" he managed.

"I know!" I almost screamed it, then slapped a hand over my mouth to stifle the sudden, uncontrollable giggles. "Oh my god, Shane. Oh my god!"

"Since when-"

"Since today, I think." I shrugged. "How in the hell should I know? All I know is I went to get a drink, and I heard- things. Things I don't want to hear. Shane, that is my brother in there, and he is-"

"Gettin' it on with Lori," Shane finished. A wicked grin spread over his face, and I felt my eyes narrow. "I've got an idea."

"What, you freak?" I asked, suspicious as fuck.

He shrugged. "We pretend to be getting it on, too. See how they like it."

My heart fluttered harder in my chest than it should have, but tried not to let it show. "What is wrong with you, Walsh?" I asked instead, aiming for a sneer as I rolled my eyes. "Are you trying to get your ass beat?"

"By who? Ricky? He can't take me anymore and he knows it."

"By me," I fired back. "I can, and you know it."

"Maybe," Shane agreed. He shot me a heat-filled look, head ducked slightly and that smug smirk on his lips that always set my pulse roaring. "Could do it anyway. See how he likes it."

"You're a moron," I said flatly. "Or we could just wait outside his room for them to be done and mock them relentlessly when they emerge."

"Eh. My way sounds more fun."

I shook my head, trying to process what he was saying. "You slept with Lori. What in the- how? Why? When?"

He shook his head, staring out over the field. Torment was all over his face, and in his words. "She- she's been sayin' these things to me, since he came back. She keeps saying I left him on purpose. So I could have her. Told me to stay away from her family. Stay away from Carl. Like I'd do anything to hurt that boy. I- I've been to every damn one of his Little League games. I practically lived at their house while Rick- when Rick got shot. She acts like- like I arranged for that, too. Like I got him shot on purpose. Like I don't love that man like he’s my brother."

"That's bullshit," I said flatly. "She should know better. But, Shane. Do you- have you had feelings for her? Did you-"

"No." He snarled it, whirling on me with anger spewing from him like wildfire. "No. I don't even have feelings for her now. Only one woman I've ever had real feelings for, and it sure as hell isn't my best friend's wife. She came on to me, Angel. She came- after they bombed Atlanta. She came on to me. It was one time. One time! And I didn't- I shouldn't have- I just- I fuckin' missed him, girl. I missed him, and everything was wrong with the world, and then she- I thought he was dead. I thought he was dead, and it wouldn't matter. But he's not, and it does, and she thinks I- I orchestrated a whole series of events just to fuck her in the woods one time. Shit."

I nodded. Anger swept over me with every word he said. Anger at the looks I'd gotten from her as well, the comments about leaving Ricky behind when he wasn't dead, about not being there for him. The distrust and dislike in her eyes when she looked at me.

She'd come on to Shane, and now that Rick was alive after all, she wanted to blame anyone but herself for that decision.

I wondered if she'd told Ricky. I wondered if that was why he and Shane were fighting all the time.

"She wanted me to leave," Shane muttered. He was staring at the ground now, at his feet. "I'd been thinking about it anyway. Rick was back, you were still there. They'd be fine, all of them. Rick had you to watch his back, and Carl had both you and him. Don't need more than the Grimes siblings to keep a person as safe as they can be. Now she- she told me to stay, because of what we did. Bringing things back for Carl. I don't even- I don't even know if I really want to."

"Fuck that," I snarled. "Shit. Seriously? I- shit."

"You're pissed." It wasn't a question, and suddenly Walsh turned his sneer my way again, anger creeping over him as well. "What the hell are you so angry for? Cause I slept with her while I was hooking up with you? Thought it didn't mean anything, us hooking up."

"Oh, shut up, Shane," I said disgustedly. "Don't lash out at me because you feel bad about your own choices. That's what my bitch sister in law is doing, apparently. I don't give a shit who you sleep with, and you shouldn't give a shit who I do. Except, if you're still fucking Lori, I don't think I'll be fucking you again any time soon."

He was in my face in a heartbeat. "You think I'd do that to him? That is his wife. I wouldn't- I wouldn't."

"I know, dumbass," I said blandly. "Back the fuck up unless you plan to kiss me or stab me."

His eyes dropped to my lips for a split second, something hungry crossing his face, but he took a dramatic step back instead of doing either of those things.

"So, Lori comes on to you, fucks you to feel better herself, then acts like you're fucking Satan who tried to get in her pants by leaving your best friend for dead, blames me too for some twisted reason, then tells you to leave until you go through hell to save her son, and now she wants you to stay again? Shit." I rolled my eyes. "There always was something about her, wasn't there. Have you told Rick? Did she?"

"Have I told- shit no I haven't told Rick. What the fuck, girl? How do I go about telling the man I fucked his wife?" he hissed, wild-eyed.

"Maybe the way you told me, but more coherently and with less emotion?"

He shook his head. "No. No. It's better if I don't. Just let it lie, and let it die. She wants me here now, so maybe she's over it. We pretend- we pretend it never happened. Better that way."

"If that's the case, you should stop picking fights with Ricky over nothing," I said dryly.

As if on cue, my brother called our names. Without a word, Shane's eyes begged me not to say anything. I held my hands up in surrender, but damn it, that was a bad call. It would come back to bite us in the ass later, I thought with a sigh.

Chapter Text

I could feel the lack of sleep catching up to me, deep in my bones, but I couldn't bring myself to head to my so-rarely-used tent. Something in the air had me in the bed of the dead man's truck, watching the night sky overhead and wondering why I wasn't doing the intelligent thing and going the fuck to sleep.

Maybe it was the feeling of being closed in that the tent gave me. I hated it; hated laying there in the dark and wondering what was going on out there beyond the flimsy walls. Anything could sneak up on you. Anything could happen.

I'd rather be where I could feel the change in the air, have a chance of getting away. That enclosed feeling did me in too often.

My therapist might have had things to say about that, but my therapist was most likely dead. So it was just me and my thoughts and the stars overhead, and I'd stick with them if I wanted advice.

A pillow flew at my face. I batted it away, hand going for the gun I'd hidden rather than surrender when I got back to camp, and found Daryl Dixon's laughing ass walking away from me without having bothered to say a word. I glared after him, contemplating retaliation, but the only things I had available for launching were the pillow or a knife. Neither sounded like an optimal use of resources, so I shoved the pillow under my head and went back to watching the stars instead.

I fell asleep. I awoke just as abruptly, heart pounding, with the absolute knowledge that someone or something was moving around. It should have been still. Camp had fallen silent before the pillow came flying my way, and from the feeling in the air, it was early morning hours- I'd say three am, four at the latest. Nothing should have stirred, but someone was.

I eased up from the truck bed, hand going for my hidden gun. Was it the old man or one of his people? Farms start early; maybe I was being paranoid. But I'd been awake for the dawn the past few days, and they didn't move around until light shattered the sky. This wasn't them. And it wasn't a change in the watchman on the RV either; I could see Glenn's outline clearly from here. He was- shit, he was probably asleep from the look of him, but that was a problem for later.

I eased toward the edge of the bed, ready to get up, when I saw her. It was Lori, slipping between the tents and heading back to hers and Ricks.

I let out a long breath, scrubbing a hand over my eyes. Jesus, Angel. She had to pee, that's all. I had to relax, damn it.

I laid back down, making sure the gun was hidden away again so I wouldn't get a lecture from Ricky, and tossed my arm over my eyes. My nerves were shot. My senses were fucky, my body overreacting to things it shouldn't be. I needed more sleep if I was going to be any goddamn good looking for the probably-dead little girl.

Light filtered into the darkness of the cave, the first indication that something wasn't right. I struggled against the shackles, the area around them on my ankles and wrists long since gone numb and painless, despite having been ravaged by my attempts to break free. I didn't feel them cut into wounds already there, but I felt the drip of fresh blood onto my bare legs.

Something wasn't right. Was it Tom Ford coming again? Was it some fresh new torment they'd thought up to keep trying to get me to break? By now they should know better. I'd given up the one thing that could have shattered me long ago. I didn't have hope of rescue anymore. Now, I held on to life through spite.

I'd get out of here, I promised myself again. I'd find a way to break free before they broke me. And I'd come back and I'd kill them all.

But the light- the light didn't make sense. It was always dark. When it wasn't dark, I was blindfolded, or the group of them were there with a dim lantern, just enough for me to be able to watch them piss in already infected wounds or shove themselves or their dirty knife handles into me, just enough for me to see the blades they brought closer and closer, the threat clear- we can shove this in you, too. Cut you up from the inside out.

This light wasn't that, and there was no one near. I strained my ears, listening for movement, for voices, and they were there, but they were faint. They whispered, talking about things like laundry and- and chickens. Feeding chickens.

Chickens? It didn't make sense. There were no chickens in the cave. And why would they be talking about laundry?

"But Daryl said-"

"I know what Daryl said." That voice was familiar, both of them were, but they were out of place here in this hellscape.

I heard the door open and shuddered as the scent of Tom Ford wafted in ahead of him. They'd forgotten to blindfold me. He'd be pissed if I saw his face. Maybe even pissed enough to kill me this time. I tried to decide if I cared. I wasn't sure I did.

I tried to make myself as small as possible, cover all the vital parts, because he'd probably send a guard in first, to make sure I was ready. That'd involve a few kicks at the very least, and I should be prepared for that. And the blindfold to come back, and block out the unnatural light.

"But Mom, she's having a nightmare! Aunt Angel. Aunt Angel, you should probably wake up."

My eyes snapped awake. A knife was in my hand, sunlight flooded the cave- no, the world. I wasn't in the cave. Tom Ford didn't linger on the air, that was only in my mind. I shook my head, drawing in a deep breath that smelled like fire and farm, and then I registered who stood near the truck, watching me with wide eyes.

Lori had a hand in front of Carl, studying me closely. Something far too close to pity was in her eyes, and I turned away as it seared into me like the ring Tom Ford had used to brand my shoulder. I focused on Carl, pale but up and wearing his dad's hat and a big grin.

"Hey, kid," I breathed, smile spreading slowly over my face. "You look better in that hat than your dad ever did."

"Thanks. You were having a nightmare. Daryl told us not to wake you up, because apparently you're a damn owl and never sleep-"

"Language, Carl," Lori muttered, but her lips twitched like she was trying not to smile.

"But that's what he said," Carl protested mildly. "Anyway, he told us not to wake you, but I could tell. So I did anyway. Sorry if I shouldn't have."

"No, you absolutely should have," I told him. I put the knife still clenched in my hand down so I could rub at my eyes, trying to reorient myself. "What time is it?"

"Close to noon."

My head whipped up to stare at Lori in shock. "Excuse me? Shit. I need to- we're going to look for Sophia today, and-"

"And you needed the sleep, clearly. We've been moving all around you all morning, and you never twitched," Lori interrupted firmly. "Take the day. You've been doing so much for us all. You deserved to rest."

I shook my head, rejecting that idea. I didn't deserve rest any more than any of us did, but I also didn't want to argue about it, either. "Where's Ricky? Shane?"

Suddenly I remembered what Shane had told me the day before, even as I scrambled from the truck bed and stretched stiff, aching muscles. I rubbed at my wrist, where the scars ached like they often did, and tried very hard to not remember that anymore. I didn't want to think about that nightmare of a situation, and I didn't want to be pissed at Lori for her bullshit in front of the kid. I didn't trust myself not to say some things my nephew most certainly didn't need hear.

"They're out looking for Sophia. So is Daryl. Andrea and T Dog have another search grid covered. Harley. We mean it," she said, voice dripping with sincerity. "Take a day. Stay close, and rest. Come on, Carl. Time for homework."

Carl groaned and my lips twitched up in sympathy. "That's how I always felt about it too. Do what your mom says, kiddo. We'll hang later, now that you're up and mobile again."

He gave me a quick hug, and I hugged back despite my surprise. Then he was off following Lori, and I stared at nothing and wondered what in the hell I was going to do with myself for the day.

I ended up out by the barn. I'd just wandered the farm, listening to everyone and wondering why in the hell I wasn't taking off out in the woods on my own. Maybe I did need some rest, I admitted. But I couldn't stay still.

The big doors were chained, which interested me enough to have me looking for another entrance. It was probably nothing, I knew damn well. Farm equipment that the old man had locked up to keep people out long ago. This wasn't where the horses were kept, after all. There was a stable closer to the house, and Hershel had his generator there, too.

Waste of gasoline, that, in my opinion. He used it to keep the fridge running, and the hot water heater, and while I appreciated the hot shower- still. Waste of gasoline when there was only so much around anymore. It wasn't like we'd be getting more shipped in to the gas stations.

I found a ladder leaned against the wall and eyed the entrance to the hayloft. Deciding it would reach, I glanced back at the main house, but there was no way anyone could see me from this angle. Up I went, and let my eyes adjust to the dim light at the entrance to the loft.

Then I heard the noises. I crept to the edge, confused by what I was hearing. I knew that sound; I knew the low moans of the dead and the shuffle of their steps, but it didn't make sense here. I had to be wrong.

I was not wrong. "What the shit?" I whispered as I stared at them. "What the shit?"

I could have killed them all. I should have killed them all. Once I had some answers, I decided as I made my way rapidly back to the camp, I would kill them all. Why the fuck did the old man and his family have a barn full of the goddamn dead walking?

Fury rippled through me, fury that they'd keep a threat so close and not tell us. Fury that we hadn't bothered to check our territory, to thoroughly investigate where we found ourselves.

Fury that I'd been so lax.

I had a half-baked plan to find Hershel and demand answers, or find Walsh and get him to come help me take care of the problem. He and Rick had come stalking out of the woods shortly before I went into the barn, both of them looking pissed as hell. If I had to guess, I'd say Shane had told Ricky about fucking his wife- I shuddered again- and Ricky was reacting predictably. Not that I blamed him for being pissed about it. But still. I'd wanted nothing to do with that nonsense, and disappearing seemed like a much better option.

I didn't think I'd been wrong, considering what I'd found.

The first person I ran into, of course, wasn't old man Hershel or Walsh, but my big brother. And I ran into him literally.

"Whoa," he said, hand steading on my shoulder. "What's the rush, Angel? You get some rest?"

"Where's the old man?" I snapped, ignoring him. "Hershel?"

"I just came from talking to him. Daryl didn't ask about taking the horse out. And Jimmy didn't get Hershel's permission to go out with us looking for Sophia, either. He's angry."

"He's angry? I'm angry, too," I snarled. "Ricky, there's- we need to leave. Get out of here."

"Why?" Rick's eyes had gone intense, the cop face in place. "Slow down. Talk to me."

"The barn," I managed. My eye was caught by movement in the trees, and I frowned as I stared off over Rick's shoulder at what I'd seen. Was that a walker? Goddamn it, not now. "There's- what the fuck is that?"

Andrea yelled out a warning, which made me realize she was on top of the RV as a lookout. That wasn't exactly delightful, I thought with a grimace, but whatever her problem was wasn't exactly my biggest concern right now. That was the figure stumbling out of the woods.

Rick yelled that Hershel wanted to handle the walkers, and I laughed sharply. "Of course he does," I muttered, already on the move. "Rick, we need to talk later."

"We need to handle this ourselves," Shane fired back.

I glanced over at him, noting the unbuttoned shirt over abs so defined I could have cut my finger on them and the wild look in his eyes. "Shit, Walsh. Cover those things up, you'll put someone's eye out with them."

"Yeah, yeah. Flirt with me later, angel," he fired back. "Kill the dead prick now."

I hated how I could hear when he was calling me 'his angel', like he used to, instead of Angel the way everyone else used it. I hated that he still called me that, too. But he was right about the timing, even if he was an idiot to be running into the field with Rick, T Dog, Glenn, and I on that fucked up ankle of his.

Andrea wanted to take the shot, but the noise wasn't worth it. Not if there was only one of them. And we didn't need so goddamn many of us for one fucking walker, but if there were more in the trees, it wouldn't hurt to be prepared. Which must have been the reason my brother brought his gun, after saying no guns because of noise.

"Daryl?" I whispered, eyes widening as we realized who the staggering figure was. Or had been.

Or maybe was. He glared at my brother, despite the blood everywhere and the walker ears in a chain around his neck. "That's the third time you've pointed that thing at my head. You gonna shoot me or what?"

Rick's gun dropped, the others making various noises of sheer relief, and I scowled his way as his eyes turned to me.

Then a single shot rang out, and he fell flat on his back.

"Fuck!" I yelped, whirling with my own gun that I shouldn't have had in my hand. Where the fuck- Andrea.

She rose from flat on the RV, her hands in the air like she was fucking celebrating. Then I watched them slowly lower as Rick and Shane pulled Daryl up, supporting him between them. He looked even worse now, blood coming from the bullet trail along his scalp.

"I didn't mean it, shit," he mumbled.

I started laughing my ass off. I couldn't help it.

He'd taken out a horse entitled Nervous Nelly without asking, and paid for it by falling down a fucking ravine, impaling himself on his own arrow, nearly getting eaten, and being shot by his own people for looking suspiciously like the undead when he came back. I laughed silently in a corner of the room while Hershel did his best to sew up the irate Dixon and made comments about going through antibiotics and other supplies rather rapidly due to us people and Rick and Shane tried to figure out where Daryl had found Sophia's doll.

Dixon was charged up and ready to go back out there, but Shane and I exchanged a glance that said we both knew damn well that she was dead. He'd found a doll. We'd found a nest that might have been hers and might have been anyone's, and he'd found a doll.

It wasn't much, but he was riding on hope.

The others left the room, and I didn't think the old man even noticed me still in the corner when he did as well. I didn't care what plan Ricky and Shane would come up with. And the barn full of walkers, while still infuriating, could wait. They were chained; another night wouldn't hurt any of us. I'd deal with them tomorrow, probably with Shane's help.

We could ask the old man's forgiveness later, if we wanted, or just ignore him entirely. What was he going to do, shoot us all if we didn't leave? Unlikely.

Dixon studied me. I studied him right back, smile still playing on my lips. "Have a good day, sweetheart?" I asked lightly.

He rolled his eyes. "Shut up."

"Nope, sorry. Your own arrow? Really?" I sat on the edge of the bed while he scowled, grinning openly now. I'd have left him alone like the others did, thinking he was too gruff and grumpy for company, but I saw the look deep in his eyes that he tried to hide. "How bad was it?" I asked, going serious.

He grimaced. "Should be dead, honestly. Saw my brother."

That had my eyebrows shoot up. "Oh? Really now? Here?"

"Weren't really there. Hallucination or some shit."

"Ah." That made sense. More sense than I wanted to admit, considering how many times I'd hallucinated Shane or Ricky finding me in the caves. "He help?"

"Pissed me off enough to get me up the damn ravine." I laughed, and he shot a quick grin my way. "Know you think she's dead. But I found a trail again. Gotta get back out there."

"You have a hole through you where one shouldn't be," I said dryly. "Stay put."

"'S'fine. I can-"

"Bullshit." I leaned over and kissed him abruptly, not even knowing what I was doing as I did it. It was just a peck, more to shut him up than anything, and it worked. He stared at me, shocked, and I smiled. "Stay put. You've more than earned a bit of rest. Yeah, I think she's dead. But I'll make sure we stay on her trail, Dixon. Besides, we've got bigger problems that we'll need to deal with tomorrow."

His eyes narrowed. "Shit. What now?"

"The old man's keeping secrets, and I learned one of them. It'll keep overnight. Get some rest, damn it," I insisted.

He grabbed my hand as I rose to go, dropping it as soon as I turned back to him. "Why ya fussin' like a damn mother hen?"

I shrugged. I didn't have a good answer, but he had the pinched look of pain around his eyes and a tiredness in them that didn't come from physical weariness. Plus, he didn't get taken care of often. I wondered if he ever really had been.

"I like you. You're a loner like me, but you care. Plus, you threw a pillow at me. Best revenge I can think of is forcing you to use one, too," I said with a wink, heading for the door.

"Shit. Bitch.”

I heard the teasing in it and turned back in the doorway. "Oh, baby, you have no idea. But I'm fun, though."

"I bet," he muttered, just barely heard as I closed the door behind me.

Chapter Text

I watched Glenn and Maggie's hissed conversation with narrowed eyes. There was something going on with those two, something more than the fact that they'd started shacking up and they liked each other more than either of them wanted to admit. Maggie handed over a crate of peaches, made something that based on her face and my meager lip reading skills- there were some things I'd just never mastered, and that was one of them- seemed to be a threat of some sort, and disappeared.

Glenn stared anxiously toward the barn again, and I had a feeling we needed to have a talk, him and I. But he took his peaches and started wandering the camp distributing them.

Andrea caught my eye, a book in hand as she headed for Dixon's tent next to mine. I glanced over to find him shoving one of his arrows through the mesh, boredom written on his face so clearly I couldn't help but smirk. Poor bastard. He was sidelined for today, at the very least, and Andrea's delivery of one of Dale's truly horrible novels wouldn't help with that much.

She apologized for being an idiot at least, and Daryl accepted with the ease of someone who didn't much care about his physical wellbeing as long as the intentions were good. I'd probably have a harder time forgiving her, but only because she'd taken matters into her own hands and then fucked them up. Not that I wanted her to have shot Dixon in the head better than she did, but at least if she was going to go against the wishes of everyone else, do it right, damn it.

"But hey. Shoot me again, you'd best pray I'm dead," Dixon called after her. That got a laugh from me, and he shot me a look through the tent. "Fuckin' sucks, gettin' stabbed."

"Hey, you did it to yourself," I reminded him. His eye roll had me grinning. "Get lessons from Carl and that might be an effective technique."

"Fuck off, damn it. Make sure they's keep lookin' for her today?"

I sighed as I climbed to my feet to go to where Shane and Ricky were bent over the map. "Yeah. I will. Daryl-"

"Don't care if ya think she is. Make sure, aight?" His eyes bore into mine, intense and demanding, and I nodded. "Thanks."

"Stay put," I shot back firmly. "So you can do it yourself tomorrow."

"Yeah, yeah."

I headed over to Rick as Jimmy joined them too. Slipping between my brother and Shane, both of them reaching out to absently toss an arm over my shoulders in half-hugs, I felt something like warmth in my core, where I'd been cold since the caves. If there was a home I was chasing, this was it, I thought as they welcomed me into our usual trio without hesitation.

"Yo, peach man!" Shane yelled.

I followed his gaze to where Glenn was now holding an intense conversation with Lori, and I made a mental note to drag that poor man aside and figure out what he knew that he shouldn't, because he looked low-key terrified every time someone glanced his way.

He headed our way after Lori slipped him a piece of paper, and I tuned back into Ricky making plans. Something about a housing development, and checking it out after gun practice. Shane agreed, and Ricky demanded he take backup, after what happened with Daryl.

"I'll take suggestions on a partner," Shane said, grabbing a peach from Glenn.

"Well, shit, Walsh, I thought you liked me," I said dryly, doing the same.

"You wanna go?"

I shook my head, still eyeing Glenn. "No. See how everybody does out there today, pick from the best. Probably gonna be Andrea. Give her some reminders about not fucking shooting when she's told not to, though."

"Why you bitching if you don't even want to go?" Shane demanded.

I shrugged, watching Glenn watch Rick and Lori behind him watch Glenn. "Just nice to be asked is all. Glenn, what is your problem, man?"

"Oh, hey. My binoculars," Shane added.

Glenn jerked. "Right," he muttered, slinging them off his shoulder. "Ok. Bye."

Patricia and Beth walked up then, and I noped right out of whatever that was going to be about to follow Glenn. I fell into step with him before he'd gone far, and he glanced at me and made a face that very clearly said 'what now?'. I waited till we were out of easy hearing range and stopped, setting a hand on his arm.

"Spill," I commanded.

"What?" His eyes jumped away from me guiltily, and I snorted.

"Dude, you suck at hiding things. What do you know that you shouldn't? I know a few things too. Let's compare notes," I added, voice dropping.

The relief on his face was instant and fierce. "Oh my god. What do you know? Because I know too much. Like, the barn. And- and Lori. And oh my god, I am no good at secrets."

"You really aren't," I agreed. "I am. Tell me what you know, and I'll handle it."

He set down the crate of peaches to rub his hands over his face. "The barn is full of walkers. Maggie doesn't want me to tell. Her dad puts them in there, because he thinks they're still people and just sick or something. It's a mess. And then- then there's Lori. She's pregnant, but she doesn't want to tell Rick, and I don't know. She needs vitamins and a pillow. And she's too skinny."

Long practice kept my face under control. "I think she probably knows what's best for her, man."

"Yeah, I know, but-" He broke off, rubbed his face again, and leaned close to me. "I need to make another run into town. And Maggie's being mean to me again."

"Maggie's being mean because she likes you and has no idea what to do about that fact," I said dryly, amusement pulling my lips upward. "And so she's reverting to elementary school tactics. As for the rest-"

"Hey, Angel!"

I glanced over at the small knot of Dale, Shane, Rick and Lori, and a mutinous looking Carl wearing Ricky's hat. "That looks fun," I muttered.

"Better you than me."

I laughed. "I'll take care of the rest, Glenn. Get Maggie to go into town with you, and leave the other things to me. Now run while you can. Save yourself, Peach Man."

I jogged over to Ricky, where he looked at me with a serious expression. "What's going on over here? Nice hat, kid."

"Thanks," he said brightly. "I want to learn how to shoot."

I turned right around to nope back out of this conversation, too. Rick grabbed my sleeve, holding me in place. "I have no business in this decision," I informed him. "This is up to you and Lori."

"We already decided," Rick said, looking exasperated. "I just want you to keep an eye on him. Shane's the best instructor I know, so he's going to be taking the lead, but we know you know your stuff. Lori's going to be learning too, and I'm going to be helping, so we wanted to ask if you'd work with Carl one on one."

I blinked. I glanced from Lori to Rick and back again. "You sure?"

My sister in law nodded, but there was still a shadow in her eyes. "I'm sure. I've seen you with yours. You and Shane can teach him, and he'll answer to all of us. If he doesn't take it seriously or behave responsibly, we want to know."

"Hey, I'm not a narc," I said, shooting a wink Carl's way. He grinned, and I sobered immediately, giving him a stern look. "But I take guns seriously. They're tools, not toys. Right, kid?"

"Right. I won't let anyone down, Aunt Angel."

"I bet not," I agreed. "Of course I'll keep an eye on him, Ricky. We going now?"

"Yeah," Rick said. "We are. Everybody's loading up."

Andrea put three bullets in the 'o' on the 'no trespassing' sign and thought she was Annie fucking Oakley. She and Shane had something going on, but I was occupied by Carl and didn't have the time to figure all that out, or the energy, frankly. If Shane wanted to fuck Andrea, he could. We weren't exclusive, no matter how much the thought of him starting up with someone else made me think of the first time he'd picked a girl up in front of me after we broke up.

I shook that off, cheering with Rick as Carl landed a shot on his target.

They all did fine, but Andrea had been the best of the crop, as I'd anticipated. Shane took her to practice with moving targets and go with him to check that housing development for Sophia, and I unloaded a magazine into a tree that didn't do any damn thing to me just for the sake of feeling the gun buck in my hands.

I preferred knife work, these days. Actually, strangely, I always had. But people tended to get weird about assassination by knife, even if wet work itself was less frowned upon than the civilian world thought. Too personal with a blade, everyone said.

I didn't mind my killing personal. As I widened the single hole in my target with each shot, I reached a decision. When I got back to camp, I was grabbing Dixon and we'd clear that barn out. Permission be damned. The others be damned. Hershel himself be damned.

If he had a problem with it, he'd try to make us leave, and I'd tell everyone what he was bent out of shape about in the first place. And then I'd take over the farm, with or without the others' help. We needed somewhere, especially since Lori was-

Since Lori was pregnant. Something sank in then, it felt like, and I lowered the gun and stared blankly at the tree. Son of a bitch. Lori was pregnant. I did some rapid calculations in my mind, and a sneaking, horrifying thought slotted into the spider's web of information I kept about this group.

It was Shane's baby. It had to be.

Oh, fucking hell.

I stopped off to check on Daryl and found him asleep. I briefly contemplated waking him, but eventually decided against it. With Lori pregnant, the barn was even more important, and if clearing it out was my fault and mine alone, it'd be harder for Hershel to get too pissed off. I'd be the bad guy and be good at it, and I'd leave the group and hover on the edges of Hershel's land to keep an eye on things if it came down to it.

I slipped into my own tent to grab a spare magazine, clicking it into place and taking the time to reload the one I'd emptied at the range and shove it into my back pocket. Just in case the barn proved more of a problem than I anticipated it being.

I ducked under the flap of my tent and watched Lori slam out of hers and rush toward the field. I shaded my eyes to watch as she hit her knees, shoulders shaking. Either she was crying or she was puking, and given the whole pregnancy thing, it could have been either.

Something told me to go in their tent. They had a family sized one, tall enough for me to stand up in, and on the small folding table tucked into the corner was a box of pills. I flipped them around and winced. Plan B birth control pills. She was trying to induce a miscarriage- though it wouldn't work with those- and apparently, she'd changed her mind.

"Damn it," I muttered.

Ricky really needed to know about this.

Once again, thinking my brother's name summoned him. "Hey, Angel. What are you doing?"

I held out the boxes in my hands. "You and Lori need to have a talk, Ricky."

"What is- Angel, what are these?" he asked, confusion in his eyes. Then he read the covers, and his eyes went cold and angry. "Where did you get these?"

"Your table, Ricky. They're not mine. Lori's in the field," I said softly. I squeezed his shoulder as I passed him, to go put the spare mag back and hide the gun still proudly strapped to my thigh.

It wasn't the time for me to be fucking around in the barn. Ricky had enough going on. But I'd keep watch on it tonight, and deal with it tomorrow.

I let myself into my apartment, exhaustion chasing cobwebs into the corners of my vision. Once the door was firmly locked behind me, I slumped against it with a heavy sigh. That was over, thank fuck. It had been three days since I'd slept more than a snatch here and there, drowsing when I had the chance. Basically just enough to kept my brain and body from going stark raving bonkers.

I wanted to go crawl straight into bed, but there were some things I had to do first. I forced myself back into motion, shedding clothing as I went to make the shower process faster. My body felt disgusting, and I needed to wash the feeling of my target's hands on my skin off, too.

In the bathroom, I got the water going as hot as I possibly could, then pulled out the bag containing all my period products. Digging under them, I lifted the fake bottom out of the bag and grabbed one of my secret stash of medicines that would get me very much dead in this country but that I wouldn't go under cover without.

I shook out one of the Plan B, swallowing it back dry, and resecured the false bottom and the tampons and pads over it. Now I could shower, and relax just a bit. I wasn't going to get pregnant by the bastard I was trying to take down. I'd rather take the other secret medicine in there and die.

In the shower, hot water and soap scrubbed my skin raw, removing all traces of what I'd done. It was one of those situations agents were warned not to get into, but there I'd been. I'd had to do it, or break my cover completely, and lose all the work I'd been putting in over the past few months.

I hated every second of it, but I'd let him do it. I shoved it out of my mind as I let the water cascade over me, putting it in the box with the other things I'd had to do. Killing a man with my bare hands was easier, honestly, but it was the job. I'd fuck one too, to stay alive and to get what I needed if I had to.

But I'd die if I had to deal with a baby as a consequence. So Plan B it was.

I turned off the water decisively, shoving the whole incident away. When the water finished swirling down the drain, that's when it was over and done, and not worth my time.

It didn't take long.

Chapter Text

Rick and Lori argued, out in the field. Then they reached some sort of agreement. I climbed up the RV and took over for Dale, too over everyone's emotions to deal with any of what was happening in the camp anymore. It was sit somewhere visible but unreachable, or disappear into the trees and potentially have them come looking for me. I stayed there for hours, until the sun started to set and T Dog came up and replaced me. Reluctantly, I let him, since arguing would have caused more of the drama I was desperate to avoid.

People, I decided as I went for my tent without speaking to anyone and zipped myself in, were too goddamn exhausting. I was over it all- Shane, Lori's pregnancy, the walkers in the barn, the old man's demands not to be armed, Sophia missing and Carol's grief, whatever was happening with Maggie and Glenn, whatever was going on with Andrea. All of it.

Ugh, thinking about Andrea reminded me of her and Shane coming back from their little mission, Andrea with a smugness to her and Shane looking vaguely guilty. They'd definitely hooked up, that was easy enough to see. And I didn't care. Shane could hook up with whoever he wanted to, and it wasn't like we were hooking up at the moment anyway.

It was more old wounds than anything else, opening again simply by being in his presence all the time. It was hard not to think about him breaking things off with me when we'd fallen so easily into being friends again, our tight-knit trio working together. And when, I admitted, Shane and I also on occasion fucked.

It was hard not to remember what being with Shane had been like when he'd been trying his hand at commitment to me when we were pulling our clothes back on hastily and laughing as we parted ways.

Oh god, that brought me back around to Shane fucking Lori, and the baby that absolutely wasn't my brother's, and-

I groaned, rolled over, and closed my eyes, trying to shut my brain up so I could get a few hours' sleep. I'd be fine with rest, and with the solitude of the middle of the night, watching the stars and the trees while everyone else slept.

I was right. The camp got quiet, the sounds of breathing and faint snoring mixing with insects and owls. Night noises, the kind that relaxed me more than anything could.

I liked the darkness, outside. It was comforting, reassuring. It wasn't the pitch black of the caves or the blindfold, but it was enough to hide in. To let myself be without wondering who was watching, who was judging, who was seeing the monstrosity of my scar-ravaged skin and the callousness I'd developed somewhere along the way.

I was a monster, sure. But it wasn't because of my scars.

I slipped out of my tent, moving where Glenn on watch wouldn't see me, since I'd figured out the RV's blind spots shortly after it was parked. We weren't trying to spy on the camp, after all, so I hadn't bothered to say anything.

I sat on the tailgate of Otis's truck, staring at the barn. I could go in there tonight, I thought. Clear it out and no one would be the wiser. The threat would be gone by morning, and the old man wouldn't be able to prove anything. No one would see or hear a thing. Hell, I could probably do it with knife work, and then rip them up and make it look like a predator got in there.

I was wondering if I could find a wolf or a bear to take down and stick in the barn before sunrise- highly unlikely, but worth consideration- when the shadows at the edge of my vision moved. I didn't twitch, maintaining my steady breathing and keeping my eyes on the barn, and in a moment they resolved themselves into a familiar walk.

"Walsh," I whispered. "What the hell are you doing up?"

"Could ask you the same thing, girl." He hopped onto the tailgate beside me, staring down at his hands. "What are you doing?"

"Keeping an eye on things."

"Thought we had a man on watch for that."

I shrugged. Our shoulders brushed at the motion, and the intimacy of it, us sitting here together in the dark, hit hard and painful. "We do. I still keep an eye out too."

"You do that a lot." He didn't phrase it like a question, so I didn't bother answering it like one.

Silence stretched between us, broken only by the owl in the trees somewhere nearby. I sighed. He was here, and- he needed to know. Some things shouldn't be secrets, and he'd told me about him and Lori. I owed it to him to share what I knew now, however much I did not want to.

"Hey, Shane."

"That's a serious tone," he muttered. "Haven't heard you say my name like that in a long time."

"Yeah, well." I hesitated. "Listen, there's- there's something you need to know."

He scrubbed a hand over his shorn hair, shaking his head in denial. "Girl, I don't want to know shit about shit anymore. It's been too damn long a day for that."

"Yeah, fucking Andrea can take it out of a man." It came out automatically, the teasing between us familiar and comfortable and painful all at once.

He smothered a laugh. "How the hell you know about that? Shit, Angel, it was crazy. Got ourselves into some trouble. Her gun jammed. I knew she had it, and I could control the situation if she didn't. She cleared the jam, took 'em down. Did just fine."

I listened, knowing I was letting him ramble to keep from having to tell him what I knew and what I suspected. I didn't want to deal with it. Didn't want to break this little bubble of intimacy by reminding him he'd fucked my sister in law, and didn't want to argue with him about a baby.

It brought back too many memories of nights like this, but laying in a small bed, whispering about the future and how we'd get hitched someday and maybe have a baby of our own, eventually. Not any time soon, we'd said, laughing. We were too busy living our lives for that. But someday, maybe. It could be nice.

"Then we're driving back, and she- shit. She reaches over, grabs my dick. That was it. No words, just- grab."

I coughed, choking on air. "Shit. Walsh, I do not need to hear this."

"Why, you jealous?" he fired at me. It was an automatic retort, familiar as breathing, and he kept moving without thinking about what he'd said. "So anyway. I hit the brakes, cause, hello. And I think about it for a second, and hell. Why not, right? We both needed it."

"Did you now?" I muttered, the warmth of the moment shattered with the mental picture of him and Andrea in the backseat of the Hyundai. I was thinking about his Jeep, and the two of us doing the same thing, as teenagers first and then more recently on the road to the CDC.

I turned my mind away from it firmly. "Walsh, seriously. There's something you need to know."

"What?" he said after a pause, sounding braced for the worst.

He'd been trying to distract me, too. To keep whatever it was at bay. Maybe he just didn't want to deal with anything else today. Maybe he didn't want to break the spell of this moment together. I didn't know, but it had to be done, and the idea of him and Andrea together let me get the words out.

"It's Lori," I said quietly. He shifted, but didn't say anything. "She's pregnant, Shane."

He froze beside me. I think he'd stopped breathing. "She- what?"

"She's pregnant. Don't tell Ricky I told you. But she is. And... I think it's yours."

Shane was silent, and in that silence a gulf grew between us. No longer an intimate moment between old friends, I went from feeling the warmth of his leg and shoulder against mine to feeling only the cold that always seemed to chase me.

"Fuck," Shane breathed.

My computer chimed. Smile already on my face, I answered the call, camera turning on with a rustle. "Ricky!" I declared delightedly. "Hey, Lor," I added, seeing her beside my brother. "I miss you guys."

I missed Ricky more, but it wouldn't do to start a fight just now. I hadn't spoken to anyone back home in months, and I really had missed them. I missed Shane too, and I'd be calling him later. But it was so good to see my brother's face, even if it was only through a screen.

"Hey, Angel," Ricky said, grinning as much as I was. "Long time without a call. What have you been doing?"

"Oh, you know. Saving the world. Defending freedom and the American way so you two can be safe and happy at home." Tone light, I dismissed the memory of gunfire in the darkened complex as I lead my team through the building to commit a government-sanctioned murder.

"He's far from safe out there on the job."

I flashed Lori a grin as Ricky rolled his eyes. "Maybe not, but he's sure safer than I've been. It's nice to have a break and answer to my real name."

"I'm perfectly fine, Lor, and you know it. Shane watches my back like a hawk," Rick complained.

Lori frowned at him. "I know, but that doesn't mean you're safe."

"Lori, not now," he said gently. "We've got something to tell our Hell's Angel, here."

I frowned at both of them as they grinned at each other and turned back to the screen. "What? What's going on? What'd you do?"

"I don't think you want the details on that, little sister," Ricky said with a wicked smirk. "Lori's havin' a baby."

I stared, jaw dropping. "Are you shitting me?"

"Nope."

The smugness in my brother's tone did me in, as did the look of fond exasperation Lori sent him. I screamed, shoving back from the table to dance in place. "Oh my god! Oh my god! You're going to be a daddy! I'm going to be an auntie! Oh my god!"

Ricky and Lori laughed at my antics, and I settled back down into the chair, smiling harder than I had in months. "I can't believe this! How far along are you? Do you know if it's a boy or a girl yet? Where's your registry? I'm buying you all the things. I can't wait to spoil him. Or her. Whichever."

I screamed again, more controlled this time, and leaned in to listen intently as Lori told me everything.

The night was slow and lonely, but it passed. They always did.

Glenn came down from the RV and Dale went back up. He saw me in the pale predawn light and came over, his expression tortured. "Angel. I have to tell them. Why aren't we telling them?"

I offered him what I hoped was a smile. "Because you got asked not to by a girl, and I've been busy dealing with other things. Tell them. It'll be better coming from you."

"How so?" he muttered, eyes shifting to the barn in the distance.

I patted his arm. "Because you're the one who wants to. Just tell them."

I slipped into the woods as the others started to stir, camp slowly coming alive as the sun rose. Glenn watched me go, his expression troubled.

I circled around to the barn, leaning on it and waiting for the inevitable. It didn't take long before everyone was striding up, looks of horror and concern and in Rick and Shane's cases, intense anger on everyone's faces.

"Hey," I said as they arrived. "Barn's full of walkers."

"Yeah, so Glenn said," Shane snapped. "You cannot tell me you're alright with this."

The second half was snarled at my brother, who looked like a goddamn crow with a black shirt and dark jeans and the scowl on his face. "I'm not," he shot back immediately. "But this isn't our land. We're guests here."

"But this is our lives!" Shane yelled.

"Keep your voice down." Glenn's hiss was desperate, clearly worried about the walkers in the barn, but they already had our scent. They were restless.

The argument started about the way I thought it would, with Shane demanding we clean the barn out or we go. Rick shook his head, firm in the belief that we couldn't leave, and Shane demanded to know why.

"Because my daughter's still out there," Carol said softly.

And Shane said what I knew, but he said it like an asshole, and managed to piss everyone off. I kept quiet and let them argue, knowing damn well I'd be clearing the barn out myself soon enough. I just needed the right moment.

Of course, Shane yelled at Daryl about the ears and the knife and how Sophia would run in the other direction, and Ricky got between them when Dixon went for Walsh. I grabbed Daryl as Lori went for Shane, and that was a mistake on her part.

Shane, glaring at the woman currently carrying what was probably his child, snapped at her to keep her hands off him. Dixon settled down with my hand on his arm, eyes shooting sparks everywhere but choosing not to make it worse.

Rick yelled at Shane that he'd talk to Hershel and figure it out. Shane got snotty back, and I decided the barn would be fine for a few more hours, but those two might not. Getting them to sort their shit out was now at the top of my priority list, and killing the trapped dead moved lower.

Then the doors started to rattle as the dead tried to get to us, lured by all the screaming, and the others decided moving away for the rest of the discussion was probably a good idea. I stayed where I was.

"Dude, Walsh, you have got to calm the fuck down," I told him flatly when he stalked up to join me about ten minutes later.

He grunted, heading past me to tug on the locks and the bar across the doors. He jumped when the dead slammed against them from the other side, hand going for the gun that wasn't on his hip. Disgusted, he turned, shaking his head and stalking toward the tractor I'd leaned on to watch.

"See?" I muttered as he leaned beside me.

He scoffed, hands tucked into his belt, banging on foot on the ground repeatedly. "You knew, didn't you? How long you known and not said anything?"

"A couple of days," I admitted.

He shoved off the tractor to glare at me, rage all over his face. He got into my space, all muscles and anger. "And you didn't think to-"

"Back the fuck off me, Shane," I snapped, interrupting him. "I thought plenty. Been meaning to clear the damn thing out since I learned about it. Haven't had the time."

"That's the kind of thing you make time for, Harley."

I stared at him, expression flat. He'd backed up, at least, and was now pacing. "If Ricky doesn't handle it with Hershel, I will. They're contained, Walsh. I've kept close watch. They don't even go for the doors unless someone is being stupid near them."

That last was pointed, and Shane glared at me, but said nothing. Rick strode up then, and I lifted an eyebrow his way.

He looked fucking pissed, and for a moment, I didn't know who it was directed toward. Didn't take long of them bickering about Hershel for me to figure out it was directed at Shane.

Shit, I thought with a sigh. Lori told him, and she'd clearly made it Shane's fault. Did she mention that the baby might be his? Probably not, but Ricky could do math the same as I could. Maybe even better. He had to know.

"We aren't leaving," Rick hissed at Shane, silencing the back and forth about making this place safe and having our guns or leaving. "Lori's pregnant."

Shane was shocked to silence, even though it wasn't the first time he'd heard the news. Into that silence, Rick hissed once again, "we need to stay."

"We need our guns," Shane muttered, fear filling his voice.

"No, I can work this out." Rick turned, starting to walk away. Like he'd forgotten I was even here, he stopped, speaking over his shoulder to Shane and only Shane. "You good?"

"Yeah," Shane said softly, rubbing a hand over his face. "Lori's having a baby, man. Congratulations," he managed with something resembling his normal smile.

Rick stared, nodded, and turned to leave again. "Thank you," he called flatly over his shoulder.

I seriously contemplated strangling them both while they slept, but then I'd have to raise the damn baby with Lori, and she wasn't too fond of me these days.

Chapter Text

I considered clearing the barn out right then and there, but decided that would cause more problems than it would solve. I'd wait a bit, until everything settled down some. Then I'd handle it, and be damned the consequences.

I saw Carl, looking forlorn by the fire as he sharpened a stick. I wandered over, tossing myself down next to him. "Hey, kid. How you feeling?"

"I'm fine," he muttered.

I gave him a long look. "You don't sound fine."

He shrugged, now using the stick to doodle on the ground. I sighed and reached over, snatching his dad's hat from his head. He looked up with an instant scowl, hands moving just a hair too late to catch it. "Hey!"

I crossed my eyes at him, sticking out my tongue, and plopped the hat down on my own head, tipped sideways. "Hay is for horses. Grass is cheaper."

"What?"

I cracked up at his bemused expression, and after a minute he laughed with me. "Come on, Aunt Angel. Gimme my hat back."

"Sure. Once you tell me what's bothering you." I dangled it from my fingertips, rocking it back and forth as he snatched for it until he was laughing again.

Over his shoulder, Shane crouched in front of Lori where she chopped carrots, the two of them arguing fiercely. Probably, I realized, about the baby. Damn it, Walsh, that wouldn't help, I thought.

"Finnne," Carl half-groaned, sounding annoyed but smiling. "I'm just- we can't leave. We haven't found Sophia yet."

"Who says we're leaving?"

He shrugged, the smile gone from his face now. "Shane says we should."

"Shane says a lot of things," I said dryly. "And he isn't necessarily wrong. We need to do something about the walkers in the barn, or we need to go find somewhere that's safer."

"But we can't go. We haven't found her!" The words exploded from him as he shot to his feet, tossing the stick aside angrily.

Shane stalked up then, heading past us, and Carl called his name. The steel in his voice was something I hadn't heard before as he repeated what he'd said to me, telling Shane we weren't leaving. That he, Carl, would not let us.

Shane glanced at me and I shrugged behind the kid's back, gesturing toward him. This was his show. I wasn't part of it.

Shane said something, some form of agreement, and Carl let him go before slumping back down. "We have to find her, Aunt Angel," he said quietly. "She's my friend."

"I know, kiddo." I set the hat back on his head and wrapped an arm around his shoulders. "Listen, can I talk to you like a grown-up for a minute?"

He shifted to look at me, surprise in his eyes. "Yeah?"

"Okay." I let out a breath, hoping I got this right. "I'm not giving up the search for her, alright? We're going to keep looking. But bud, I need you to think about the idea that she might be- well, that she might be gone. For good."

"Dead," he said flatly. "You can say dead."

"Dead is part of it," I agreed. "But also, we may never find her. There's a lot of ground to cover in the woods, and if she got bit and she turned, she could have wandered off somewhere else entirely. You should keep hoping," I added, giving him a squeeze. "But I want you to be prepared for the worst, ok? Just in case."

"You're not going to stop looking for her?" he asked seriously after a pause.

"I won't," I promised.

He nodded. "Ok. Then I'll think about it. But I think she's okay, and waiting for us out there."

"Carl!" Lori called, shielding her eyes as Shane walked back up to us and dropped into a crouch nearby.

She glared at Shane, who shook his head, irritation and disgust all over his face. "Go see what your mom wants, little man," he said gently to Carl. He reached out and brushed a hand over Carl's shoulder as the kid rose obediently. "We aren't leaving, ok? I promise."

Carl nodded, and then was gone.

I looked at Walsh. He ran a hand over his head, staring at the fire, and I sighed. "Come on. Let's go back over to the barn."

He looked lost as I stood. I held out a hand to him, and he scrubbed at his head again before pushing to his feet without taking the assistance. I rolled my eyes and took off for the barn, figuring he'd either follow me and we'd talk, or he wouldn't and I'd keep an eye on the things and continue plotting how to find and kill me a bear to disguise my own deeds.

Of course, explaining how the bear got in the barn, killed all the walkers, and then I came along at just the right time and murked it might be a bit difficult, but I'd figure it out. Probably. Or I wouldn't bother.

"It's my baby." Shane had fallen into step with me. "I know it is. But she- she won't listen. She said even if it is mine, it's Rick's. How can she- but how could I have? And she's talking about how she and Carl aren't mine, either, like I don't know that. And like the two of them, Rick, you, haven't been my goddamn family all my life. But it isn't mine, and won't be mine, even if it is mine. Shit."

"Shit is right," I mumbled. "Hey, Shane? You in love with Lori? Do you want her?"

"No!" He snapped it out, then hesitated. "I don’t know. It's not- I want my baby to be mine. I know it's fucked up how we got here, but I want- it's a baby, Angel. My baby. I should be able to claim my own baby. Help raise my own baby."

"This is what you get for rawdogging it during the end of the fucking world," I muttered. I ran my fingers over one of the scars on my inner arm, one not gotten in the caves, shockingly enough, but from years before, when Shane had broken up with me. It'd been a low moment, and I pushed it out of my memory to focus on the tangled mess that my best friend and ex-love had made of his love life and my brother's.

Shane scoffed. "Not just me. What about you? Should we be worried about anything? Did some rawdogging of our own, girl."

"Huh?" I stared at him, then waved that away. "No, that's not important. What about-"

"How come?" he cut me off. "Seriously, we-"

I sighed, impatient. "I know 'we'. It doesn't matter, because I can't have kids. Focus on the spawn you've unintentionally created. Do you want her and Carl? For your own?"

He was staring at me, silent. I waited, confused, and then waved a hand in front of his face. "Earth to Walsh?"

He snatched his hat from his head, shoved it back down again, and shifted into his own version of Ricky's policeman stance, hooking his thumbs through his belt. "You what, Angel? You can't have kids? Since when? We used to talk about-"

"I know what we used to talk about," I snapped, cutting him off. My fingers strayed to the scar on my arm again, old pain somehow so fresh it threatened to take me down. "I can't have kids because of what they did to me, in the caves. You want to get into that right now? Or can we deal with the uterus that's actually causing problems?"

He shifted again, looking away from me and shaking his head. "You sure are close-mouthed about all that. We should talk about it, girl."

"Why? I've talked to Dixon some. It's not that big a deal."

"Ain't that big a- Shit, girl, you just told me you can't have kids! And we used to talk about it, the two of us. Our future, how we'd have a couple Grimes-Walsh brats running around and-"

I slammed a wall down on all of it, those nights and days spent cuddled in this man's arms, before all the pain and death and torture. Before he'd killed those dreams we'd been building and moved on, and I had too. "And nothing, Shane. We won't be having any brats. You and my brother's wife are taking care of that, instead."

I spun on my heel and left before he could say a word, suddenly unable to stand being this close to him. Unable to stand being so close to the barn without killing all of them with my bare hands, and maybe going out to find some more.

"Hey, angel," Shane whispered, his fingers stroking my cheek gently.

My eyes flickered open to shadows in my room. Confused, I wondered if I was dreaming. "Shane? What are you-"

"I couldn't wait till morning, girl. Sit up. I got you something."

He tugged at my hands, and I sat up obligingly, still foggy with sleep and trying to figure out what exactly was going on. How the hell was he in my room at- I squinted at my alarm clock- two am? What'd he do, break in? "Walsh, the fuck you doing? How did you even get in here?"

"I called Ricky. He let me in. I realized something today, see, and I- had a trip to make. Got back around eleven, and I figured it was too late to come see you. But then I couldn't sleep." His voice was a whisper in the dark, and he brushed my hair away from my face and left his warm hand against my cheek. My eyes fluttered closed as I leaned into his hand, like always.

Everything about Shane was warmth, and I was a moth to his flame. Pale and cold in the night, always seeking a light and a warmth I couldn't generate for myself.

"Don't fall back asleep on me, my angel," he whispered.

The smile spread foolish over my lips as it always did when he turned my name into something so personal, so sweet, like that. "Maybe I want to. Since you're here, come hold me while I do. You can sneak over to Ricky's room in the morning and tell Mom and Dad you crashed there after a late night. Didn't want to disturb your mom."

"I might do that, but I have to give you this first."

I rolled my eyes in the darkness. "I swear to god, Shane, if you mean your dick, I'm going to punch you."

"Shit." He smothered his laugh, but barely, and I could feel more than see him shake his head at me. "No, girl, it's not my dick. I've given you that a few times, though."

"Hence, the threat. No. Promise," I shot back dryly.

"God," he managed around the laughter. "I really mean it, don't I? Shit, girl. I love you, Angel. My angel."

I froze. "What?"

"That's what I realized today. I love you." He set a small box in my hands. "I got you this. Open it."

"I- Shane," I managed, shocked beyond belief. "Shane, I- what?"

He chuckled in the darkness, low and sexy and sweet. His lips hovered over mine, barely brushing, and my whole body threatened to melt into the warmth of him. "I said, I love you, Harley Grimes. My angel. Now open your present."

I set the box in my lap and took his face in my hands instead, leaning my forehead to his. "Do you mean it?"

"Yeah," he whispered. "Yeah, I do. Only girl I've ever said that too, besides my mama. But it's true."

I pressed my lips to his, abrupt and hungry, the heat of him too much for the moth in me to resist. I didn't know if he meant it, not yet. But it was enough, more than enough, to hear him say the words. To have him acknowledge that we were different from the other girls he'd date and dumped. That I was different.

"I love you," I managed as he pressed me down into my pillow, my hands in his hair. "Shane."

"Angel," he whispered back. "My angel."

Dixon was waiting for me on the outskirts of camp, watching with narrowed eyes and crossed arms as I left Shane behind. "What's the problem?"

I jerked one shoulder. "Nothing. Barn's fine."

"Didn't mean the barn. Meant the idiot over there."

It startled me into a short laugh. "Who, Walsh? He's not an- ok, yeah, he's an idiot," I muttered, changing my mind halfway through. "My idiot, though, once upon a time. Exes are hard."

"Don't know about all that. My exes are probably dead."

"Shit, Daryl!" I choked on the water he'd handed me, almost spraying it all over us both. "What the fuck, man?"

That ghost of a smile crossed his eyes and tugged at his lips. "Payback for that kiss."

I laughed, long and hard. "Oh, fair enough. How's the side? How's the head?"

"Good enough," he muttered. "Ya boyfriend's comin'."

I glanced over my shoulder and grimaced at the sight of a very determined Shane stalking toward us. "Shit. He's going to do something stupid."

"Told ya he's an idiot."

I turned to shoot him the bird, but he flashed me that hint of a smile and strode away.

"Hey. I'm sorry."

I turned back to Shane, surprised again. "What?"

"I didn't think- I didn't think," he said, tone full of regret. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have pressed on that. I could see how much it hurt you in your face, and I just- I don't know. I just got me a habit here lately of pushing where I should back off, I guess."

I sighed. "It's fine, Walsh. No harm done."

"For real?"

"For real," I agreed, reaching up and touching his face briefly. Somehow, still, the man was my best friend. And he was having a shit time of it these days, I knew.

Then I caught movement near the trees, and I frowned. "What is Dale doing with the bag of guns?"

Dale was trying to hide them. From people like Shane and I, apparently. I let Walsh handle the philosophical debate, despite Dale turning to me and entreating me, too. I shrugged.

"Just give us the damn guns, man. It's not worth all this. If we're going to do something stupid, do you really think I need whatever's in there to do it? I've got a gun on me right now," I said flatly.

Shane's eyes cut to me for a moment before going steadily back to Dale. He looked between Shane and I, finally extending the bag reluctantly.

"You're a threat," Dale said, his voice deadly serious. "Both of you, you're dangerous. I won't be responsible for it, whatever you do."

"You ain't responsible for shit, Dale," Shane snapped. "We are. Come on, girl. Let's leave the old man alone, since he thinks we're so dangerous."

"I mean," I muttered, walking with him. "He's not wrong. We are. Wanna get in trouble with me, Shane Walsh?"

"Aww, shit, girl. When have I not?" He flashed me a crooked grin, the same damn one that had gotten me in so much trouble over the years. "What you got in mind?"

"Let's clear out that damn barn. What're they going to do, kick us off their land? What if we just… don't go?" I shrugged as Shane stopped in the field to stare from me to the barn, clearly thinking. "We have guns, and we're mean. I'm not saying we kill them- we need old man Hershel for Lori, at least- but they don't have to know we won't do that. Dale wants us to be dangerous? Let's be dangerous, Shane."

"Shit," he muttered. "That shit right there is why I fell in love with you all those years ago, angel. Let's go."

Chapter Text

"Hey, Ricky." I smiled as my brother appeared on the screen, the smile quickly turning to a frown. He was still in uniform, and he shouldn't have been at this hour. "What happened?"

He shook his head, looking more exhausted than I was, and gestured vaguely. "Nothing. Long day. Happy birthday, sis."

"Thanks. Now spill."

I wasn't fooled by the smile or the dismissal. For Ricky to still be in uniform at this point meant his 'long day' was something fairly tragic, and it hurt him when that happened. Rick served and protected because he cared about everyone, cared far too much. I did what I did because I cared about very little, and that made me good at it. Rick was a good cop, but good cops usually ended up sad and broken by the time they quit, or they turned callous and unfeeling.

I couldn't imagine Ricky callous and unfeeling, but the haunted look in his eyes made me wish he could be, just sometimes.

He shook his head. "Supposed to be a happy call. I can talk to Lori, later. Get it off my chest. It was just- just a shit day. Shit call."

"Those happen," I said, thinking about the assignment that had gotten me these two months here in DC instead of in the field. I'd be going down Georgia to visit soon, but first I had to finish up with the Company shrink. Again. "Tell me about it. I can't exactly talk to you about work, so this'll be a short chat if you don't. And I miss you, buttface."

That startled a laugh out of him, short and sharp but real. "Buttface? Seriously?"

"Made you smile."

"It did," he agreed, that smile turning small but lingering. "Shit, Angel. It's been- It was a kid call. I hate those."

"I know," I said gently. "I'm sorry. What happened?"

"Got snatched by his stepfather. Didn't know the real dad, apparently, and mom and stepdad were getting divorced. She'd refused him any kind of custody, visitation. Didn't seem to be any real reason other than 'he's not the father, so why should I'. Which of course, didn't take into account he's been the boy's father for the past five years, since he was six years old."

"That's shitty." I hated when parents put themselves before their kids, but I saw it far too often. It sucked, but it was the way of the world.

"Gets shittier," Ricky said. He was getting angry now, moving past the sadness that had weighed him down. "Stepdad, he just- he just wants to see the boy. Boy wants to see him, too. We find out the kid set it all up. Wants to spend a few nights with the only dad he's ever known, but mom would go ballistic, so they meet up in secret, only stepdad doesn't know mom doesn't know. So when we come after him, he's scared. Says the kid's at school, where he should be, but we know he ain't. So we figure he's in there, and stepdad's trying to figure out a way out of it that doesn't involve kidnapping charges, and the kid-"

He stopped, shaking his head, and pressed a hand to his eyes. I waited, already knowing how this story would end, even if I didn't know the details. Ricky took a deep breath, and his eyes were glassy with unshed tears when he looked my way again.

"The kid grabbed stepdad's hunting rifle. Started shooting from a window. There were a bunch of us there at this point, and they- we returned fire. We didn't have a choice. And-"

I nodded. "Shit, Ricky. I'm sorry. That is a long day."

"He went to the hospital, but they don't- they don't know if he'll make it," Rick said quietly.

I hoped he would, for Ricky's sake. For Shane's. Walsh would be just as torn up as my brother was, probably buried in a bottle of booze or a tall brunette about now. But not Ricky. He grieved, and tried to pretend. "You been home yet?"

"Not yet. Trying to shake this off before I go in. Lori and I- well, we had a fight before I left for work. So there's already enough to deal with there," he said with a grimace. "Shit, Angel. I'm sorry. I'm dumping all over you, on your birthday."

"Hey, it's fine. It's what siblings are for," I said gently. "And you know I don't mind the hard stuff."

"No. You don't," he agreed, but for some reason, that only seemed to make it worse.

I took off at a dead run for the barn, pulling my gun free from its hiding place. Shane was on my heels, muttering 'what the shit' under his breath, but my focus was solely and completely on the scene in front of me.

Dimly I heard yelling voices from the direction of camp, but Ricky's eyes narrowed on me and the gun in my hand, and he let go of the pole he was using to keep a dead bastard in front of him to use one hand to ward me off.

It wouldn't work, and I had the walker in my sights and my finger on the trigger when Hershel stepped into my path, maneuvering his own dead bitch on a stick to do so. "Move," I snarled at him.

He didn't.

Shane's voice held a week's worth of stress, anger, and more as he yelled at everyone, turned absolutely feral by the sight in front of our eyes. "Are you kidding me? You see? You see what they're holding on to?"

"I see who I'm holding on to!" Hershel fired back, anger flaring up in him as Shane circled both men and their dead pets.

"Dixon," I called in a low voice, aware of the others gathered at our backs. I didn't take my eyes off my brother, looking stressed and agonized as he tried to juggle the dead, Shane, and Hershel all at once. He couldn't do it. He wouldn't be able to. Because whatever the hell he thought he was doing with Hershel, it was the wrong damn choice.

"What the shit's happenin', Angel?" Daryl muttered at my shoulder. "Walsh lost it?"

"Walsh is who you're worried about? When they're playing 'walker on a stick'? Shit." I finally dropped my gun. No sense in holding it out like that when I wasn't going to shoot anyone with Shane dancing around and Hershel mucking up my shot and Ricky having to half-lead, half-follow the dead bastard. I jerked a thumb in the direction of the bag Shane had tossed to the ground. "Dale tried to hide the guns. Get everybody armed, would you? Shit's about to go south."

"About to? Pretty damn sure it already did."

I didn't bother to respond to that one, since, well- he was sort of right. But I heard the bag unzip, and Daryl muttering something to the others, and that was good enough for me.

Ricky had been pleading for Shane to let them finish what they were doing so everyone could talk, but Walsh was beyond words, now. Anyone else's words but his own, that was, and in a heartbeat he'd whipped out his own gun and started firing into center mass of the dead woman on the lead pole Hershel held. He was going off while he did it, about how they weren't sick, weren't people, and who did we know who could take three rounds to the chest like that and keep coming?

The noise was stirring up the dead in the barn, setting them to rattling the chains and slamming into the doors. I made a decision, my best kind- the kind where no one else's opinion mattered but my own, because I was the only one around to make it. I slipped away as Ricky and Shane yelled at each other, definitely no longer arguing about the goddamn walkers no matter what words were being said, and circled around to the far side of the barn.

I'd been thinking about it for too long. It was time to do the damn thing. Committees didn't get to make field decisions, not in the middle of the goddamn operation while bullets were flying. That was the operative's job.

I was handling the situation. Then Ricky and Shane and Hershel and whoever else could talk as much as they wanted.

I climbed the hayloft ladder. No one yelled my name or even seemed to notice, which I considered a very good thing.

The dead were slowly shambling toward the doors, a knot of them already there and pressing on them. I did a quick count, checked my magazine, and slammed it back into place. I should be good to take care of them all, and if I wasn't, I'd drop down and do it the hard way.

It'd be over quickly, and then we could argue with Hershel about whatever he wanted, and Ricky and Shane could have a serious talk about Lori and the baby, and things would settle back down again. Until the next threat, a little voice in the back of my mind whispered, but that was a problem for later.

I sighted at the first, listening with half an ear to the screaming still going on outside. Then I took my shot. The fucker dropped like a rock. The second one followed, and the third. It was easy. They weren't exactly hard targets. A few bullets later, a few more twice-dead on the ground, and the barn doors suddenly flew open. Gunfire rang from outside the barn as they spilled forward, someone out there having decided my way was the best way after all.

Our people were, largely, shitty shots. At least so far. I hoped like hell Lori had Carl out of the way, and shifted so my line of fire couldn't possibly escape the doors and maybe hit someone out there it shouldn't.

I wasn't sure if I considered the old man someone I should or shouldn't take down, but for now, I only wanted to shoot those who were already dead.

It didn't take long after the doors opened. Gunfire stayed steady- and wasteful, as some of the walkers staggered back instead of going down immediately- and the dead kept trying to get free. Then it was over, and I lowered my gun and popped the magazine out to see if my count on how many rounds I'd spent was accurate.

One left. I shoved the magazine back into place, racked the last bullet into the chamber, and popped the magazine back out.

I dropped out of the hayloft into the barn after tucking the empty mag into my back pocket to reload later. I'd start at the back with my knife and make sure they were all handled, not merely kneecapped or something, before going out there and facing the sudden, still silence.

I heard the sound from the shadows, turning to find the source. One of the bastards had been hiding, then, I mused. Smarter than the rest, maybe, or maybe just stuck on something and finally ripped its way through.

She came out of the darkness, staggering toward the open doors in front of me. For a moment, I didn't realize what I saw, and then I closed my eyes against the sight.

I opened them a moment later, as Carol's screaming cries filled the air. I followed her, into the open, and everyone stared. Beth, Maggie, and Patricia were a huddled, crying knot. Jimmy stood near them, looking lost. Hershel had hit his knees, staring blankly at the dead woman still attached to the lead pole.

Lori held Carl to her behind the semi-circle of our people, and Carol sobbed in a devastated-looking Dixon's arms. Goddamn it, I thought. We all felt it, in our cores. But Dixon- he'd been looking so hard.

Shane's eyes met mine, regret filling his. And in front of the little girl we'd all been looking for, my brother raised his beloved Colt Python, standing poised to take the shot. The look in his eyes was terrible.

I whipped my gun up, fired my last shot as what used to be Sophia scrambled toward Ricky, and she dropped at his feet like a stone.

Chapter Text

In the silence that followed, I considered the damage. Hershel and his people were stricken. Carol sobbed, and Dixon was just as devastated. And my nephew looked horrified.

She'd been in there. For who knew how long, she'd been in there. Had it been the whole time we'd been searching for her?

I tore my eyes away from the body and pulled my knife, picking my way through the pile of dead in the barn's entrance and making sure they were all down for good. Rick and Shane stood staring at each other, and with the third squelch of my knife as I yanked it free, slinging brains and blood and rotten flesh, the silence broke in a tidal wave of sound.

"I had it," Rick hissed. "I was handling the situation, and you just- and you!" he added, rounding on me.

I grabbed another corpse and stabbed again. "Me what?"

"I was handling things! You didn't need to start shooting."

"Shane shot first," I snapped, getting pissed off myself now. I let the corpse in my hands fall, keeping half an eye on Beth as she staggered through the pile of dead. "I did what needed to be done, Ricky. You know it as well as I do. We were making too much noise; there was no help for it. The barn would have come down eventually."

"Weren't you the one saying it was secure enough to last a few days?"

I shot Shane a look, because that was decidedly unhelpful commentary, and whose side was he on here anyway? "If some idiot didn't stand around near the doors screaming and firing off shots, it would have been. Who's on the RV right now?" I added suddenly, seeing all of our people standing around.

No one. No one was, of course. Because they didn't think. They were children, who didn't fucking know how to survive, and I'd done them a favor. All of them, including Beth, who was now being led away sobbing after one of the dead hadn't been all the way dead and had grabbed at her. T Dog had handled it, and Maggie, Patricia, and Jimmy were now leading Beth and Hershel toward the house. Maggie shot a glare over her shoulder at Glenn, but there was more grief than fire in it.

Shane ran a hand over his head, scoffed hard, and snapped Dale's name. "Get on back up on to that RV and keep an eye out. Noise could draw more of 'em."

"Noise will draw more of them," I muttered. Dale stared between Shane and I, but Lori touched his arm and he finally went. "I'll hit the woods, make sure everything's clear. Might take Dixon with me. He looks like he needs it."

He and Carol were leaving, too, Carol looking numb in a way I recognized. Dixon just looked pissed, but pissed could cover a whole host of things.

"I was handling it," Ricky hissed again. He got up in my face, grabbing my wrist as I reached for the next corpse. "I had it under control. You don't get to- to sneak around behind my back doing shit just because you think it's the right thing to do."

"Why?" I asked, tilting my head to stare at him. "Instead, we're all supposed to just do what you think is the right thing? Ricky, I've never done what you said just because you said to. Not even when we were kids. Now let go of me so I can finish this. Our people are shit shots. No offence."

T Dog and Andrea, who were doing the same thing I was and studiously looking like they were ignoring the brewing argument, waved that off without comment. Lori had apparently sent Carl with Dale, for which I was grateful, but she stared between me and Shane with undisguised hatred in her eyes. I was back on her shit list, but I couldn't exactly bring myself to care much.

"What the hell were you thinking?" she demanded. "Either of you."

Shane's snort was articulate enough, but he followed it up with a searing glare her way. "I think we were thinking the barn was full of hungry fucks who want to eat us all, and your husband was helping a madman put more in there."

"Like dogs on a leash," I added. "Rabid dogs."

"Hershel thought they were people!"

I gave my brother, who had let go of me but was still up in my space, a flat stare. "They were. They're dead now."

"How can you be such a bitch?" Lori asked.

I laughed, but there wasn't any humor in it. "Shit happens. What about you? When did you turn into one?"

Ricky hauled off and punched me, clean in the jaw. I heard Shane mutter 'shit', but my eyes narrowed on my brother. In a flash, we were on each other, scrapping like we were kids, but it was far worse now. We each had training, and we were grown. If we were throwing punches, it was because we meant it.

Ricky got another good hit in before I had him on the ground, legs locked around his arms and trapping them at his side. I had him in a headlock, arm around his throat, and he slammed his head back into my nose before I could snarl at him to give the fuck up before one of us got really hurt.

"Son of a bitch!" I yelled, my eyes watering at the pain. I held on grimly, but he'd managed to get a hand free, and soon enough he was scrabbling to his feet and coming back at me.

For a second, I was eight again and he was ten, and I yelled an insult his way that made no goddamn sense before swinging blindly- but with my full force- in the direction of the noise I heard.

I connected, and he yelped, and then Shane grabbed me by the arm and hauled me up and away. "Let me go, Walsh!"

"Nope," he said, sounding far too cheerful for the situation. "I won't be doing that till you calm down and Rick there cools off. I'll throw you in the well myself if you don't stop actin' like a damn wolverine in a corner, girl. I can take you."

"Fuck that," I snarled, fully pissed now. "Put me the fuck down! Ricky started it!"

"And I'm finishing it. Shit, I sound like your old man."

He put me down when we got just outside camp, and I considered swinging at him, too. I didn't, but it was a near thing.

"I see it in your eyes. Don't bother; I'm not trading punches with you now, girl," Walsh said dryly. "Cool the hell down, will you?"

"My brother's an idiot."

"Well, shit, we already knew that, angel. Still need to reign it in some," he said back, a smirk on his lips and a light in his eyes that just pissed me off worse.

I scowled at him. "Pot, kettle calling. Said you're a goddamn hypocrite."

Shane's smile only grew. "I'll own that. Maybe I am, but I ain't the one punching your brother in the jaw so hard we could all hear his teeth rattle. Camp don't need that right now, little Grimes. Get it together, would you?"

"Fuck off, Walsh," I muttered, but he was already walking away. I touched my very-tender nose and wondered if Ricky's sucker punch to the jaw would bruise, but what were a couple bruises to me at this point? I didn't give a shit.

I started for my tent, frowning as I saw Daryl's gone. I scanned for him, and found him out in the goddamn boondocks, setting up far away from everyone else and looking like every movement hurt.

I sighed, ducked into my tent for my spare magazine and the med pack I kept close, and headed his way to deal with yet another problem.

"What are you doing?" I demanded, stepping forward to help the dumbass who'd probably busted open his stitches set up his tent.

He shot a glare my way that had me dropping my end, though, because fuck- what had I done to deserve that? I stayed silent while he struggled, until he finally tossed the tent stake down with a snarl.

"Ya gonna help me with this shit, or just stand there watchin'?"

I shrugged. "Depends. Why are you out here, and why are you pissed at me?"

He shot to his feet and stalked toward me, all evidence of favoring his side washed away in the heat of his anger. "Ya fuckin' knew she was dead, and in that barn, an' ya let me go out there, makin' a goddamn fool of myself, and-"

"I didn't know she was in the barn," I denied. I was getting annoyed now, too, the irritation at my brother's attitude coming back full force with this fresh accusation. "If I'd known she was in there, I'd have handled it, and let her mother know in a respectful way so she could grieve."

"Would ya? Ya been sayin' she was dead since-"

"Oh, stop," I cut him off flatly. "I've been saying I thought she was probably dead for longer than I've known about the barn, yes. But that doesn't mean I counted all the walkers in there and learned their fucking names! I never would have known until I cleared it out, jackass."

"How long ya known about them walkers in there? Ya didn't hear it from Glenn this mornin', like the rest of us?"

I lifted an eyebrow at the sudden change to low, hard temper from the boiling, spewing volcano of fury he had been. "I found out about two days ago. I was going to ask you for help handling it, but you fell on your own arrow and then got shot, so every time I tried, you were a little busy."

Something shifted in his eyes, surprise flickering over his face and away in a flash. "Ya wanted my help? Not fuckin' Shane's?"

"What's your issue with Walsh, man?" I asked, genuinely confused. "You jealous or something?"

"Ain't jealous of shit." The heat was back in his voice, but the color on his cheeks seemed less like temper and more like embarrassment. "Just don't fuckin' treat ya right is all, for a boyfriend."

I started laughing. Daryl stared at me, confused as hell now, and I waved him away as I tried to get myself under control. "Shit. Oh, shit. Dixon, he's my ex-boyfriend, not a current one. We've fucked a few times since the end of the world, but that's it. We broke up in college."

"Huh," he grunted. He crouched back down for the stake, pain flashing across his eyes again, and I sighed.

"Come on, I'll help you finish this thing if you're determined to be out here alone. Not that I blame you, honestly. Too damn many people over there. Once it's up, I'm checking your stitches," I told him. It wasn't a question or an offer, and I'd make sure he treated it as such, despite the scowl he sent my way again.

He tried to argue, but I reached out and poked a finger lightly against his side. He hissed in pain, knocked my hand away, and then gave in as I held open the tent flap with a bland expression. I followed him, sitting down and digging through the medical supplies I'd brought back from the school in my pockets and not handed over in all crazy like I'd meant to. Now I was glad I'd kept some back for us, because Daryl had indeed popped a couple stitches, but nothing too bad. I could patch him up well enough with what I had, and I didn't think Hershel was in the mood to help us out anymore right now.

He'd come around, of course, but I wasn't so callous as to not admit he could probably use a day or two first.

I patched Daryl up while he sat in silence, the only hit of the pain I knew he was in showing in the tightening of his abs as I worked. When I was finished, he shifted and grunted out a thanks, and for some reason, the man looked pissed the hell off again.

"What now?" I asked, annoyed again myself as I cleaned up the med pack and shoved it back into my pocket. "You can't still be pissed about Sophia."

"I can be pissed about whatever I fuckin' wanna be," he shot back. He sent me a glare, but there was something else in it.

Something that sent heat pooling into my stomach, heat I hadn't felt for real since Shane had- since before the caves. I went still, prey in a predator's sights for a moment, before I felt myself smile. "Oh," I whispered. "You're not pissed."

"Wanna bet?"

I smiled, slow and sly, and he met my gaze with fury from where he sprawled over the camp cot he'd picked up somewhere. "I'd win that bet easy. You're not pissed. Or you are, but not necessarily at me, and not just pissed," I added.

I moved toward him, my fingers trailing over his stomach lightly, and I felt the tension in them again- similar to when he was in pain, but not the same. His glare didn't change, but his eyes had, the fire in them getting hotter with something other than rage.

This was probably a bad idea, I knew, but shit. He had me feeling something, something needy and warm and delicious, something I hadn't felt in so long I only dimly remembered what it was like. And I needed it as badly as he did, I could see it in the look in his eyes, feel it in the faint tremble of his arm beneath my fingers as I trailed them along his skin and traced the devil tattoo I found there.

"Need an outlet for all that rage?" I whispered. "I can give you one."

"I don't need shit," he growled, but it was bullshit and we both knew it.

I shot him a pointed smirk. "Yeah, ok. Prove it."

"Prove somethin'." In an movement so sudden it made me gasp, he had one hand wrapped in my hair, tugging my head back, and the other laying gentle against my chest, at the base of my throat. His fingers burned against my skin, and in a rush of desire so strong it made my knees weak, I wanted him to tighten that hand, to lock around my throat like he had locked onto my hair, but-

His grip on my hair turned into a caress, and my eyes fell half-closed as he slid his hand up my neck, still gentle, to run his fingers over my lips. Then he kissed me, cradling my face in his hands, and I was an ice-sculpture melting to the touch of the sun's heat.

"Want this?" he whispered against my lips, even as my hands were trailing down his chest to fumble at his belt.

I managed to get it unhooked, and he half-laughed as I scoffed at the question. "Get your hands busy, Dixon," I ordered, nipping lightly at his lower lip.

He made a noise in the back of his throat, his hands going to the hem of my shirt, and I stopped him from pulling it off. He hesitated, but he didn't push, and then we were falling together, tangled and needy and desperate, and I didn't know if we were angry or what, because every touch was gentle, all fingertips and calloused palms light against my skin, but there was urgency in it all the same. It was fire, but it wasn't hard, it was soft, soft, soft, and I-

I trembled and shuddered and moaned, driven mad by this strange new sensation of softness and care, and when I fell breathless and shaking he did too, his forehead pressed to my sternum and my name hoarse on his lips.

I stared at the roof of his tent, silence falling between us broken only by our shaky, ragged breathing, and tried to figure out what in the fuck had just happened.

Chapter Text

I laid there, staring up at the tent ceiling and wondering what the fuck to do now. Dixon had collapsed beside me, tossing an arm over his eyes, and after a few minutes, his steady breathing had me convinced he was asleep.

Thank god.

I slipped back into my jeans, buckling on my gun belt and thigh holster, and shoved my gun back into place. I wasn't bothering to hide it anymore, and Hershel and the others could fuck off about it. I crept out of the tent, praying Dixon would either stay asleep or at least keep pretending for my sake, because I was not ready for the post-sex conversation about just being casual. Not yet.

Not when his hands on me had felt like fire to my ice, the memory of it burned into my skin and my mind.

I glanced toward camp and the farmhouse, and T Dog, Andrea, Jimmy, and Glenn were at work digging graves already. I should have gone to help them, but…

I headed to the vehicles instead, considering taking Shane's Hyundai and driving off somewhere just for the hell of it. Then I noticed the old man's truck missing.

"Goddamn it," I muttered, squinting at the tracks even I could see from his tires. I stared back toward camp, Rick and Shane now holding a tense-looking conversation near the RV where Dale stood on watch, and- "Fuck it."

I set off up the long drive, fading into the trees to keep from being spotted by someone who meant well but would only cause problems. It was probably better if I stayed out of everyone's way for a while, and Lori would need old man Hershel in about nine months. So tracking him down was apparently going to be my job now.

I lost the tracks on the main road, which was no real surprise, but there were only so many places a person could be going around here. I made my way into the town Glenn and Maggie had been making supply runs to, wondering just what was important enough to drag the old man out this far alone, after we'd killed his walker collection.

"Of course," I muttered, disgusted, when I found his truck outside the bar. "That tracks for Mister Religious."

A glance through the windows showed him with his back to the door, raising a glass to his lips, and I seriously contemplated leaving him there and going back to camp. If he got bit because he was drunk and stupid, whose fault was that, exactly?

But, there was the Lori of it all, and Shane's baby. "Damn it," I mumbled to myself again.

I circled the building, checking for back exits and potential threats, since I didn't know how long I'd be trying to convince the man or if I'd have to knock him unconscious and haul his ass out myself. Then I moved on down the street, checking for problems.

And I found one. Two, actually.

Their vehicle was filthy and lived-in, and my nose wrinkled at the sight of it. If it looked this bad, I'd hate to be able to smell in there. But the two of them were inside the pharmacy Maggie had been raiding for medical supplies, and I slipped into hiding to watch and listen when they came out.

The living were so much worse than the dead these days. Then again, they always had been.

"Not a bad haul, but not enough to make this shit worth it."

"Dead pricks are so gross," a second voice agree, the heavier of the two. "Come on."

They headed for their car, stashing their haul, and then started toward the next store on the small main street. "Boys back at camp expect us to find some good shit."

Shit. Of course they had a camp. How many were they? Where was it? I started to follow them, maybe get close enough to ask some pointed questions, but it'd be easier if they just lead me back to their camp and I could see it all for myself. First-hand information was always better, after all.

I waited near their car, settled in and comfortable, as they moved from one building to the next. I watched as Ricky and Glenn pulled up in Otis's pickup, no doubt looking for the old man. That was perfect, I thought. Someone would keep an eye on his idiotic ass, and I could take care of these boys before anyone else knew about the threat.

And of course, because nothing was ever easy, it didn't quite work out that way.

Instead of going to their mysterious camp, the two assholes headed into the bar where my brother was trying to rescue a drunk from himself. I watched them go in, rubbing my temples, and sighed. I had their backs, and Ricky could handle whatever happened in there, but we really, really needed to know about what those two meant by 'the boys back at camp'.

I waited as the sun crept lower and lower. "What the fuck is taking so long in there, assholes?" I mumbled, impatience setting in after an hour or more had passed.

Then the gunshots rang out, and I sprang forward, only to melt back immediately at the sound of approaching vehicles.

Their people came looking for them, because of course they did. And there were rather more of them than I'd been expecting, which meant there were far too many to not know where they were camped and how many more of them were lurking. Especially if they'd been bad enough news for the shooting I'd heard inside.

At no point did I worry about Ricky or Glenn and Hershel. I knew without looking that if anyone had gotten dead, it was the assholes I'd been trailing. And when the firefight broke out, that only proved me right.

I circled the building, since the majority of the dumbasses attacking my brother were out front, and picked off a couple pricks to make a gap. Someone was doing the same from the back door, and whoever it was wasn't the best shot in the world, so I was betting the old man. Glenn had fast feet and would be sent to make a run for a vehicle, and Ricky would be distracting everyone up front for as long as possible.

I was right. Glenn darted from the back door, sprinting for Hershel's truck, and I sighed when the dead started milling around and posing more problems.

Someone screamed, loud enough to wake the dead if they weren't wandering around already, and I wanted to bang my head into the wall nearby when Ricky decided to save the kid who'd fallen and gotten impaled on a decorative fence instead of letting him be the fresh meat distraction he should have been.

I covered them, using knifework now since the bad guys had run when the dead came, and I doubted they even knew I was there. They got the kid free somehow and into the back of the truck, and I let out a breath of relief when they drove off.

Now I could try to find this camp as best I could, since my people were safe.

There was nothing I could do in the dark, and I gave up quickly. I took down walkers twice on my way back to the farm, finally giving up and admitting it was too dark and I was too damn tired for this shit.

Trees were my friends, and I scrambled up, got comfortable, and decided to snatch a couple hours' sleep and wait for dawn before booking it the rest of the way back.

My last thought as I slipped into sleep was that Walsh was going to pissed as fuck I hadn't invited him along.

By the time I got back, morning was well under way. I hadn't gone far from town before stopping the night before, so I backtracked at first light and went looking for tracks and a trail to the two assholes' camp again. I didn't find shit, but it had been worth the effort just in case. I wasn't the tracker Dixon was, and maybe I'd bring him out here to help.

Ugh, and we were going to have to have us a talk about what we'd done the day before, weren't we? Yeah, heading back up here together might be the best bet for taking care of that, too.

I slipped back into camp without being noticed, pausing on my way to my own tent when I heard Lori's low voice coming from inside the Grimes family tent and caught Shane's name.

"What's he done now?" Ricky's voice came, sounding exhausted.

"He thinks the baby's his." There was a pause while I rubbed my eyes, wondering just when my sister in law had turned into the biggest bitch this side of the Mississippi. "No matter what, it's yours."

"He'll accept that."

Would he, Ricky? I thought disgustedly. And should he have to? What the fuck, big brother?

"You're gonna have to make him. He won't listen to me. He's delusional. He's dangerous. When I went lookin' for you? He came after me."

"Of course he did," Rick said, and that sounded a little annoyed that she'd even question that. Outside of anything else, Ricky knew Shane loved his family, loved all of us. Of course he'd fucking go after Lori's dumb ass if she tried to go after Ricky.

Which was a whole can of dumb I didn't want to deal with opening.

"He lied to me, to get me back here. Said you were already back," she continued like Rick hadn't spoken.

Oh boo fucking hoo, I thought. I'd have done the same damn thing. She was fucking pregnant; what did she expect?

"You saw what he did at the barn. What Harley did, too. But Shane, he's- he's threatened Dale and Hershel. He's scaring people. He's scaring me." There was a pause, one I hoped was Ricky shooting her a goddamn incredulous look. "And I think he killed Otis. I think he left him behind, and I think- I think he did it not just to save Carl but because he… Loves me-"

Oh, what fresh bullshit was that? I wondered, even as Ricky interrupted her with a 'but you don't know that'.

"… and he thinks we're supposed to be together, no matter what," Lori finished.

I was about two seconds from walking in there and setting the record straight on Otis, at the very least, when the man under discussion bellowed my name from across the yard.

"Harley Grimes! Where the shit have you fuckin' been?"

I took several rapid steps away as the voices inside my brother's tent paused, turning to meet a rather surprising duo of pissed-off men. "Hey, Walsh. Dixon. I was out watching my brother's ass, that's where."

"What the hell does that mean? Rick got back two hours ago."

"Shit, it took him that long?" I glanced over my shoulder in surprising, frowning at the tent where Rick was now stepping out, shirt in hand and a fierce look in his eyes. Shit, I'd have to deal with Lori and her bullshit, and I'd have to do it quick, or there were going to be problems, weren't there? "What slowed them down? I went back into town after a nap in a tree once they were on their way. Speaking of, Dixon, we should-"

"We ain't doin' nothin'," Daryl muttered. "Fuck ya thinkin', sneakin' off like that?"

I shot him a look, eyebrow raised. "I was thinking I saw the old man's vehicle missing and maybe someone should find him. Especially since-" I shut my mouth, but Shane sighed.

"Already let that cat outta the bag, girl. Lori went off on her own, I drug her back here, and I- I might have lied to her and accidentally said something about the baby. In front of Carl."

"An' everybody else," Dixon muttered. He hitched the crossbow up on his shoulder, looking away. "Since she's back an' all, I'm goin' to sleep. Yell if anything serious happens. And somebody keep an' eye on the new kid."

He stalked off without a backward glance, and I turned to Shane. "Where is the idiot kid?"

"You know about that?"

"Watched your dumbass partner's back for him while they saved him," I said blandly. "Not that he knew I was there."

"You were there?" Ricky's voice came from behind me. "Why didn't you come back with us?"

I sighed. "For the last time, I tried to find their camp. Didn't succeed. Why is Dixon still so bent out of shape, where's the kid, and is the old man dried out now?"

Rick and Shane exchanged a look over my head and I snorted. "Come on. We have work to do. Stow the personal shit until we know we're safe. Then we're all going to sit down and have a long talk about some things."

Shane and Ricky scoffed in unison, stalking off in different directions without bothering to reply. I sighed.

"Good talk, boys," I muttered. "I guess I'll figure it all out myself."

Chapter Text

I snagged T Dog, got a rapid update on the kid Ricky had been determined to save, suggested one of us be keeping an eye on him all the time, saw Glenn come out of the farmhouse looking distressed, and decided that wasn't my problem. Neither was dealing with Lori and Ricky talking to Carl over by the fire, probably about the baby.

Daryl Dixon, unfortunately, was. So was Walsh, currently off doing who the fuck knew what, and so was the camp somewhere out there with assholes willing to kill. I waffled for a moment, but I knew what the priority was right now.

I made my way to Dixon's new distant campsite, contemplating moving all my own shit out here too, just for kicks. It was away from everyone and their noise and their chaos, and I might have understood why he came out here if he hadn't done it solely to be pissy. So I'd probably end up having to convince the stubborn bastard to come back with everyone else instead of moving myself.

Plus, I'd been sleeping in the bed of the truck more often than my tent anyway.

"Yo."

He didn't bother to look up as I plopped down by the fire, continuing to sharpen the end of a stick into a point. Arrows. He was making more arrows for the crossbow. Clever stubborn bastard, I thought, watching his hands move the knife across the stick in quick, confident motions.

I tore my eyes away from his hands and sighed. "We need to talk."

"Do we?"

"Don't be a dick. You were either asleep or pretending real damn hard," I said dryly. "So it's not like I rolled over and said 'money's on the dresser, baby, keep the change'."

He shot me a look, lips twisting upward clearly against his will. "Ain't much of a hooker."

"I mean, you could be," I countered with a shrug. "I bet you'd make a lot of cash out on the strip somewhere."

"As what, goddamn walker bait? Shit." He shook his head, the faint blush creeping up his neck toward his ears now, and turned back to his arrow. "What ya want, Angel?"

"To talk. About our little… uh, adventure? And about what had your panties in such a twist you refused to go look for Ricky and Glenn when fuckin' Lori asked you to," I added, voice going hard on my sister in law's name.

Dixon gave me a look from the corner of his eye. "Didn't know she was pregnant."

"I'm not surprised, since she was keeping a decent lid on it. But that's not why."

He huffed, tossing down both stick and knife. "What ya want from me, damn it? I looked for her. I looked for that little girl when everybody else gave up on her, including you! And she was dead all along."

"So you're not doing shit for anyone else ever again?" I asked, pointed but gentle. It had mattered so much to him, finding Sophia alive. And then. "That doesn't sound like you."

"What ya think ya know about me?" he snapped. He shot to his feet and started pacing, tossing his arms out as he ranted. "Ain't know shit about me, Harley Grimes. Just like ya goddamn brother-"

"Hey, now," I muttered.

"- think ya know everythin' about everybody, and what's best fer us all. But ya ain't know shit about me, and I'll do what I please. Ain't gonna be everyone's damn errand boy, ‘go find 'em, will ya, Daryl?’ Shit."

I waited till he was done, the anger seeming to drain as abruptly as it had washed over him. "That all?"

"Fuck off," he snapped.

"Nope." I made it cheerful, and his whirled middle finger and glare only made me grin. "Did that, which is part of why I'm here. Dixon. We didn't know. And no one sees you as some sort of errand boy. We come to you for help because you're tough, and smart, and capable. Ricky's already leaning on you because he knows strength and character when he sees it, and I liked you from the start."

He scoffed, jerking his shoulder and pacing away. "Ain't a damn leader."

"Yes, you are, but that's neither here nor there at the moment. Dixon, come on. We need you. That scares you, doesn't it?" I asked softly, the pieces of his web reaching out and tangling and joining. "It scares you that we need you, and it scares you that you also need us."

"Don't need nobody."

"Ok," I said mildly, not wanting to push that one. "But we need you. Ricky's trying to keep everyone alive, and there's a lot of them to watch over. He only has three of us he knows he can rely on, no matter what, to watch our own backs and his. You, me, Shane. That's it. The rest of them? The rest of them he has to take care of, and it's a lot. So he leans on us, on you, for help. With them. For them."

Daryl sighed. "I ain't someone to lean on."

"Why not? You've been a rock so far. You helped feed us all. You came back to defend the camp instead of staying in the city to look for your asshole of a brother. You helped T Dog when the herd came on the highway. You looked for Sophia, every day. That seems goddamn dependable to me."

He shrugged, but he'd softened. The anger was gone, and I hoped my words would sink in at some point. But it was time to move on, and I could tell. I'd said what was important. He'd think on it and either accept it or reject it, and it wasn't up to me which he'd chose. He sat back down, taking up his stick and his knife again, and I shifted, doodling in the dirt absently with my fingertips.

He laughed under his breath. "Can lecture me about shit, can wander off all damn night an' kill people an' walkers, but talkin' about sex gonna hang ya up, is it?"

"Oh, fuck you," I said, laughing.

"Think ya did. What ya wanna talk about next, ain't it?"

I groaned, dropping my head to my knees. "Damn it, Dixon."

"Ya welcome. Aight, listen. I know ya had somethin' casual going with Walsh. I ain't gonna get all jealous or possessive on ya. We both had a lot come up, all the sudden. One time thing's fine with me. Casual's fine with me, too, if ya decide to do it again sometime."

I lifted my head, studying him with narrowed eyes for any hint of discomfort with his own words. There wasn't any, the man looking perfectly serene as he shaved more wood off the stick until he held it up to his eye, checking along the length for straightness and, who knew, pointy-ness?

"Casual's good with me," I said finally. "Or just the once. As long as you're cool with me being… casual with someone else, if the mood strikes. I'm not anyone's property."

"Shit. I figured that out ages ago, baby," he muttered, rolling his eyes. "Casual's cool. We's friends who fuck sometimes, if ya want. Like you'n'Walsh."

"Yeah," I muttered, staring out toward camp where Walsh stalked toward us. "Like me and Walsh. Speaking of."

"Shit, what now?" Daryl muttered. "I ain't doin' fuck all else till I get these things done, ya hear? Go handle ya other boyfriend."

"My- fuck," I spluttered, glaring.

He just grinned at me. Bastard.

I met Shane halfway out there, absolutely not ready to give Daryl the satisfaction of being able to tease me in front of Walsh. Not yet anyway. I still needed to discuss some things with Walsh himself before I was ready for shit like that.

Casual or not, friends who fuck or not, there was history between me and Shane Walsh. History that affected things, no matter if it was in the past.

"Hey."

"Hey," he muttered, glaring over my shoulder. "The fuck you thinking, girl? Being out there alone, on foot?"

I counted backward from three. I didn't have the patience for five, much less ten. "Walsh. I'm a big girl. I'm completely capable of handling myself, and I've been roaming the woods at night since we set up camp in the quarry. Come on. You're not actually pissed about that."

"Yeah, actually, I am," he snapped back, shifting his glare to me. "Cause we couldn't find you, and then Lori decides to go be dumb because Daryl won't be a team player, and then Rick comes back but you ain't with him- Yeah, I'm pissed about that!"

I sighed. "No, you're pissed Daryl wouldn't go after Lori, that Lori and Rick are pissed at you, and that Lori told Rick about you and her before you could. Oh, and that she's refusing to admit it’s your baby. And maybe about me fucking Daryl yesterday, but if that's the case, this is going to become an argument instead of a discussion."

"You- what? You fucked- Shit." He scrubbed his hands over his face, adjusted his hat, and gave me the cop look. "That a good idea?"

"So, not denying any of the other things. Good, glad we're on the same page," I said cheerfully. "Yes, it was a lovely idea, thank you. We've already discussed things, set the terms. Friends who fuck. We're keeping it casual. Like you and me, remember?"

"We still doin' that?"

I shrugged. "I mean, I'm not suggesting we throw down right now, but if you're cool, I'm cool."

He shifted, clearly thinking. I liked that about him. He was taking a moment to think before agreeing to something. It was important, this decision between the two of us, just like the one between Dixon and I had been. "Yeah," he said finally. "I'm cool. Can go throw down now if you want though, girl."

"Oh, fuck off, Walsh," I said with a laugh.

He shot me the confident grin that had made my knees weak since age thirteen, and I rolled my eyes at him.

"Seriously, though," I said gently. "About the rest of it. There's things you need to know. When I got back, I overheard- I overheard Lori saying some things to Rick. About you thinking she and the baby were supposed to be with you, no matter what, and how you're dangerous?"

His eyes narrowed, anger filling them. "Shit. She's being a bitch cause I lied to her, about Rick being back already, to get her stubborn, stupid ass back to the farm. She wrecked a damn car. Almost got eaten by a fuckin' walker. What was I supposed to do? Leave her out there in the middle of the goddamn night? Woman's pregnant!"

"I'm well aware," I said dryly. "Walsh, calm down. If you don't, she's going to make Ricky think you really are dangerous. We have to- to handle that. He's your best friend for fuck's sake. Talk to him."

"Hey kettle, pot calling." He shot me a look. "What about you? Going to make up with your brother yet? I remember someone throwin' hands recently. If either of us are dangerous, it's you."

"That's very true," I said, and grimaced as I remembered her talking about Otis. "Fuck, she also said she thinks you killed Otis. If that comes up, tell them it was me. Cause it was. I got no problem taking the blame, since I made that decision. As for Ricky."

I scoffed, shook my head, and started for camp. I turned back, calling to Walsh as I kept walking. "He can make up with me first."

"I hate you, Ricky!" I screamed down the hall. I slammed the door to my room, only doing either of those things because both Mom and Dad were gone, and tossed myself onto my bed. I hugged my wolf stuffed animal, the only one I owned, to my chest and considered bursting into tears like every teenager in movies did after screaming that they hated someone.

But honestly, I wasn't much of a crier. I wasn't a teenager yet either, so maybe that was part of it.

"Ugghhh!" I yelled at the ceiling, getting pissed off all over again at the reminder that because I wasn't old enough, I wasn't cool enough to go with Ricky and Shane to hang out and-

"It's not fair!" I yelled, kicking my feet hard into the pillow propped up against the footboard solely for that purpose. It was my kicking pillow, an idea Dad had gotten when Ricky was little and used for me, too. I didn't do it very often, but this seemed like the right time.

I was going to be stuck home, alone, and then have to cover for Ricky when Mom got home? It was- "It's bullshit!" I yelled at the door.

"Come on, Angel! It's just- it's for the guys this time," Ricky's voice came from outside my door, imitating Dad's persuasive tone. "I'm sorry, ok? It's not my fault."

"It is your fault! You could have made them let me come too!"

"But you're-"

"A little baby GIRL, I KNOW!" I screamed it at my door, breathing hard. "You made it perfectly clear! Well, I'm not lying for you with Mom. If you think I'm such a baby, then I'm too much of a baby to cover for you. So there!"

"I was going to say you're not part of the baseball team, but ok," he said dryly. "Come on, sis. Shane and I will make it up to you, but if we get caught, you know we won't be able to hang out for like, ever."

That was a fair point, and I hated it. I glared at the door, sitting cross-legged, and thought. "I'm going to have terms."

"Of course you are. Can I come in now? Is it safe?"

"It's never safe," I shot back, but a smile was starting to form. It got bigger when Ricky opened the door a crack, sticking his arm through holding a dandelion. I laughed, and I knew I'd cover for him after all. The apology flower was a standing tradition, and not accepting it was unheard of between us.

"Apology flower accepted," I said finally, shaking my head. "I'm not a kid anymore, Ricky."

"Yeah, well. You're my kid sister at least," he fired back, coming to sit beside me. He handed me the little yellow weed, and I took it and stuck it behind my ear. "So. About your terms?"

Chapter Text

Ricky decided to take the kid eighteen miles from the farm and let him go with, as Shane dubbed it, 'a care package and our best wishes', despite knowing they had a camp somewhere nearby. I objected, but I voiced my objections only to Walsh and Dixon. I still wasn't talking to Ricky.

He wasn't talking to me either, so when he opted for Walsh as his copilot on delivery day, I wasn't exactly surprised. I reminded Shane not to be a dick and maybe to talk to my brother about some of the unspoken things going on, kissed him on the cheek, and sent them on their merry way with a muttered 'don't die' at Ricky as my only acknowledgment that I did, in fact, give a shit about him. He muttered back that he didn't intend to and they were gone.

I spent my time in town with Dixon, trying to pick up something resembling a trail to the others' camp, but it was no goddamn use. We got back just before Ricky and Shane did, looking far worse than when they'd left and with the kid, unfortunately, still in tow.

Walsh gave me the story in a low, rapid mutter while Ricky shoved the kid, blindfolded, into one of the old man's outbuildings. I planted myself in front of the door and stared my brother down, daring him to disagree. He didn't bother, stalking off looking, if possible, more pissed than when he'd left.

Kid knew Maggie, so he knew where the farm was. Didn't matter how far out we took him, he'd still be able to come back. Oh, and Walsh and Rick had gotten into a fistfight, then they'd all almost died from walkers because of it, and by the way, Angel- the fight was over Lori. And a little over me, which was something of a surprise.

I didn't think Ricky knew or cared that Shane and I had been hooking up, but apparently he did, to both. At least according to Walsh.

I took in all this new information, told Walsh he was an idiot, and stayed put outside the shed in the chair Dixon brought over for me without a word.

Then Ricky apparently elected Daryl to get information from the kid, which made me laugh. I told Daryl he was more than welcome to watch, but I could handle it. He gestured me wordlessly toward the door, amusement all over his face.

The man had no idea what was coming, I thought. And the kid inside didn't either.

The funny thing was, I barely had to touch him. Daryl closed the door behind me, leaning on it and no doubt looking menacing. I appreciated the backup, but I certainly didn't need it.

I landed one blow, immediately upon entering the room. Just one. Then I started asking questions.

Dude rolled like a whale breeching the surface. It was almost amusing how easy it was, but mostly it just reminded me that he was only a kid. A scared kid.

He said he barely knew the others, that he'd met them on the road. He babbled, saying a lot but not really telling us anything, and after I asked how many there were in his group and got nothing solid in response, I sighed. I crouched down in front of him and patted the swollen side of his face, the one Shane and Ricky had clearly already hit before I did.

"I didn't want to have to do this, kid. But you're not telling us shit. Is he, Dixon?"

"Nope."

I shook my head, reaching one hand behind me wordlessly. Dixon, bless him, slapped the handle of his big ass buck knife into my palm as the kid's eyes grew wide.

"No, no no no no no no, come on, man!"

I fiddled with the knife, voice calm. "How many?"

"Lady, come on, you don't-"

The knife made a very satisfying thunk, slamming into the wooden plank terribly close to the kid's balls. "How many?" I asked again, harder this time.

Eyes wide, words tumbling out, he talked. "Uh, thirty. Thirty guys."

Shit. That was too goddamn many. "Where?"

My voice stayed pleasant as I ripped the bandage off the wound on his thigh. He screamed, eyes clenched shut, and I set the tip of the knife on the first of Hershel's neat stitches. "I don't know. I swear! We were never any place more than a night!"

"Scouting? Plannin' on stayin' local?" Daryl snapped before I could.

I dug the tip in slightly, popping the first stitch.

"I don't know! They- they left me behind!"

I smiled, meeting the kid's wide, terrified eyes. "Ever pick off a scab?"

"Come on, man! I'm trying to cooperate!"

"Hey," Dixon snapped. "Talk nice to the lady, asshole."

"Sorry- Ma'am, I'm tryin' to cooperate!" The kid's voice was pure terror, pure horror. But he hadn't snapped, not yet. He wasn't broken, and he had more to tell us. I could see it in his face.

So I dug the tip in a bit more, popping the second stitch. "Sooner or later, you have to rip it off," I told him, keeping my voice calm and conversational.

Sooner or later, my dear, you will turn. You will betray your country. What are they doing for you now? They aren't even looking for you, angel of death-

"Sooner or later," I repeated softly, leaning in to whisper into the kid's ear, "you have to accept the pain."

"Alright! They- they have weapons. Heavy weapons. But- but I didn't do anything!"

I sat back, shaking my head. "Your people shot at my brother. And you're trying to tell me you're innocent? Just went along for the ride?"

"Yes!" He was panting, fear and pain turning him into an animal in a trap. "These- these people took me in. Not just guys- a whole group of 'em. Men and women- kids too, just like you people. Thought I'd have a better chance with them, you know? But-"

He cut off, swallowing hard, and I gestured with the knife for him to continue. Behind me, Daryl paced. I could feel him at my back, but I didn't. I waited calmly, holding the kid's eyes with a pleasant expression.

"We go out, scavenge. Just the men."

The chill permanently in my bones crept colder, fingers of ice trailing down my spine. Suddenly, Dixon's caged heat at my back burned like a bonfire, as the kid looked away, looking down, guilt in his face and in his voice.

"One night we- we found this little campsite. A man and his two daughters- teenagers, you know? Real young. Real cute. Their daddy had to watch while these guys- they- And they didn't even kill him afterwards! They just- they just made him watch- as his daughters- they just- just- just left him there."

He looked up, his eyes going just over my shoulder. They widened in panic, and his words came faster, tripping over himself as he shook his head and babbled. "No, but- but- but I didn't touch those girls. No, I swear, I didn't tou-"

Daryl's swift kick, right to the kid's injured leg, came from behind me. I didn't flinch, but it was a near thing. He grabbed my shoulder, tugging me away from the kid, and I shot him a look. Don't fucking come over all macho now, asshole, I thought fiercely, but there was a look in Dixon's eyes that said I wouldn't win that one.

I let him pull me to my feet and I stepped back, and Daryl moved into my place, delivering another swift, brutal kick as the kid begged that he wasn't like that, and Daryl and I had to believe him, we had to.

"We don't have to believe anything, kid," I said softly. "Dixon. That's enough. We have what we need."

Daryl's knuckles were bloody, and it wasn't all his. "Didn't I say stop?" I muttered to him, scowling as we stalked up to the fire where everyone was gathered.

Rick's eyes bore holes into us both, and Shane stood beside him, sporting evidence of his and Rick's encounter on his face, expression looking intense. Dixon didn't bother to dignify my bitching with a response, instead focusing on Rick's expectant expression.

"Boy's got a gang, thirty men. They have heavy artillery and they ain't looking to make friends."

"Succinct, but gets the point across," I agreed, rolling my eyes at the grimness of Daryl's tone. It wasn't that I didn't agree with him. It was more that I hadn't expected the typical macho manly response to hearing the group of men was bad news in a way that was no surprise to me as a woman. Not that I thought he'd approve, just that I expected him to be a bit more… Blasé about it all. He knew how the world really worked better than most everyone in camp. Maybe better than even Shane and Ricky did.

"They roll through here, our boys are dead," Daryl went on, ignoring me still. "And our women- they're gonna wish they were."

"We're not that easy a target, Dixon," I snapped. "But Ricky, we need to find them. Take them out before they come for us. They're bad news."

"What did you do?" Carol asked, her voice soft.

Daryl glanced at his bloodied hand, shifting it off his crossbow strap. "Had a little chat," he muttered.

"No one goes near this guy," Ricky said firmly, pressing a hand to his eyes. "And we need to get a guard on him. Angel-"

"Rick, we need to kill him," I said bluntly. "He's a threat."

"That's- Rick, what are you going to do?" Lori asked, deliberately turning her back on me to go to Rick.

"We have no choice," Ricky said. He looked from Lori to me and Daryl, his eyes hard. "We have to eliminate the threat."

"You're just going to kill him?"

It was Dale who protested, which didn't surprise me. He and Rick went back and forth, with Shane popping in a few times as well, and eventually it was decided that we'd take the day, all of us, and think about it. Then there'd be a vote.

I scoffed, shaking my head as I turned to go sit on the goddamn shed and make sure the kid stayed in there. Just in case. "I don't need to think, or vote. He's bad news, and so are his buddies. Rick, I can take care of it."

"Don't- Angel! Damn it."

I ignored him and kept walking. He'd come to me eventually.

He caught up to me before I reached the shed, grabbing my arm to pull me to a stop. "What are you thinking?"

I lifted an eyebrow, glancing down at his hand on my arm. He let go, scowling harder. "I'm thinking the kid's a threat, his friends are worse, and they all need to die. Why? You got a problem with that?"

"Do I-" Ricky groaned, taking up Dad's cop pose again. "No, I do not have a problem with that, actually. But we just decided, as a group, to think about it, so I can't have you charging in there and murdering a man."

"Good thing I don't listen to you then," I said cheerfully. "Cause I can have it, and I will."

"Harley-"

"Don't 'Harley' me, Rick," I snapped. I was still angry about the sucker punch at the barn, about the walker on a lead, about a lot of things, and for some reason him using my real name really pissed me off. "I do what I have to. I've taken a group out before, to protect these people. To protect your son, your bitch of a wife. I've heard what she's saying to you, about me and Shane being dangerous. We aren't dangerous to anyone but those who want to hurt us, Rick. So let me do my damn job, and keep us all safe!"

"We are safe. We will be safe. If that's the group's decision, I'll kill him myself," Rick snarled.

"Sure, but it doesn't need to be a goddamn group decision. Think we made those kinds of calls in the field by committee?" I scoffed. "You want to be in charge, Ricky? Be in charge. Take control, and lead. Or don't, and keep letting your wife whisper bullshit to you, and keep letting this group fall apart because you want everyone to act like the world is the way it was before and you want to keep everyone alive. I'll be busy keeping everyone who matters alive."

I stalked off toward the shed again, leaving my brother standing there fuming. "Don't worry," I called over my shoulder. "I won't kill him. Yet."

Chapter Text

I watched Dale going from person to person, trying to convince them all that Shane and I were dangerous, like Lori claimed, and that we'd killed Otis, and that we shouldn't be allowed to kill the prisoner. He never came to talk to me, which wasn't exactly a surprise.

Both Walsh and Dixon wandered up for a chat at different times, and Ricky seemed to be back to doing his very best black crow impersonation, always watching in the background. I'd rather he'd just come and decked me again, damn it. At least that way we'd get the emotions all out and go back to being friends.

I missed my brother. But not enough to go apologize first. He'd sucker punched me, after all.

When the sun began to set, the others started to gather for Dale's big group meeting. It was going down in the farmhouse now, with Hershel and his people apparently giving up on the 'them and us' gig after Ricky dragged Hershel out of the bar. Now he was one of Ricky's followers, and I was fine with that. Or I would be if my brother would just fucking lead.

I didn't bother to go. Dixon paused on his way in, lifted an eyebrow my way, and I shook my head. He nodded, looking faintly amused, and kept going.

Moments later, Walsh appeared in the doorway, gesturing vaguely. "What in the fuck," I muttered, laughing at his poor attempt at non-verbal communication.

I gestured back, clearly indicating I was staying exactly put. They knew my vote. There was no need for me to be in there, listening to Dale's speeches and possibly making things worse. I'd be better put out here, guarding the prisoner.

I'd stopped thinking of him as 'the kid', I realized. He was only the prisoner now, awaiting execution. He was the threat, and I'd be the one to eliminate him when it came down to it. Because if Dale managed to get his way, and convince everyone not to kill him-

Well. I'd do it myself, and make it look like a walker bite.

They'd decided to go for it. That much was immediately apparent when Dale made a bee line for the field, not looking my way, and Ricky, Shane, and Daryl were all heading toward me. Everyone else stayed inside, no doubt moralizing over a decision that was black and white. He died, or he'd lead his rapist friends back here to us, and they'd rape, torture, and kill everyone. Or they'd try, I added grimly.

I leaned against the shed doors, waiting for them. Ricky still looked like a goddamn crow, but he looked determined. "What's the word?" I asked when they got close.

"We're doing it," Shane said. His voice was hard, but it was clear that now that the time came, he wasn't so sure this was the right choice.

"Cool. I'll handle it." I shoved off the door, grabbing the knife at my belt and turning to head inside and do just that. Quick and easy, just another assassination. Shit, the prisoner might not even know I was there before it was over.

Rick grabbed my arm. "No," he said softly. There was something in his voice that made me pause, made me listen. "We're taking him to the barn. It has to be me."

"It doesn't," I told him gently. "I can do it. It won't hurt me."

"But it should." Ricky's voice was tired, weighed down. "That's the thing, sis. It should."

I wanted to ask him why, but he opened the door and went in, grabbing a bag to put over the already-pleading prisoner's head.

We walked to the barn, the four of us silent while the prisoner begged and pleaded, promising anything and everything we could think of. The only talking was Dixon growling at him to 'shut up', which of course, he didn't do.

In the glow of the single lantern already lit and hanging, Shane and Daryl put the prisoner on his knees, and Ricky ripped the hood from his head. Shane tied a blindfold over his eyes while Ricky pulled out his gun and checked the chamber.

I rolled my eyes, hard. Why use a gun? Waste of a bullet, and just more noise. "Ricky, I can do it with my knife," I told him in a low voice. "You don't have to shoot the bastard, Jesus."

"I do," Rick said firmly. "I do."

Whatever, I thought. I gestured for him to get on with it then, and Ricky took up a stance and took aim.

"Do you have any final words?" My brother asked the question in that grim, unnatural voice, and I wanted to roll my eyes. No, the kid didn't have any final words. He had a lot of sobbing and repeating 'no' over and over again, because he was a coward with no spine.

It was more of the same we'd been getting, and Ricky's gun clicked as he aimed at the kid's sobbing head. For a moment, I was convinced he actually would, and this would all be handled.

"Do it, Dad. Do it."

We all whipped around at the sound of Carl's voice, and I stared at him. "Who the fuck was watching Carl?" I snapped, but Shane was already moving.

He hustled the kid out of the barn, but it was too late. I saw it in my brother's eyes. I sighed, grabbed my knife, and went for the still-sobbing prisoner on his knees.

Daryl stopped me, grabbing me by the arm and snatching the knife from my hand. "Naw. Not the way. Not right now."

"Why not right now?" I snapped. "I can handle it-"

"Yeah, ya can. Not in front of the damn kid, though."

I hesitated, because he had a point there. Rick was talking to Carl, holding him by the arm as he walked him out of the barn, but- I sighed, lowering the knife. "Yeah, you're right. But I'm doing it, Dixon."

"Ain't gonna see me stop ya if the timin's right, Grimes."

Out in the darkness, someone started screaming. It was terror, it was pain, raw and pure and real, and for a moment, I thought it was me, screaming as-

"Shit," Daryl swore.

It was Dale. I knew before I reached the knot of them, gathered around the prone form in the field while Ricky screamed for Hershel.

While the others took off for the walker and the source of the scream, I hauled the prisoner back to his shed, shoving him in without bothering to take off his blindfold. Then I hauled ass for the huddled figures in the field, joining all the others in time for the old man to shake his head.

I didn't need that to know there was no saving Dale. His stomach was torn open, the walker clearly having fed on him before any of us got there. Andrea sobbed, holding Dale's hand, and his eyes-

He was in pain. He needed to be put down, to end the torment so he didn't keep suffering needlessly. My brother reached the same conclusion I did, his hands shaking and his face grim as he lifted the Python. I took it from him, knife already in my hand to do it fast and clean. No way was I letting Ricky do this, not with that look in his eyes.

Daryl snatched the gun from me, shifting me bodily out of the way. I started to snap at him, but he didn't hesitate. With a simple 'sorry, brother', he fired a single shot. He handed the Python back to Rick as I stared at the dead man's eyes.

Temper bubbled under the calm I projected while we drug the walker away, wrapped up Dale's body, and carried him toward the house. Another fucking grave to dig. Another twice-dead animal to burn.

It wasn't his fault, Dale's death, but in a way, it was. The prisoner hadn't even died when he should have, the asshole who'd stood by and let men- who knew how many- rape the teenage daughters of some poor bastard in front of him, and then left them all alive to pick up the pieces-

He hadn't even died to protect the group like he should have, but Dale was dead. Sure, Dale had started to hate Shane and I by the end, but it didn't matter. He'd been one of us, one of ours, one of mine.

And he was dead, and that prick in the shed wasn't.

I was going to fix that, I decided as I helped settle Dale's body on a table in the old man's back room, where the dead couldn't get it and the living didn't have to stare at it. What was Ricky going to do, kill me for doing it? Hardly seemed likely.

Besides, I could take him before he did.

I headed back out into the darkness, slipping by the camp where my people huddled together. Dixon's eyes followed me, his chin jerking once in barely perceptible agreement before he turned deliberately away so as not to draw attention my way.

I liked that one. I'd liked the look of him from the beginning, and he only seemed to get better with time.

I made it halfway there before Ricky called my name. "Damn it," I muttered, slipping the knife back into place on my belt before turning to face him. "He needs killing, Rick."

"Maybe. Maybe not. But that's not why I- Angel, I'm sorry."

I blinked. "What?"

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have- I know she called you one first, but you called Lori a bitch, and I was just so- I had it under control and then you and Shane- but still. It was a sucker's hit."

I stared at him in silence and let him squirm. It amused me. Then I laughed. "Yeah, it was a cheap shot. But I got you back. Water, bridge, all that."

"Sorry I don't have a flower. Couldn't find one in the dark," he said, small smile on his lips.

I laughed harder, then held my arms out for a hug. No one hit like my brother, but no one gave a hug like him either.

I couldn't slip away to kill the kid after that. Not with Ricky talking so seriously to me about how he didn't know what to do with him, but after seeing Carl there, and the certainty in his face, he just didn't think killing the kid was the right choice.

I disagreed, but- I wanted Ricky to lead, and here he was, making decisions and leading. He said we'd talk more in the morning, and everyone needed rest. I asked who was on watch, since there'd been a walker in the goddamn field, and so we had a quick meeting and set up a rotation for what was left of the night.

As usual, my name wasn't on there. Walsh looked at me, clearly wondering if I'd spend the night awake and roaming, but for once, I was just exhausted. Glenn perched on top of Dale's beloved RV, and after everyone else seemed to settle down, I climbed into the bed of Otis' truck and stretched out flat on my back, staring up at the stars.

"Hey, Daryl."

Shane's voice was low but clear in the darkness, and my eyes popped back open in surprise. I didn't move, listening in shamelessly, because if they were dumb enough to have the conversation where it could be overheard, clearly they didn't mind if it was.

Daryl grunted in response, and my lips twitched up into a smile. Talkative wasn't his style, and he wasn't exactly Shane's biggest fan, either. Suddenly I wondered just what Walsh wanted from him, considering… well, considering I’d slept with both of them and intended to keep doing so, probably in the very near future.

"Thank you."

I could picture Daryl's expression, and Walsh's semi-annoyed huff that Dixon wasn't following had my lips twitching again.

"For taking that gun from her and- and takin' care of Dale."

Daryl scoffed. "She coulda handled it. Didn't have to. They ain't the ones have to do everything needs doing around here."

"I know. Still, appreciate you looking out for her, man. She won't let me do it, not all the time."

"Don't need no one to look out for her. Looks out for her damn self. But still."

Shane scoffed. "Think I don't know that? Been watchin' her back since we were kids."

"Didn't watch it well enough, it seems."

What in the testosterone hell was this conversation turning into? I rolled my eyes at the sky, wondering if I should call out that 'she' could hear them both, thank you very much. I chose not to, because honestly- I was curious.

"Yeah, well. Did my best. Ain't my fault she decided to go off and join the goddamn CIA," Shane muttered. "Told me she talked to you about that shit. Won't open up to me about it, not really, so- thanks for that, too."

"Shit," Daryl muttered. "Ain't talked about it a lot, really. Just a few things. If ya'd be a better boyfriend, she might not have to come to me all the damn time."

I groaned mentally. I'd told him, hadn’t I? Walsh wasn't-

"I'm not her boyfriend. Not anymore."

I frowned as Daryl scoffed again. What the hell was that tone? Not anymore? He'd broken up with me, damn it, and that sounded almost like… regret.

"Told ya face that recently? Straighten ya shit out with Rick'n'Lori, damn it. Yeah, I know about Lori. Fuckin' weird, man. That's her sister in law. Ya best friends' wife. Whatever, ain't my mess. Clean it up already, so ya can actually take care of her. Or I will."

What the shit? I stared up at the stars, completely confused, as Shane sighed into the darkness and then silence fell.

Chapter Text

We buried Dale the next morning. Ricky made a speech, and it was a pretty good one, but it lead to the eventual decision to take the prisoner out and let him go- again. I disagreed with that course of action, but Ricky ignored me. We might not be actively feuding anymore, but that didn't mean he wasn't willing to pretend I didn't exist and do what he wanted over any and all of my objections.

Unfortunately for him, I often did the same thing.

Before I could this time, we had things that had to be done immediately. Like moving vehicles close to the doors, building watch towers in the windmill and the barn loft- more things I'd been recommending all along and largely been ignored over. Like breaking down camp and moving into the farmhouse, where we might be in more cramped quarters but at least we'd all be a little safer, or at least that was the thought. I was less than delighted, and already plotting how to get my ass out onto the roof at night so I didn't stab anyone.

I ended up helping Daryl pack up his things, amused at the ears dangling off the laundry line currently being used for squirrel and drying feathers. I'd teased him about trophies, knowing damn well he was using their smell to keep the dead and also living animals away from the other things on the line. He teased right back about how he'd take something other than ears if it was trophies he was after, and I found myself laughing harder than I'd thought I would.

So hard I got several glares from Lori and another from Andrea as I helped haul his shit back. I had no idea what that was about, though it could have been more about Shane snatching the tent off my back and falling into step with the two of us than anything else. I had a feeling she didn't share well.

I wondered if he'd had the 'casual' conversation with her, but that was a can of worms I was so not willing to open and dig into.

I watched Lori walk away from Shane out where he was working on the windmill perch and be replaced by Carl. What had she been doing with him? After all her whispering and her avoidance, now she was out there talking to him alone? Shit, I was really starting to hate her, I thought tiredly.

Ricky and Daryl leaned on the railing of the porch, bent over a map. "Take him out to Senoi. Hour there, hour back- give or take. May lose the light, but we'll be halfway home by then."

"This little pain in the ass will be a distant memory."

I snorted. "More than a pain in the ass, and if we want him to be just a memory, you should let me knife him. I really don't mind."

"That's why I'm not," Ricky said without turning. "Carol's putting together some provisions for him. Enough to last a few days." Shane hopped into his Hyundai, heading back toward the house, and Ricky turned to Daryl. "That thing you did last night…"

Daryl studied him and I narrowed my eyes at my brother's profile. Was he seriously about to thank Dixon for doing something I'd been about to do first? Damn macho idiots-

Daryl met my eyes, holding my look seriously. "Ain't no reason you should have to do all the heavy lifting."

Somehow, I thought as Shane's car door slammed and Ricky's jaw tightened as he watched Shane approaching, I didn't think Dixon was talking to Rick anymore. I had a feeling he was talking to me, and it- I didn't know what to do with how it felt.

"So are you good with all this?" Rick asked, changing the subject intentionally.

Daryl scoffed. "Don't see you and me tradin' haymakers on the side of the road," he said easily.

"Better not," I said with a scowl. "That's my brother."

Dixon shot me an amused look. "Didn't ya try to break his damn nose a day or two ago?"

I grinned. "Of course I did. That's my brother."

Ricky sighed as Dixon's lips twitched upward again, then he shoved off the rail and disappeared as Shane stopped at the base of the steps. I ignored Walsh, who looked very much like a man who was about to do something he didn't want to do, to perch on the railing and glare at my brother. "Let me go with you."

"I'd rather have you here, where you can- can keep an eye on things," Rick said quietly.

I sighed. "By 'things', you mean Walsh here, don't you? Boys, this is getting old. We're supposed to be the three musketeers, and you two won't stop getting at each other's throats. I know your wife thinks Shane is dangerous, but honestly- do you really, really believe that, Ricky?"

I knew damn well Shane could hear everything we were saying, standing there waiting for a break in the conversation, or to work up his courage for whatever bad news Lori had taken to him earlier, or for who the hell knew what, and Ricky knew it too. He sighed, looking down at Shane. "No," he said finally. "I don't. But I still want you both to stay here."

That was progress, I decided as Shane nodded, his eyes glassy as he looked away from us both and adjusted the ever-present hat on his head before clearing his throat. I slid down from the railing, kissed Ricky's cheek and then Shane's on the way past, and told them to play nice.

There was something I needed to do, before my brother wasted an entire day driving out to Senoi with Dixon.

I told T Dog as I passed him that I'd keep an eye on the prisoner. I'd keep watch while he and Glenn kept their eyes peeled for walkers. Then after Ricky and Daryl were gone, I'd take up a spot on the sniper perch in the barn. T Dog didn't have much reason to doubt my intentions, I guess, because he said thanks and kept moving. I most definitely had zero intentions of keeping watch. It was time for action, because things had to change around here if we were going to survive. No more hoping for the best, no more feuding over who was in charge.

I was in goddamn charge, not that anyone here would have realized that. Except maybe Dixon, who saw where I was headed and watched without a word.

I slipped into the shed and found the prisoner exactly how I'd left him the night before. Blindfolded, bound, and sobbing to himself. I couldn't be entirely sure, but I thought he might have shit himself out of fear last night, but I wasn't going to be taking a closer look to find out.

"Up," I said flatly, grabbing him by the elbow. "Come on."

"What- where- where are we going?" he stammered.

"Time for a little field trip," I told him, checking out the door to make sure the coast was clear. No one was in sight, so I yanked him out, shoving him stumbling ahead of me into the woods. I'd originally just planned to kill him, but now I had a better idea.

He knew things, things I needed to know. And he knew where his friends were camped, which I was very, very interested to learn for myself.

Once we were deep enough into the trees we weren't likely to be spotted- and stopped- by any well-intentioned people who had no idea how to wage a war unseen, I ripped the blindfold off the kid's eyes. He blinked in the light, eyes watering, and kept up the steady, continuous stream of babble he'd been going off with since I walked in.

"Hey, asshole. Shut the fuck up before I gag you," I snapped.

He managed to stop talking, drawing in a deep breath. "What do you want from me?"

"Your friends," I told him bluntly. "You are alive for one reason, you understand? Because you know where they are. Don't try to lie to me; it doesn't work. Do you know who I was before all this?"

"N-no?"

God, he really sounded terrified. I almost pitied him. Then I remembered his story about the man his two girls- real young, he'd said, and real cute.

The pity evaporated quickly. "I worked for the kind of people who didn't care if people were dead or alive. I was the one who usually made them that way if they wanted someone dead. So believe me when I say that there is no point in lying to me. I am well acquainted with all the most cutting-edge advanced interrogation techniques, and there is no one around to stop me from using them."

His eyes were huge, going glassy now with terror. His teeth chattered, though it wasn't cold, and I knew it wouldn't take much more pressure to break this kid completely. I leaned in, close to his ear, and lowered my voice to a whisper.

"Now. Where are your friends?" Snake-quick, I reached out and grabbed his steal-healing leg. My thumb dug into the wound, pressing hard, the stitches going tight. I knew how it felt, what I was doing to him. And I knew how it would feel if I pressed just a bit harder; if I curled my thumb inward and used the nail as the tip of the spear and buried my finger in ripped sinew of his thigh muscle.

I'd sobbed the first time Tom Ford had shoved his fingers into a wound. The first time he'd dug around inside my torn-open body, bringing his hand out drenched in blood and then grabbed me by the throat, whispering in my ear as he'd then forced those fingers into my mouth and made me taste my own blood, my own pain, my own body's fight against death and decay. It made me shiver now, the pain more than anyone should be capable of bearing.

It had nearly broken me, and I'd been trained to withstand hunger, thirst, beatings, psychological torture, and more. Nothing prepared a person for the horror of tasting your own flesh, caught on the fingernail of a man who promised that next time, it wouldn't be his fingers he thrust into the raw, open wound.

Nothing prepared a person for when he did it.

I shook away the memories, hooking my thumb ever so slightly, and that was the moment. I read it in the shudder of his body before he managed to find words. I'd broken him. Snapped the last thread of fight he had, with just that hint of promise that I could do what I threatened. I could inflict that pain, and I would, very soon.

Unless.

He clung to the 'unless', forgetting that once he gave me what I needed, I'd no longer have a use for him. Forgetting that death is a more certain end to pain than living could ever be, and that those who use pain rarely intend to allow the pain to cease without taking the life from your lungs with it.

He babbled again, words spilling and tripping over themselves, I nodded, speaking gently when he paused, encouraging him, all the while keeping that steady, even pressure on the wound on his leg. Carrot and stick. Gentleness and pain. Threat and promises.

He turned to putty in my hands.

Then I heard the shouting from nearby. Damn it. My time was up; they'd discovered he was missing. If I wanted to take the kid out, now was my chance. I grabbed his collar and hauled him further into the trees, and some of the spark returned to him.

He must have known. It must have been prey's instinct of when the hunter closed in, the animal sensing the trap, because he struggled. He fought me every step of the way, and while I was in far better shape and was definitely going to be the winner, I had to get his damn stubborn ass moving if I didn't want someone to hear us and find us before the dastardly deed was done.

And then he got the bright idea to use one of the weapons I hadn't been able to take from him. He started yelling, and that was it. There was no help for it.

I whirled, tightening my grip on his collar, and threw him headfirst, bodily, into the nearest tree. He collided with the trunk and went down like a sack of bricks, and I stood panting and frustrated as voices called my name and footsteps started in the trees.

I shoved the unconscious idiot into the undergrowth and started back for the farm. They'd demand I bring them to him, I'd argue, and eventually I'd probably give in. But hell, he'd be dead and then Ricky couldn't undertake his dumbass plan to take him half a day's drive out and leave him with a fucking care package.

I pulled my knife, grabbed the kid by the hair, and hauled him up, shoving the blade up at the base of his throat to hit the brain and letting him fall rapidly as voices came closer.

I moved deeper into the trees to circle away from my hiding spot before I answered them. I'd save my brother from himself and save everyone else some worry while I was at it. Not to mention the gas and the food spared. And I'd take Walsh and Dixon and we'd go handle the kid's friends tomorrow.

I'd pencil in letting Ricky yell at me for a while for the day after.

Chapter Text

I came out of the trees with firm resolve, and several angry pairs of eyes turned my way. When Dixon and Walsh found out I was fine and I knew where the camp was, they stopped looking pissed at me. Ricky, however, did not. Neither did Andrea, but I honestly didn't give a shit what she thought about much of anything.

She'd shot Daryl, after all, because she didn't listen to orders. Yes, I saw and understood the irony in me also not listening to orders, but the difference was that Andrea wanted to be in charge, and I already was. They just didn't know it, these boys with their macho arguments.

I'd been in charge since Shane had turned to me in Ricky's hospital room, panic in his eyes, and asked me what to do. I'd made a choice in that moment: I'd do whatever necessary to keep my people alive. Ricky's presence didn't change that, no matter how much he wanted it to.

They argued, mostly Ricky. They gripped, they demanded to know if the kid was dead or where he was if he wasn't. I didn't say shit, and the sun slipped down lower. When it was late enough that all this would be wrapped up before dark, I relented, and told them I'd left him unconscious in the woods. I looked Ricky firmly in the eyes and told him I didn't want him wasting the resources or taking the risk of going that far out. Not when I'd take care of the issue and get the information we needed besides.

Walsh damn near cheered. Dixon shot me a look that told me he knew the kid was dead, but he'd keep his mouth shut. Ricky vibrated with fury, and demanded we go find him. He ignored my suggestion that we go find his buddies' camp instead, and off into the woods we tramped.

Daryl took the lead, clearly following the path the kid and I had taken, since I hadn't left much of one for him to follow on my way back. I might not be a tracker, but I'd learned how to not leave a trail a long time ago.

Shane was on my side, arguing with Ricky about going to take out the enemies at our gate, and Ricky was dead set against it. The sun slipped lower, lower, lower, and it would be too damn dark to be out here soon enough. I sighed and led the way straight to where I'd left the kid, true-dead and not going to come back.

I was wrong about part of that. A blindfolded dead bastard was tangled in the undergrowth, trying to get to us to rip our faces off. Dixon shot me a mildly disgusted look and took him down, then started investigating his body for bites.

There were none, and he turned to us with a confused question in his eyes. Shane did the same. Ricky gave some sort of half-answer while I stood there mutely wondering just how in the fuck I'd missed the goddamn brain.

The walk back was tense. Dixon broke off when we hit the field, Ricky putting on the brakes with the kind of stance and expression that said I'd better stop right where I was, young lady, and explain myself. I'd seen it often enough on our dad, but seeing Ricky take that stance with me, after everything I'd done for him and his family, just pissed me off.

"What?" I snapped. The sun had gone down, but without light pollution from anything except the candles and camp lanterns in the house, the stars damn near lit up the field as well as the sky. I could see him clearly, and Walsh who had stopped as well.

Maybe he was planning to referee again in case punches got thrown, I thought disgustedly. Because he'd better not be about to get in on the goddamn lecture.

"Why'd you do it? We had a plan."

"You had a plan," I said flatly. "Mine was always to kill him. And I did. I just didn't take the brain somehow."

Ricky's head ducked, his eyes hard, but it was Shane who spoke up. "What are you talking about, girl? He turned, he had to have gotten bit."

"Come on, Walsh," I said scornfully. "You're telling me you never figured it out? We all turn. Don't need to get bit to do it. Just die, and you turn into one of them."

Shane stared at me, but my attention was on Ricky. He glared hard, temper all over him. "Do you want to be in charge, Harley?"

I sneered, the scar above my lip making the expression even more scornful that it was on its own. "Ricky, honestly. You too? I am in charge. I've been in charge since Shane and I thought you were dead. I made all the decisions that got your bitch wife and my nephew out of that shit show, and I made all the decisions that kept them safe and alive so far."

Ricky and Shane exploded at the same time. In a split second, we were all yelling over each other, no one entirely sure why they were angry anymore. Pent up feelings bloomed out, Ricky yelling at me about killing the kid, at Shane about fucking Lori, and both of us about leaving him behind in the hospital. I was screaming at him about making the right choices for keeping everyone alive, how Lori was being the problem, whispering in his ear like she was, and how yes, if he wanted to know, I did in fact kill Otis- to keep his son alive. Shane went off on Rick about Lori and the baby, on me about my claim to have made all the hard decisions, on us both about not telling him everyone turned. It was the kind of screaming match most often seen on shows like Jerry Springer, or between teenagers. It honestly felt like a little of both.

And then a voice cut through the mess of accusations and anger and hurt feelings.

"What do you mean, Mom's baby is Uncle Shane's? Dad?"

We all froze, anger turning to horror in three faces simultaneously. If there was a common denominator that united us, despite our differences and our grudges and our hurts, it was the kid who had asked that question. It was Carl, who stood in the darkened field looking at the three of us now with wide eyes.

We had fucked up, was all I could think. Immediately followed by, where the fuck is your mother? And where does she think you are?

"Carl," Ricky said softly. He went to his son, setting a hand on his shoulder. "Why are you out here? Does your mom know-"

"Of course she doesn't," I said flatly. "Kid, where does she think you are?"

"Upstairs," he admitted. "In the house. But you guys didn't come back when Daryl did, and I got worried. But what do you mean, the baby is Uncle Shane's? That doesn't make any sense."

I noped out of that as Ricky glared at me, then pressed a hand to his eyes. He dropped to a crouch, both hands on Carl's shoulders, and I turned away from the temper still in Shane's eyes to stare at the darkness and the trees.

I frowned and took a couple steps toward them, eyes boring hard into the darkness.

"Where you think you're going, girl?" Shane snapped, hand on my elbow.

But I'd seen it, and my eyes sorted it out now. Fear swept, cold and commanding, and I spun into action immediately. I grabbed his shoulder and started hauling him back toward Ricky and Carl, in deep discussion. "Walkers. Too many of 'em. That herd from the highway, probably. Move it, Walsh."

Ricky heard, shooting to his feet, and I grabbed Carl and got him moving, too. "Get back to the house," Ricky hissed.

"Won't make it," I said flatly. "They're too close. Go for the barn, you three. I'll make the run for the house; get the others moving. We'll come for you. Just stay alive."

"The hell you-"

I cut Shane off by grabbing him and dragging him down to press my mouth to his, hard and hot. "Stay. Alive. Asshole. We have a discussion to finish. Ricky, take Carl. Go. Now. Run!"

I added force to the end, and followed my own advice, darting off sideways away from them. I started yelling, waving my hands, calling to the dead to come for me, look at me, fresh fucking meat if they could catch it. "Just gotta catch me, fuckers!"

I didn't look back at the others. If I looked back, I was dead, and them with me. They'd make it. Walsh would make sure, and Ricky wouldn't let his kid die out here in a field, becoming walker bait. I, on the other hand, made excellent bait.

Noisy bait. Speedy bait, I added as rather too many of them started taking said bait. I took off for the house, ducking and weaving and screaming at the top of my lungs the whole way. I saw the lights on the porch, could make out the scurry and flurry of movement, and I was getting close- so close.

Not close enough before the dead closed in.

I was dead. I knew it, in the split second the back of my mind had to think. There were too many of them, drawn by the scent of us, the noise, just the heat given off by so many bodies in one place maybe. But I was surrounded, and I was going to die here. I'd get bitten, and that was that.

I just hoped Ricky and Shane and Carl had made it to the barn.

The barn chose that moment to go up in flames, and I laughed at the heat and the blaze now lighting up the faces of the dead bastards trying to make me one of them after the feast. I fought harder, and I was holding my own- just barely- and maybe they'd start to split off of the clump surrounding me and go for the fire, instead. I had a chance, a slim, practically nonexistent chance, but I'd been in positions like that before and I'd made it out alive, and-

Something tangled in my hair, my head ripping backward and exposing my neck, and my throat closed around the pain and the fear and the scent of Tom Ford over rotting flesh. I couldn't remember where I was; I couldn't see; and if I fought him it'd only be worse, but I had to fight; I had to; I had to; because-

Because-

A shot rang out, shattering the bubble of moans and groans and crackling flames that filled my ears; ending the whisper of a voice I'd left behind in a darkness complete and terrifying. The tug on my hair persisted until I ripped free, and Dixon's voice called over the sounds of engines and gunfire and screaming distractions and instructions for me to get the fuck on the bike.

I got the fuck on the bike.

I clung to him as he started back around, trying to herd the dead together with the others and lead them off the farm, lead them away, but it wasn't working. I'd gone into work mode, the Blind Angel taking over my brain, and I knew it was futile.

I saw Jimmy with the RV against the side of the barn, and I saw the dead get to him before Ricky and Shane got Carl down, and then they were on foot in that mess. Dixon wouldn't get the bike to them, and he shouldn’t.

"Daryl! Get them away from here. As many as you can. This place is done!" I rolled from the back of the bike before he could respond, coming up running for my brother, my nephew, and my best friend.

I cleared their path and they made it to the house. Hershel stood, trying to take the dead on with a shotgun and pure southern fury, but I wasn't worried about him. He could be saved or he couldn't, but my people were safe. They'd made it.

I got surrounded again, but not by as many this time, and I fought my way free. By the time I could bring my head up, take a moment to scan for everyone, there was nothing to be seen but the dead all around and the fire raging in the barn. Fear caught my lungs for a moment.

I'd been left behind. They weren't looking for me. I'd been left here, and I'd die here in this cave alone, tortured and in pain-

I shook it off when the next dead face came snarling a little too close. This wasn't the caves. They'd left, and that was exactly what they should have done. This was something I could fight; something I could work my way through and get away from. I just had to use my brain as well as my rapidly-emptying gun.

I scanned quickly, taking in everything the way I'd been trained. There was a semi-clear shot to the farmhouse, and I needed my pack anyway. I'd go there first, then hit the trees. I could climb up, wait for the walkers to get bored of trying to get to me and be attracted to the fire until it burned down. Then I'd slip down, circle around, and start looking for my people.

They'd go somewhere that made sense, and I'd figure that out while I was in the tree killing time. For now, it was all about surviving. Getting to that house, grabbing my pack, and getting the fuck out. The dead owned this place now, at least for a time.

I made it to the house. I searched through the gear left behind, the dead already breaking glass and shambling inside on the hunt for live things to feast on.

My bag had already been taken up to a room, and by the time I found it, a quick look outside the second-story window told me this was going to be a bitch of an escape. The dead had surrounded the house again, the tidal wave of them shifting and moving unnoticed while I'd been looking for my pack.

"Fuck," I muttered. I searched, I scanned, I let my brain take it all in with my eyes, and-

I had no plan. There wasn't a good point of exit. All of it would be a fight. I had to-

Snarls sounded from the hallway, snarls and moans and groans. I was out of time, and my back exit was about to be blocked as well.

Nothing for it, I thought grimly, looking out the window again. This was going to suck.

Heat flooded my body, fire under my skin that I couldn't get to, couldn't put out. I screamed with it, with the pain, until my throat was raw. I screamed for Shane to just help me, help me, help me. To stop standing there, watching me writhe in pain, watching me burning and not lifting a finger.

Then he laughed, and that was worse. He laughed, and Tom Ford laughed, and something pressed into my side, into the source of the fire, and there wasn't a word for what that felt like. There was only agony, fire, pain, searing, stabbing, burning, blistering pain, the kind of pain that stopped being in one place and turned into the whole body filling up with it, and Tom Ford whispered things in my ear, horrible things, and he moaned and groaned and it sounded like Shane but that couldn't be right.

I sobbed, I babbled, I begged and pleaded for Walsh to stop hurting me, but Walsh wouldn't hurt me. Even the first time, even when everything had said that it would be painful and terrible, it hadn't been. But the pain didn't go away, and neither did the fire, and I couldn't take it anymore, I couldn't, I'd die from it and I prayed I would, just let it end, let it end, let it-

The darkness flared and flamed, heat and agony slamming in. Hands were on my skin and I tried to pull away, tried to get to my feet and fight, fight, fight, end the torment, but they were too strong or I was too weak, and Shane wasn't helping, he was part of it, his hand on my jaw forcing my mouth open and something into it.

I fought and clawed and tried to clamp down on the fingers shoving pills into my throat, but they held on too tight, and the voice, Shane's voice but not, growled in my ear that they were helping this time, angel of death, and I would not escape them this quickly. My side would heal and they would fight the infection, and if I would just help them, all of it could end. The pain, the fire, the torture, the darkness, it would all be over if I just accepted them and helped them, damn it.

I screamed, spat the pills back out, and swung at the voice that wasn't Shane's after all, it was one of the ones who hit and stabbed and raped and asked questions I wouldn't answer and-

Something struck the side of my head, something harder than a fist, and I had a split second to register the new bloom of pain and Walsh's voice whispering in my head, calling me a goddamn stubborn idiot, before there was nothing.

Chapter Text

I didn't know how I made it up the tree, but I got there. That was good enough, I decided, and shifted the pack I'd done my best to die for off my back little by little, breathing through the pain. I had to get to the medical supplies that were the main reason I wanted the damn thing.

Once I managed to get the backpack off and hooked to the branch in front of me it was time to see how bad the damage truly was. I'd made it this far by shoving the pain into a corner of my mind and locking the goddamn door, but now it roared back in full force and my hands shook as I got the bandage ready to go. This was going to suck, but there was no help for it.

I shifted again and white-hot agony flared from my side. I grabbed at the tree, snapping off a stick sized well enough for my purposes and shoved it into my mouth. Biting down hard, I got into a position where I could do what needed to be done.

Part of the window pane stuck out of my side, and I was less than thrilled. "Ok," I muttered to myself around the stick still gripped in my teeth. "Smaller than I expected. Still gonna be shit."

I grabbed a spare shirt from my backpack and ripped a strip from it to wrap around my hand. I had to take the damn thing out, so I could bind it. Glass wasn't something a girl could leave in her and still maneuver through woods full of walkers, after all.

I was right. It sucked. It sucked so bad, darkness crept over my vision, and it was only the feeling of falling that kept me from passing out, actually falling, and either bleeding out on the ground or getting eaten by the dead down below.

I slapped a bandage in place, hoping it sealed around the blood already flowing that I had no way of cleaning up. It hurt like a sonuvabitch, but it'd missed all my organs. I could tell, because I was alive and awake and thinking.

Not doing so well on the thinking, sure, I admitted as I wrapped the remains of my shirt around my waist and used the stick to twist the knot very tight. But still, thinking all the same.

I slumped back against the tree trunk, breathing hard, and tried to do exactly that- think. They'd made it out. All the vehicles had been gone, and I'd watched Ricky and Shane drag Hershel away with them before I made it to the house. So my people, my family, were out. But where would they go? Where the fuck should I go?

Pain and exhaustion made it hard to stay focused, my eyes drifting closed more than once. I'd slept in trees before, no problem, but somehow I didn't think passing out in one would allow me the same remaining-upright properties. And I needed a plan. Walkers from all over would be drawn to the bonfire not very far from where I sat, and I didn't need a worse obstacle course to make my way through than what I'd already have to deal with.

So I shifted the backpack onto my back again, a little at a time, and was pleased at the lack of screaming. There were a few creative curses in a variety of the languages I spoke, but that wasn't all that bad, I decided. Besides, the only one around to hear was the particularly determined dead fucker who kept walking into the tree trying to get to me.

I could deal with one. I just needed a plan for after I did so. Or not even a whole plan, but at least the first couple of steps. Carefully executed operations with entire teams and months of preparation tended to fall apart somewhere between step three and step six anyway, so I'd take steps one and two and wing it from there.

Ok, I decided, shifting to where I could hopefully get down without doing more damage. Step one: get out of the tree and kill the dead guy. Step two-

Step two, I thought. Ugh. I needed a vehicle. Going on foot wouldn't get me far right now, and I'd need to find Ricky and Shane, and Dixon, and Lori, and all the others. I wanted to say 'fuck the others' and concentrate on my little family, but somewhere along the way they'd all become my family. I had to find them, and they were scattered. Which meant I needed wheels.

"To the highway," I told the dead bastard below me. "Step two: get to the highway; find a working vehicle. Ok. That's good enough. Geronimo, I guess."

I made it down. I killed the bastard. I leaned against the tree to catch my breath and wait for the darkness to clear from my vision, but when it finally did, the world was unsteady.

I gritted my teeth and got my ass in gear anyway. This wasn't the first time I'd worked through the pain. "And I ain't no bitch to pass out at a little stab wound, am I?" I ground out through clenched teeth. "You can do this, Angel Grimes. Just keep moving."

The Blind Angel took over, or maybe it was the Angel of Death, because the pain faded to a singular, narrowed focus: reach the road. Keep moving forward, stay on my feet, stay alive, and get to the goddamn road.

I was lucky. I knew that. I was close, only a half a mile to go maybe, and I'd run into three walkers. It should have been so much worse than that, but I'd made it this far.

"Half a mile," I told myself, and hitched the backpack up on my shoulder. "Half a mile."

Pain flooded my body and my mind, lightning shooting me from nothingness to awake with a scream on my lips. I scrambled to my feet, whirling around in a panic, looking for the threat, for Tom Ford, for-

For the dead, I realized as adrenaline pumped through me and dulled the pain in my side enough for my mind to clear. I was still in the woods. I'd passed the fuck out, and I had no idea where I was or how long it had been. I took a deep breath, leaning against the tree I'd clearly slumped against before, and tried to think. Where was I? Where had I been going?

The road. The highway. I had to get to the highway.

I shoved back to my feet, clamped a hand over the now-drenched shirt covering the hole in my side, and staggered on with clenched teeth and grim determination.

I'd made it out of those damned caves. I wouldn't fucking die here. "Not today, Tom Ford," I whispered. "Not today."

I made it to the highway. I kept going, unsteady, shuffling- I thought of Daryl staggering out of the woods.

"Don't fuckin' shoot me, Andrea," I mumbled to someone who definitely wasn't there.

His asshole brother had helped him, I remembered. No one appeared to help me, but that wasn't much of a surprise. I'd been on my own for so long now, I wouldn't know what to do with help if it came.

Blind Angel can see. Repeat, Blind Angel can see. It echoed in my ears, a distant memory, a call happening right now, rescue coming in at the last possible second, right before I truly gave up.

I willed my feet into motion when they stopped, not entirely sure anymore why I was doing it. I had to keep going. I had to endure, to stay sane, to stay strong. I could smell piss and old sex and Tom Ford and the rotting dead and the clinging miasma of smoke and the coppery tang of blood, and the shadows on the edge of my vision were tinged in red, but I had to keep going. Keep living.

One foot at a time. Closer to- closer. Closer to something. Closer to rescue?

No, there was no one coming for me. No one looking for me, even. I wasn't going to be rescued, not this time, not ever, because he said- he said they didn't even know they'd snatched me. Angel of death, and I was theirs, to die on this road and be consumed by the dead, used by them, forever. Once I joined them, I'd still be in torment, and it would go on and on, no relief of release for me.

Hell for the angel of death, hell like that I'd sent plenty of others to, and left plenty living to suffer in, and it called for me. Tom Ford whispered, his fingers a caress that made my body shudder and my teeth chatter, and maybe I should just bite down hard on my back tooth now, before the caress turned to a punishing grip; before he ripped off the bandage and pressed his fingers against the stitched-up wound in my side and then rubbed his dick against it, since he couldn't shove it in anymore, and I would scream, raw and angry; it was worse than when he fucked me so hard I saw stars and couldn't stand right-

I staggered and fell into the side mirror of a dusty, abandoned vehicle, the sun now beating down too hard for this to be the caves, and I blinked the past clear of my vision for a moment but the red-tinged shadows remained.

I was almost there; almost where we'd left the food and water for the poor little missing dead girl, and water sounded so good right now. I had to keep going. Had to keep moving. I couldn't be a coward now, and clamp down on the capsule in my tooth; I had to get home and tell them- tell them-

I staggered forward- just one more step, Blind Angel- and the ground came rushing towards me.

Chapter Text

"Angel. My angel. Wake up, girl."

I cracked one eye open and glared at Shane. "No. Go away."

"Nope," he said with an easy grin and a wicked light in his eyes. "Come on. Up. I have something to show you."

"For shit's sake, Walsh," I grumbled. I slapped around on the side table for my alarm and groaned. "It's two in the goddamn morning! What's so important?"

"You'll see if you pull your ass outta that bed and come in the living room."

He disappeared, and I seriously contemplated going back to sleep. But as usual with Shane, that look in his eyes was too hard to resist. I pulled myself out of bed with a groan, wrapped a blanket around my shoulders, and headed into the living room of my tiny off-campus apartment. "This better be good," I threatened as I came around the corner.

I stopped up short as I did, staring with wide eyes. There were lights everywhere, twinkle lights strung around the room. Snowflakes and stars dangled from them, glittering in the warm yellow-white glow. It looked like an enchanted cave in the middle of winter. He'd pulled the cushions off the couch, shoved all the furniture to the walls, and made a cozy nest in the middle of all that starlight glow. On a tray there were steaming cups of something- probably coffee, but smelled like hot cocoa- and bowls of popcorn and-

My eyes narrowed on the tiny jewelry box with a bow sitting on the tray. "What is this, Shane?"

"Happy birthday, angel," he whispered from nearby. "Sorry, I didn't get it all set for midnight, but I did my best. I wanted to get my time with you before anyone else did, since you know. Twenty's pretty special."

"Is it?" I asked, having a hard time getting the words out. What was that box? What was he doing? There was no way he was about to propose, right? We were too damn young, even if I already knew I wanted to spend forever with him, but- now? It couldn't be, right?

"Yeah. Especially when it's you. Come on, my angel. Open your present."

He grabbed my hand, tugging me toward the nest of blankets and pillows, and I went with him. We laid back, staring at the lights and twinkling stars and snowflakes on the ceiling, my head on his chest and his hand in my hair. "Sorry we couldn't be outside for this, like usual. Too damn cold out there. Not normal for this time of year in Georgia."

"I know." I cuddled in closer. "This is better. Shane, this is- this is a lot of work."

"Yeah, it was," he agreed, light and teasing. "And you almost went back to sleep."

I smacked his chest gently, rolling me eyes. "It's two am. Of course I almost went back to sleep."

"Yeah, well, if you had, you wouldn't have gotten your present. Go on, open it."

My heart stuttered in my chest, but I sat up and scooped up the little box. I thought about the night he'd told me he loved me, and the bracelet he'd given me with 'my angel' engraved on the inside of the flat silver disk, and how I'd worn it till the chain snapped. He had a history of jewelry with big moments, in the middle of the damn night, and I wondered-

I opened the box slowly, and my breath caught. "Shane," I managed. "Shane, it's lovely. And way too much. This must have cost-"

"Don't matter what it cost, girl. Don't you know better than to ask that about a present?" He took the box from my hands, taking the necklace out and staring at the sparkling pendant. The garnet inside it was bigger than my thumbnail, and I could tell without needing any kind of paperwork that it was a genuine one, not lab grown. Surrounding the pear-shaped gem was a halo of diamonds, and they weren't tiny chips, either.

"Shane," I breathed again as he fastened it around my neck. "It's beautiful. Honestly, it's unbelievable. You shouldn't have."

"Stop that," he chided gently, pressing his lips to my cheek. "Just say thank you and lay here and stargaze with me."

He pulled me back down to lay flat on the cushions, heads close together, like we'd done in the bed of Ricky's truck on my birthday for years. I stared up at the lights he'd strung for me, better than the view from the roof of my apartment in this light-flooded city, and fiddled with the necklace. It wasn't a ring, and I didn't know if I was slightly disappointed in that or not, but it was amazing. More than he should have done, for sure, and with the wonderland he'd turned my living room into, I was overwhelmed.

I turned to study him, to whisper a thank-you, and he was staring at me. I shook my head, blush creeping over my cheeks at the look in his eyes despite the years now we'd been together. "You're not stargazing."

"Bet I am," he said softly. "Bet I am."

Pain flared in the darkness, a wave of it that washed away the cool, gentle oblivion. I screamed as it crashed over me, instinctively rolling away from the hands on my side and the stabbing, throbbing, aching horror of it.

They were at it again, rousing me when I should have slipped away; fingers dipping into flesh to rip and tear and hurt and it did; it hurt, and it had to stop. It had to end. I flailed, eyes opening into the ever-present darkness, and voices snapped around me.

I focused on the direction, willing myself to calm, as the agony flared and spiked again. I breathed in deeply, filling my lungs and body in preparation, and then I put all the power I could muster behind my fist and struck.

I connected with flesh and whatever had been holding me back released as surprised voices started clamoring over each other again. I rolled to my feet, coming into a crouch with my back against the wall, and there were three of them, three of them leaning over me and reaching for me. One held a hand to his eye, so I knew I'd connected well, and the other two were talking, grabbing for me.

I went in low, heading toward the one between me and the door, and I was on him before he could register what was happening. I slammed into his core with my shoulder, leg sweeping his, and down he went, hard. I slammed my foot down into his abdomen, grabbed his arm and twisted, and he cried out.

Arms grabbed me from behind, pulling me off him. "Angel, come on, girl, calm down! We're helping you, damn stubborn bitch. Angel!"

Angel of death, that was me, I thought grimly, and I'd be delivering death to them this time. No more torture, no more pain, no more of hands and dicks and other things in my body, in my mouth. They'd die, because they'd forgotten the chains this time, and that was all I needed.

I was sick of hands on my skin, sick of pain, sick of being helpless; and I'd get free now, at this one opportunity, even if I died trying.

"Angel, shit- Harley, I swear, we're helping you, girl! Your side is- Jesus, did you just bite me? Shit!"

I snarled, feral and angry, and I got free of the hands holding me. The other one was back on his feet, hand outstretched, a look that was clearly supposed to be calming in his eyes, but there was cool air on my skin and the scent of Tom Ford in the air, and I didn't give a shit who these guys were. I was going through them.

I went in again, faking left and hitting hard right, fingers stiff as I went for the notch at the base of the throat, and I got it. He staggered back, coughing and wheezing, and I darted around him toward the door.

I'd done it. I'd get free, and find an American, and I'd get home after all, and-

Someone grabbed me from behind again, lifting me off my feet, and a long, ragged, wailing scream filled the air. It was me, I realized when his hand clamped over my mouth, hissing that I'd bring the dead down on us. I bit at the hand and kicked and tried to hit, but he was hauling me back toward the bed, tossing me down, leaning over to hold me in place, and I couldn't breathe through the weight on my chest. I couldn't do this again, not again, not after I'd gotten free and gotten home and seen Shane and my brother and now I was back and they were going to- to-

There were hands on my skin, and a voice ordering someone to 'hold her, damn it,' and I fought even as hot tears splashed down my cheeks.

"The shit ya doin'? Y'all fuckin' idiots? Let her go, damn it!"

I knew that voice, but I still bucked and struggled to get away from the hands on my skin and the weight holding me down.

"Daryl, she hit Hershel and went after Rick like she was trying to kill him. We have to-"

"Ya have to let her go before I knife ya myself! Ain't you know nothin'? She ain't here right now, man, she don't know who the hell you are or anyone else neither. Let her go, damn it! She thinks she's back wherever they had her!"

The voice seeped through the fear and the pain and the rage and the sinking cloud of black despair. I knew- something about that voice. I'd heard it before, and it had drawn me out. I wasn't in the caves, then, and I'd- I'd- I liked that voice.

The hands were gone in sudden silence, and I didn't hesitate. I rolled from the bed, backing into a corner, on guard and ready as my eyes flicked wildly around the room. Another man had joined the three, but he shoved impatiently around them, turning his back to me and squaring off with the other three.

Someone was breathing hard and fast and shallow. My head felt strange, darkness on the edges of my vision, and I didn't understand what was happening.

"Idiots took her damn shirt off? Don't ya know anything about what happened to her? Shit, she don't even want it off when- never mind. Back the fuck away for a bit, lemme- lemme see if I can help."

"She's gonna fucking bleed out if-"

"Shane." The one I'd hit in the throat touched the shoulder of the other one, the one who'd been grabbing me, the one who'd called me angel of death- no, just- just angel, I thought.

Someone called me 'angel' like that once, and it hadn't been- it hadn't been angel of death, it'd been 'my angel', and I'd loved it and loved him.

The one who'd stopped them turned slowly, his hands up. Eyes pierced into mine, blue and intense. "Hey," he said quietly. "Ya alright. Ain't back there."

"I'm-" My voice sounded harsh, cracking. It hurt to get the words out through the screaming in my throat. "D-D-Dixon," I managed abruptly, pieces clicking into place.

"Yeah, that's me," he said, lips quirking upward. "Hey. Harley. Ain't back there. No one's gonna touch ya, aight, baby? Not if ya don't say it's aight. But ya bleedin' pretty bad, an' Hershel here needs to at least get you wrapped back up. Need stitches. He was halfway through, looks like. Think I can get a bandage on ya, at least? So's ya don't bleed out on us?"

I stared at him, trying to comprehend what he was saying, but I couldn't. My head was swimming. It felt like sludge through my veins, through my mind, through everything. "My side- Hershel?"

"Yeah. An' Rick and Shane were helping him. Ya passed out and we got ya here with us, safe, but that side's a bitch, baby. We need to take care of it. Sorry I weren't in here. These idiots don't know- they don't know," he finished softly. He held a hand out toward me now, and I stared at it. "Can I help ya? Touch ya enough to get you patched up?"

I nodded slowly. Blood loss was a bitch, I thought raggedly, and just like that, my legs gave out. I felt it coming and managed to croak out Dixon's name, and then I was going down.

I could hear Shane's voice. It didn't make sense for him to be here, but if he was- he'd save me. He'd get me out. "Please, Shane," I screamed. "I'm here. I'm here! Come and- no."

I cut myself off. Shane wasn't here. It was only them, and Tom Ford with his cultured voice and manicured hands, digging into my side now and I was sobbing at the pain, unable to keep from screaming, despite my training.

And he told me to hold still, that it would all be over soon, but it wasn't true; it was never over. It'd been- it'd been weeks, months, who knew how long. No one was coming for me, he said. No one would even look for me, because the government didn't acknowledge I existed. They'd offered me for trade and my country had said 'who's that' at the mention of my name. What Angel? They said, and no one would look for me.

Not even Ricky or Shane, they wouldn't be able to find me if they even bothered to look. They'd tell them I was dead, disavowed, whatever- I'd just be gone, and they wouldn't look. Who looked for angels anymore, anyway?

"I'd have found you, girl," Shane's broken voice came to me, thick with tears. "I'd have found you."

No, he wouldn't have, I reminded myself sadly. Shane had dumped me. He hadn't wanted me anymore, just like all the others. I wasn't special, not like I'd always thought, and he'd moved on and I'd left, and he wouldn't have even known to look.

Because I was just the angel of death now, not even a person, not even a name, swimming in the darkness until it pulled me under, and…..

Chapter Text

I groaned at the throbbing in my side, drawing me from a half-remembered dream about fire and fists and how it had felt when I was young and Shane had looked at me like I'd hung the moon. I shifted and the throb turned to a scream, distant memories trickling in as I swam closer to the surface of consciousness.

Prying my eyes open, I frowned at the ceiling over my head, confused and disoriented again. The last thing I remembered-

Well, the last thing I thought I remembered was fighting off men in the caves, but that couldn't have been real because then Dixon had come in and tried to calm me down, and they'd been listening to Dixon. So that had to have been a dream while I was under.

Because the last thing I remembered clearly was making it to the road, and heading toward where we'd left the supplies for Sophia, and the pavement rapidly approaching my face. Now I very clearly was not laying on the road after eating asphalt, and I wanted very much to know where I was and who had found me and done something about my stupid self.

And where my people were, I added grimly. Because I knew they'd made it out. I'd find them, once I figured out whatever else was going on here, staring with getting to my feet and figuring out how bad the damage to my side was.

I got right on the standing thing, only it didn’t work out the way I'd seen it in my head. "Oh shit. Oh damn. Oh holy fuck," I managed, gasping through the tears sprung into my eyes from the pain exploding in my side as I moved.

"Angel?"

I groaned again. "Shit. Walsh, what'd you do to me?"

"Me? What did- Shit. Shit!"

I managed to get myself to a seated position without dying, motivated by the sound of his voice. Shane hadn't cried when his mother died. He'd teared up a few times over Ricky's resurrection act, but he was… he was actively weeping right now. And Shane didn't cry.

"What the hell's going on?" I demanded, sliding forward so I could grab at his hands.

He held on with a vise-like grip. He shook his head, mute as the tears slid down from under his closed eyes and his shoulders shook. "Shit," he managed finally as panic rose steadily in me.

Who had died? How bad was it? Carl? Ricky? Lori and the baby? What had happened between the road and now? "Shane? Come on, man. I need a clue here," I said desperately.

"I'm sorry," he finally mumbled, letting go of my hands to press the heels of his palms against his eyes. "I'm sorry, Angel. My angel. And I- I didn't know. But I'd have come for you. I promise you that, sweetheart. I'd have come looking, and I'd have killed them all, just as soon as we knew you were- you were-"

"Jesus," I mumbled. "Shane, what the fuck are you talking about?"

"What am- Shit."

"Don't 'shit', me," I shot back, baffled. "Walsh, the CIA didn't know I was gone for weeks. Why the fuck would you have known? What are you going on about? Who's dead? What happened when- what happened?"

Shane scrubbed his hands over his face and then over his head. "Who's dead? That's what you're asking? How about filling me in on what the hell happened to you?"

"Went to the house after saving you and Ricky and Carl; got my pack because it had the emergency medical supplies; got trapped in the upstairs and had to go out a window; did emergency triage in a tree after I got glass in my side; then made my way to the road to get a car and look for my people. Only it didn't fully work and I ate dirt instead," I said flatly. "Your turn. Come on, catch me up."

"Dixon found you," he said after another long pause. He shook his head, looking exhausted. "Had you over the handlebars of the bike, leaning against him. Thought you were dead when he and Carol rolled up, there was so much blood. And he had this look in his eyes- but you weren't. Next thing to it, mind. But your dumb ass was alive, somehow."

"Assessment of my character is unnecessary," I said, rolling my eyes. "As is discussion of my ass. Is everyone ok? Where are we?"

"No, not everyone. Lost Patricia. Jimmy. Andrea," he said quietly. "We all had the same idea- meet up where we left things for Sophia. Hershel did some more emergency triage, but you wouldn't stop bleeding, and then you got a fever. Spent a night on the side of the road and you got worse and worse, so then we found this place. Hershel was digging glass out of your side when you woke up, clocked him one in the eye, and then went after Rick like a rabid dog. It was-"

I stared at him as he cut off. That didn't make sense. I wouldn't go after Ricky, or hit Hershel, or-

Oh. Oh shit. "Fuck," I breathed. "I didn't- I didn't recognize you. Or Ricky. Or Hershel. I didn't- I thought-"

"You thought you were back there," Shane said flatly, his eyes closed. "I know. Dixon- Daryl told us. He got you calmed down. He was the only one you seemed to recognize, and then you- you passed back out again. It was for the best," he added softly. "So Hershel could finish up."

I pressed a hand to my side, guilt a bitch as I remembered the single-minded brutality with which I'd headed for my brother. I'd been trying to kill him, in order to escape, and it had been Ricky. Shit, I owed him an apology.

"Then you- you started talking. While you slept. Hershel said it was normal, but it- it-"

I winced. "What did I say?"

Daryl grunted as he came through the open door nearby. "Don't think ya wanna know, honestly."

"Fuck. Sorry," I muttered, avoiding their eyes.

Dixon scoffed, wordless yet articulate, but I wasn't fooled. What I'd been saying- it'd been enough to put Walsh in the state he'd been in minutes ago, tears rolling and unable to speak. It was enough to have Daryl leaning in the window, staring out with shadows under his eyes and a deliberate blankness to his expression. It'd been bad.

I wished like hell I'd kept my damn foolish mouth shut. I didn't need this. I didn't need either of them looking at me like a victim, or hovering, or Walsh being guilty for not coming to find me when literally the government of the United States of America hadn't even known to begin looking.

I cleared my throat briskly, trying to shove off the bed to stand. "Well, anyway. Thanks for patching me up, and sorry I decided trying to fight you off was a good idea. Now, let's circle back to who's alive, who's not, where we are, and what the plan is, because that seems important."

"Sit your stubborn ass back down," Shane snapped, grabbing my hand when I wobbled. "You lost way too much blood, damn it."

"I'll be fine." I waved him off, but I eased back to sitting all the same. Maybe I should take things a little slower than I had been after all. But still. I needed information, because there were some major gaps in my memory. "Seriously, Walsh, I need-"

"Lost Patricia'n'Jimmy," Daryl interrupted me. He'd turned back from the window, arms crossed as he studied me frankly, concern in the look. "And Andrea. Everyone else is fine. We had to scatter. Dead bastards comin' from all over; weren't no clear path anywhere. Seems we all had the same bright idea to come back to the road and the supplies. Almost ran over ya before I realized who it was."

"Thanks for not," I said, genuinely. "That wouldn't have been good."

"No shit. Get ya back, Hershel does what he can, Ricky Grimes reveals we all turn into the fuckin' undead when we kick it, no matter if we's bit or not, an' then he decides it ain't a democracy anymore and we're all his bitches. Considered arguin', but he ain't done half-bad on making decisions yet and it ain't like I want the job neither."

"Of course he did," I muttered. "And of course he decided to wait till I was unconscious for that. I'll mock him relentlessly. For eternity."

"Of course you will."

My brother's voice was resigned and equally tired, and I turned with an apology already on my lips. A look at the bruise on his chin and at the center of his throat made me wince. "Hey. Sorry."

"Don't," Rick said flatly. "Just- don't. It was our fault."

"Was it?" I muttered, but I let it go. They were all looking like- well, like they'd heard more than they should have, and knew more than I wanted them to. I sighed. "Stop it, all three of you. I'm fine."

"Stand up then," Shane muttered.

I stared him down and did so, and while he got blurry for a minute, I managed a lot better than last time.

"Idiot," Daryl said. "Don't give her a fuckin' dare. Don't you know shit?"

"I know plenty," Shane fired back. "Like how unsteady she is even if she don't wanna show it."

"Fuck you both," I said pleasantly, concentrating on taking steps next. I needed out of this room, and away from their heavy looks. And I needed to apologize to old man Hershel, because my side should feel far worse than it currently did based on what they said. Man had done good work, and I'd clocked him for it.

"Think we already did," Daryl shot back.

Ricky choked, and I wasn't much better. I had no idea what my face looked like, but I turned and stared at him with wide, horrified eyes, until he and Shane both cracked up laughing at the same time.

"Goddamn it, Dixon," I said finally. "You make it sound like we had a threesome in Dale's RV or something."

"I don't- I don't even want to know," Rick said as the other two laughed harder. "Sis, I'm glad you're awake. Get back in bed. We're safe for now. We'll figure everything else out. You just rest."

He left the room even as my eyes narrowed on him. "Figure everything else out?" I said. "That means he has no idea what to do next. Ok, peanut gallery. Stop laughing at my expense and tell me how bad our situation really is."

That sobered them. Turned out, it wasn't good, but it could have been a hell of a lot worse. We had vehicles, and guns, and some limited supplies. Shane was arguing to head to Fort Benning- again- and Ricky wasn't really objecting but also didn't seem to want to commit to any kind of decision or plan. He needed time, Shane figured, and for some reason I couldn't figure out, Walsh seemed to have chilled out considerably and was content to follow Ricky's lead, just like old times.

I'd get that information out of Daryl later, I decided, and looked them both in the eye to address something that needed getting out of the way right now. "Look. Daryl's terrible sense of humor aside, we need to get something clear. I may have slept with you both, but that doesn't mean either of you get to get territorial."

Daryl rolled his eyes at me. Shane glanced from me to him and away, scrubbing a hand over his head. "Shit, girl. You think us worrying is being territorial? What kinda men you been dating?"

"You," I said dryly. "I dated you."

He frowned, and I wished I hadn't said that. He didn't need to know I hadn't had anything other than one-night-stands or casual flings since he'd broken up with me. He didn't need to know I'd decided after him that I wasn't built for long-lasting commitment, so I'd take what I could get for short-term satisfaction and be fine.

And I was fine. I rolled my eyes and stuck my tongue out at him, and Shane chuckled. But there was still that shadow in his eyes as he looked at me, and Dixon still looked carefully neutral.

They'd better stop that soon, before I lost my shit.

Chapter Text

The plan, as it turned out, was to find somewhere to hole up and regroup, resupply, and stay alive. The first two went ok for a bit, but that last one- it was causing problems.

Fall had snuck in while we stressed about things on the farm, and then winter closed around us. It was Georgia, so it was only so bad, but still. It made life that much more difficult, and there was already enough of that going around as it was.

It didn't take long for things to go from not good to bad to grim to dire, but there never seemed to be anything to do about it. We stayed on the run, light on our feet, moving from place to place and being chased in circles, it seemed, by the dead.

I watched Ricky and Lori's marriage fall apart as Shane's baby grew. It started small, subtle, as these things usually do. Small jabs and snipes, a tense exchange here and there. Lori was pissed that Rick hadn't shared that we all turn, and when she found out I knew too, that only made it worse.

I overheard an argument one night while Ricky was on watch where Lori snapped that she was a Grimes, too, and Ricky fired back that she sure wasn't acting like it. I kept moving, slipping through the house in the shadows and out the broken back to door to keep an eye on things outside.

We had to run three hours later.

Carol had been pissed as well, lovely sweet Carol who started finding a strength in her she hadn't known she had as the winter days got cold and everything got harder and harder. She was easy to get over it, however; her and Maggie.

Maggie and Glenn became a unit, and old man Hershel soon proved tougher and more resilient than I'd expected. We were surviving, but as the weeks dragged into months and Lori's stomach grew, our ragged grip on life became more and more weak.

Things really went to shit for Ricky and Lori when Carl started treating his mom like shit. He'd found out in the worst way possible that it was Shane's baby, not his dad's, and he saw more than the other grown-ups wanted to admit. As the winter got harder, the food scarcer, and we stayed nearly constantly on the run, Carl watched his mom taking pot shots at his dad, and something in him went numb.

I watched it happen, helplessly.

My final straw came one day when Lori reached for him and Carl slapped her hand away before stalking over to where Rick, Shane, and Daryl stood in a huddle. I watched my sister in law's eyes well, but she sighed, rubbed her now-protruding stomach, and turned firmly away. She saw me watching and squared her shoulders, the challenge clear.

But I'd seen enough, and out scavenging with the boys later that day, I got the kid alone. "Hey," I said firmly as we searched a bathroom too gross for just the end of the world to account for. "Lighten up with your mom, would you?"

He shot me an incredulous look. "She doesn't like you anymore, Aunt Angel."

"Bud, she never did. She just pretended for your dad's sake," I said dryly. "I know you're pissed at her, and that's fine. You're absolutely allowed to be. But the thing is, kid, I know you love her. And she loves you. She's scared, and you're adding to it. That's your mom. Your dad and I would give a lot to have our mom here right now, so tighten up, ok, kid? Be mad, but don't be an asshole."

He'd had that stubborn look, the one he got from his father, firmly in place until that last. His lips quirked upward and he rolled his eyes. "I'm a kid, Aunt Angel. Not supposed to swear."

"Mini Grimes, the world ended. I think I can swear."

"Can I?" he asked, altogether too hopefully as we moved onto the bedroom.

I laughed. "Not in front of your mom."

"Damn."

Perfect. I was creating a monster.

Even as he and Lori fell apart, Ricky and Shane found their rhythm. I got a look at what I'd been missing- the pair of them, so close they moved and thought like one; so firmly at each other's backs that there was no need for discussion. All my brother had to do was turn, and he found Walsh right there on his left and me on his right. It was how it should have been, how it was supposed to be.

The first time Ricky referred to the baby as 'theirs' when talking to Shane, I saw the look in his eyes. Cautious shock, hope, fear that he was imagining things- it all flashed through his eyes in the space of a heartbeat. Rick held Shane's look, and that was it. A whole conversation with barely any words.

I shook my head as I turned away, muttering about boys. Dixon snorted.

We fell into place. Ricky and Shane and I were a unit, but Dixon slipped right in as well, and then Carl fell into place with us too. We lead the way whenever we were clearing somewhere new, and before long we barely had to speak. Which was good, since we didn't have the energy for it.

Within our group, we had splinter units, too. Shane and Ricky were one. Shane and I were another. Carl and Ricky formed another, and Ricky and Dixon became almost as close as Ricky and Shane. The most surprising was how the three of us formed something special- Walsh, Dixon, and I.

Like the falling apart of Ricky and Lori, it started slow. Walsh and I always worked well together, and Dixon and I moved like ghosts in the trees. We could communicate with a glance, a touch, the smallest of gestures, so Daryl and I were the hunters. Walsh and I often slid out without asking permission to scavenge, and sometimes Daryl would join us.

Then it became normal for us to drop to sleep together, the three of us stationed near the back exit of wherever we'd holed up. They came to me first, and then- it was expected. Carol and Lori and Hershel would make sure our things were together while we scouted or scavenged or hunted, and we'd come back in and collapse together.

Not that there was much separation from everyone else. We crashed in one room, always, huddled together for warmth, for comfort, for safety- we never knew when we'd hear the low whistle and have to book it out of a bad situation in the middle of the night. But still, it was so common, the three of us in our small huddle by the back door; Ricky near the front with Glenn and Maggie nearby; everyone else between us, those we protected.

One night, I woke to find my boys not on either side of me and I panicked, fear a tidal wave in the darkness of an unfamiliar place, alone and cold. I scrambled to my feet, practically holding my breath, and waited to hear the rattle of shackles on my feet that would tell me everything had been a dream, or a product of some new drug, or-

There was no rattle. Only a mild snore from the old man, and Glenn on watch at the front window turning to me, silhouetted in dark on dark against the cloudy night sky.

I shoved a shaking hand through my hair, checked the gun in my holster and knife on my hip, and slipped off toward the upper window perch I'd been in earlier that night, until Shane and Daryl had ganged up on me and forced me to lay down between them for a few hours.

I found them there, pausing outside the door to listen to the whispered conversation.

"Worried about Rick," Walsh was saying. "He's takin' all this running to heart."

"Doin' better'n I would."

Shane snorted. "Yeah. Me too, probably. Angel's gonna get restless, though. I can see it in her eyes. She's gonna do something stupid soon."

I wanted to be offended, but he wasn't wrong. I'd been thinking about making a solo run, going further than we could as a group, to try to find a way through the herds of the dead that seemed to be constantly hemming us in. I was fast and quiet, and I could slip between and among them in a way the whole group couldn't.

"Yeah. Might go with her, honestly. Need to do somethin'."

"Don't you dare," Walsh said flatly. "We need you here. All of us need to be here, man. Glenn and Maggie can handle themselves well enough, but the others? Shit."

Dixon snorted. They fell quiet, and my racing heart had settled down enough that I was contemplating either joining them or going back to sleep, or maybe slipping out the back to do that something stupid after all when Daryl spoke again.

"Ain't had a nightmare in a bit."

"She'd have to sleep more than a couple hours at a time for that to seem relevant, man."

I frowned at their shadows on either side of the window. Boys, I thought disgustedly. Always worrying over nothing. The nightmares weren't the problem. It was everything happening while I was awake that needed figuring out.

"Yeah. Could just fuck 'em outta her, though. I mean, other's're asleep. Might as well, right?"

What in the absolute hell-

Walsh's voice was far too considering as he made a noise of agreement. "Probably needs it. Might keep her from doing something stupid for a few more weeks, that's for sure. Nice attitude adjustment."

Excuse the fuck out of him? I thought, temper starting to rise.

"Yeah," Dixon agreed. "An' maybe it'll teach her not to listen in doorways and just come in the damn room instead."

Son of a bitch, I thought disgustedly. I moved into the room, crossing my arms and glaring at their shadows in turn, even though they couldn't see me. "I hate you both."

"Naw, ya don't."

He was right, damn it.

It only got worse. Days went cold and short. Food disappeared, medical supplies did the same. So did shelter.

We ran. We cleared houses. We ran some more.

And we starved.

We weren't going to make it unless something changed, and fast.

Hunger gnawed at my stomach, coming in waves until it was all that consumed my thoughts. Even the pain from the cuts and burns and bruises had faded to the edges of my consciousness. All that mattered was my empty stomach and the sick, churning fear that I'd die of starvation soon.

The capsule in my tooth seemed heavy somehow, a reminder that I could get away from this horrible form of death. I just had to give up. I had to admit that no one was coming, not even Tom Ford. They'd abandoned me here, just like my country had abandoned me. Like Shane and Ricky had-

That wasn't right, I told myself firmly before another wave of nausea rolled through my body and sent me heaving up nothing, not even bile. There wasn't anything to lose, because there hadn't been food in- How long? I didn't know how long.

Everything came back to food. Every thought, every moment, every breath- it was all about the emptiness in my stomach and the sick fear that it would never end.

I knew what the stages of starvation looked like. We'd been trained on how to ration food to stave off the worst of it for as long as possible, to survive. But there wasn't anything to ration, except the water. Thirst was second only to the hunger, but thirst I could deal with.

I could deal with the hunger, too, I told myself firmly. Just for a bit longer. They'd come for me. Someone would. Shane or Ricky or-

No, they wouldn't even know I was gone. My handlers, they'd notice soon enough. It had been- how long had it been?

Too long since they'd brought in bread and water last, I knew. And longer than that since they'd scooped me up.

How long could the body go without food again? Didn't it depend on your state of health beforehand? More fat stored meant surviving longer as the body consumed itself, but I'd been on a minimal diet for too long already.

There wasn't much of me left for my body to consume.

My tongue probed the capsule in my tooth, and held my mouth open, poised to slam down and let death come for me. Sorry, Ricky. Sorry, Walsh. Sorry, everyone who'd die if I didn't get out of here with what I knew; what I'd learned. There was no point in delaying the inevitable; not if no one was coming back.

I let out a deep breath and got ready to bite. Nausea hit again, sending me curling into a whimpering ball around my stomach, which triggered the wounds littering my body and had me crying out involuntarily.

And then the door slammed open, and the scent of Tom Ford fought with something else, something delicious, something that had my traitor body letting out a whimper of desire, of need, of desperation as I turned toward it.

Tom Ford chuckled softly. "Hello, angel of death. Are you hungry?"

Chapter Text

My least favorite meals, ranked in order, went something like this: rotten, piss-covered pig sloop like they’d given me in the caves; possum; owl; Carl’s can of dog food.

Ricky’d thrown it away when Carl had opened the can, pleased to have found something to stave off hunger for himself and his mom, at least. Daryl and I, ever the most pragmatic of the group, had split it later that evening. We’d given most of our share of the owl to Lori and the kid anyway, and Daryl had mistaken my quirked eyebrow at the can in his hands in the moonlight on the back steps of the shack we’d found for the night as disapproval.

“Eat this now, I can find everyone else somethin' better tomorrow,” he muttered, scooping contents from the can with his fingers. “Had worse.”

“Yeah,” I agreed softly. I reached over, taking a delicate bite between my fingers for myself. “Tastes like shit. Literally.”

“Eat that too?”

It was lighthearted; teasing. I couldn’t answer it that way; not with the fear of failure hanging over us. Not with the look in my brother's eyes earlier still in my head.

“Sometimes they gave me rotten food. Sometimes they gave me worse,” I said, a mumble barely heard in the darkness. “Dog food’s better. Needs ranch, though.”

Daryl didn’t say anything, but his fingers brushed mine in a gentle caress before he lobbed the empty can into the darkness. I fell asleep against his shoulder, there in the moonlight.

We ran an hour later.

Worms were better than dog food, but worse than snake. If I closed my eyes, I could pretend they were just extra-wiggly spaghetti noodles.

Time turned meaningless. There was only running, which sucked, and not-running- which also kinda sucked. Ricky had no idea what to do. Fort Benning had been abandoned as an idea long ago, and so had Kansas, which I hadn't even known was on the idea board to begin with.

I got more and more convinced I'd have to do something drastic if we wanted to live. The problem was, I was too damn tired and hungry to figure out what that something should be.

We stopped, and everyone poured out of the close quarters of the vehicles to take up places guarding front and rear- Carl and Beth- or sides- Carol and Hershel- while the rest of us gathered around the map Ricky treated better than the old man had treated his Bible. The only person still inside one of the two tightly packed and not very pleasant smelling cars was Lori, hugely pregnant now and exhausted constantly. She was skin, bones, and protruding stomach, and we were all worried.

After Daryl and I contemplated doing something reckless and taking on one of the herds blocking us off, it was decided we'd stay put for a bit. Ricky and Daryl were going hunting. Shane was in charge of the group going down to fill every available container with water for boiling later and maybe do some laundry in the meantime.

They neglected to assign me a specific role, which I would have ignored anyway, and the light in the look Dixon shot my way as he left with Ricky said he, at least, did it on purpose. I'd do what I pleased, and it pleased me today to take to the trees alone. I'd find something, even if it wasn't food. I had a feeling. I'd been looking at Ricky's map for so long I'd basically memorized the thing, and something tickled at the back of my mind now.

The others had headed for the stream when Walsh called my name, telling me to stay close and not get into any trouble.

That did it, I thought, eyes narrowing on the back of his head. Walsh thought I'd behave just because he said so? Absolutely not.

As he helped Lori down the slope of the road toward the stream, I checked my gun against my thigh and my knife on my hip before fading into the trees heading the opposite way. Fuck you, Walsh, I thought smugly. Shouldn't take your eyes off the spook if you want to know where she is.

I moved through the trees, wandering aimlessly and trying to figure out what it was about the map that kept tickling at the back of my brain. My spider-web of information wasn't working well for me these days, probably because there wasn't enough food to go around and I skipped my share more often than not.

Last night's dog food with Dixon hadn't exactly hit the spot, as he'd said about the owl. Being hungry was taking its toll on all of us, of course, but something about it… It triggered the primal part of me that still cowered in the darkness, and I hated it.

But there was something, and I was determined to figure it out. Any time I pictured the map in my head, I knew it was something about 'east' from where we were, so I wandered east. I followed Dixon and Ricky's nearly-nonexistent trail for a bit, just to see if I could, and stalked them longer to see if either of them noticed me.

They didn't, which I found concerning, but the nagging sensation that there was something to find if I just kept at it long enough remained and I abandoned the two of them in favor of figuring out what my brain knew but didn't want to admit to.

Then I saw the sign and everything clicked. I felt myself smiling, something almost as alien on my face after the past few months as it had been when I'd first gotten back from the caves. I followed the sign, finding the road leading in to what I'd been trying to remember all this time.

The road looked like no one had been here since the dead rose that summer, and I breathed out relief at that. I left the road before it reached the place, heading through the trees to circle around the whole goddamn thing, and when I was finished, I felt like laughing- something else that was foreign to me now.

It would do, I thought. We could do it. It'd almost be easy, compared to everything else so far.

I went back, picked up Ricky and Dixon's trail, and followed it toward the others. Either they'd found some food or they'd given up, and I didn't much care which. I'd found something better than food.

I'd hoped to catch them before they got back, and take Ricky at least to see for himself before proposing it to the others, but that didn't happen. They were back at the cars as I came through the trees, in a tight knot with one pissed-off looking Walsh and everyone else looking worried.

"Shit," I muttered. I'd just disappeared. All I'd been thinking about was Walsh telling me what to do, like he had when we were kids, and not the way my disappearance would affect everyone now. I moved faster, closing the last of the distance quickly and approaching from the front.

Carl's voice called out to the others. "She's back."

He'd taken up guard again, like Beth and Carol and Hershel, and I flicked the brim of his dad's hat down over his eyes as I passed him. He scoffed, adjusted it, and kept his eyes glued front even as he called in a low voice, "they're pissed."

"Of course they are," I called over my shoulder, far louder than his warning to me. "They're boys, and overprotective. I'm fine."

"Where the fuck-"

"What were you thinking, Harley?"

Walsh and Ricky talked over each other, thundercloud faces turned toward me in united righteous anger. I shrugged one shoulder, tipped a wink at Dixon, and raised my eyebrows at my boys, my best friends, my partners in crime who really should have known better.

"I went out scouting. I found something," I said easily. "Wanna know about it?"

"I told you to stay put, girl, and not get into any trouble."

I sent a small, wicked smile Shane's way. "And there was your mistake, Walsh. When has giving orders ever worked on me? Should have discussed it like a reasonable adult, not tried the Rickytatorship route."

"Would it have worked if I'd said it?" Ricky asked, sounding partly pained and partly amused.

I patted his cheek. "Of course not. Dixon knew."

Both pairs of eyes turned accusingly toward where Dixon fiddled with the strap of his crossbow, clearly waiting and enjoying the show. He shrugged. "Didn't know nothin'. Nobody asked her what she was doin'. Knew she'd do whatever she wanted, is all."

"He's smart as well as pretty," I declared to everyone and no one. Daryl's cheeks when delightfully pink, but I was focused on my find. "Ricky. Seriously. Stop bitching. I found something. It's- it's good."

I led them there through the trees, so they didn't see any signs and had no idea where we were headed. They should have, I thought with amusement. At least Ricky and Walsh should have. They were cops, after all.

You'd think they'd know where the prisons were.

We emerged onto long-abandoned railroad tracks, where there was a solid view of the yard, the courtyard, the buildings. The in-tact fences, the guard towers, the solid, sturdy walls. The back side was rubble, it was true, but it could be secured easily enough, I'd decided. Maybe harder than the front, but worth it all the same.

Walls, fences. Towers for watching. Space inside for expanding, in the future. It was good. It was gold. Walsh would hate it.

Ricky's stare became a slow smile, and he turned to Walsh. "Shane."

"No," Walsh said firmly, his eyes as horrified as Ricky's were delighted. "Rick, brother-"

"It's got fences. They're in good shape. And walls. Shane, it would work."

"It might," he acknowledged, rubbing a hand over his head. "But- no. Man, honestly, there's got to be a better way."

"You see anything better lately?" Rick shot back, getting Dad's stubborn policeman look and posture.

The alien smile threatened to split my face, it felt so wrong and so large. "It can work. We can take the yard, if we close the gate. Someone makes a run for it, the rest of us distract and shoot. Then we light up the yard, or go in hand-to-hand. Then we take over the rest slowly, as we're ready. We can do it."

"We can," Ricky agreed. He tossed an arm over my shoulders, drawing me into a loose hug. "Come on, Shane. She's right."

"She's always right," I said brightly. "Right, Walsh?"

He glared at us both. Dixon scoffed, shaking his head. "Both shits, ain't they, these Grimes bastards. They's right, though. Come on, man. Might as well just follow their lead."

Walsh sighed, scrubbed a hand through his hair, and tossed his hands up in surrender. "Fine. Let's go to prison, Rick. Not ironic at all."

Chapter Text

The plan was simple enough- cut the outside of the guard run to get in, wire it back together behind us to keep the dead from outside from getting in. The run itself seemed completely clear, so that would be a barrier and a 'safe zone' to leave most everyone in while we took care of the dead in the yard. To do that, someone- me, I thought- would have to make a run for the gate to the courtyard and get it closed and locked, with the dead still milling around in the yard.

We'd put our best shooters in the towers we could access from the run, and they'd keep the dead off me while I made for the gate. Those still in the guard run would yell, scream, hit the fence- whatever they could do to distract as many of them as possible, and take out any of them who got close enough for knives, etc. Once the gate was secured, we'd light up the dead in the yard or take them hand to hand to waste as little ammo as possible.

The only problem was Ricky.

"And why the hell not?" I snapped at my brother, all of us now on the tracks looking down at the prison. "I'm fast and I'm capable and you know that damn well."

He gave me that stubborn look, both of us ignoring Shane's muttered commentary regarding the danger. Ricky knew that wouldn't keep me from going, and would in fact make me laugh at whoever suggested it loudly enough to be intended for me to hear.

Daryl fingered his crossbow bolts, his lips moving wordlessly as he stared at the yard. I had a feeling he was counting walkers.

"Yes, you are. To both of those," Ricky said with that pained-patient voice that he'd used a lot when we were teenagers. "But-"

He held up a hand when I would have interrupted to declare it settled then, and I glared wordlessly. He waited a beat and continued. "You're also the best marksmanwe have. It makes more sense for you to be in the tower, taking down any of them that get too close. I want you watching my back, that's for sure."

I frowned, annoyed that Ricky had picked the one reasonable objection; the one I had to stop and consider. He was right- I was the best shot. Especially at a distance, like this would be. I'd use the least ammo, and the runner would be safer if I was the one watching their back-

Wait a minute. I'd been contemplating the prison below while I thought, but my eyes snapped back to my brother's in a heated glare. "Excuse you? Watching who's back now?"

"Mine," Ricky said patiently. "I'm doing the run."

"Like hell you are," Shane exploded at the same time I did.

Dixon snorted, amusement in his eyes. "Don't think yall gonna win that one. Got that look. The Grimes look."

I leveled him with a flat stare of my own, ignoring Ricky's slightly turned head doing the same thing. T Dog laughed outright and Daryl's lips twitched upward.

"See? That one. Grimes look," he muttered to Carl.

Carl grinned up at him. "What about me? Do I do the Grimes look?"

"Not yet, little man, but ya close."

I turned away from Dixon to focus back on my brother. Shane and I were united in this, or so I thought, until he sighed, scrubbed a hand over his head, and spoke over my extremely articulate objections.

"Fine. I'm going too. Can't stop me, brother. You either, angel."

I tossed my hands up, letting out a short scream of frustration. Daryl winced. "Shit, don't bring more of 'em down here. Got enough to deal with, damn."

He was right, and I felt guilty immediately. That had to be the reason I didn't keep fighting my boys on their stupid plan.

It was going more smoothly than it should have been, all things considered. We got into the guard run with ease, only having a couple curious dead getting a bit close for comfort, but I took them down with my knife before ducking through the gap in the fence myself. Ricky hissed at me not to take risks, which earned him a withering sneer from me and a scoff from Walsh, but then he was too busy threading the gap closed with the wire Glenn handed him to really say much else.

A quick meeting at the gate the boys would be using to get into the yard, a final protest from me, and Carol was off to one tower and Dixon and I to the other to shoot. Carol had turned into a surprisingly decent shot over the winter, provided she took her time. More practice and she'd be a boss ass bitch before she knew it.

She'd also found a core of steel somewhere during the winter, surviving the grief over her daughter that had threatened to send her under. The calm capability of the woman to do anything made it clear how she'd survived her asshole husband as long as she had, and now that those capabilities were being used to help the group, she was turning into a force to be reckoned with.

I set the rifle on the ledge, checking the sight, and let out a long breath. "I can't believe they're doing this," I muttered, mostly to myself.

Dixon grunted. "Why not? Been doin' all the heavy dumb shit all along. You wanted to join 'em, too."

"No, I wanted to handle it so they didn't have to. I'm trained to do heavy dumb shit like this."

"They ain't? Thought they was cops and all."

I rolled my eyes, sighted on a walker near the gate where Ricky and Walsh waited, and pulled the trigger. The walker fell, and that was the signal that we were ready. The others, on the fence halfway around the yard, had started screaming and beating on the chain link as soon as they got there, and maybe a quarter of the dead in the yard were already shambling their way. That was good, I thought as I sighted the next dead asshole in my brother's way and dropped him, too.

"They are," I answered Daryl as Ricky opened the gate and the two of them took off running. "But there's a big difference between cops and what I am."

"Yeah, women are a different breed, I guess."

I flipped him off without taking my eye from the sight, only to curse under my breath as a walker got too damn close to Shane before he managed to sink his knife into its skull and get loose. I couldn't shoot; even for me they were too close together and the risk was too great, so I had to wait, heart pounding, as he shoved the twice-dead corpse at another now between him and Ricky and catch up to my brother.

I fired three times in rapid succession, dropping the dead around them, and they'd reached the inner gate. I shifted my aim to the dead just inside it, firing once, twice, three times, then a fourth before it was closed and Ricky threaded the lock through.

I let out a long breath as they made for the tower, Walsh gesturing my brother impatiently up before him. I fired once more, dropping a walker at Shane's heels just before the door banged shut.

Then I shot Daryl a hard look. He pulled back the crossbow with one hand and his foot, and I could admit that was both impressive and hot. His eyes were dancing as he glanced my way before lifting it back into firing position. "You're an asshole," I informed him.

"Some days," he agreed.

"Light it up!" Ricky yelled from the tower.

I turned my attention back to the dead.

They grouped together, around the small fire in the empty yard. Fences around us made the moans of the dead inside the courtyard not seem to matter, and there was an air of celebration hanging over all of us. It was nice to see, I thought from a distance, but I didn't feel it.

Something in the fences bothered me, now that they were closed in around me. I'd wanted them; wanted the protection they could provide, the safety from the ever-present danger that had filled our days and our minds for months now. But once in, once the locks were clicked inside and out-

I shivered. I hated it. I felt trapped, pinned into place between one threat and another, and it had me restlessly walking the fence line and looking for weaknesses.

I'd passed Ricky twice now, doing the same thing, and we'd strolled together in silence for a bit before he was called over to Lori and Carl. I kept walking, looking for the darkest corners and crevasses, feeling like there was a threat here still that I hadn't found, and I couldn't settle until I did.

They ate, scraps of something from our meagre stores. I shook my head, adrenaline too high for me to put food into my stomach. It'd just come back up again, and that'd be a waste. Shane tried to fuss at me for it, but Ricky told him to leave me be, and passed most of his own share down to Lori.

I yelled at Shane, when we'd first come from the tower, for letting the dead fucker get so close. It wasn't until he'd wrapped me into a hard hug that I realized I wasn't angry so much as scared, and that pissed me off, too. I hated being scared. I hated being afraid for others more, and I hated being afraid for him, or Ricky, or Carl, or Daryl most of all.

Fear was weakness. Attachment was weakness. Being close enough to someone to care like that just opened you up to being hurt, to having that care used against you.

And fuck knew, I'd already hurt because of Shane enough.

Maybe that was the other reason I paced in the dark. Immediate survival no longer an issue, I had time to think for the first time in a long time, and all I could think about were the close calls we'd had so far; how many of them and how often. How close I'd come to losing one or more of the people I cared about, despite my intentions not to.

I cared. I cared about Ricky, and always had. That was a given. I cared about Carl; would do anything for the kid; and that didn't surprise me either.

But Shane… Shane had slipped into my life again in a way I'd sworn not to let him. Friends, I'd said. We'd always be friends, good friends. But I wouldn't let him close enough to hurt again. Now, we were something more than friends and less than lovers, and I didn't know what to do with that or how it made me feel. I didn't know what to do with the fear racing steady cold through my veins at the image of him grappling with the walker in my sights.

And then there was the man coming toward me, a ghost in the darkness. He materialized from the shadows, more felt than seen, and I knew him by the way the breeze moved as he approached. "Dixon," I said softly. "Why are you still awake?"

The others were asleep, except Glenn on the overturned bus on watch. The fire banked and only embers now, I hadn't expected anyone to see me in my dark corner, as far from them as I could get. But of course, Dixon had known where to find me.

I didn't know how I felt about him, either, or how I felt about caring the way I did. It was strange, this feeling. Attraction I understood. There had been plenty of that, attraction and desire, and I could act on it easily.

And I did, as his hand curled around the back of my neck, warm and rough, and pulled me to him. He held me, that was all. It was I who took it to something else, who slipped my hands under his shirt and my tongue between his lips. I understood desire.

I didn't understand comfort or care, the things he offered in that dark corner first. He'd tried to talk to me, to get me to talk to him. He'd urged me to eat and sleep, offering reassurance that we were safe now.

But I didn't want sleep, or food, or comfort. I didn't want to talk. I wanted what I asked for; wanted his hands on my skin, his lips on mine. I wanted to be pushed against the fence and pinned, my body taken up and over as he thrust into me, breathing ragged in my ear. I wanted the attraction, the lust, the fire that jumped between us, even if it burned.

I could handle the burn, I thought as the stars wheeled overhead and my breathing started to slow. I could handle the sting.

I couldn't handle the warmth.

I tucked my backpack into my locker and closed it. I refused to show a hint of surprise at Madison leaning beside me. I lifted an eyebrow at her, notebook and science book held against my chest. "Can I help you?"

She smiled, and it was more of a smirk. Her entourage hovered behind her, glancing at each other and giggling, and I had a feeling this was going to suck, whatever it was. "Hi, Harley."

"Hey," I said flatly, and turned to walk away. It was better to not engage. I'd learned that the hard way over the years dealing with Madison Albright, and I was determined to continue my path of flying under the radar as much as possible through high school.

She fell in step with me, and my shoulders tensed as her posse trailed along behind. "So, the freshman dance is coming up. Guess who asked me?"

"I couldn't even begin to." Where the hell was this going? I knew she had a point, one she'd probably be getting to soon and which would probably be some fresh attempt at humiliation. If she'd just hurry up and get it over with, I could go about my day.

"Simon," she said, voice a purr.

I blinked, actually surprised. "Simon? Junior Varsity ball player Simon?"

He was one of the most popular jocks in the junior class, and I had absolutely no idea why he'd look sideways at a freshie, much less take her to a dance entirely for the freshman class. Or, for that matter, why she cared to tell me about it.

She nodded, her perfectly glossed lips turning up in cat-like smile. "That Simon, of course, silly. Who's taking you? Oh, wait."

She trailed off, looking sad. Ah, there it was, I thought with a mental eye roll. She figured my lack of dating life could be held against me again. The thing she never seemed to realize was how little I genuinely cared. She shook her head and patted my arm in mock support. "Don't worry, Harley. I'm sure your brother can take you, right?"

I opened my mouth to retort when a warm, familiar arm fell across my shoulders. "Or I'll go. Sounds way more fun than letting Rick take her. Everyone knows I'm the one who knows how to party."

Madison's eyelashes fluttered as she smiled at Shane, not looking chastened in the least. "Oh, Shane. Why would you want to go with her? I'm free."

"I thought you were going with Simon," I muttered.

She flashed me an annoyed look before going back to pouting at Shane. "For Shane, I'm free."

Walsh laughed. "Naw, I'm good. I'll go with Angel. Or we'll have our own party that night. Sounds way more fun than hanging out at some lame-o dance. Come on, girl, ain't you got class?"

"More than some," I agreed cheerfully, walking away with Shane's arm around me. A glance back showed Madison with a confused line between her eyes and a frown on those perfectly glossed lips.

Chapter Text

In the morning, Ricky studied the gate between us and the courtyard. "If everything's closed, we should be able to take it like we did the field. Lori, Beth, Carol, Hershel, Carl on the fence, drawing them away from us if they can. The rest of us go in, staying back to back. We can do it."

We'd already talked about it last night, and I shrugged. "Sure, we can. Or you can just send Walsh, Dixon, and I in, and we'll take care of it."

"Who you volunteering now, girl?" Shane demanded. "That sounds like a terrible idea."

"It is," Ricky agreed, shooting me a look. "The only concern is where the next barrier might be- there should be another gate, in between units. If it's there and closed, this is contained. If there's not, we may have to move through the whole complex, making sure all the buildings are closed and there's none of the dead hiding anywhere."

I thought about infiltrations in the dark and sighed. "That's not as difficult as you think it is. I can handle that on my own, if it's the case."

"Again with the stupid plans," Walsh muttered. "Angel, you got a death wish today or something?"

I'd had a rough night. After Dixon and I had our adventure in the dark, I'd managed to snatch a couple of hours' sleep tucked by myself into my corner. I didn't know what Daryl had said to Shane, but neither of them came looking for me, and somehow, I'd woken feeling… neglected, I supposed. Unhappy about being alone.

That had thrown me into another tailspin of confusion, and I'd watched the sun come up while pacing the fences again.

"No," I told Shane in a cheerful voice I didn't really feel. "Not today, anyway. Maybe tomorrow. Ricky, when are we going in?"

My brother gave me a measured look and chose to ignore my terrible attempts at humor. "After everyone's eaten. Get an early start to the day."

"When do we ever not?"

Dixon gave me the cold shoulder. I kept my face under control by years of practice, talking to an annoyed Carl who hated being left behind with his mom, Hershel, Carol, and Beth. I dropped to a crouch to look him in the eye, man to man. Well. aunt to nephew.

"Kid, your dad and Shane and I, we wouldn't be able to think about anything but making sure you were ok while we're in there. You taken a glance through that fence lately? There's a lot of them. We need to be on our a game, and if you're in there with us, at least a part of us that should be focused on the threat will be focused on you. It's not a punishment, or an attempt to keep you safe. We know you can handle yourself. It's for us. To keep us safe."

He accepted that, however grudgingly, and Ricky squeezed my shoulder in thanks when I rejoined the group getting ready to go in. "Guns?" I asked.

"Naw," Daryl said, tossing his chin and looking away from me. "Too much noise. Take 'em hand to hand."

"There's a lot of them," T Dog objected.

"So we kill a lot of 'em," Dixon shot back. "We goin' or what, Ricky?"

"I will pay you to never call me that again," my brother said flatly.

"With what? End of the world, man. Don't exactly need pocket change."

I didn't know what his drama was, but I wasn't going to let it distract me or threaten the group of us as we cleared the courtyard. I'd meant what I said to Carl. For all I thought Walsh, Dixon, and I could handle it on our own, there were a lot of the dead in there. We had to pay attention.

We were doing fine, moving as a group. Ricky was at the tip of the spear, with Shane and Daryl on either side of him, followed by T Dog, Maggie, and Glenn in an almost half-circle. I was the rear point, which I found annoying, but hey- someone had to be. Rick whispered names as the dead closed in, and that person struck out and fell back into place so no one's back was exposed.

It was sound tactics, or at least sound enough. I'd come up with it, but I'd lobbied for myself as the lead. I'd been shot down by three men in unison, which pissed me off.

Maggie had backed me up, though. That woman was here for the girls, and I adored it. She was also tough as shit, and held her own better and better these days.

And then of course, it all fell apart. It always did, somewhere between steps three and six. Walkers in riot gear came out of the guard towers' open doors, and we rounded the corner to find a horde of the dead packed into a small space, with an open gate at their back and more beyond. I frowned at a walker wearing a dress and another in a tattered suit. Those were civilian clothes, which meant there was a breech somewhere. The back end of the prison being rubble, it didn't surprise me, but it irritated me all the same.

"Go under the helmets! Take the chin!" I yelled, getting up close and personal with one of the dead fuckers in riot gear. The good news was, he couldn't bite me through the mask. The bad news was, that limited death-stroke options.

I dropped him and turned to the next problem as our formation shattered. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a bolt from Dixon's crossbow wing by me, ping off the riot mask, and fall to the ground. I turned, exasperated, and repeated my suggestion to go under the chin for the brain.

Then I felt something slimy on my neck, saw Shane's eyes go wide, and Dixon's crossbow shoot up toward me.

Oh hell no, I thought in disgust.

"Not today, bitches," I muttered as I spun on my toes, ducking down and away from the slimy feeling. I drove my shoulder into the walker's center mass, which didn't do much except stagger it back a step. That had been the goal, since it let me get my feet under me and my knife up, and I slammed the butt of the handle into the dead bastard's head twice. Brain matter splattered everywhere, and I glared at him as he went down, chest heaving with adrenaline.

"Too close. Too close," I informed no one, and kept moving. We had to get that gate closed, and Ricky was already on his way there.

We managed another minor miracle, and the dead fell quickly after that. "This is good," I told Ricky as the others handled the last of the dead. I stabbed through the gate to drop one on the other side, nodding toward the closed buildings and the fencing we could see between them. "We can go section by section, and-"

"Harley!"

I turned, eyebrows lifting at the wildness in Shane's voice. He rarely called me by my given name, and certainly not in that tone. "What?"

He grabbed my arm, jerking me forward with panic in his eyes. Grabbing at my shirt collar, he yanked it down as I pulled away from him.

"What the fuck are you doing? Shane, what the hell?" I demanded.

"She bit? Scratched?"

I evaded Shane's searching fingers, glaring at Dixon as he joined Walsh. Dixon looked pissed off instead of scared, like Shane did, and I really wanted to know what the fuck these two were on about and what they thought they were doing manhandling me like this.

"The fuck should I know? She won't let me check," Shane growled back at Daryl. "The hell you thinking, distracting her like that? Hold still, damn it!"

"Weren't my fault she didn't-"

As Shane tried to spin me around again, I decided I'd had enough. I drove my elbow back into Walsh's stomach, not bothering to pull the blow. He grunted out all of his air, staggering backward, but he let go, which had been the point. I took a long step away from him and Daryl both, liberally glaring between them and my currently-trying-not-to-laugh brother.

Maggie, Glenn, and T Dog were rather deliberately looking anywhere but in our direction. I liked them, I decided. I did not, at the moment, particularly like the two neanderthals in front of me.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" I asked, voice calmer than it should have been.

Walsh, who had managed to straighten up all the way by this point, went still for a heartbeat. I could see it in his eyes- he knew he'd fucked up.

"Sorry, angel," he mumbled, sounding winded. "I saw- I saw that fucker behind you, and I-"

"Turned into a goddamn cave man who thinks he can do whatever he wants," I said flatly. "I'm aware. Don't ever do that again, you hear me? You do not lay hands on me without my permission to do so," I added in a snarl. "Either of you."

My glare shifted to Daryl, who hunched his shoulders under the weight of it, eyes sliding away from mine. Both of them muttered apologies, and then Ricky cleared his throat.

"We should go further in. Clear this building, so we can have some cover tonight."

I drew in a deep breath through my nose and got back down to business. "Cool. I'm in the lead this time."

Ricky didn't argue. Neither did anyone else.

Considering what we'd already done, taking C block was a breeze. Dixon and Walsh started tipping bodies down from the cells on the upper level, and I helped drag them out of the building to burn with all the rest later.

The others brought our gear inside, everyone looking around with wide, hopeful eyes. Walls- solid, sturdy, stable walls. It was a major miracle, or at least it seemed like it after this winter. Cells were being claimed, but I stayed in the common area, not wanting to go back there.

I, like Dixon, wasn't about to sleep in a goddamn cage.

After everyone settled, I couldn't. Even Dixon had sprawled out on a mattress on the upper landing in the cell block, but I couldn't bring myself to go behind the gate again. I took a mattress of my own into the common area, and that had been enough for the boys to not fuss at me about sleeping. But sleep wasn't a thing I was going to get.

The walls made me itch worse than the fences had. It was odd, because I hadn't felt this way when I first got home. Being in a room, closed in, hadn't made me start to sweat, or feel like I was suffocating slowly. But now, after weeks and months of sleeping in trees and truck beds and near windows and doors, I couldn't seem to breathe right knowing there were locked doors, heavy walls, and fences between me and the chance of escape.

After a few restless hours, I gave up and went outside, sitting on the steps. Staring up at the stars, I wondered if I'd ever feel normal again. And what normal even meant.

Chapter Text

The steady beeping of machinery should have been reassuring. I shifted restlessly, wanting to get up and pace but too attached to wires, monitors, and the IV line to consider that truly possible. At least they'd taken me off the feeding tube. That had sucked worse than-

My mind shied away from the thought. Nothing sucked worse than the caves. Not even the tube running up my nose and down the back of my throat into my stomach to send sludge-like nutrition into my emaciated body. At least I'd been fed, and it wasn't slop covered in piss or shit or dirt or mold. That was automatically better.

I'd been sleeping a lot since they brought me out, shying away from the sunlight, and loaded me into the helicopter to take me home. Watching the ground fall away from me in the dazzling light, too bright against the almost-constant darkness of the caves, I'd passed out. It was too much to handle, my unexpected rescue.

I'd been dying there. I'd accepted it, and was only waiting for when. To see if I could take any of the bastards with me. Like Tom Ford. Like the foul-smelling underling who snuck in sometimes to stare at me with wide eyes, and take himself in hand as he inflicted more endless pain. Like the heavy, bearded one, second to Tom Ford, who liked it when I fought back.

Blind Angel can see. Repeat, Blind Angel can see.

The ground had spun and darkness had dropped over me with dizzying speed. I opened my eyes again in a dark room, and for a moment I'd thought I was back in the caves; that it had all been a hallucination after all. The scream ripping from my throat frightened me; the tube in my nose angered me; the pinching of IV lines and monitors sent me into a state of feral panic that had brought in strong hands and doctors and sedatives.

After that, I woke easier. Now opening my eyes in the darkness of this room didn't send me back there, the infernal beeping of the monitor a clue before my eyes even opened as to where I was. So I was grateful for it, I supposed, in a way.

I also wanted to shoot a hole right through the center of it and quiet the noise forever.

They'd sent the shrink in more than once. He was old, grizzled and gruff. The shiny edge of hopeful desire to fix the world long since tarnished and dulled, and now I was a job like any other. Just a patient. Just another broken toy soldier he needed to glue back together to send back out to play war for some perverse child-god.

I hadn't spoken a word to him yet. I didn't think I would. I didn't think I could.

How could I tell someone about what they did to me? How did I tell anyone, much less that tired, worn-down old man, about dirt and piss and semen smeared into, shoved into cuts and burns? How did I articulate the pain of a cigarette on my skin becoming the center of everything, the one place of focus while everything else became too much- my head underwater, the gun barrel being shoved inside me over and over, the gnawing hunger and the cold and the dread so much, too much, endless and unendurable.

But the cigarette on my back? When added to the cacophonous agony, it was easy. It was almost a comfort, this small point of pain, this flare of fire against my skin. I could feel only that; ignore the rest. Let the burning of my flesh swell and swell and swell in my thoughts, in my awareness, until there was no room for anything else. Until it was all that existed. Until it almost felt good, felt safe, felt like warmth instead of pain.

How did I tell another soul what the human mind and body did to endure?

The door behind me creaked open, but I didn't turn. Whoever was looking for air, or for me, would move back in soon enough. And there were no threats within.

Except me. I was the only threat to myself currently within these fences, the only threat to the others sleeping peacefully inside, believing everything would be fine now that they had walls and fences and bars to slip safely behind.

But I was here. The Blind Angel, the Angel of Death. Bringer of ruin and pain and endings. How could anything be safe with me here, really?

"Angel."

Walsh's voice was a whisper, a caress, a lighthouse in the storm of my thoughts. I jerked one shoulder as he sat beside me, not taking my eyes from the distant gates to this new cage I would call home. It never ended, the chains and locks to keep me contained. I'd been using them my whole life, it seemed. It was only fair that they become physical, I supposed.

Quiet, the said when they were being generous. Analytical. Strategic.

Calculating, when they weren't. Cold. Frightening. Soulless, I'd heard once as a child, from a classmate's mother.

See her eyes? Sometimes when she looks at you, it's like she's absolutely soulless. And the way she manipulates these children to get what she wants… can't you do something about it?

I'd been in preschool. I'd learned then how to manipulate more subtly. How to smile and fawn and please to get what I wanted. How to be soft and warm on the outside, when inside, everything was ice.

It was only with Ricky and Shane that I hadn't felt strange or frightening. As I grew, I didn't feel it quite so much, but it was always there in the background- the sensation that I was cold when everyone else was warm. That I was thinking my feelings, not feeling them. That I saw things others didn't, and used them to my advantage.

It made me an excellent spy, but a terrible person.

"What are you doing awake?" My voice sounded rusty and alien to my ears, like it had when I'd begun speaking again after the rescue; speaking more than the crucial information my country had needed to know; the secrets that had driven me forward and kept me clinging grimly to life.

"Couldn't sleep. Feels strange to have a- a mattress. Weird, isn't it? What are you doing out here?"

I shrugged one shoulder. "It feels like a cage."

"It is a cage. But we have the keys."

I finally looked at him then, my scarred lip curling into a sneer. "I won't be caged. Not ever again. Not in any way."

He studied me in silence until I turned my attention back to the night sky and the fences. When he sighed, it sounded like heartbreak. "Sweetheart, I wish you'd talk to someone. Me, or Rick, or Daryl. You got a lot of shit rolling around in there, and it seems like you didn't really have a chance to- I mean, I don't even know how you'd go about dealing with- Just…" he trailed off, scrubbing a hand over his head in a gesture I felt beside me.

It brought the faintest warmth to my body, to my mind. It was so Shane; had been since we were kids. And with his curls growing back over the winter, it was familiar as the view from my bedroom window.

"Shit. I don't know. I just know- watching Rick get shot? His blood all over my hands, it haunts me still. Carl's too. I cleaned the blood off his face, and looked down at that bandana in my hands, and- it still makes me sick to my stomach. After everything that's happened; everything we've done, those things- Rick's blood over my fingers, Carl's on that bandana, watching both of them fall- they haunt me in the night sometimes. I see it when I see either of them, perfectly safe in front of me. Well. Safe as any of us can be." He paused, and I didn't turn to him, but I was listening. "And you… Girl, you saw some worse shit than that," he finished softly. "And I don't even mean just- just what happened in the caves. I mean overall."

"I did some worse shit overall," I said, voice harsh. "That part, that wasn't just seeing. That was active participation. The angel of death."

"Be that as it may," he answered calmly, "I just think- maybe talkin' would do you some good, girl."

"That's what my shrink said. Both of them."

"Did you ever listen?"

I shot him an appreciative smirk at the sarcastic tone and he grinned back. For a moment, the ice defrosted, and I felt the flood of warmth he'd always given me. For a moment, I wanted to tell him everything.

I wanted to tell him how it had hurt so much when he broke up with me, I didn't think I'd survive. How I hadn't wanted to, and I'd tried- I'd tried something stupid.

How seeing blood on my arm had sent the cold creeping through my toes, up my spine, around my heart, and how it had hardened me. Given me the tough shell I'd needed to get through that pain; and how every other one had paled in comparison to the torture of him saying we weren't a couple anymore.

How the only thing worse was the caves, and sometimes, when I looked at him in the sunlight, even the caves didn't seem as bad as the fact that I'd lost him.

I didn't tell him any of that. I told him about the scent of Tom Ford in the air instead. I told him about killing in the dark- the kid who'd run into the room just before I took my target that one time; the woman who'd scooped up a gun and shot at my team and how I'd had to put her down; the feeling of a man's breath stopping when being choked by his own necktie. I told him about the starving; about being so hungry I ate shit-covered, moldy crusts of bread and rancid meat and whatever else I was given. About how I refused to die. Refused to do anything but live, for so long, on the hope of rescue.

And how it was sheer stubborn spite that kept me going, when hope had died.

I started to tell him about the hands and the dicks and the way they shoved them into open wounds in my flesh, but he leaned over and threw up at his feet when I'd only barely begun. Exhaustion crashed over me, a wave of it so intense I felt myself drowning. I stopped talking then, closing my mouth and my thoughts around the worst of things.

He cried, and I told him it was ok.

"Don't," he snapped, voice harsh. "Don't tell me you're fine, angel. Think I don't know you well enough to know you're brushing things off because you don't want me to be upset? Fuck that. It's horrific, and I know you ain't even told me all of it, girl."

"I haven't," I admitted, voice flat. "You can't handle any more, though. Not tonight at least."

"Maybe not," he whispered after a pause. "Maybe the thought of you- of them- of any of it makes me so sick, so angry, so horrified I want to storm across the ocean and slaughter every single one of them."

"Maybe you're a damn fool who'd get himself killed."

"Maybe." His hand crept to my knee, hesitated before touching it gently. "But I'd do it anyway."

"I know," I told him. But I didn't believe it.

We were going further in, to look for the cafeteria and the pharmacy and to clear out the dead we knew were in the tombs connected to C block. We'd locked the far gate last night, the idea of moving in stages offering a chance to rest I hadn't especially wanted to take.

Ricky and Shane had found bags of riot gear in the armory and were going through them in the common room when I finally came inside, long after the sun had come up. I had a list of ideas for things to reinforce the fences, to establish lookouts on the road leading in, to add to the security of this place for the long run against not just the dead, but the living too.

If we knew it was a good find, so would others who found it. If they wanted in, they'd have to come in peace and agree to our terms. Otherwise…

I blinked at the sight of Ricky and Shane grinning at each other, hold canisters of tear gas (Ricky) and a riot shield (Shane). A slow smile spread over my face at the bags in front of them. "Oh, yes," I breathed, with feeling.

Shane's grin my way was as feral as mine. I was down the steps in an instant, digging into the bag of goodies myself, the three of us talking over each other as we made new discoveries- batons, gas masks, face shields and body shields, spray paint, tear gas canisters, tasers. It was like finding a treasure chest.

"Ammo and guns would be better," Glenn muttered. "I don't think I want to wear this one."

The helmet he held was dripping with zombie matter. T Dog frowned and made noises about boiling it, but Daryl had agreed with Glenn. I wouldn't touch it either, but other things-

I grabbed a telescoping baton, snapping it to full length. I gave a couple of hard swings and flashed Daryl the same feral smile I'd given Shane. "This is gonna be good."

"Ain't got a point," he said mildly. "What use is it?"

I laughed. "Breaks bones, Dixon. Including skulls. A couple solid strikes with this, and anything's going down- living or dead."

The others eyed me a bit warily as I swung it again at the air in practice, then took a real go at the metal shelving unit against the wall.

The shelf bent downwards with the impact.

"Oh, yeah," I muttered. "Hello, darling."

We were finally ready and heading in. Carl stayed behind again, with Lori and Carol and Beth. Everyone else- even old man Hershel- were coming with us. I wasn't fond of that idea, but if we found the kitchens and the storerooms, we'd need as many hands as possible to bring food back.

So into the darkness we went, and I shivered as the gate closed and locked behind us. Even with Ricky at my side, the two of us spearheading the way, I couldn't help but think of bars in a cave where the darkness was as complete as it was here.

Something was about to go horribly, horribly wrong. I could feel it, even as we cleared halls and marked our path with the spray paint we'd taken from the riot bags. Something was going to happen. I just didn't know what.

Chapter Text

It went to shit not far in. I hated being right.

Hershel, the only largely irreplaceable member of our group from a purely survival standpoint, got bitten in the leg as walkers came from the darkness on two sides. He screamed in pain, and the screaming didn't stop as Ricky and I burst into action.

"Take the leg," I said grimly as the others scooped him up and we hauled ass into the cafeteria ahead of us. The doors had been barred from the inside, but Ricky and I set our shoulders and snapped the flimsy attempt in seconds.

Ricky didn't respond as the others laid Hershel down. I called for Daryl and Shane to grab him, hold tight; for Glenn and T Dog to watch the doors, the dead were close and this would be loud. Ricky wrapped his belt around the old man's leg, cinching it tight, as I tried to block out Hershel's screams.

"This is going to suck," I muttered, snagging the axe from a stunned, crying Maggie. It was her father, so I could understand it, but I didn't have time to be nice about what we needed. "Maggie, close your eyes."

And Shane plucked the axe from my hands as I took my stance and lifted for the first swing. I glared at him, but he barely looked at me as he hip-checked me out of the way. "I'm physically stronger, girl. Less strokes to get through."

That I couldn't argue with, or with the fact that he was mentally prepared to do it. Hershel's screams took on a whole new level with the first hit, and I turned away to scan the room, something we'd all neglected to do.

Anything to get away from that sound, one I'd heard ripped from my own throat in another darkened room before.

"Holy shit."

I spun and Daryl left Hershel, who had passed out with the second swing of the axe. His crossbow up, he arrived at my shoulder in three long strides, and I touched his arm to keep him from going closer. Five men huddled close together behind the grate separating the kitchen from the mess hall, gripping chair legs and- in the case of the redhead with the handlebar mustache- a rolling pin. They were staring at us, most of them with wide, wild eyes, and there was horror in their faces.

I said nothing, and neither did Dixon. I studied them instead, my mind spinning with the implications and the new information. They were prisoners, from the jumpsuits they wore and their attitudes. Three of them seemed relatively harmless, more stunned, terrified, and freaked out at the sight of us than the other two.

But the other two… I dismissed the three- handlebars, a large black man who had the body of a giant and the face of a teddy bear, and the other more normal-sized black man who hunched his shoulders, body turning away from the scene in front of him as if he wanted to hide- to focus on the smaller two.

Smaller they might have been, but there was something in them that screamed warning to all of my senses. The Hispanic fucker had a gleam in his eyes as he watched what was going on behind Dixon and me more closely than seemed necessary, the gleam that spoke of a secret enjoyment of others' pain. I'd seen it more than enough to know. The gun in his hands helped.

"He's bleeding out," Ricky said behind me. I didn't take my eyes off the prisoners in the corner.

The last one made me think immediately of a rat. Small, wiry, and deceptively tough, there was no doubt in my mind that he was one of the biggest of the threats. Small men didn't survive prison without being something worth keeping an eye on. He was either cunning or cruel, and probably both given the way his eyes traveled mine and Maggie's bodies as well as watching what was going down with Hershel.

"Rick, five," I announced calmly.

My brother grunted in response. "Get that cart. Cart!"

Daryl's crossbow dropped and he grabbed the rolling cart in question, taking it behind me to the others. A short countdown, a grunt, and Ricky's voice snapped out instructions again.

"Doors! Angel, leaving!"

Handlebars' eyes went wider, something I hadn't thought possible. "You can't open those! There's-"

He cut off as the doors slammed open, and a hand tapped my shoulder twice. I started moving backward toward the doors, hearing the grunts and wet squelches of my people handling the dead gathered by Hershel's screams. I didn't turn until the door closed between me and the prisoners, who hadn't moved from their hiding place.

The last thing I saw was the lower half of old man Hershel's leg and a puddle of blood. Then I turned and joined the fight, moving to my place at the front of the spear and making a direct run for C block.

I felt eyes on me. I sipped from my coffee, not taking my own eyes from the novel in my hands. Training made it so that my shoulders, though itchy, never once twitched with the sensation of being watched.

Not today, I thought with a mental groan. Today was my day off.

It wasn't, not really, because I was undercover all day, every day. But I had neither my cover job, nor any meetings with sources to handle today, and I'd been pleased to be able to simply exist for a few hours. Now, someone was watching me. That could mean only a couple of things.

One, and the worst, my cover was blown. Two, someone wanted a date. Three, I was about to be mugged, kidnapped, or worse. Or it'd be attempted, anyway.

With a mental sigh, I drained my coffee, closed the book, and rose. I collected my garbage and my oversized purse, slipping the book into it and checking that my backup piece was in place and easy to access. It was, and it wasn't like I didn't have my regular weapon tucked into the waistband of the pants I wore, covered by the bulk of my sweatshirt.

I moved away from the café and in no particular direction, tracing the sensation of eyes on me until I found the source. He was small, lanky, but with the wiry-looking strength of a weasel. He pretended to be on his phone like everyone else, but his posture told me otherwise.

He followed me.

He kept following me for far longer than I was comfortable with, until I turned down a dead-end alley and laid in wait. When he followed me in, there was a gleam of triumph in his eyes.

He had no idea what waited for him.

"Follow the flashlight."

I heard the words in the darkness behind us, but I'd known they'd follow. I jerked my chin at Dixon, who moved to the back of the little group with a grim look in his eyes. The winter had hardened him, too, it seemed, though I didn't think he'd ever been considered soft.

We made it back to C block, and the others wheeled the cart with Hershel passed out on it into the cells.

"Gate," I snapped at Walsh, who'd stayed in the common area with Dixon and I. It closed with a clang as footsteps and half-whispered voices came closer.

The Hispanic one came through the door first, the gun tucked into his tied-off jumpsuit like an asshole. The little one, the rat, followed, and it just confirmed my suspicions about who was in charge and who was a threat. The others slid through one at a time, slowly, not put off by Dixon's 'that's far enough'.

"Cell block C. Cell four. That's mine, gringo. Let me in."

Dixon, aiming down the crossbow at the group, spoke in a dry, steady voice. "Today's your lucky day, fellas. You've been pardoned by the state of Georgia. You're free to go."

"What's going on in there?"

"That's none of your concern," Dixon snarled.

The Hispanic drew the gun at his waist, arguing about what was or was not his concern, and I sighed. "Boys," I said mildly, hopping up to perch on one of the tables. "No need to measure dicks."

"Mine's bigger, little angel. Wanna see? Warm up my bunk tonight?" Gun-toting Hispanic leered at me, reaching down to grab his crotch in a gesture profoundly crude and obnoxious.

I looked down my nose at him. "Honey, my heels are bigger than your dick."

Shane snorted behind me. "You're wearing sneakers, girl."

"Exactly."

Gun Bastard looked lost, but the rat smothered a smile. He'd gotten the joke, at least, as well as the insult. I shrugged one shoulder, gesturing between their group and ours. "There's no need to fight. This is our place now, and you're not welcome. Move right along."

The head bastard's lip curled in a sneer. "I don't think so, little angel. I want my old bunk back. And if anyone's going to the trouble of breaking into a prison, it must mean things are worse out there than in here. And in here's bad enough. So let me into my home, miss thing, or I'll take it back by force. And you'll end up in my bunk either way."

I laughed outright even as my boys' weapons snapped up, both Dixon and Shane moving a half step in front of me. The prisoner glanced from them to me, and the little rat's eyes looked more interested as he studied their reactions as well. I let a slow, sensual smile play on my lips, shaking my head slightly. "Oh, that's a terrible idea, honey. I'd eat you alive, first of all, and then have to bother one of my boys here after, you'd leave me so unsatisfied. Maybe both of them. I can take far more than you have to give."

He started to respond, but Ricky chose that moment to appear from within the cell block. I let him take over, talking the head bastard- Tomas- down, and the others with him. Axel, Oscar, and Big Tiny were the three who I'd dismissed as harmless, and I continued to believe that assessment was correct. Tomas and the rat, Andrew, did the talking, and I tuned it all out.

Ricky was trying to come to an agreement with them, especially after he learned they'd been in that cafeteria since everything began, and had no idea what was happening in the world outside.

I followed my brother reluctantly as he lead them into the courtyard, knowing everything about what Ricky was doing was a bad idea, and knowing from the look in his eyes that I couldn't stop him or change his mind.

I was correct, and the only reason I didn't argue with Ricky's bullshit deal was the fact that nothing could stop me from slipping into D block and killing these assholes while they slept if I needed to. And judging by Tomas and Andrew, I'd need to.

We would teach them how to fight the dead and help them clear D block to live in. What we got out of this was half the food in the prison stores, whatever was left. They claimed it wasn't much. I called bullshit. I was, of course, correct.

Shane, Daryl, and I stood close together, keeping watch as Rick, Glenn, and T Dog took our half from the cafeteria. "This is bullshit," I murmured for only the three of us to hear.

Shane scoffed. "No shit. Rick's determined, though."

"I'll kill them later, if they need killing," I told him. I felt Daryl shift, like maybe he wanted to object to that, but he stayed silent. "Watch out for Tomas. He's an idiot, but he's an armed idiot with an inflated sense of his own importance."

"Worst kind," Shane agreed.

"There's worse," Daryl said flatly. "More worried about Andrew than Tomas."

"Good eyes, Dixon," I said. "He's a rat. And rats are hard to kill."

"I'll shoot him between the eyes, he looks at ya the way he did again."

I rolled my own eyes. "I can handle myself. Looking's free. He lays a hand on me, he'll lose that hand."

"Lays hands, they'll lose more than theirs. Any of them," Shane snapped. "On any one of us."

That, I couldn't argue with. Glenn and T Dog took the food back to our cell block, and Ricky looked between us and the assholes who'd managed to stay alive by hiding.

"Ready?" he asked.

I fucking wasn't. I shoved off the wall anyway and snapped the baton open. "Let's do this so we can get back to ignore these pricks."

Chapter Text

We tried to teach them. Well, Ricky and Daryl did. I admired them for it, but I stayed silent and watched my boys' backs, my distrust of outsiders only increased after the incident with Randall and his buddies the autumn before.

As usual, they didn't listen. First walker they saw, they went- as Dixon put it- 'all prison riot' on them, beating and kicking it instead of taking the head. The noise of it all drew more of them out of the darkness, and one of theirs got bitten in the back of the shoulder before I lopped off half of its skull with my new baton.

Big Tiny, the massive teddy bear, looked confused about what was happening, reassuring us all that he felt fine. I met Ricky's eyes over Tomas the prick's shoulder and Ricky nodded once. Trading the baton for my knife I crept up behind him, to put him down swift and painless and without him even knowing what was happening.

Instead, Tomas whipped out his little three-shot pea shooter and fired right between the man's eyes. Everyone stared, a heartbeat of total silence as we all looked from Big Tiny's body sagged against the wall to Tomas.

"Idiot," I snapped. "Noise draws them. Now every dead bastard in the building who didn't hear all of you screaming is headed this way. Next time, let the professionals handle shit."

"Professionals? What, you think you're a professional killer there, chica?"

I smiled. "More than you. What's your body count?"

"I killed three men on the outside. At least two more on the inside before all this," he boasted, arms stretching out in a 'beat-that' gesture.

I let my scarred lip curl in a sneer and turned away. "Amateur. Come on, let's keep moving so we can be done with these assholes, Ricky."

Dixon started talking to the other guys again, reminding them to take the head and where the easiest places to do that were, but Tomas made the mistake of grabbing my arm. He tugged, trying to spin me around, and I went with the momentum he created with a feeling of delicious delight curling in my stomach.

Finally, someone I could take some things out on. Someone who deserved to hurt, not just for laying hands on me but for all the hurt he'd caused others. I spun into his grip on my arm even as I broke free of his fingers, then drove my elbow up and into his solar plexus. He doubled over and I grabbed a handful of hair, yanking his head back so he looked into my eyes.

I wanted to kill him, and in that moment I considered doing it. Instead, I set the baton against his throat, watching him swallow reflexively. I stared into his suddenly wide eyes, making sure he looked only at me. Silence had fallen behind us, Dixon's voice cutting off abruptly when I spun and struck. "Don't," I said softly to the man curled around himself and half-held upright by my fist in his hair. "Don't make the mistake of assuming you're tough. You know nothing. A little boy with a little gun, playing big fish in this puddle-sized pond. Listen to the grown-ups now, honey, and keep that pea shooter tucked away, or next time I'll slit your throat before you know it's happened and watch you bleed out with pleasure."

I let go of him to the sound of a low whistle behind me. He staggered, falling to his knees and coughing. He rose almost immediately, hand going to his waist, and I smiled. He saw it, and despite the thundercloud in his eyes that promised retribution, his hand dropped to his side again. He swiped the other over his mouth, then jerked his shoulders in the universal tough-guy gesture.

"We goin' or what?" he demanded. "Keep your crazy chica on a leash, esse," he added sharply to Ricky.

My brother ignored him. "You ok?" he asked me in a soft voice.

I shot him a glance and rolled my eyes. "I'm perfectly fine. He's going to be trouble," I told him frankly as we set off again. "He'll try to kill one of us for that. Probably me. I should have just slit his throat like I wanted to."

"No. You put him in his place," Ricky disagreed. "He won't try anything like that again."

I sighed, but didn't argue. My brother believed the best of people. He always had. The end of the world hadn't changed that yet; I doubted I would in this dark hallway.

We had to pass through the laundry room to reach the cell block they would now call home. They'd chained the doors when they ran for the cafeteria, at the start of the outbreak, and they were all nervous about opening them up and fighting the dead.

Ricky gave clear, specific instructions. One door at a time, control the flow, and close it if possible.

Tomas the prick flung both open and shrugged it off as an accident.

He stayed alive by virtue of there not being too terribly many dead, but enough that I got busy immediately. Then the bastard tossed a walker at my brother.

Walsh, Dixon, and I made quick work of the rest of the dead, then I was behind Tomas, eyes on Ricky, waiting for him to make his move. Something in his eyes called to coldness in my own core, that had been there so long I didn't know anything else. It was a coldness I'd never expected to see from him, and it would have made me smile if I weren't so focused on making the asshole in front of me dead.

Especially when he shrugged it off again as an accident. Ricky gave me a subtle nod, and I had my knife out in a flash.

Apparently we needed to work on our wordless communication skills, because I was ducking rapidly as his Python came up out of nowhere and he dropped Tomas with a single shot. "Shit!" I half-yelled. "Warn a bitch, Ricky!"

"I did!"

"Stow it," Dixon snapped. "Little weasel ran."

I glanced around the room and found Oscar and Axel on their knees, hands interlaced behind their heads in prison surrender, and Andrew the rat gone. "Which way?"

Dixon, who had his crossbow on Oscar, jerked his chin. I nodded, traded knife for baton, and headed out. Ricky followed me, though I certainly didn't need the help. Neither of us spoke when we saw the little bastard at a door, desperately trying to undo the lock.

"Walkers out there," I called conversationally. "Bad choice."

"You're crazy! You people- you're all crazy!" Eyes wide, Andrew managed to get the lock open.

Ricky and I had both stopped, staying back from him a few steps. Giving the wild animal room, I supposed. I shrugged. "Yeah. Stay alive, though. You won't, out there."

He didn't respond. Ricky, I noticed, didn't say a word. The kid slipped out the door, slammed it behind him, and Ricky moved faster than I could, snapping the lock into place. He stared out the window at Andrew, who seemed suddenly aware of the dead surrounding him for the first time. He started pounding on the door and screaming to be let back in, but Ricky turned away.

"Come on, Angel," he said flatly. "Let's get back. Get this over with."

I fell into step beside him, but I couldn't keep silent. "That was goddamn cold, Ricky."

"Thought you wanted me to be harsher with people."

"Oh, I do," I agreed. "Just checking in on you, though. You didn't want me to kill Tomas after he laid hands on me, but that rat didn't do anything but run. You good, big brother?"

Ricky shot me an annoyed look. "I'm fine. He has a chance at living. Same as we did."

I snorted, half-laughter and half-disbelief. "Sure he does."

We delivered the other two to D block without further incident, clearing it out with them rapidly. We left the bodies where they were- that was their job. Not ours.

Heading back to C, I lingered, falling to the rear to keep an eye out in case they decided to follow us back instead of staying put. I didn't think they would, but I also wanted a chance to have a conversation with Dixon. He'd been decidedly grumpy and cold since we'd had our fence adventure a couple of nights before, and I wanted to know what was up with that shit.

We'd said casual, no feelings. Annoyance grew as we walked in silence, until I stopped just outside of C and tapped Daryl's arm. "Hey, hold up a minute."

He stopped, eyebrows raised curiously. "What?"

"That," I snapped, gesturing at his impatient glance toward the others. Then I waved Walsh on, because I did not need him complicating this conversation further, and I was already annoyed enough about having to have it. "What crawled up your ass and died there?"

He gave me a look of such blank confusion that I wanted to scream. "The fuck ya talkin' about, baby?"

I did scream at that- short, controlled, and under my breath, but still. He kept staring at me, and genuinely, I started to wonder if I was crazy. He'd been cool to me for two days, barely speaking. It had to have been fucking against the fence, right? And neither of the boys had come to make me sleep that night, or to sleep on either side of me like usual, and they hadn't last night, either. So something was up, and it had to have started with that.

But Dixon was looking at me like I was batshit insane. Goddamn it, I didn't do feelings. I hated feelings. I hated having them, managing other's, talking about them. Hell, I decided. I was in hell. All the devils were already here, right?

"You," I ground out through my teeth, "have been acting weird. Since- since."

He blinked. "Since what? I hate bein' in this place. Feels- too damn much like a prison, I guess. A cage."

"It- you- you've been acting weird since we fucked on the fence the other night," I said all in a rush, eyes darting anywhere, everywhere but his face. "And that's all because- of the walls?"

He made a sound somewhere between a cough and a choking noise, and I whipped my eyes to his to find him clearly trying not to laugh. I glared, cheeks getting hot in a way they hadn't since I was a teenager and had caught my brother enjoying some alone time by barging into his room without knocking.

"Asshole," I mumbled, shoving past him to head inside. "Forget- forget it. I didn't say shit."

He grabbed my arm, gently tugging until I reluctantly turned to face him. He swept his thumb over my cheek, delivered a soft brush of his lips to mine, and then let go. Hitching his crossbow up his shoulder, he looked off into the distance himself. "Ain't got nothin' to do with you'n'me, baby. Just hate feelin' trapped. Too damn used to the wild. Kinda like you. Know you didn't sleep last night. Walsh told me before he went out there. And when he came back in."

I'd been frozen by the simple sweetness of his touch, feeling the lingering heat of it like a brand against my skin. Now I scowled fresh, at them two of them talking about me behind my back yet again. "The fuck he do that for?"

"Cause he cares, idiot. Like I do. Can be pissy about it if ya want," he added, planting another kiss on my forehead like I was three and throwing a temper tantrum. "But we do."

Then he slipped through the door into C, and I stood there for a minute, scowling at the wall and wondering why there weren't more dead around for me kill so I didn't have to think.

Chapter Text

Of course Oscar and Axel didn't stay put where we left them like good little prisoners, and the next morning while we moved our cars into the inner courtyard, parked ready to peel out at a moment's notice, they appeared in the guard run begging to be let in with us. Apparently, it was too depressing in D block with the bodies of men they'd known lying about.

My suggestion to 'clean up some then' was met with more bemoaning of their fate and begging to be allowed to join us, but I didn't have enough of a fuck to give about any of it. I grabbed Dixon's bike, kicked it to life, and took it up myself, ignoring both Axel's attempted conversation and Dixon's possessive stare.

Since I knew damn well it was directed at the bike, not me, I let it slide. In fact, it almost made me smile.

Slipping the bike into place, I took a minute, braced in the saddle, to just breathe. Dixon and Walsh had both ended up coming out to the common area the night before, Daryl dragging his mattress and Shane carrying blankets. They'd bullied me into laying down, and they curled up on either side of me like we'd been most of the winter, and somehow- despite my protests that I wouldn't be able to- I dropped off into a dreamless sleep.

I didn't like it. It had been too comfortable, too comforting. It made me ache when it was gone; when I woke to find both of them already up, blankets and Dixon's extra mattress moved back into the cells. I closed my eyes on the bike, wondering why I could never enjoy feeling warm for more than a passing moment before it seemed to burn.

I set the kickstand, glanced down the field to find the debate finished and Glenn and Ricky in the guard run hauling in firewood, and scanned slowly over the towers and the trees outside the fences. The few dead rattling the chain link, scattered around, wouldn't be much of a problem to deal with. We were in good shape, for the first time in months.

So why did I feel so restless, so out of sorts?

I turned away when Shane waved, clearly wanting me to head down to help some more, and pretended I didn't see him or Daryl. I smiled at what I did see, though, coming out of the cell block slowly.

Lori and Carl and Beth all hovered around him, but Hershel was up and moving. His pant leg hung loose and he was painfully, painfully slow on the crutches, but considering the sheer trauma we'd put his body through not two days before, it was damn good that he was even awake.

I strolled over, watching him with a critical eye. "Your form sucks, old man."

"Thank you," he said dryly. He offered me a smile and I smiled back, wondering at the difference in the uptight old farmer we'd first met and this man now.

Losing his farm, being on the move, seeing how different the world was now from what it had been- it had humbled him, maybe, but that didn't seem to be correct. It had softened him, molded him, reshaped him into a new, more relaxed version of himself. He still held to his morals and beliefs, but there was humor to him now, playfulness, and a willingness to bend and to accept others that hadn't been there before. I liked him much better, and he seemed to have warmed up some to me as well.

"Glad you're on your feet," I told him sincerely. "We need you. Be a shame to go through all that just to have you croak on us."

"Angel!" Lori sounded aghast.

I ignored her. For as much as I'd learned to like the old man, I'd learned I really didn't like my sister in law. Not that it came as much of a surprise, all things considered. But still. Hershel shook his head my way with a tiny smile, starting forward again on his crutches until he reached the picnic table nearby and eased down to sit.

Lori and Beth hovered, and Maggie came out of the block, watching her father closely. I tossed an arm around Carl's shoulders, pulling him into my side.

"What's wrong, kid?" I asked.

He shrugged as best he could from his position. "Don't like them being here. We should have kicked them out or killed them."

"While I fully agree," I muttered as he jerked his chin toward the two still lingering in the guard run, clearly trying to convince Ricky to let them in, "that's not something you should let your dad hear you say. Your mom, either."

"Why not? It's true."

"It is." This was one of those tricky territories, and I had to move cautiously. He was still a kid, no matter how adult he'd acted when we were on the road. No matter that he'd found the pharmacy on his own and probably saved the old man's life doing it. He was still, under it all, a kid. A scared kid, I thought, though he'd rather die than admit it. "But killing people isn't easy. At least, it shouldn't be. And it shouldn't be something you take lightly, either."

"It's easy for you."

Once more, I hesitated. He was right. And I wouldn't lie to him. But… "Carl, my job was to kill people," I told him. "There were other parts, too, but a lot of it? Was killing people, or arranging for them to be killed by someone else. It's easy for me because I lost something, some part of myself, in order to do that job. And that part? It's important. I don't want that for you."

I turned to look at him and found him watching me seriously. "Your dad and Shane? They're different. It isn't easy for them, and that's how it should be. Their job wasn't about killing, though it sometimes happened. It was about protecting. That's what you should focus on: protecting. Protecting your mom, Beth, Hershel, Miss Carol, yourself. Protect you and protect those who can't protect themselves, and killing someone isn't something 'easy', but it's something you can accept. If it's them or you, the choice is you. That's what I want you to know, to accept. But it should always, always be your last resort, ok kid? Never your first option. And don't ever let it be 'easy'."

He looked mutinous, like he wanted to argue, and out of the corner of my eye, something moved. Something moved, in a place it shouldn't be moving. And then I heard the scream, from the field below.

"Walkers!"

They swarmed around us, like ants, like roaches; filling the courtyard that moments before had been empty and safe. I grabbed Carl, pulled him to my back, fighting to get toward Lori and Hershel. The dead were everywhere, all at once, and I placed my full faith in the child I'd just been telling not to let killing become easy. I placed my life in his hands, my trust that he'd watch my back and keep me alive, just as I'd watch his.

Maggie screamed our names right as we reached Lori, and I swept her between Carl and I. She didn't argue, and the kid and I moved as one, making our way toward Maggie. She held one of the many doors into the main body of the prison open.

I turned when we were through. "Bites? Anyone?"

All three assured me they were fine, and I nodded, moving on already to the next order of business: finding a safe place for them and then going back for Hershel and Beth, who I refused to believe were dead. Then I'd deposit the old man and the girl with these three and find the breech that had let so many of them into our supposedly safe place.

Anger flooded my body as well as adrenaline; anger at myself for believing us safe. I'd let my guard down last night, and now-

Blaring alarms, flashing emergency lighting, screaming cacophony of sound and sight and for a moment I was so overwhelmed and disoriented I couldn't think, couldn't breathe, couldn't do anything but stare in wild-eyed panic.

"What the fuck?" I muttered. "What the fuck?"

Someone had done this. Someone had let the dead in, and now were drawing them in on purpose. Any gaps we'd missed, any doors not closed where dead lingered- they were all a hazard now.

The wave of chaos moved through and over me, and I could think again. My feet unfroze; my mind as well.

I hustled the other three into the closest room, slamming the door closed. I turned to Carl, grabbing him by the shoulders and getting down to his level, looking him dead in the eye. He met my look, unblinking, and I knew he knew just how far up shit creek we were.

"You're in charge, you hear me?" I told him. "I'm going out there. I have to find the source of that- that noise. Cut it off. And then find the others. You stay put here, with Maggie and your mom. She needs you, Carl. And I need you to take this on, and treat it seriously."

He nodded, his eyes far more adult than they had any right to be at his age. "I've got it, Aunt Angel. Don't worry. I'll-"

Lori started screaming.

Of course Shane's spawn would have the worst timing in the world. And of course, something would be very, very wrong.

Lori was in agony. That was to be expected, being in labor and all, but it was too fast. Even with my limited knowledge of what giving birth was like, I was pretty sure it wasn't normal to go from zero to 'I need to push' in six seconds flat.

And then there was the blood.

Maggie, panicking, eased Lori down to the floor, got her pants off, and started to do an exam. From the look on her face, I was completely correct about things not being right.

Lori knew it, too. "You need to do the C section."

Wide-eyed, Maggie denied it. She'd never done it before; we didn't have what we needed to make sure Lori didn't bleed out if we did. These were the worst possible circumstances for any of it. It didn't matter. I knew futility when I saw it, pain-filled eyes of my sister-in-law turning to me at Maggie's mute, horrified denial.

I nodded once, short and sharp. She nodded back.

I'd do it. I'd take care of it; save the baby as Lori wanted. Lori would die. Maybe the baby would die too, but this was the only way the baby even had a chance. Carl might hate me, because his mom would die in the process.

Ricky definitely would. But it didn't matter, I told myself. It didn't matter. Someone had to do it, and I could.

I would.

The wailing alarms cut off, thank god. But Lori's screams didn't. Not for far too long before she passed out, eyes rolling back in her head. I worked steadily, quickly, ignoring the blood soaking my hands, my sleeves, the knees of my jeans as it pooled around her.

I found the uterus. I cut it open, careful not to hurt the baby within.

She came sliding out into my arms, and I sliced the umbilical cord rapidly and decisively. The baby didn't cry. She didn't scream. As far as I could tell, she wasn't breathing. I turned her over, laying her belly along my arm and her face between my fingers, and gave her back a solid smack.

She coughed, spluttered, and cried out once, and I could breathe again, somewhat.

"She's-" Maggie whispered brokenly, staring down at Lori.

I wrapped the baby in the flannel I'd thrown on over my tank top that morning, the air still crisp at dawn, and didn't meet Maggie's eyes. I didn't look Carl's way. "I know."

My voice was strange. Foreign. Alien.

"I've got it," I managed, standing and tucking the baby against me in a one-armed hold. I reached for my knife with the other, but Carl's eyes met mine.

His father's hat was too big for him. His hands were still, wrapped around his gun. "No. I do."

I took her to Shane, because Ricky was on his knees, wailing in grief. I handed him his daughter, and I turned and went back through the door I'd just excited.

I didn't say a word. I couldn't say a word.

But I could kill the dead.

Chapter Text

Wordless. Rhythmic. The darkness felt comforting now, with the blaring alarms and flashing lights ended somehow. Shane handled it, I was sure. Or Ricky did.

My mind shied away from Ricky, not wanting to think about him or Shane or the baby or Carl or, god forbid, Lori. Her hair, limp and sweaty, draped across the floor. Warmth on my knees; warmth turned to cold turned to stiffness-

I moved further into the dark, prowling the tunnel-like hallways of the tombs for more of the dead. More to kill.

The Angel of Death.

Ricky moved like a ghost, jerky and pale. He looked through me when we met in the hallway, both of us blood-spattered, both of us silent.

We moved together for a time, hallway to hallway. I lost track in the darkness, in the misery.

My hands were red in the dim yellow lights we did pass. Red and glistening, slick with brains and blood. I used the baton, not my knife.

Ricky had an axe.

We'd drifted apart somewhere. I'd stopped killing. I didn't remember doing it.

I stood still, in one place, staring at the floor and the puddle and the absence of long limp hair, softly curled fingers, horror-film set prop ripped-open abdomen-

"She's not here anymore," Shane said gently from behind me. "Rick- Rick found a- a walker, who-"

I shuddered as he fell silent. Who'd eaten her, I finished in my mind. Who'd found a body and consumed it, taking with it the last shreds of humanity I'd been holding onto with a clawed, bruising grip.

"Angel," Shane whispered. His hands hovered before falling softly on my shoulders, turning me away from the stained imprint of my knees to either side of the puddle of the red. "Come on, sweetheart. Come with me. That's it; good girl. Come on."

My arms were heavy, my legs too numb to move. But I must have, because the single bullet on the floor, gleaming twisted, compacted metal through the sheen of red, no longer filled my vision.

I didn't feel anything as he prodded me along down a path I didn't recognize, talking all the while in that low, soothing voice. I didn't hear a word he said; didn't take my eyes from my hands to look at his moving lips.

The fingers I saw, wrapped around the collapsing baton, were covered in red and grey-white chunks. The baton wouldn't close if I didn't clean it. I frowned, glaring at the thing, affronted. How dare it not work? It was a weapon, just like I was, honed and crafted with one purpose- to kill. How dare it not do its job, no matter how broken or dirty it got? How dare it not-

"Yeah, good idea, sweetheart. I'll take that," Shane said, his big, familiar hands closing around mine, loosening my white-knuckle grip on my soiled weapon. The baton moved out of view, and the sound of running water roared abruptly into my ears, as though a river had begun somewhere just behind me and I hadn't noticed.

I turned, frowning as I realized we were in the prison showers. Water ran in one stall, a trickle really but better than nothing, I supposed. Carl would like it.

Carl wouldn't like anything for a long time. Carl certainly wouldn't like me, not after I'd-

"It's gonna be cold, girl, but it'll get you clean faster than I could with a bucket, alright? Here, just step on in. Got so much- so much stuff on you, might as well wash the clothes, too."

Hands prodded me forward, and I stepped under the spray obligingly. Cold water hit my head, my face, my shoulders and hands and I gasped. It trickled down my back, icy trails down my spine that sent shivers crashing through my body, over and over again, and in an instant the hazy bubble around me popped.

I swear I heard it.

"Shit!" It exploded from my lips unbidden, but I didn't pull away from the spray. It felt good. It felt right. It felt, for a moment, like my head being shoved under, an iron pipe being pressed to my shoulder blade at the same time; that mix of searing, scarring heat and freezing, oxygen-stealing cold crashing into one another and breaking into nothing against each other.

I tipped my face up and let the water, the blood, the brain matter and the rotten flesh, and the memory of organs moving and twisting in my hands run down, down, down from the crown of my head to my feet, to swirl down the drain and disappear.

Leaving behind only the stain. Leaving behind only me.

"You're shivering, sweetheart. Let me help so you can get out of there."

I didn't know how long I'd stood under the cold spray, letting the water turn me to ice, unbreakable and eternal, a glacier. An icicle, needle-pointed and deadly, the perfect weapon because it would melt away into nothing after it killed you.

Like me, melting away into the dark and a new identity, new target, new goal. The angel of ice. The angel of death.

"I killed her," I said quietly. "I'm sorry, Shane."

"What the fuck you going on about?" He sounded pissed, but his hands were gentle as he pulled me out from under the water. "Girl, you're soaked but there's still, uh- you're not clean yet. Need to take them clothes off, have a good scrub- brought the last of the bar soap Carol's been hoarding into here, but leave some for Rick, would you?- and then get warm. Then we can talk."

I shook my head, but I reached for the hem of my shirt. Suddenly, all I wanted was these clothes off my skin. I wanted the half-softened patches of stiffness at my knees gone; wanted the clinging, suffocating fabric off my stomach, my chest. I struggled, but fought my way free of the shirt. The jeans were easy enough, and when I was naked I stepped back under the water with Shane's piece of soap, and began to scrub at the red flakes still clinging stubbornly to my hands.

"I'm sorry," I repeated. My voice was louder now. My back to him, I knew he was still there. I could feel him, leaning against the wall on the other side of me. If I turned, I'd probably find him with his face turned politely to the side, but he was there. "I killed her. Lori. I- I had to cut her open, to save the baby. She asked me to, Shane. Well, she asked Maggie."

Shane's scoff sounded watery, like his voice. "Seems about right."

I closed my eyes, shivering again. "I knew I could do it. I'm- I'm good with a knife. Steady hands."

He stayed silent, and I used a bit more of the soap to scrub at my hair, getting the walker blood and brains and rotten flesh from it completely. I left the scrap of what was left on the ledge, for Ricky like Shane had asked, and then I stood in the spray and stared at the water swirling around my feet.

I'd stopped feeling the cold, but my skin was goose-flesh. I didn't feel my toes or the tips of my fingers anymore, but that was fine. It wasn't as bad as it had been in the cave. This was a temporary numbness, unlike the ice coating my heart.

"That wasn't the worst thing I've ever done," I murmured, not sure where the words came from. "But it was close."

"Tell me."

Shane's voice, ragged but beseeching, felt like permission instead of command. I turned so my back was in the water, ignoring the shudders wracking through my body, naked and exposed for him to see the true extent of the damage. Scars- some shiny; some twisted, raised knots of flesh; some thin; some fierce red that never faded; some white- littered my skin, I knew. They covered every inch of me, it seemed; a constellation of brokenness that showed the world how very not-human I'd become.

I bared my teeth as I met his eyes. "I'm a monster, Shane. You can see it all over me. I'll do anything to survive. This one?" I placed a hand over an ugly, knotted thing at my side. "This one, he opened again and again and again. He fucked it, Shane. He shoved his dick into the hole he'd made for himself, while one of his buddies shoved the barrel of a gun up inside me. It- can you imagine? Can you imagine the pain of it?"

I stared at something beyond him now, something beyond everything. It wasn't even an image, because I'd never seen Tom Ford's face. "But that was just pain," I whispered. "Like all the rest. Pain so intense, so familiar, it became almost a comfort. I can take it, and I can give it. I killed a little boy once."

Shane made a strangled noise he turned into a cough, and I looked back at him, smile twisting my scar-twisted lips further. He wasn't looking at me, staring instead at his clenched hands, locked together and white-knuckled. I knew I should stop speaking. Stop telling him things before I lost him again, forever. Before he knew the monster in me too well to ever call me 'angel' again, even if he didn't mean it like he had before.

But I couldn't. There was a voice, cold and clinical, speaking in short, clipped sentences; reading a report of atrocities committed to and by someone else, and it was my own voice, my own atrocities, my own hurts and my own sins.

"He got in the way. Between me and the target. I was there to kill his father, and I did it. It killed him too. Bullet went right through him and into his father, who- according to his mother, afterwards- had called his son over to be his shield. He'd done it a second too late, and the boy arrived just in time to take the bullet I'd already fired."

"I researched Tom Ford's recipe for cologne while I was in the hospital," I went on. I reached mechanically for the shirt Shane held out, his eyes now avoiding mine. I couldn't do the buttons, my hands were shaking so badly.

I listed the ingredients in that same report-reading tone, and went on to tell him about another night, another kill. Another moment undercover, spreading my legs because it was the only way to get where I needed to be. Another scar, the one on my face this time.

He batted my hands impatiently away from the buttons and did them himself. I stared at his jaw, where his stubble-covered chin was tight with anger, and my voice dropped to a whisper.

"She told Carl he'd beat this world. And I believe he will. But I won't. I'm too far gone already, Shane. The angel of death. Now even Ricky won't be able to defend me. He'll hate me, and that's ok. Everyone leaves eventually. I probably deserve to be alone. I should just leave myself, before Ricky tells me to go."

"He ain't telling you to go anywhere," Shane snapped. His hands were against my face suddenly, burning my skin with the heat of his. He met my eyes, and it wasn't only anger I saw in there, but pain and something else, too. "And I'm never leaving you, you hear? I'll never abandon you, and I'll always find you, no matter where you are. Even if it's locked in here," he added, releasing my cheeks to tap a finger against my forehead. "Might be the angel of death, but you're still my angel."

I stared at him. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I knew I should cry. I wanted to cry. But my eyes were dry; my heart too frozen deep in the ice-block of my soul to let the words, sincere as they were, touch me.

Because he'd already left me. He'd already abandoned me, a long time ago. And I still remembered.

Exhausted, I pulled away from his hands and turned to leave. I couldn't do anymore. I couldn't talk anymore, not after the words of accusation that had ripped from my throat, from somewhere deep in my soul.

You already did, Shane. You already left me, and you didn't even bother to give me a good reason why. At least Ricky, at least all of them- I know the reason, and it's a good one.

He grabbed my arm, and I stared at his fingers until he huffed in annoyance and let go. "Damn it, angel. Let me explain."

"Explain what?" I asked. My voice was flat to my own ears, emotionless and empty. Thank god, it didn't reflect how bad it hurt inside, remembering when he'd left. "Explain why you broke my heart? We'd made plans, Shane. Forever plans. It was supposed to be you and me, forever. You didn't want that anymore. So there's not much to explain, is there?"

"I did! I never stopped wanting that!"

I blinked. His words seemed far away, as did the tormented look in his eyes. "What?"

He scrubbed a hand through his curls, tossing both into the air in frustration. Staring at the wall beside me, his jaw worked as he swallowed hard.

I swayed on my feet before planting them firmly, splitting my balance evenly and bending my knees just enough to not lock them. I knew how to stay on my feet even when I didn't think I could any longer. Haze might be clouding my mind, my vision, but my body responded to my commands, and I wouldn't lean on the wall or collapse at Shane's feet.

"I never wanted to break up with you," he whispered. "I just- I- Harley-"

And suddenly, I couldn't take another word. I couldn't do this; not now. Not when my hand kept clenching like I held my baton, or a knife; not when I kept seeing Lori's hair spread over the floor and the shadows that my brother's eyes had turned into. Not with the baby's first thin, high wail in my ears along with Lori's last, broken scream.

"Stop," I said, surprised by the venom in my voice where there'd been nothing but clinical flatness for so long. "Just stop. I don't care. I can't do this, Shane. You ended it. It doesn't matter. We're just friends anyway, right? Friends who occasionally fuck. If you want to do that, we can. Otherwise-" I shrugged at the appalled look on his face, at the way he recoiled. "Cool. I'm going to go crash. Tomorrow I'll handle clean up."

I turned in the doorway, glancing over my shoulder but not really seeing the look on his face. "And congratulations. It's a girl."

Every muscle in my body ached as I gathered a few things- gun, ammo, warm clothes, a blanket- and climbed into the guard tower. I couldn't be around anyone right now. I shouldn’t be around anyone.

Not even Dixon, with his concerned but knowing eyes, who'd watched me from across the room and shaken his head subtly when Beth would have spoken.

We'd lost Carol and T Dog as well. Dixon was hurting too; we all were. My brother was-

My brother was still down in the tombs, doing god knew what. Glenn had told me, I think. Maybe it was Maggie.

They didn't stop me when I walked out of C block, and that was all I cared about. I set up against the wall of the tower, gun beside me, staring out between the bars of the railing toward the gates and the trees in the distance.

Stars littered the sky. The moon had already set.

Sunlight touched my eyes and woke me with a start.

Chapter Text

Judging from the surprise on both Shane and Glenn's faces when Ricky walked in the next morning, he'd taken advantage of the cold showers, too. Shane had described my brother as even more blood-coated than me when he'd seen him last. Glenn, who had checked on him sometime after I'd collapsed into unconsciousness on my pallet in the corner of the common room, had just muttered 'you don't want to know' when Walsh asked how he'd been. I'd kept my eyes closed, too damn worn out to confront my brother yet.

I would, I knew. But not then.

And when he came into the common area where we all sat quiet, having already worked out plans for scavenging for bullets, food, and formula, I still wasn't ready. I kept my mouth shut, though I watched as he talked to no one in particular. Shane and Daryl both tried getting through to him. He steadfastly ignored them both, claiming dully that he'd only come up to check in with Carl. We had things under control, he told the wall, so he- he was going back down. He had things to do down there, apparently.

"What things?" I muttered.

Daryl, at my side, scoffed. "Kill more walkers, I guess."

"He didn't even look at Carl. Or the baby. Didn't speak directly to him. Carl needs him." I didn't know who exactly I was talking to, or if I was even talking to anyone but myself. But it pissed me off.

He hadn't looked my way, either.

Carl went down into the tombs with Dixon and Oscar. Oscar and Axel had been accepted into the group following the attack- Dixon had told me when he'd woken me from a nightmare in the middle of the night that it had been Andrew the weasel who'd let in the walkers and turned on the alarms- because they'd helped fight off the dead, stop the alarms, and kill Andrew. It had been Oscar who'd ultimately killed the little rat.

Then they'd been about to go look for us some more when I'd come out with Carl and Maggie, carrying the baby. Carl had named her Judith, after his favorite teacher.

Dixon, Walsh, and Beth seemed to be trading baby duties, and Dixon and Maggie had gone on a run for immediate supplies to a nearby daycare after Ricky and I had both gone back into the dark to kill things. They'd handled their shit, and taken care of Carl, and Shane had taken care of little Judith and then me. They'd all done their best for everyone.

I'd just killed my sister in law and then abandoned everyone to go kill more. That was what I was good at- killing.

So I rode in the back seat of the truck, ignoring Maggie and Glenn as they talked quietly. We were looking for bullets and baby supplies. There was a little town, with one of those mom-and-pop grocery stores we hadn't picked over yet, as well as a few other places on the main street we thought we'd hit.

I was the muscle. I was there to kill whatever got in our way.

"We should split up," Glenn decided. "All of us hit a different place. So we can get back quickly."

I hesitated. "I can't watch your backs if we're split up."

"Why do you think you need to?" Maggie asked, sounding minorly offended.

A few days ago, I'd have appreciated that. Today, I shrugged. "I'm here to kill things that need killing. I can't do that if I don't know where you are."

Maggie looked troubled. She reached for my arm, but I sidestepped her fingers even as she started to speak. "Angel, you didn't-"

"I'm good at killing," I said flatly. "Always have been."

"You didn't kill Lori."

I turned on my heel and headed for the pawn shop we'd passed that had prompted Glenn's splitting-up idea. It was bound to have both guns and ammo, given the sign proclaiming 'guns and gold' just under it. "I'll get the weapons," I called over my shoulder. "You guys get the baby shit. If you're not back here in twenty minutes, I'm coming looking."

Maggie called my name again, but I ignored her.

Fifteen minutes later, I slung two backpacks- purloined from the pawn shop- over my shoulders, grabbed the duffle bag from the floor at my feet, and eyed the rifles I'd had to leave behind. "I'll be back for you," I informed them.

"You, too," I added to the knife display. There was the usual decorative bullshit in there, but there were some good pieces as well. One in particular I wanted to see if I could find a way to attach to my baton, so I could stab as well as smash. Unfortunately, I only had so many pockets, bags, and hands.

I shoved the door open with my foot, muttering to myself about having to leave things behind, even if only for a minute. I'd dump all the bags out into the bed of the truck and come back for a second load, and-

I dropped everything and went into a crouch behind one of the abandoned cars that littered the road. Glenn had his hands up, standing near the truck, and just beyond him, Maggie stood, her eyes terrified, with… With Merle Dixon's arm around her and a knife at her throat.

Oh my god, I thought. Holy fucking shit. Merle Dixon was alive. Merle Dixon was alive, and right there, and hold Maggie and Glenn hostage.

Daryl was going to be so pissed.

I drew my gun and contemplated my options. I could drop Merle easily, but it'd kill Maggie in the process. That wasn't a knife at her throat, it was Merle's arm. He'd rigged himself a metal cap for the hand he'd removed and now had a knife attached to it for ease with all his slicing and stabbing needs. If I took the shot, he'd sever her throat on the way down. There was no getting around it.

I could have done it. But this wasn't a world-threatening situation. This wasn't a 'one for the greater good' choice. That was one of my family, my people, and I couldn't sacrifice her to kill Merle Dixon.

I wondered, somewhere in the back of my mind, if part of that was just not wanting to kill Merle. Daryl would be devastated. He'd left him behind, both in the city and when we left the quarry, but it had cost him. Though without his brother there, he wasn't Merle's carbon copy anymore. He was quieter, but there was a confidence in him now that hadn't been there when Merle was around. There was also a grief that hung over him, in the back of his eyes, and I wondered how often he'd turn and start to say something and discover his brother not at his shoulder.

When Ricky died- or we thought he did- I'd done it, over and over again. And I hadn't been home in years.

So if killing Merle was out, my choices narrowed to three: announce my presence and demand he let Maggie go, getting caught in the same trap she and Glenn now were; wait and see what happened from my hidden place; or head back to the prison for reinforcements. Announcing my presence seemed like it'd cost more than I'd gain. Merle would leave me in the same position he did Glenn, who had dropped his gun at his feet and now was telling Merle he'd bring Daryl here to see him; Merle just had to let Maggie go.

That left stay and watch or go for help. Stay and watch it was, I decided. There was no way I'd get home and back in time for it to do any good. They'd be dead or gone, and we wouldn't know where they went if they were gone.

Merle ordered Glenn into the truck. I slipped from my hiding place while he did as directed, moving slowly and staying out of Merle's line of sight. I blessed whoever had left the back of the truck open while we did our shopping, knowing I'd never have been able to get in the bed unseen if I'd had to open one of the shell's windows to do it. As it was, it was a close thing. Merle had slid in beside Maggie, hand-knife still at her throat, and Glenn started the truck as I scrambled into the bed, army-crawling forward on my elbows until I was under the back windshield. There was no way Merle could see me from the front seat unless he was searching the bed, and I could listen.

Not that there was much to listen to. Merle's asshole voice rose conversationally, asking questions about how Glenn had survived, who Maggie was, where they were camped. Neither Maggie nor Glenn responded, and I had to smile at their stubbornness. Good on them, I thought. Hold your tongue until you know the situation.

Whatever it was, it wasn't going to be good.

I was correct. I slipped from the truck bed barely in time to avoid being spotted, given only a last-minute warning from Merle about being 'almost there now, Chinese kid. Slow 'er down.'

He was still a racist and a sexist, it seemed, but that wasn't exactly my priority at the moment. I hit the ground and rolled, scrambling behind another abandoned car as quickly as I could, and held my breath for the screech of breaks I thought was sure to come. It didn't.

I followed on foot, since Glenn wasn't exactly driving quickly. I saw the wall and the guards along it, heart beating altogether too quickly, and my stomach churned.

That was a goddamn fortress. It was impressive, but it did not bode well for my people, and that was all I fucking cared about. What was Merle up to? Who was he working for, because he'd made it clear he was working for someone.

They were always working for someone, I thought as the ghost of Tom Ford wafted in my veins.

I picked a tree and climbed. Nestled in the branches, invisible, I watched. I could see over the wall, partly, and it was a town. Just a normal town, barricaded and blocked. People moved around cheerfully and freely, not armed to the teeth. Just living.

The guards on the walls dropped any of the dead who got too close, and then they removed the bodies. I listened to what I could, though I wasn't close enough to hear much. Woodbury, they called it. Run by someone they called the Governor.

I hate politicians, I thought with a grimace. Especially ones who only went by their title. It's not a goddamn rank; it's a job. Like going by "the Janitor".

The sun slipped toward the horizon and I decided I'd done what I could here. Now it was time to go get reinforcements, infiltrate the place, and get my people back.

It got dark rapidly. I hadn't been able to leave when I'd decided to, because another vehicle pulled up to Woodbury's gate and I got busy watching again. So I hadn't made it far before night fell. I didn't mind too much. Yes, the dead were more of a threat after dark, since I couldn't see them, but I had other senses. Let them work when one was dulled, and it was almost like you didn't need the dulled sense anymore.

Though the tree branch that smacked me in the face said vision might still be a good thing, after all.

I shifted quietly through the trees, circling the town first to get a good sense of its size, how many people might be in there, before I went home. Information was king in any hostage retrieval situation, I knew. I'd love to find a back door in and out, before I even tried an extraction.

Blind Angel can see. Repeat, Blind Angel can see.

Noise in the trees nearby had me freezing where I was, using stillness and shadow to be unseen. Did they have a party out too? Had I been seen from the wall after all? Or was it the dead?

There was no stench accompanying the rustling, and it was too steady, too rhythmic to be the dead. It was people or animal, and frankly, I wasn't prepared for any animal big enough to sound like that. Woman versus bear, the bear would probably win, with or without my specialized skill set. Especially since shooting would only bring in reinforcements for the bear.

The shadows moved in a familiar way and I relaxed. "Dixon," I called softly. "Don't pin me to the tree."

The shadow paused. "Angel. The fuck ya doin' out here?"

"Me? What about you?"

The filtered out of the dark slowly- Daryl, Ricky, Oscar, and a woman I didn't recognize. My gun rose immediately, brain noting the sword along her back in a moment of 'what the fuck' while I focused on her eyes. They'd narrowed on mine, suspicion heavy in them fading away somehow. She recognized me, I thought. But I didn't know her.

"Who the fuck is that?" I asked Ricky.

Her lip pulled up subtly, fingers going behind her head to dance along the hilt of the katana. "Who the fuck do you think you are?"

I laughed. It was soft, but it was there. I flashed her a feral grin, more a baring of teeth than anything else. "The Blind Angel. I like you. Ricky, they've got Maggie and Glenn in there. Dixon-" I hesitated, not sure if I should tell him what I knew or not. "It's your brother. He took them hostage. I'm sorry."

Chapter Text

Daryl was a mess, but we didn't have time to deal with that right now. I took charge of Rick's expedition with a single sentence, and everyone, thankfully, followed my lead. Even the swordswoman, Michonne, who knew of a back way in that I hadn't found yet.

Inside, she was less use. We took a single prisoner. I voted to kill him, but Ricky squashed that idea.

Gunfire settled it. I turned, snapped orders, and noticed the absence of Michonne. I dismissed her immediately- I hadn't been relying on her presence to begin with, once we'd had access to the town that was all I needed her for- and led my team out.

Rick had brought the smoke grenades and flash-bangs from the riot gear. I deployed them into the shed the gunfire had come from, calm on the surface of both actions and thoughts. It was almost relaxing, running a squad in a situation like this. This, I knew. This was my job, even before the spycraft.

The Blind Angel can see. Repeat, the Blind Angel can see.

The Blind Angel was leading the team, and in the mayhem, I tangled with Merle Dixon. Before his brother saw, I drove Merle off to the side, into an empty room with a table and two chairs. An interrogation room- I'd seen plenty in my time.

I had my baton on his throat from behind, where he couldn't see who it was that had him in such a perilous position, and a knife to his kidney. "Merle," I hissed in his ear. "Knees. Now."

He hit his knees. The others were calling for me, having dispatched Merle's friends and located our targets. But I had something to do here too, before we left. I dug the baton in a little harder, and Merle's breath choked and wheezed.

"Ok, Motorcycle Asshole. I know you don't give a shit about anyone but yourself, but here's what you should know. Follow us, and I will destroy this place. Down to the last bricks. Hurt one of mine again, take one of mine again, and I will take your other hand, and leave you alive. Helpless. To depend only on the brother you belittle, the brother you do not deserve. I'll take your tongue, too, so you can't spew insults and filth the way you did. I'd say nod if you understand, but I don't care. You've been warned. Warn your Governor."

I shoved him forward, slashing along his arm to distract him with pain, and I was out the door and in the darkness, collecting my squad and our targets and moving back through the buildings rapidly.

Retrieval had gone off well, I thought. Exfil probably wouldn't.

We holed up briefly to regroup and cut our targets free. Glenn had been beaten to hell and back, and honestly looked like he could barely walk. Maggie wasn't beaten, but she was wearing Glenn's shirt and a haunted look in her eyes that made my stomach churn, deep under the armor I wore as the Blind Angel.

Michonne wasn't with us, and the others finally noticed. Glenn spilled the beans about Merle, not knowing I'd already figured it out, and I kept watch while Rick talked Daryl down from looking for him. Merle would look for us soon enough. The question was, would he come alone, or would I make good on my promise?

The town stirred, men and women with guns running everywhere. I moved from the window, tapping Oscar to keep watch- which he did- and went to Daryl. I grabbed him by the shoulder, spinning him to face me. Deep, troubled blue eyes stared into mine, and I wished I had sympathy to offer. I knew what his brother was to him- sometime protector, only friend, equal parts abuser and abused with whom he shared a bond. I wished I had kind words to offer, but I had a mission. I had to get my team out of here, along with our targets.

"Dixon," I snapped. "I'll come back and get him out myself, but right now, I need you at my back to help me get them out. I trust you and Rick, and I need you watching my six. Now come on, we have to move or we're all going to be spending more quality time with Merle than any of us want."

His eyes cleared of the anguished indecision, and he nodded once. I went back to the door, watching and waiting in tense silence until our opportunity came.

We almost made it before they found us. I took a knee behind cover, laying down fire not in the wild way my brother was- and he should have known better- but in measured, careful shots at any hint of shadow or movement. Daryl worked nearby, too, and I kept one ear on what went down behind us.

Michonne and Oscar helped Glenn and Maggie over the wall. Oscar got shot, falling even as I ordered Ricky over, too. He went without a word, followed by Michonne. Then it was time for Dixon and I, but that's when things went to shit. As usual.

I scrambled over the wall, hissed for Rick to come with me, and left Glenn in charge of Michonne and Maggie. "Get to them to the truck," I told her. "If you don't, I'll kill you. That's a promise."

"I believe it," Michonne said quietly. She turned and melted into the trees, her hand on Maggie's arm gentle.

"They grabbed Daryl," I told Ricky. "We're getting him back. Good?"

"Good." Rick's voice was flat and hard as my own, and I nodded, checked my ammo, and slammed the magazine back into the rifle.

It wasn't easy, but I hadn't expected it to be. They never sent me in unless it was near-impossible. Unless it'd take a miracle… Or an angel.

The Governor had gathered his people in an arena, and Daryl and Merle were back to back, throwing punches at the dead, when we made our move. I'd held up a hand, ordering Ricky to wait and watch when we arrived at the entrance to the torchlit place with its screaming crowd calling for blood. I recognized Andrea as I swept the crowd, ignoring for the moment the Dixon brothers beating the shit out of each other in the middle of the ring.

Fight club wasn't the problem; the ringleader was. Daryl could take Merle. I didn't care if he was older and bigger; Daryl was the scrapper. He'd put his brother on his ass, after the winter we'd had.

I found the Governor easily, and had him in my sites. One shot, I thought, finger brushing the trigger. I could take him out in one shot.

Then they'd brought the dead in, leading them on poles much like Ricky and Hershel had, and were closing them in on both Dixons. That was it, I decided. Time to make our move.

I dropped the walker closest to Daryl after he'd punched it in the face once. Rick threw the smoke bomb into the center of the crowd, and screaming began anew, in an entirely different way. I fired again, dropping another of the dead before the smoke was too thick for any of that nonsense.

I traded gun for flashlight, cutting it on and off several times in rapid succession. Daryl would know. We'd used that kind of signaling before, and-

There he came, out of the smoke, his crossbow somehow in hand. Behind him came a grinning, wild-eyed Merle, who flashed me a lurid wink and stuck his tongue out at me.

I stared flatly, no reaction, and lead the way back through the town. When Daryl and Rick fell into place on either side of me, I heard Merle's grumbled 'why we following the girlie', but he could come or not- I didn't care. I'd retrieved my target, and it was time to get the hell out of here one way or another.

"He's going to be a problem when we get back," Rick told Daryl quietly.

Daryl got stubborn about it, but I stayed silent. I kept an eye on Merle, who knew I was watching him. He waved with his good hand, smirk on his lips. My expression never changed.

"He beat up Glenn. Did- did something to Maggie."

"Naw, that weren't him," Daryl insisted. "That was the Governor. He's my brother. We'll make it work."

Rick didn't have much to say to that. We kept moving, Ricky now leading the way, Daryl in the rear with Merle. We got to the truck as the sun rose, the whole night having been a blaze of smoke and fury.

I let the rays try to warm the ice off my mind, my skin, but it didn't work.

Glenn had an issue, as expected. He ended up telling us what the goddamn Governor had done to Maggie- he'd made her take her shirt and bra off. Bent her over the table and threatened to rape her. Maggie had apologized back in Woodbury for breaking, for telling him where we were and how many we were.

But she hadn't until he'd drug her into the room where Merle had thrown a walker at Glenn after beating him up and threatened to shoot Glenn.

She was a tough bitch, I thought, giving her a hard nod of approval. It was all I could offer, and she nodded back. Her eyes lingered on mine, both of us sharing a moment of terror and pain the men arguing so loudly around us didn't understand.

These men, our men, were the good ones- Merle Dixon excluded. But good men didn't know. Not unless they'd been there themselves. Women did. Even women who hadn't experienced it knew, and Michonne- dubbed 'the Last Samurai' by Daryl, which had everyone's lips twitching into involuntary smiles- shared that same grim, set look in her eyes that Maggie and I both had, too.

She was coming back with us, at least until she healed. Ricky hadn't wanted her to, but she was. She'd been shot in the leg- by Merle- while escaping, and she'd left to look for Andrea. She'd stabbed the Governor through the eye and discovered he kept his dead, walker daughter locked in the closet.

She'd killed the walker. She hadn't managed to take the Governor. But oh, she hated him. She wanted that man dead.

Merle wasn't coming with us. Glenn wouldn't have it, and neither would Maggie.

So Daryl wasn't coming back either.

I climbed into the cab of the truck without a word when he announced that he'd be going with Merle.

"He's my brother," Daryl told Ricky. He didn't look at me.

"We're your family, too," Ricky said gently.

Apparently not in a way that mattered, I thought. I tipped my head against the window and closed my eyes, blocking out the rest of the argument and the parting of ways. Ricky climbed into the cab and we were off, silence filling the vehicle except for the roaring of the engine.

Daryl didn't try to say goodbye. Ricky didn't say anything either.

Chapter Text

We pulled through the gates, still in silence. Rick had driven the whole way back without saying a word to me, and now he parked just within the inner gates and jumped out of cab, grabbing Carl in a tight hug immediately. The kid came to me next, falling against me and clinging hard even as Ricky held up a hand to Carol.

Somehow, Carol was alive. I stared at her, not sure how that had happened when we'd believed her and T Dog both to be dead, but that was a story for later. When I wasn't as wrung out as I was right now. When this place was safe, which if Michonne and Maggie and Glenn were right, it wasn't. The Governor would be on his way, looking to take this place from us.

Walsh jogged up behind us, and I side-stepped his reaching hands, not willing to deal with any of it as Rick announced that Daryl was alive, but he'd chosen to go with Merle rather than come back with us. I was on my way down to my guard tower when Carl spoke and stopped me in my tracks.

"Dad, there's people here. I let them in."

I spun on my heel, baton coming into my hand and snapping open, and followed right on my brother's heels into C block.

There were four of them. There'd been five, but they'd lost one just as they got to the prison. Carl had let them into the common area. They'd buried their dead in the field where we buried ours. They seemed like us- battle and road weary, just looking for safety. If I had a vote, they could find it elsewhere, though it seemed I didn't. Have a vote, that was. For a moment, as Ricky extended a hand in welcome to Tyreese, it seemed like we'd be learning to live with new faces.

Then my brother's hand dropped to his gun, his eyes going wide as he stared up at the railing overhead, where nothing stood. He had the Python out and started shooting before any of us could blink, Shane and I running in together. Glenn yelled for Tyreese and his people to go, just go, as we wrestled the gun from my screaming, wailing brother.

Python in hand, I stared wild-eyed around at the rest of our people. Beth cuddled Judith close, her hand curled over the baby's head, and Hershel looked sad but unsurprised. "What the shit?" I said into the sudden silence as Shane maneuvered Ricky away. "What the shit?"

Before anyone could answer, I tossed Ricky's gun down on the table and stalked back out the door. Crazy brother or not, someone needed to be on watch.

I scanned the world around me through the scope of the rifle, trying not to think about my brother, his meltdown in there, or Daryl leaving. I tried not to think much at all, except about security and watch rotations and how defensible- or not- this place would shape up to be. I was doing a damn good job of it too, the not thinking about anything, when the trap door opened behind me and Walsh leaned against the railing a few seconds later.

"So. Wanna talk about it?"

"About what?" I grunted, panning back the other way. The road would be the most obvious approach, and the least easy to guard against. We couldn't block it off without essentially blockading ourselves in, and-

"About what? Shit. Rick. Daryl. This- this Governor. You get picked up with Maggie and Glenn? Anything- anything happen to you, too?"

I pulled the gun from my eye and shot him a look. "Nothing happened to me. You really think Merle Dixon could get the drop on me? I jumped in the bed of the truck until they got close to the place, then rolled out to scout."

"Of course you did." Shane scrubbed at his head with both hands, then looked me dead in the eyes. "How far up shit creek are we then, girl?"

"Depends," I answered with a shrug. "If this Governor wants this place- and it seems like he does- pretty damn far. If he doesn't, only as far as Rick's gone to Crazytown. What the hell's up with him?"

"Dunno. Old man said he was getting phone calls down there. Something about a place we could all go. Thing is, see- damn phone ain't even plugged in."

That got my attention enough to take my mind away from approach routes and blind spots and backdoor bolt holes for a fast exit. "Excuse you?"

"Yeah. What I said, about. See, the thing is- the thing is, he came up yesterday, after ya'll left. Said he was fine now; he was back. Thanked me for takin' care of the baby, Carl. Then we were out here, and we saw Michonne, down there at the gate. She had formula, diapers. Bullets. Only reason we let her in. Told us someone had taken Maggie and Glenn."

Mind whirling, I tried to put all the information into place in my web. "Back to the phone calls-"

"Damn, girl, hell if I know. Man's fucking lost it. Not that he ain't got a reason to, mind, but- what the hell?"

"What the hell's right." I went back to scanning, this time without the scope. "The Governor's going to come for us."

"You think so?"

"He tried to feed Daryl and Merle to walkers. Fight club style."

"What the fuck does that even mean?"

I snorted. "They were in an arena, fighting each other, then they teamed up and about that time, the Governor had his soldiers bring in the fucking dead, on sticks. Dixon punched one in the face before I shot it. Got Maggie and Glenn first, and everything was good. We'd almost completed exfil when the enemy combatants found us. They snagged Daryl, so I grabbed Ricky and we went back for him. Got him and his asshole brother. Then he left us. Didn't even say goodbye," I added in a mutter, hating the hurt that filled my voice.

Not that I'd given him much of a chance, but still. He could have come to the window. He could have called my name as I walked away. He could have chosen me over Merle, I thought, and banished it ruthlessly.

But it lingered all the same, as did the stony silence between Ricky and I in the cab of the truck. "Ricky isn't talking to me unless he has to," I told Shane in the quiet.

Shane sighed. "Not much of a surprise, honestly. He's not talking to anybody hardly."

"He's talking to you. He's talking to Carl, Hershel, Carol. How the fuck is Carol alive, by the way? And why'd you let strangers in?" I added, voice going hard and harsh. I'd rather fight with him about any of that than think about having maybe lost my brother forever and having been abandoned by Daryl, too.

Shane grabbed my arm, turning me to face him when I would have kept looking at the road. "Dixon found Carol, down in solitary. I let them in because they're just people. Not bad guys. They didn't mean any harm; they're just looking for somewhere safe. That's not what you need to talk about, though. Dixon's going to come back. Rick'll come around. He's not blaming you, Angel. He's just- he's just grieving, that's all."

"And apparently batshit crazy," I said, pulling away. "It's fine, Shane. I'm fine. Daryl can do what he wants. He's a grown man, and it's not like he was my boyfriend or anything. No strings attached, with either him or you, remember?"

"Sure, I remember. I also know damn well you're lying to yourself about that," he said easily. "Angel, sweetheart, you don't do casual."

"Casual's all I do," I snarled, suddenly pissed where before I'd been tired and numb. How dare he act like he knew anything about me anymore? How dare he stand there and try to tell me I didn't do casual, when he was the last anything-but-casual I'd experienced? "You don't know shit about shit, Shane. You left. How dare you claim you know me?"

"I did. I left." He reached out, his fingertips stroking down my cheek, barely touching.

They burned anyway, as he brushed a tear I hadn't known had fallen from my skin.

He stared at nothing, just beyond my shoulder, his jaw tight. "I left. But stop thinking it's cause I wanted to. I never- I never wanted to."

I scoffed, turning away. He'd been the one. He'd made all those promises, we'd talked forever, and then- then he'd come to my place one night and said it was over. That he was breaking up with me, and we were done. "People don't break up with someone they don't want to break up with, Shane," I said, weariness and old pain in my voice that I couldn't banish from it. "I never wanted it. You did."

"No. I didn't. I had to."

That had a sneer curling my lip. "Why? You get drafted? Get a girl pregnant and had to get married? Join the priesthood? What 'had to' was there? We were in college, for shit's sake."

Shane groaned, like I was the problem. I rolled my eyes heavily, and he sighed. "Will you shut up and listen for a minute, damn it? Always were convinced you were right about every damn thing, Harley Grimes. You have no idea what- what had happened."

"What?" I stilled, my anger leaving at the look of raw pain in his eyes, on his face. "What happened? What are you talking about?"

"I told your old man I'd never tell you about this. Made him a promise," he muttered to himself, staring down at his hands. "But I cain't- you think I broke up with you because I didn't want you anymore? Shit. I can't let you go on thinking that, sweetheart. No matter what your old man made me promise. It's his fault."

"Dad? What does he have to do with it? He loved you." Confusion had me frowning, staring at Shane and willing anything he was saying to start making sense. My father had made him break up with me, and promise not to tell me? That couldn't be right.

He grimaced, shaking his head as he shifted. "Yeah, he did. It wasn't like that- it was- I'm not making any sense. It made perfect sense at the time, and now- now I don't know. We were visiting, me and Rick. We'd gone back home so he could propose to Lori, back when she was pregnant the first- uh."

"I know about that," I said softly. Ricky and Lori had been about to have a baby once, and then they weren't. It was part of why I'd lost it so strongly when they had Carl. After the miscarriage, Lori hadn't wanted kids for a long time. She hadn't been ready, and we all understood. "Ricky told me."

"Course he did," Shane muttered. "Anyway, we were back there; he proposed. Your mom and dad were so happy, and then your dad got a call. He had to go in. He asked if I wanted to ride along. He'd have asked Ricky, too, but Ricky was out at Lori's folks' place, celebrating with them. I rode along, and it wasn't a bad call or nothing, but your dad- he told me he was happy for Ricky, but scared to. Started talking about needing to give him advice on how to handle being a cop and a husband. How hard it was on the woman, being home alone when we got a call. How bad it could distract a cop, having someone at home waiting on him. I was listening to him, and- it hit me."

My breath had stopped as he told the story. It had been shortly after Ricky and Lori got engaged that Shane had broken up with me, and I'd never even thought- never considered the two were connected. It had been awkward at the wedding, when Shane and I had both been standing up for Ricky. We made it work, though, and there were nothing but fond memories around that day.

"What hit you?" I whispered, lump in my throat. "That I wasn't who you wanted waiting for you during your shift?"

"That if you were waiting for me, I'd let other people die to get back to you," he snapped, turning suddenly blazing eyes my way. "I was so in love with you, Angel. My angel, since the minute your brother casually said 'I'm bringing my little sister along. She's cool, you'll like her'. I realized in that minute that if I stayed with you, I couldn't do the job I'd wanted my whole life. And you were already restless at the idea of being a cop's wife in King County. You wanted more. I let you go, Harley. I didn't leave you. I let you go."

I stared at him, mind stuttering to a blanking halt. "What? I don't- I don't understand-"

He cut my off, taking my face in between his hands. "I love you. I've always loved you. I left you to keep you safe, to keep me safe, to keep everyone else safe. But fuck everyone else, now. The only people I give a shit about protecting are in this prison right now. The most important one is you. You always have been, angel."

I stared into his eyes, hearing the sincerity in his voice. But I shook my head, pulling away, remembering another night he'd looked at me with those same set, determined eyes, and told me we were over. "Fuck off, Shane," I whispered through tears. "Go away. Just- go the fuck away. Leave me alone!"

He pressed a kiss to my head as I turned away, scooping the rifle back up and setting my eye on the scope, despite the tears making it impossible to see. I jerked away from him, but he brushed his fingers down my arm.

"I'll go. But I'm not going far, and I'm not leaving you alone. Never again," he whispered.

Chapter Text

The day wore on, tense and uncomfortable. Inside, Ricky was nowhere to be seen, down in the tombs with his unplugged telephone again. I supposed it was better than waving his goddamn gun around, but not by much.

I decided in a fit of annoyed temper that we didn't need him, anyway. Glenn tried taking charge, and Shane and I let him for the most part. I didn't know why Shane was, but I preferred it that way. Pay no attention, everyone, while I take care of things, I thought as I made quiet recommendations in the correct ears for certain things to take place. Pay no attention, and I'll save your lives.

Or get you all killed, a ghost of a voice whispered in my ear.

I squashed that down, because right now I wasn't Harley Grimes, angry and abandoned by everyone she cared about. I was the Blind Angel, and this was where I thrived. If I stayed here, in this roll, handling my shit and everyone else's behind the scenes, I'd be fine. We all would.

Glenn took Maggie and a truck around to the back of the prison to block off where walkers were getting in after discovering they'd filled the tombs again. We'd handle getting the tombs cleaned out after repairs were made; for now the number of closed gates would be enough. Oscar and Carol moved all the pallets, metal tables, and other protection they could find to the bridge between C and D, building a backup sniper's nest. I picked two guard towers to reinforce and equip as well, working out a mental rotation for watch duty that did not include Maggie.

I'd seen the way her hands were shaking. Taking her out was a good idea, but she wasn't handling what had happened to her well. Not that I could blame her. The first time I'd been cornered in the showers in boot camp, I'd reacted about the same.

Like she'd snapped to Glenn about the Governor, 'nothing' had happened. But it had, and it could happen again, and worse. She'd come to terms with it eventually, I decided as I scooped up my supplies for the outer tower I'd chosen as a nest and headed across the field. Or it would eat her alive from the inside. Somehow, with what I knew of her over the winter, I rather thought she'd be ok.

I'd just finished setting up, laying on my belly and testing the scope, when my brother appeared in my sights. I frowned, lifting up over the gun to squint at what the idiot was doing outside the fences. Setting by eye back against the gun, I followed him as he wandered, looking for something.

"The fuck?" I muttered. But Ricky being off his rocker was pretty low on my priority list today, if I was being honest.

I finished my range-testing as best I could without firing shots and wasting ammo, then headed down to check the gates for structural integrity. I wanted to see if there was any way to reinforce them, because a vehicle at a fast enough clip would send them buckling in as it was, with very little damage to the vehicle happening.

Michonne slipped into the overturned bus, her sword on her back, and I spared a second to wonder what she might be doing in there. She interested me. She was too quiet and watchful, not missing much of anything, and she faded into the background easily. She'd been with Andrea over the winter, Andrea who hadn't died on the farm like we'd all thought. Michonne had left Woodbury, leaving Andrea behind, calling the Governor a 'Jim Jones type', then brought the formula and diapers Maggie and Glenn had collected here to the prison with a gunshot wound in her leg, courtesy of Merle.

Rick had tried torturing her to get information. He'd been bad at it, Shane had told me with mild disgust. That somehow didn't surprise me at all.

I wasn't worried about her betraying us, not in the way some of the others were. The entire 'enemy of my enemy is my friend' concept wasn't new to me. It was how I operated in the field more often than not. But I did want to know what was going on behind those watchful eyes. She was an unknown, and I wanted to add her into my web of catalogued information more fully.

I had a few ideas for the gates, but there wasn't a whole lot we could do without going on a supply run. It could be done, and I'd take care of it, but first I needed to get my dumbass crazy brother back inside before he got himself killed or bit.

"Ricky." I waited, inside the guard run, for him to acknowledge my voice.

He turned partway toward me, but didn't speak. I sighed heavily, hooking my fingers through the fence.

"Ricky, come on. Get your ass back inside; you don't need to be out there. None of us do, especially alone. Didn't Merle teach you anything snatching Maggie and Glenn up?"

He turned away, decisively, and took several steps in the opposite direction of coming back in. Well, fine then, I thought, and tossed my hands in the air. I went back to my tower, taking up watch until Glenn and Maggie got back in and Glenn could take over while I went on a run. We didn't have the hands to be sending people out in multiple groups at a time, after all.

I didn't settle into my carefully crafted nest, instead leaning on the railing with one foot tucked in casually. I swept the trees, keeping one eye on my brother, and noted old man Hershel crutching his way to the fence. Ricky went to talk to him, I thought bitterly. He wouldn't talk to me, but Hershel he would.

I hated it. I turned away, letting my eyes roam the rest of the prison, trying to figure out what I might be missing in our defenses. I never questioned if the Governor would come after us. Maybe if it had just been a matter of getting Maggie and Glenn out, he'd have left it alone. Maybe. But then we'd shot up the arena, scared all his townsfolk, and made him look weak.

He'd be coming. Probably sooner than we wanted. I just hoped he'd take the time to plan like we were, not rush in and-

The single shot echoed in the stillness. I whirled, dropping into a crouch and sprinting for the door to get inside the tower, behind the brick wall and reinforced glass where I'd set up the nest. Only when I'd hit cover did I begin a wild search- for the enemy, for my people in the field below, for my brother.

They came from nowhere, shooting up the field to keep our heads down. Walkers started moving from the trees, attracted by the noise, and I didn't know where to shoot- at the enemy or at the dead coming for my brother, who lay barely concealed behind the tiny bridge over the canal.

Shit, the old man, I thought wildly. He lay on the ground, too, using a rise in the land as a meagre cover and mostly doing a lot of rolling, it seemed. He was the most defenseless of all of us, but he had his little pistol in hand and fired off a few rounds when he could. Michonne was behind the bus, and I couldn't turn to look at the courtyard behind me.

Return fire began to echo, so I knew someone at least had their wits going up there. Probably Walsh, who'd at least been in a firefight or two before. I decided to trust him to handle everyone up there, concentrating on the enemy and the two most in need near me- Hershel and my brother.

The whine of an engine revving heavily had my heart sinking. They were going to ram the gates, just like I'd been worried about. Goddamn it; I didn't have enough time to set up an effective defense against this kind of assault.

I'd need to drop the driver and blow the tires. That was the only chance of stopping it, and to do that, I'd have to get very lucky, seeing as how I wasn't nicely hidden in my nest but currently taking fire of my own. I muttered curses as I moved to what was the best position I could come to, listening hard to judge the distance and get the timing right. I stayed out of sight and the hail of bullets stopped coming my way.

Not that it made me feel any better, since that meant they were headed someone else's.

Bingo. I popped up, took rapid aim, and got off one shot before I had to move again. I'd taken the driver; I was sure of it. Unfortunately, they'd had their eyes on me, and the return fire had been too quick for me to pop a tire, too, and-

The gates crumpled like paper with the force slamming through it. Dead the driver might have been, but he went out with his foot on the gas and the van pointed in the right direction. Gates down, I knew it was time to get the fuck out of the tower and make a move before they started creeping in and I was pinned here. Hershel and Michonne were exposed now, but if we could move fast enough, we could get to the inner gates before they sent another vehicle our way.

Ricky was on his own, I thought, though it hurt to think. There was no way I could get to him right now. I'd just have to hope he could handle himself.

I eased open the door, scanned, and found no immediate threat aside from the hail of bullets, so I flung the door open to make a run for it.

I slammed it closed again immediately. "Shit! Damn! Fuck! They- these assholes," I snarled.

There'd been a passenger. They'd loaded the fucking dead into the van, the passenger had opened the back and made a run for it, and the dead now filled the field.

I opened the door again, my mind processing the squeal of tires and the noise of engines receding, the absence of flying bullets- they were retreating. They'd done what they came to do, and that was bad enough.

Michonne. Hershel. They were in the field with the walkers.

Ricky.

I whirled, dropping the rifle at my feet in exchange for my knife and baton in either hand, and started moving. I saw Michonne with Hershel's arm over her shoulders, sword in her other hand, and made the snap decision to go for my brother.

The dead were surrounding him now, and he was out of bullets. I made for the mangled gates, slipping through as Glenn and Maggie's truck came flying up and inside. I waved them toward Hershel and Michonne, Glenn nodding grimly and stepping on the gas.

Ricky backed against the fence, holding a walker at arm's length and beating it with the butt of the Python. My heart was in my throat, my feet moving as fast as they could, but every step landed me with another dead fucker on my hands.

I wasn't going to make it.

Chapter Text

I threw my knife. It was the only thing I could think to do, and it sunk into the eye of the dead bastard coming for my brother's neck even as his head whipped my way in surprise.

"Watch yourself!" I yelled, gesturing to the situation he had going on. I was fine, and luckily my brother might be captain of the crazies right now, but he was also full to the brim of self-preservation instinct. He went back to his own fight and left me to deal with wading through the crowd to get to him from the other side. I set to work grimly, baton in hand, not willing to fire more bullets unless there was no other choice. We'd had enough noise, and plenty of the dead would be coming this way without making it worse.

The crossbow bolt bloomed like a demented flower from the back of the head closest to me. I blinked, grabbed it, and pulled it free to stab under the chin of another one. Merle's wild-ass yell had me grinding my teeth together, but in seconds, the fight was over.

I stood breathing hard, with Ricky, Daryl, and Merle all gathered loosely around. There was a break in the dead, but more were coming from the trees.

I handed Daryl his bolt and went for the gates without a word. They'd follow me or they wouldn't.

They followed me. Shane opened the gate for us to slip through, the dead milling around in the field meaning we weren't exactly going to be leaving it open any time soon. I scanned the courtyard, noting Axel's crumpled body, and breathed a sigh of relief when I counted heads and everyone else was visible. Even Beth, gripping her own rifle with a pissed off look and a messy side-ponytail.

I was pretty sure she had spit up on her shoulder.

I turned to survey the field and the gates as Ricky hugged Carl tightly. I could feel Daryl's eyes burning into me, but I steadfastly ignored him. He'd made a choice, and just because he decided to come back didn't mean I'd forgotten who he'd chosen.

Damn it, we'd lost the field. There was no taking that back until we could repair the gates, and who the fuck knew when that might be. We had to focus on surviving, first. I took the rifle from Beth's startled hands, slinging it over my shoulder and heading for Dixon's bike. I tossed a leg over, ready to kick it to life, and-

Hands scooped me up and bodily off. I swung, connecting with Shane's body so he let out an 'oof' of air and pain.

"Fucking- don't hit me again," he snapped, grabbing my hand as I pulled back for another punch. "I know what you're thinking, girl, and it ain't a good idea."

"It's a damn bad one," Daryl called, sounding pissed.

I continued my new habit of ignoring him completely. I focused on Walsh, eyes narrowed. "I'm going back. I'll get in quietly, take out the Governor, and then anyone else who needs it while they sleep. You know I can do it."

"I know you can get your ass killed or captured trying," he shot back.

Truly offended, I blinked slowly at him and turned decisively away. I was going, whether any of them liked it or not. I'd end this quickly and painlessly, and be back before the arguing over if they should follow me stopped.

"We need a plan," Ricky said.

"I already have one," I retorted, going for the bike again. Shane got in my way, and my eyes narrowed. "Move, Walsh."

"Make me, Grimes."

"Both of you knock it off." Rick sounded like he had when we were teenagers and the hormones had really kicked in, but before Shane and I had started doing anything about the tension between us- tired and mildly disturbed. "Angel."

I stiffened, turning as he said my name. I met my brother's eyes for the first time since I'd carried his baby out of the building where I'd killed his wife.

He smiled. "Thank you. For saving my life out there. I got your knife."

"Oh, shit," Walsh swore under his breath as I did the unthinkable.

I burst into tears.

I don't think the attack caused as much panic as my sudden crying jag did. Ricky swept me into a hug, and I clung to my big brother while I tried to get myself under control. Voices hummed in muted whispers around me, Shane and Daryl clearly having an argument, Maggie sounding concerned as fuck, Beth wondering if they should get me some water.

Water might not have been the worst idea, but what I really needed was a stiff drink and a good sleep. Neither seemed likely, so I'd settle for the Governor's head on a pike.

Ricky let me go when I pulled away, thinking about the Governor stopping the unexpected flood. "Sorry," I muttered, avoiding his- and everyone else's- eyes. "And- Ricky, I'm so sorry. I wouldn't have- she- she begged-"

"Stop," Ricky said firmly. He set his hands on my shoulders, forcing me to face him. His eyes met mine with clarity for the first time since Lori's death. "You saved my daughter's life. My son's. You did- you did what she asked. I couldn't have- I'm glad you were with them," he finished, sadness in his voice.

I stopped breathing for a minute as he spoke. He meant it. He really did. My brother didn't hate me after all.

I nodded, gulping back the tears that wanted to start again, and turning the conversation away before they could. "We need to get inside. Make a plan, if you're sure you won't just let me go handle it."

"Not alone, ya ain't," Daryl snarled.

Him, I ignored.

We locked Merle in a cell, much to his amusement and Daryl's impatient irritation. Maggie and Glenn didn't want him roaming free, and considering Glenn's face, I didn't blame them. Merle could rot in one of those cells for all I cared, but he'd be valuable in figuring out the Governor's next move, if only because he knew the bastard.

We had our council of war. Half of us wanted to stay and fight. The other half wanted to run. I knew this wasn't the real council. That would meet later, between Ricky, Shane, and myself. Maybe Daryl, too, but I wasn't counting on it.

I wasn't counting on him anymore.

This was to appease the rest of them. To hear their voices and their opinions. Which would then be overridden by Ricky, who chose the moment when everyone was arguing to begin to walk out of the room without a word.

I shoved off the wall I'd chosen to lean on when old man Hershel yelled Rick's name. He put my brother in his place, with a speech about Rick declaring the Rickytatership- not that he used that word- and how Hershel had put his family in Rick's hands and how Rick was slipping and we could all see it, but he needed to get it together now and lead.

He'd wanted to be in charge. Now it was time to be in charge. I couldn't have agreed more, except that Ricky had never been in charge in my eyes.

"We're staying," Rick said flatly.

Merle laughed without humor as my brother left, and I shot him a glare before heading for the inner tower and my second nest. He wouldn't be back tonight, most likely. But I'd be ready all the same.

And maybe I'd slip out when the others settled down and go take care of it myself after all.

Chapter Text

I came down from the nest a few hours later, when I noticed Glenn in the walkway between buildings, set up with his own rifle. He was on watch, it seemed, and that meant I should probably go down so we could have the real war council. I found Ricky, Walsh, and Daryl together, like I'd thought I would, huddled around one of the tables in the common area and talking in low, serious voices.

Carol handed me a bowl as I passed her, fork already in it. "They're planning," she said softly. "Try to talk them out of staying, would you?"

"Why would I do that?"

She looked troubled as she watched Beth feeding Judith. "This place isn't worth our lives."

"True," I agreed. "But having stability and safety is worth fighting for. Don't worry. If their plan is bullshit, I'll handle things myself."

Her smile was faint, but it was there. I took my bowl and wandered over to the boys, sliding in at my brother's side. He draped his arm over my shoulders without pausing as he talked about Woodbury to Shane, describing what we'd seen of the place in detail. I ate and listened, correcting a couple of times or expanding on details.

Walsh sighed heavily when Ricky finished. "Sounds like we're in it, brother."

"Bit," Daryl agreed. "Merle says he's the type to hurt for the hell of it, too. Ain't likely to back down."

"I've dealt with worse," I said with a careless shrug, turning the complex over in my mind. "I wish I had a more accurate map of the interior, so I could really go straight for the target. Take out the head, and the rest of them will be frightened sheep. Maybe a few of the soldiers will try to get it together, but I can take them down or change their minds. Seriously, our best bet is to send me in tonight."

"Ain't a good idea, baby."

I stared at Daryl for a few seconds, wordlessly, before setting the now-empty bowl aside and grabbing up the open notebook in the center of the table. One of them- probably Ricky- had done a quick sketch of the town, just the walls really, with the gate and the arena marked. I filled in a few more things I remembered on the inside as well as the outside, then pointed to where we'd scrambled over the wall to get out. "This entrance will be totally burned; I'd have to find another one. A few hours of recon and a conversation with Merle and Michonne should fill the inside map in completely, and I can plan the best ways in and out. Send me in, alone or with a small team- no more than two others; Merle and Michonne, maybe- and I can take out the Governor, take down their weapons cache, and open the gates from the inside. Have a team ready to come in and secure any discontents, do crowd control, and it's done. We get to decide if we want to live there or here. Personally, I think here is better. I don't like the vibes over there."

"You don't like the vibes- yeah, ok," Walsh muttered, scrubbing a hand through his hair. He looked amused and annoyed at the same time, a combination unique to our interactions that had me flashing him a quick grin. "It's- Rick, I hate to say it, man, but she might be right."

"She's always right," I said cheerfully, and settled back while they debated. Daryl's eyes bore holes into my skull as Ricky and Shane talked, but I pretended he wasn't there. It wasn't like I hadn't been through a hell of a lot worse than a stare.

I went out to do a sweep of the courtyard and check that the Hyundai had gas and supplies ready. Ricky had eventually- reluctantly- agreed that some recon might not be the worst idea, and far less reluctantly agreed that I was, indeed, the best man for the job. I'd be heading out in a few hours, when the sun was starting to head toward the horizon, so I could be in place just as it was setting. The lengthening shadows would give me more cover, as would the changing of the guard. Merle had given me a much better description of the inside of Woodbury and its inner workings, and I felt comfortable going in that night on my own to take down this dictator.

I snorted, shaking my head at myself. This Governor, I mentally corrected. This wasn't the far side of the world; this was Georgia.

Actually, dictator might have been plenty accurate.

"Hey."

I glanced at Daryl and turned away to close the back of the Hyundai. "What?"

"Why ya pretendin' I don't exist, that's what."

Temper sparked in his voice, which brought a faint smile to my lips as I met his eyes. "Because you don't anymore. Not to me, anyway. You made your choice. It wasn't us."

"Weren't you, ya mean. It's my brother, Angel. What's I s'pposed to do?" Temper faded to something else, his shoulders hunching slightly in a way I hadn't seen since early at the quarry, when Merle would berate him for some imagined thing he'd done wrong. Not enough squirrel, or making too much noise in the woods while they'd been hunting, or something else Merle didn't even understand himself.

It made my own temper flare. "Not go with that asshole who puts you down all the time, that's what. You're better than that. You're more than that. He treats you like shit and doesn't deserve your loyalty."

"He's still my fuckin' brother. You ain't gonna go with your brother, if ya had to choose? Besides, it was a mistake. That's why I came back."

I nodded. "You're right; it was a mistake. And I'm glad you're back. I'm even glad you brought Merle, asshole though he is. He has information we need. But you need to lose the blind loyalty, Daryl. See him for who he is, flaws and all. And decide if you're with us as a group or just with him."

He snagged my arm as I brushed past, spinning me to face him. He blocked my swing, then grabbed me by both arms and stared down into my eyes, intensity in his. "Listen, baby. I know who the hell I's with. Ya might not be into commitment, but I am. I came back for ya. Not for the group, not for Rick, not for nothin' else. You."

"Stop," I whispered, shaking my head in denial. "Daryl, don't-"

"Nope. I's an idiot. Took spendin' time with my jackass brother, turning around to complain about him to ya, before I realized that blind loyalty ya talking about? Weren't to him no more; it was to you. So, commitment or not, I'm here, and I ain't goin' nowhere. Gimme the damn cold shoulder if ya want. Be here when ya defrost. Now be careful out there."

He let me go as abruptly as he'd grabbed me, heading back inside before I clicked my mouth shut and figured out how the hell to respond to that. What in the fuck had just happened? First Shane and now Daryl, both of them saying shit that couldn't possibly be true, and-

Movement in the field grabbed my attention, snapping me into focus. The rifle over my shoulder rose and tracked, and there in my scope was… Andrea. With a walker on a lead pole. Shit.

I whistled, not taking my eyes off her as I moved forward, slipping from cover to cover. The door to C block flew open behind me, and as I crouched behind the file cabinet, a hand tapped my shoulder. Ricky moved into my view along with Daryl as I switched from scope to the canted sights. Andrea was at the gate now, begging to be let in before the dead around her caught on that she wasn't, in fact, one of them.

Yet, anyway. There was still time.

Ricky asked questions first, demanding to know if she was alone. I switched back to scope, scanning the trees to check for snipers or soldiers, since Dixon had Andrea covered with the crossbow. She didn't answer the question, more focused on the dead than on what was being said to her, and I'd started my second pass when the gate creaked open just enough for Ricky to yank her through.

He patted her down. She wasn't armed except for the gun in her hand, and she finally said that yes, she was alone. "Welcome back," Ricky snarled, shoving her ahead of him toward the door.

At the slap on my shoulder, I fell back, surprised to see Merle behind the overturned picnic table, in a posture echoing mine from a moment ago. His back was ramrod straight, the gun braced along his metal-coated arm, his eyes fixed on the gate.

He didn't move till I slapped his shoulder in turn, and then he fell back in step with me, covering the others with seamless ease. He'd been in the service, I realized. I hadn't known before. The look we exchanged after the door shut was one of mutual understanding, and respect gleamed in his eyes now where there'd only been amused disinterest or undisguised lust before.

He hadn't known about me, back at the quarry. I wasn't advertising my past then, and most everyone hadn't known what I'd been. Merle did, now, the same way I knew about him. We were part of the club, and he'd accepted me that easily, raised me in his eyes from lumped with all the others to somewhere below his brother. Because for all he was an asshole who put Daryl down, he loved his brother. I'd heard it in his voice, demanding to know if Daryl was alive and for Glenn to bring him to Daryl. I'd seen it in the way he smiled when Daryl fought for him to come back with us, and when he'd decided to go with Merle rather than come home.

I might have hated Merle a little, but I understood him now.

Andrea insisted the Governor- Philip, she called him; and I hadn't needed Michonne's confirmation to know they were hooking up- wanted peace. She insisted she hadn't known about our people being there, being hurt; that it wasn't like Philip. That we had attacked first, and so he'd retaliated, but he'd stop if we just sat down and talked with him.

She was there to arrange a sit down. I called bullshit when I heard it, much to the amusement of the Dixon brothers and one Shane Walsh. She insisted. I immediately dismissed her as a moron and tuned her out.

They let her hold the baby, then gave her a car and sent her on her way. I was fucking proud of my little group for being suspicious and not exactly welcoming her back with open arms.

"It's bullshit, Rick. You know it is," I said softly. We'd all gathered in the cell block that evening, something comforting in being close together. With Shane and Daryl on either side of me, I felt like maybe I should be talking to them instead of my brother who'd wandered over with the baby in his arms.

My brother was a hell of a lot easier.

He nodded. "I know. Gonna do it anyway. If we can end it without more bloodshed…"

"Yeah, I know. I should go with you."

"No," he disagreed. "I want you here. In case he tries anything while I'm gone. The meeting will be protected. I'll take Daryl, maybe Hershel. Maybe Shane. You'll be in charge here, just in case."

I hesitated, but finally nodded. It made sense, I supposed. Sound tactical thinking.

"We need guns. I'm going to make a run. To King County. I left a lot in the cage," he said, eyes shifting to Shane's.

Shane nodded. "I'll go with you."

"I was hoping. Going to take Carl, too. He's ready. And Michonne."

Walsh hesitated. "You sure, brother? About Carl, I mean."

"I am. He needs to be prepared."

"Your call," Shane agreed. "Tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow. I'd ask you," Ricky added, turning to Daryl. "But I need you to keep an eye on your brother. He's your responsibility."

Daryl nodded. "He'll behave. Ain't got a choice. I'll handle him. I's with you, Rick."

"I know you are."

My eyes drifted to Merle Dixon as Beth started singing softly. Ricky wandered away with Judith to lay her down, and Shane followed him, probably to talk more about their run tomorrow. Guns, I thought. We needed guns…. And I happened to know where I'd left more than a few of them. Not to mention the ones I hadn't grabbed from that pawn shop.

I'd be making a run of my own tomorrow. And I'd be taking someone rather unexpected with me, I mused as Merle sharpened the knife he'd duct taped to the metal stump in place of the attachment the Governor had taken before sending him to fight his brother to the death in that arena.

Unexpected, indeed.

Chapter Text

"Hey, Motorcycle Asshole. Want to help a girl out with something?"

Merle looked up from the shitty novel he was reading, sprawled over the lower bunk in his cell with the familiarity of someone who'd done time. "That entirely depends on what ya ol' Merle's help with there, sugar britches. I's been told to keep my ass lily-white and outta trouble."

"You've never stayed out of trouble a day in your life, have you?" I asked dryly.

He grinned. "Nope. Whatcha want me for, then?"

He tossed the book aside and rolled to his feet with the ease of someone who's done that from beds precisely like this a few times before. I considered what I knew about Merle, from my own observations and from his brother. Angry, drunk, high most of the time. Racist asshole, determined to survive at all costs, clearly a tough motherfucker since he'd cut his own hand off and survived it. Loyal to his brother even as he treated him like shit. Military background.

Far more intelligent than he wanted anyone to realize, I decided as he leaned against the bunk looking down on me with the same leering smirk I'd seen in the quarry a few thousand times. But it was missing something it had had then, and now it covered the consideration in his eyes rather well.

"We need guns. Ricky and Shane already went off one way, but I happen to know of a stash I left behind to follow your lily-white, trouble-free ass when you grabbed Maggie and Glenn. Want to come with, or am I flying solo?"

He shrugged like it didn't matter, but I saw the surprise- and wariness- in his eyes. "Mayhaps I might. Why ya askin' me and not Darylina?"

"Because Daryl's supposed to be keeping you out of trouble. And I don't trust you not to make trouble while I'm gone."

He laughed, big and raucous, his humor genuine as he pointed at me with a shake of his head. "Smart girlie as well as tough shit, aren't ya?"

"Oh, you've no idea," I told him, rolling my eyes. "Get your shit and let's go."

Considering Merle Dixon had been the loudest bastard left on planet earth last time I saw him, it was quiet drive out. I drove. He didn't argue, which gave him points in my book.

We'd almost reached Main Street, America in Podunk, Nowhere when I stopped the Hyundai in the middle of the road and turned to appraise the man I'd brought along. He stared back, small smile playing around his lips, like he'd known all along this was a test and now he welcomed it.

He earned another point for that alone. "You clean?" I asked, breaking the silence abruptly.

"Been clean since Atlanta, yessiree darlin'. Why, you lookin' to score?"

I ignored that, focusing on my assessment of him. "You served."

"Weren't a question in there, but yes. I did. Army."

I nodded. "Decent service record? See combat?"

"Got deployed to a combat zone, sure. Service record….." he trailed off with a wink and a grin.

I couldn't help it. I laughed. "Tussled with the MPs, didn't you?"

"Maybe once or twice. Ya bring ol' Merle out here to swap war stories, angel-face?"

"Cut it with the pet names," I told him, rolling my eyes. "No one's impressed. I brought you out here," I continued, putting the car back in drive, "to decide if you get to live. How badly do you want to?"

He sat silent, and I didn't press. I parked and we moved together wordlessly, old hand signals and the rhythm of training more than enough. I relaxed into the familiarity, faint smile on my lips unbidden. It was comforting in a different way than the seamless partnership I'd developed with Ricky, Walsh, and Daryl over the winter. There was a shared bond forged not by our experiences together, but by our experiences with something greater than either of us.

My bags were gone. Someone else had come through- maybe the Governor's people, maybe some other poor assholes clinging to life with their fingertips like we were. Either way, it didn't bode well for what I'd left behind, and I wondered if this trip would shape up to be a waste of gas and time after all.

Inside, the place was exactly how I'd left it. Merle chuckled, low and controlled, as he scanned the glass cases and the racks behind them. "Good call, lil missy."

"I make those a lot. Grab a bag; get busy. We need this shit." I went to the knife display first, shattering the glass with the butt of my gun. I muffled it with the towel I'd tucked into my back pocket for exactly this purpose. I could feel Merle's eyes on me, as appraising of me as I'd been of him. "Got something to say?"

He grunted. More muffled shattering sounded behind me as I tested blades and handles, making sure I only took the ones worth anything. The slim, almost dainty knife I'd been eyeing last time I was here proved sharp and well-made, and I slid it into my belt beside my baton. I'd be doing some McGuiver-style adapting of my baton when we got back, for sure.

"I killed seven men since the world ended," he said softly. "Living men, not dead assholes. Seven more'n I'd killed before it up and decided to. Killed 'em all for the Governor. Didn't have to, mind. See, he was the kind who used knives like them, because he wanted it to hurt. He liked seein' the pain in their eyes before they died. Kept it covered up real nice, fer the people. But fer me, fer a few of us who he trusted- he showed who he is."

I'd finished the knives and scanned for anything else useful while Merle methodically loaded ammo and handguns. I vaulted the display and started pulling down the best of the rifles I'd left behind when nothing else caught my eye. I laid semi-automatics on the display top for him to load into the duffle we'd brought, leaning the better of the hunting rifles and shotguns up to add last, if we hand the hands and the room.

"Sounds like a charmer," I said flatly. "Why'd you stay?"

"Helped me look for Darylina," Merle answered. He met my eyes, both of us pausing in what we were doing. "Kept me alive, got me clean. I owed him, or so's I thought. Thing is, see- I ain't loyal to him, really. I ain't been loyal to nothin' my whole life. Mighta been loyal to the United States Army, once upon a time, but even that I lost faith in, cause it lost faith in me. Only person ain't is my lil brother."

I heard the sincerity in his words, saw behind them to a ragged little boy who probably had scars like Daryl's along his back. "So why'd you leave him, then? You left him with your father. I've seen what happened as a result."

"I didn't know. I thought- I thought it'd get better when I left." Sadness and pain filled Merle's eyes, his voice. Some of it was ancient pain, the kind that came from childhood and his own memories. Some of it was fresh.

He hadn't known. Daryl never told him, and Merle hadn't- "How'd you learn?"

"Ripped his shirt, out in them woods. He wanted to come back here. To the prison. To you. Grabbed his shirt cause I knew you all'd kill me for what I did to the Chinese kid, and it ripped. Saw the- saw the scars. I swear I didn't know. I'd have killed our old man if I'd stayed. Wish I had."

Head tilted, I considering his words, his face, his voice. He meant it. He hadn't known until then.

I'd known, I thought. He'd told me. He'd shown me. Out in the woods, in the sunlight, the first time we'd really spoken to each other, and he'd told me about them. Told me he understood, and I'd known he was telling the truth.

And he'd chosen the brother he'd never told over me.

I shut down that train of thought, shoving it out along with the memory of the sunshine and that first real moment of connection. He said he'd come back for me, but he'd left for Merle, and this was about me deciding if I'd kill the bastard. Not for his brother's choice, but for his own, and for the ones he might make later.

"Do you want to live?" I asked him, voice flat and cold.

He studied me, ice-blue version of Daryl's intense gaze seeing more than I probably wanted him to. I met those eyes, inviting him to see, to understand. "I ain't ready to go out yet. But I think it might be an honor to get taken down by you, honeybunch."

Daryl opened the gate, just enough for us to get inside. Glenn darted out, killed the walkers who'd gotten too close, and darted back inside as the gate slammed shut behind us. I pulled the Hyundai into position, nose pointing out for quick escape, and Merle and I grabbed our bags of guns and slung the hunting rifles that hadn't fit over our shoulders to take inside.

We moved in easy silence, and then Daryl blocked our way, looking like a goddamn thundercloud. "What the fuck, Angel? The hell ya thinkin', goin' out and not telling nobody?"

"I was thinking I'm a goddamn adult and I do what I please," I snapped back, bitingly pleasant.

Glenn jogged over, whistling at the haul in mine and Merle's hands. I passed over the bag with a smile, and he took it and turned around without a word as he glanced around the three of us.

"Shoulda told somebody where ya was goin'! And why'd ya take my fuckin' brother?"

"I do think ol Merle's gonna take hisself on inside an' let you two lovebirds have this conversation in private," Merle said casually, beginning to sidle away. "Keep to tournament rules now, children. Body shots only."

"Stay fuckin' put," Daryl snarled, and I almost smiled as he speared Merle with a glare that had the older man's feet freezing into place. "Ain't got to you yet."

"And we're not lovebirds, either. He made his choice, and it wasn't me. So, we're done. Merle, I need help with something."

"Shit, more? Got a crush on me or somethin'?"

I ignored Daryl pointedly, stepping around him with a raised eyebrow as he gripped the strap of his crossbow and looked like he was counting down backwards from ten. I didn't think it was working, but I flashed Merle a wicked look. "No, asshole. I want to attach this knife to my baton. Make it stabby as well as clubby."

"Jesus, baby girl."

"He doesn't know how to help with this; why should I ask him?"

"Listen," Merle said, breaking the comfortable silence that had fallen between us after we'd figured out my baton and moved on to cataloguing what we'd picked up for Carol's immaculate inventory. "I don't wanna step on no toes- or stick my nose where it don't belong-"

"But you're going to," I muttered. "Why did we get these? We didn't get a gun that fires them. There wasn't one."

Merle grunted, shrugging at the box of shells I held up. "Maybe Ricky an' the other pig'll bring one back?"

"Don't call him Ricky. I'm the only one who does."

Merle raised an eyebrow at my tone, but shrugged. "Whatever ya want, lil sister. Anyhows, as I was sayin'-"

"I'm not your sister."

He sighed, loudly. "Take the damn compliment, girlie. I don't like nobody, but I think I like you. Darylina, see. He was real pissed at me fer how he had to choose, ya know."

"I don't know," I muttered, turning back to my ammo boxes and hoping he'd get the message.

Subtle, Merle Dixon was not, and apparently he didn't pick up on subtle either. "He's serious about you, girlie pop. He ain't never been serious about no woman in his whole damn life, but he's- he's real fixed on you. I'd say he loves ya somethin' fierce, but I don't wanna put no words in his mouth."

I set the ammo down, staring at my hands as I found myself answering, of all people, Merle Dixon. About feelings. I hated feelings, and I sort of thought I hated Merle.

Maybe that made it easier, actually.

"He said he does. Thing is, I'm not serious about anyone. I was once. Not anymore. He tell you about our- our arrangement?"

"How ya hookin' up with both him'n the pig? I know. Didn't need him to tell me neither. I got eyes."

"What's that supposed to mean?" I'd snapped around to glare at him at the dismissiveness in his tone. "You calling me a slut?"

He snorted. "Would it matter if'n I were? Ya don't give a shit what ol' Merle thinks. Why ya even talkin' about it now. I know you study folk, figure 'em out before they's figured out themselves most times. But I see shit too, lil sister. Ya not bein' serious about no one's fuckin' bullshit. Keep on tellin' yourself that. Ya been serious about ol' Shane Walsh since I laid eyes on ya, and it didn't take too damn long for ya to be serious about my brother, too."

"What?" I stared at him, baffled. "I'm not- we're not- it's just casual, damn it. It's not like I'm- not like I've got feelings for either of them. Certainly not both of them!"

"Why not?" Merle's voice was entirely too reasonable, given the wild whirling of my thoughts. "Ain't that weird. People do it all the damn time. That polyamory shit, right? Seems like you might be one a them bitches. Respectfully, of course," he added with a wink and an eye wiggle.

I stared, too baffled by what he was saying to be bothered by either the 'bitches' or the leer. What? He thought I had- that I had feelings for both Daryl and Shane? And that it didn't fucking matter, because-

I set down the ammo and turned, heading for the guard tower. I needed to think. I needed to clear my head.

I needed Merle Dixon to stop talking to me before my brain exploded.

Chapter Text

I left before the boys did, without anyone noticing- except maybe Carol. She'd been in the common area, stirring something into a pot with one hand and mixing formula with the other. She'd seen me go out the door, giving me a nod and a smile, but I doubted she'd thought much about it. I was in and out constantly, even with the threat of shooters in the trees around us that had Ricky and Shane telling the others to stay inside as much as possible.

Then again, little got passed that woman these days.

In the preparations for the sit-down, Ricky and the others would be too distracted to notice my absence. That was fine; I wanted it that way. He'd proven smarter than I liked, this Governor, and he'd either be early or send someone else to scout ahead of time. Ricky was planning to get the lay of the land before the Governor arrived, but he wouldn't be fast enough.

So dawn had me leaving C block, and early morning light filtered through the trees as I approached the meeting spot from behind. I took a long, slow cruise around and saw nothing concerning. I noted several spots where a sniper could set up, but they were all empty. Then I moved inside, clearing the main part of the building first and making my way up. The loft areas were clear as well, and there were plenty of little nooks and crannies for a skilled spy to become basically invisible.

I was, in fact, a very skilled spy.

I'd been correct. The Governor made it before Ricky did, coming in alone and on foot like I had. He did a far more sloppy job of clearing the place and settled in at the table to wait for my brother.

I had him, I thought. I could take him out now- gun, knife to the skull, baton- and no one would know. Then I'd be back home before Ricky or the Governor's people found the body. If they ever did. I'd just made up my mind to go ahead and end it now when I heard the engine approaching. Moment passed, I thought. Maybe next time.

My brother came in and the Governor greeted him softly.

Oh, I really hated this fucker. A shiver went down my spine and Tom Ford lingered in my nose.

When the Governor hung up his gun belt, I saw Ricky think about putting a bullet in his head. I wished he would, but that wasn't my brother's style. Crazy or not, angry- and he was- or not, my brother wouldn't do that. He'd agreed to the sit down, and he'd keep his word.

I hadn't agreed to shit, however, and my finger brushed the trigger again. Then the second car pulled up, and I sighed. Another opportunity lost, damn it.

Andrea came in, and was kicked out again. I found that mildly amusing. The Governor's insistence on our surrender, not so much.

Ricky was surprised when the Governor tried to pass things off on Merle. I wasn't. I was surprised by Ricky's patience, his calm, when the asshole brought up the baby. Ricky accepted the drink, continued the banter and verbal judo with the Governor far longer than I'd have thought he would.

And in the end, the Governor said what he really wanted.

"You have something that I want. One thing that makes this all all right," he said softly, buckling his gun belt back around his hips.

Ricky didn't snarl, but it was a near damn thing. "I'm not giving up the prison."

"No, I- I don't want your prison. That doesn't sound safe at all, I mean- you lost your wife and another man there already."

"We're not moving on."

The Governor sat back down and chuckled. I shivered again, hearing Tom Ford's laugh echoed in this bastard's. Michonne, I realized abruptly. He wanted Michonne.

"No, that wouldn't be any good at all, I want you where I can keep my good eye on you." He lifted the eyepatch, and I couldn't see his face, but I could see Ricky's. He kept it still and hard, but I saw the flicker in his eyes and knew the Governor's face wasn't very pretty right now.

"I want Michonne," he said. "Turn her over, and this all goes away."

Goddamn it, I hated being right.

I waited until everyone else left to emerge from my hide out, my mind whirling. Michonne. He wanted her, and I knew from the tone of his voice what would happen if he got his hands on her. Normally I was all for the good of the many over the good of the one. But this? This I wouldn't do. I'd kill her first and deliver her body to him, sure. But not alive.

Carl opened the gate for me, and when I climbed from the Hyundai I'd borrowed for my expedition he shook his head. "You're in trouble, Aunt Angel."

"Oh yeah? With who, kid?" I asked. I knew full well who, and they could- all three of them- kiss my ass.

Carl rolled his eyes. "You know who. Uncle Shane's been pissed. Dad's back with Daryl and now they're pissed, too. Should have beaten them back if you didn't want a lecture."

I laughed, tossing my arm around his shoulders to pull him in for a quick hug. "When did you get so much like me, hmm? Get in the tower. We need someone on watch and it's empty."

"It's my shift anyway. Only came down to let you in."

Carl was right; they were pissed. Shane started in on me as soon as the door to C block closed behind me, but Daryl at least had the sense to rage silently, pacing instead of yelling at me.

I responded in a way I felt appropriate. I ignored them both, focusing on my brother. "So."

"So," he agreed. "Get Carl in for a minute, will someone? Everyone needs to hear this."

I sighed. "I literally just told him to get back up to the tower. We need someone on watch, Ricky."

"And he'll be back in there. This is for all of us to hear, Angel. All of us."

I shrugged, dropping down to the table and offering a smile and thanks as Carol handed me some of whatever she'd been brewing in her pot that morning. She winked at me as she turned, and I decided right then that someone needed to watch that woman far more closely than we had been.

"So. I met with this Governor," Ricky said into the silence as Carl and Shane rejoined us. He paused, and I watched the faces all around instead of listening to his words.

Scared, determined, calm, blankly smooth- they ran the gamut of reactions. It would be a fight, if this was the way we went. I studied Michonne most of all, and her smooth, unreadable expression as she listened to Ricky. Her eyes met mine, and I think she knew. Somehow, she knew.

"We're going to war," Ricky declared.

My eyes snapped to him, wondering if he had any idea what that statement meant. He'd never been to war, not really. Merle caught my attention, leaning against the wall across the room, his face twisted into a sneer he smoothed out immediately.

He knew. I knew.

Ricky strode from the room without another word.

"Goddamn dramatic son of a bitch," I muttered into the silence. "What the shit."

Muted chuckles swept the room, breaking the tension. Merle's chin dipped once my way, and I could have sworn there was respect in his eyes before he shoved from his place on the wall and meandered over to Carol.

Shane muttered to Carl, sending him back out to the tower before rounding on me with his scowl firmly in place. Daryl started my way too, and I skewered Shane with a glare. "Don't start, Walsh. We need to go talk to Ricky. Now."

"He ain't tellin' us somethin', is he?" Daryl asked quietly.

I scoffed. "Of course he isn't. Come on, Shane. Daryl, he'll tell you later. Not too many at once or he won't share."

"Ain't freezin' me out cause ya pissed at me, are ya?"

I tilted my head, staring at him blankly. "I'm not pissed at you. I'm done sleeping with you. There's a difference. Come on, Walsh."

I wasn't supposed to hear Shane as I walked away, but I did. "She'll come around, man. Give her time."

"I heard what he wanted," I told my brother flatly. "I was in there. I went early, got set up. Just in case."

"Glad you did," Ricky said. Tension filled him, and I could tell from his expression he actually, genuinely was considering it. He gripped the chain of the walkway so tightly I wondered if he was cutting his fingers. "I don't- I have to consider it."

"You do," I acknowledged, even as Shane glanced between us with a confused frown. "And then you reject it."

"You're saying that? You?"

I shrugged. "Yeah, I am. Rick-"

"Can one of you two fill me in? My Grimes telepathic connection must be on the fritz," Walsh cut in.

I snorted out a half-laugh. "Funny. He wants Michonne. Rick gives him Michonne, he leaves us alone."

Shane's mouth opened, closed without a word, and opened again. He sighed heavily, shoving a hand through the thick curls that had grown back in over the winter. "I- I don't- Shit."

"Yeah," Rick agreed. "I think- I think we have to. There's a chance-"

"There's a chance he means it, sure," Shane interrupted. "And more likely, we cost ourselves a fighter and some of our conscience and then he attacks anyway, once we've let our guard down. Brother, I'm not sure about this."

"More to the point." My voice had gone blank, hard. Both boys turned to me, and in a flash I saw us as children, gathered into our tight knot in the schoolyard, plotting how to get revenge on the asshole who'd tackled Shane during the game of touch football and sprained his ankle. Then it was gone, and there was the grief etched in Ricky's face, the new creeping coldness in his eyes, and the wildness in Shane's that he'd developed sometime after we left my brother in his hospital room. "More to the point, I won't let you take her to him alive. He's going to torture her, Rick. He's Tom Ford all over again."

Rick's brow furrowed, confused, and Shane reached for my arm. I sidestepped him, not wanting comfort right now, especially not while I was still trying to figure out just what the hell to do about his profession of undying love.

Not to mention Daryl's. And that conversation with Merle. Jesus fucking Christ.

"Kill her and take him her head. That's fine with me," I said with a shrug. "That's how you handle the needs of the many, not the needs of the one. But try to deliver her alive? I'll take you down first and then kill her myself."

The door opened behind me, the unmistakable sound of old man Hershel's crutches breaking us from our nostalgic little group. I left them with him, their eyes following me, burning holes into the back of my head as I went.

He was going to do it. Or at least try.

I watched them moving around from the roof of C block. No one knew I was up here. The access point had been in the guard loft in the cafeteria, and I wasn't about to share that I'd found it. This was my place, since they kept taking over my guard tower- not just whoever was on watch, but Maggie and Glenn looking to get away for a little alone time, too; or at least they had before the Governor terrorized Maggie.

Ricky talked to Daryl. Daryl looked troubled as hell, but he didn't say much. I could tell from the way Ricky was acting, especially when he then emerged from D block and went wandering, studying the ground. He crouched, picking up something and wrapping it around his hands, tugging hard.

Wire, I thought. For securing the prisoner. Goddamn it, Ricky.

He'd try to take her to the meeting set up for this evening. He might even succeed, and then my brother would have that on his conscience and I'd have to kill Michonne and probably knock Ricky out and then the Governor would attack anyway.

No. This wasn't the way. There was a better idea, forming in the back of my mind. I'd missed three opportunities to end this all by hesitating to take the shot at the bastard. By listening to Ricky and doing things his way. Why? Why would I let my brother, who for all his strengths had never gone to war, be in charge of this one?

It was time to do things my way, I decided. The Blind Angel's way.

I'd need a wingman. I considered and rejected both Shane and Daryl, my usual choices. They weren't suited for this kind of thing. Daryl might be, I admitted, but I didn't want to take him. He was right; I was pissed. Whatever, I'd deal with that later.

I scanned my people, finding most of them, but not who I was looking for. Following some gut instinct, I went down to the machine shop. If Ricky was collecting wire, he'd talked to someone who knew shit about shit, especially about kidnapping people and holding prisoners. That meant Merle Dixon. And if he'd talked to Merle, he'd planted the idea in his head, and the far more impulsive Dixon brother was probably plotting how to handle it himself.

I'd been right. It happened a lot, and yet somehow people still didn't listen to me. "Merle."

He jumped. I'd snuck up on him, a fact that pleased me far more than I wanted to admit. He held wire in one hand, a pillowcase draped over his arm, and he crouched over a bag, hidden behind the wall of lockers that held tools and supplies. "Well, shit, lil sister. Ya done scared me good there. Got quiet feet, dontcha?"

"You've no idea. Planning a kidnapping?"

He licked his lips, smirk spreading over them such an automatic reaction I didn't think he even knew he was doing it. "I ain't plannin' nothing, sugar ti-"

"Don't call me sugar tits," I said dryly. "I know he wants Michonne. And I know what he'll do to her if he gets her. And based on what you're doing down here alone in the dark- and my brother outside testing wire- I'd say Ricky told you, too. And you're trying to handle it because-"

"Because ol' Rick will back out real quick. Got too much cop in him for this work."

I nodded. "I know. And if he doesn't back out, I'll have to take him down and kill Michonne. I'm a bad person, like you, but I'm not about to let someone go through what the Governor would put her through. Not when I've been there myself. I've got a better idea, and I need a partner. You in?"

Merle's eyes turned shrewd, narrowing as he studied my face. Then he grinned, the asshole smile, and spread his arms wide. "Shit, darlin'. I'm at your disposal, ain't I just? What kinda trouble we gettin' in today?"

And wasn't that the million dollar question?

Chapter Text

"This a shitty-ass plan, girlie."

I gave him a blank stare from the passenger seat, then went back to watching out the window for the best place to bail. "You got better?"

"Yeah. Run."

"Don't think that's much of an option at this point, asshat," I said dryly. "Slow down, you'll lose them."

"Ain't gonna loose nothin'; ya hear the racket comin' outta this thing?"

For some reason, I found myself smiling. "You're different, you know. Not entirely, mind- still a racist, probably sexist asshole- but you're different. I like it. Keep it up, you might just be accepted eventually."

"Now what makes ya think ol' Merle gives a shit about that?" He laid the drawl on particularly thick, which told me everything I needed to know about the truth of that statement.

I shook my head at the window, not bothering to respond. Silence didn't descend, since the radio was turned up to an ear-bleeding decibel, but we stopped talking at least. We rolled on slowly, and I could only hope we got there at the right time to not completely blow this whole plan. We needed the dead and the pandemonium, but we needed to not be picked up too far out for me to use said dead and pandemonium.

"Only care for Darylina's sake," Merle said abruptly. "Just wanna make that clear. I'll take ol' Philip out, no issues, but that's cause he's a real scary type. The kind to use a knife when a bullet would do, and make it slow and make it hurt so's he can see the look on ya face as he does it. Killed seven men in my time. All of 'em for that bastard."

I turned to study him, his face a harsh mask as he stared out the windshield. "Only seven? How about before all this?"

"Didn't kill no one before," he admitted. "Went to some combat zones, but it weren't during wartime, before ya ask, missy."

"Goddamn it, Merle," I said with a hard sigh.

"Goddamn me, ya mean." He shot me a grin and wink. "It's aight. I damn me all the time, too. How about you? Never did tell me what you's doin' playin' soldier."

"Wasn't playing," I snapped. "I served. I killed plenty. Then I got recruited by the Company and killed plenty more."

"Spook? Makes fuckin' sense," he grunted. "Clouse-mouthed sonnuvabitch, anyway."

I rolled my eyes. "Because you Dixons are such easy reads."

"Hell, sugar, I'm an open book. Speakin' of us Dixons," he added, hesitating. He barreled on before I could stop him. "Darylina an' ya pig bastard. Come to any conclusions about all that yet?"

I seriously contemplated throwing myself out and walking the rest of the way. Or letting myself get eaten by the walkers. It'd be better than this conversation, at least. "I've come to the conclusion that you're a dumbass."

Merle's laugh filled the car, big and raucous but not with that edge it used to hold. "Hell, darlin', ya done knew that already."

"Shut up and drive the car."

"That's ok, lil sister. You'll figure it out soon's 'nough."

I could shoot him, I thought. I could.

"Here," I said as we approached. "Remember the plan."

"I made half the damn plan; ain't likely to forget it."

I flashed him a grin at his grumpy tone, throwing open the door and bailing with a roll more for the sake of drama than anything else. Springing to my feet, I took off for the trees, weaving through the dead following around the car as his voice rang in my ears.

"Shit, girlie, the car ain't goin' fast enough for no special forces shit!"

"Special forces is only Army!" I yelled back. "I ain't an Army bitch!"

Then I was gone, the Blind Angel getting serious as the op really began.

I slipped through the trees, looping around behind the buildings where Ricky and the Governor had met and approaching from the opposite side of Merle and the walkers. We'd do a pincer movement, he'd declared, and I'd rolled my eyes.

Two operatives did not a pincer make, in my opinion. It did make for decent odds anyway- if one of them was me. Add in the walkers, and we stood a chance. A better chance than Ricky's plan, and that was all I was after.

After all, if I failed this one, I'd just go in again. They'd up their security, of course, but these weren't trained soldiers, much less trained operators. I wasn't worried.

I waited for my moment, target buildings in sight. Merle would be along any second now, sending the car in with the brick holding down the gas and the music pumping so the walkers would follow and the Governor's people would go to investigate. We'd go in from either side, seeking cover the whole way, and whoever got to him first would take the bastard out- no playing around. Then we'd pick off those he'd brought with him, meet up at the front when it was done, and head back home on foot.

The walkers could stay where they were.

It was a solid plan, or as solid as I could come up with on the fly and with zero prep and zero time. It should work well enough, what with the pandemonium the noise and the dead should cause. The governor would be expecting Ricky to come alone, with Michonne. Or maybe with one other person. He'd be expecting my brother to keep his word, since he no doubt sized Ricky up at their meeting and determined that he was the type of man to do so.

He was also probably planning a double-cross. I didn't feel bad for double-crossing his double-cross.

Music began to echo off the metal silos and buildings. I started a countdown in my head, heading backwards from thirty, to give everyone time to notice and begin reacting. When I hit zero, I heard voices shouting and the first hail of bullets.

Go time.

I made my way forward, moving rapidly across the open area to my picked-out first cover. From there, the path was easy enough to follow. I slipped unchallenged between the buildings, since the noisiest threat came from the other side. No one thought to station people on this side. No one thought tactics over there, apparently.

Except the Governor.

I crept into the main building, the one where he and Ricky had their sit-down, through the broken window I'd found here earlier. I started ahead, footsteps silent on the old floors, moving lightly to avoid tell-tale creaks and groans of aging wood.

There was no one sitting at the table. No one standing and waiting. I frowned, turning to scan again, trying to think where he might have gone instead. The vehicles were out front. Would he have gone to fight the dead himself? He certainly didn't seem the type, and-

Click of the hammer being drawn back on a handgun. "Don't move, sweetheart. Put those hands up now."

Goddamn it.

I whirled, swinging the gun as I moved to the side, getting off-line from where I estimated his barrel to be. He didn't pull the trigger- a professional move- but he swung the gun around instead, slamming the butt down into my shoulder.

He'd have hit my head if I'd only spun in place.

I stayed poised on the balls of my feet, in motion despite the pain blossoming where I'd taken the solid hit. I'd been in pain before and I would be again, and I liked living. I shoved it aside and focused on the man in front of me, his gaze and faint smile cool as he studied me. I didn't bother to speak, instead moving in to strike with the rifle still in my hands, since I was too close for a decent shot.

Merle would be here soon enough, so if I didn't get this guy taken down on my own, I'd have backup.

He danced away from the blows, thought I did get one square into his stomach that had him doubling over with a grunt. I moved in to press the advantage, but he was good. He was better than I'd expected, and he used the movement to hide his next move, coming up with a knife in his hand and slashing down my arm before I got myself out of the way again.

We studied each other warily, both of us breathing hard now. I could feel blood running down my arm, but I didn't take my eyes off the Governor. He smiled, one corner of his mouth pulling upward, and spread his hands wide.

"Come now. We don't have to be so uncivilized. I had a feeling Rick wouldn't come. That he'd send someone else instead. I expected the archer. Or Michonne herself, with her sword. Not you. Who are you?"

I didn't answer. I dropped the rifle and had my baton in one hand, knife in the other, and closed in again. He sidestepped the knife, but he missed the baton, and he cried out in real pain as I slammed it into the meaty part of one thigh.

He went down on that knee, leg collapsing under him, and I closed in for the kill.

"Freeze or I'll drop you where you stand!"

I kept moving.

Gunshot rang out, and fire screamed across my arm. I stayed bent on my target, but-

Someone slammed into my from the side, my head bouncing off the ground before I registered what was happening. The Governor stomped on my wrist and the baton flew from my hand unwillingly, the knife being wrestled from my other even as I kicked, bit, bucked; did anything to get them off me and back on my feet.

There were too many of them, however, and I was pinned. Darkness crept into my vision, my breath coming hard and shallow, and Tom Ford filled my nostrils as water filled my lungs.

The Governor chuckled, low and mean. "Get her tied. Rabid thing, I swear. Wonder who she is. No worries, darling. I'll find out soon enough. Did you get the other one?"

I didn't hear the answer as a pillowcase went over my head, darkness descending.

Chapter Text

The bag came off my head and I blinked in the sudden light. Shoved from behind, I stumbled forward into the room, getting my balance as well as my bearings more quickly than they probably expected.

It was a torture room. I knew that in a glance, taking in the chair, the tools, the lights, the chains. I whirled on my back foot, my hands tied but not my feet. I bent into a spinning kick, aiming for the head of whoever'd shoved me, and I felt my boot connect before I completed the turn to see who I'd nailed.

I hoped it was the Governor, but why would he do his deliveries himself? A man was doubled over, holding his face, but unfortunately there were two more behind him, and I was at a bit of a disadvantage, all things considered. I fought- 'goddamn rabid dog', one of them half-screamed at me- but the end was rather inevitable.

Strapped to the chair, arms and legs secured, I waited. I focused on a point on the ceiling where light seeped through the cracks in the wooden beams, breathing deeply and easily, and found it wasn't hard to keep the scent of Tom Ford down to a whisper.

This whole set-up was ridiculous.

The door opened again as I was naming each of the ways this place could be escaped and choosing which one I wanted to go for, as soon as I had one hand free. And I'd have a hand free eventually. They always slipped up.

"So. Who are you?"

I took my eyes from the spot of sunlight to shoot the Governor an annoyed look. "I'm the bitch you shouldn't have brought with you. Big mistake. Honestly, you should have just killed me. What happened to Merle?"

He paced around the chair, ignoring my questions. He took his gun belt off slowly, setting it on the table, and picked up a knife. He turned, leaning on the table with the knife in hand and his legs crossed at the ankles. He fiddled with the blade, running a finger over it gently and nodding, apparently satisfied with the sharpness. "I asked who you are."

"And I told you, you should have killed me. Honey, if you're going to do something with that thing, just get to it, would you? This bit is boring."

Rage flooded his whole body; I could see it in his eye and the way his muscles tightened. But he didn't give into it and fly into unthinking action. He nodded, setting the knife down. "You're right. This is boring. I don't need to know who you are, do I? They'll come for you. Rick will come for you. I'll be waiting for him."

Funny how it wasn't Ricky I thought would come through those doors after me. Not this time. I shoved aside the thought of Shane and Daryl tracking me down, focusing on the here and now. "Not much good as a torturer, are you?"

He chuckled, a self-deprecating thing. "No. This is one of my first tries. Not doing too well with you, I suppose. I was better with... Maggie."

The smile fell away as he said her name, his eyes going cold and travelling slowly, pointedly, up and down my body.

I couldn't help it; I burst out laughing. His face went still, control the only thing keeping all that anger from flowing into furious action. I almost wished he'd let it out, just so I could see if he was any real kind of threat after all, because this- this was humorous. This was all bark and no bite, and I couldn't even be properly scared because of it.

Tom Ford, he wasn't, I thought as I tried to get myself under control. I couldn't; it was just too much. The wandering eye, the allusion to a rape threat that didn't go through- it was amateur hour in the torture club, and I was the professional victim who couldn't stick to her lines because the actor was so goddamn bad.

"Tell me," Tom Ford whispered in my ear. "And this stops. We take you to your own house. We'll treat you like a princess; like a queen. The angel of death will be forgiven, and you will be given the highest honor."

I said nothing, gritting my teeth to hold back the nausea and the strangled scream caught somewhere in my throat. The stress position they'd had me in was hell on the body, straining my shoulders, my wrists, my knees, my spine- basically everything. He'd added electricity this time, sending volts through my body and adding new burns to my back every time he did so.

My vision was going black, my brain shutting my body down, and if I passed out, the pressure on my joints would increase. I tried to hold on, grimly clinging to consciousness through stubborn will and keeping my core engaged to keep the stress down.

How long could this go on before I broke? I wondered. How long before my people rescued me or I had to make a choice?

"Tell me," he whispered again.

I waited for the shock, braced for it, but it didn't come. Instead, something slammed into my body, up inside me from behind, far deeper and harder than it should have. The scream ripped out this time as the cold metal of whatever he'd just penetrated me with crashed into my cervix, and sudden fear rippled through me.

If he sparked the electrical current through that-

He drew it out and slammed it in again, and I fell into the darkness gratefully.

"Something you find funny?"

I shook my head, finally managing to get the gales down to giggles. Tears spilled over my cheeks from how hard I'd been laughing, to run down to my neck and into my hair and ears. The discomfort from that was worse than anything this bastard could work up, it seemed. "Yeah. This is- this is just pathetic, my dude. Do you have any idea what you're doing? Do you have any idea who you're up against?"

My voice had gone from amused to serious by the end, copying his own tricks for dramatic effect. But I let some of the cold inside me creep into the words, let some of the Blind Angel show in my eyes as I met his, predatory smile curving over my lips.

"Honey," I said softly, making my voice a deep-Southern purr, "let the grown-ups handle the questioning. Go play with your little toys somewhere else."

He'd gone still, watching me, and now he smiled again. "That's- that's very interesting. You're interesting. This isn't living up to your expectations, then? I guess- I guess I'll just have to practice more."

He rolled up his sleeves with precision, each move carefully controlled. Then he picked up the boning knife again, strolling slowly over to me. I lifted one eyebrow as he hovered, pausing.

"Last chance, darling. Who are you?"

"If I don't answer, what exactly do you plan to do with that?" I asked, more out of boredom than anything else. Whatever he did, it wouldn't be worse than what I'd been through before. He lacked the creativity to come up with a tenth of what Tom Ford had come up with.

"Well." He studied the knife, studied me. "I'll start with one of those pretty eyes. Take one like Michonne took mine. Fingers next. Cut out that clever tongue, so you-"

I snorted. "I'm going to stop you there. The point of this is information, right? You're not going to cut my tongue out; you want me to talk. Don't make promises you're not willing to keep. Try again now, if you want. I'm still bored so this will do for entertainment."

He nodded slowly. I was pissing this man off so much, I thought, delighted. He'd make a move soon, and probably, in doing so, the mistake I'd need as an opening.

"Bored, are you? Well, we can't have our lovely guest bored," he said, a strange sort of half-smile on his lips. He took the knife and slipped it under my shirt, cutting it in half with one motion.

The knife was decently sharp after all, I thought, raising an eyebrow at him. Shirt in tatters, he traced the knife over my stomach, following one of the scars that littered my body.

"Or maybe not so lovely," he said softly. "Someone's been here before, hasn't she? Who would do all this damage to you, sweetheart? Make a habit of pissing dangerous men off with that tongue of yours?"

I scoffed. "Yeah, I do. You're a small fish who thinks he's a shark in a tiny little puddle, Philip. This isn't even a pond."

"You know my name. Tell me yours," he said quietly, and slid the knife under the sports bra I wore. A quick twist of his wrist had that splitting too, his knife cruising over my exposed breasts and his eyes following the blade.

I chuckled. "Better," I told him critically. "But not great yet. Look at me; do you think the air of threat will get to me? I'm not Maggie Green, motherfucker; I'm the Blind Angel."

Head tilted, he smiled. It was confident and cocky, pleased like he'd won something from me. "The Blind Angel? That some sort of nickname?"

"Some sort," I agreed. He acted like he'd gotten me to crack; to give him something.

Hell, I was playing.

He set the knife aside and reached for the buckle on my belt. Then it was the button and the zipper on my jeans. He paused then, hands feathering over the waistband of the pants, his eyes meeting mine. "Want to tell me your real name now?"

"You really going to use rape- what's supposed to be the worst thing for a woman- to get me to tell you my name? Jesus, you really are bad at this, aren't you?" I shook my head, disgusted. "Ask a better question, asshole. My name's Angel. Angel Grimes."

"Grimes," he said, after a pause. "Rick's wife?"

I laughed, hard. "How very wrong."

"Sister, then," he said easily, smile on his lips. "Now that's useful."

"Only if you like dying," I told him cheerfully. "Going to ask a difficult question now, or what?"

"No," he said slowly. "I don't think I will. I think- I think I want something more than I want information."

He pulled my jeans down to my knees in one swift movement. I raised an eyebrow as he scooped the knife back up, cutting through the cotton underwear I wore. "That would have been far more effective if you'd ripped it with your bare hands, you know. Don't get much action, do you?"

He ignored me, which I'd honestly expected, just as I'd expected this entire track for the questioning and torture. I'd rather hoped he'd fuck up before it got to this point and I'd be able to kill him without him laying a hand on me, but if wishes were horses, we'd all ride, as my mother used to say. It wasn't the first time I'd been raped, and it wasn't even particularly frightening.

He didn't even take his pants down, instead revealing he'd been going commando the whole time, clearly planning for this no matter what. I snorted derisively as he took himself in hand, stroking as he stared at my exposed body.

"That taste you got with Maggie wasn't enough, huh? Tell me, was it the helplessness or the fear that got you going? Because I'm not afraid, Philip. Not by a long shot," I ground out as he moved forward, climbing half onto the chair and shoving himself into me hard and fast.

It hurt, but I'd hurt far worse. He began to thrust, eyes going closed and grunting with each stroke- if I could even call it that- and I let my lip curl into a sneer. Tuning out what was happening to my body, I focused on the face in front of me, the face I memorized so I could destroy it later.

"I'm not helpless, either," I said, voice going low and cold. "Like you pointed out, this isn't the first time I've been here. The last man who forced himself on me is dead. I'll kill you, too. It'll be slow. One strip of flesh at a time. Starting with your feet, because you won't need them."

I settled into my theme, letting my imagination run wild as I relaxed all the muscles in my body deliberately, purposefully. I wouldn't give him any satisfaction, not of feeling me tense, not of seeing any hint of pain or fear or violation.

"I'll build a fire beneath your feet and cook them, until the layers of skin peel back like a good Sunday pot roast. I'll take them off, slowly, one by one, and have you watch as I feed them to a walker. When your feet are nothing but charred ash and bone, I'll take your hands. I'll string them up in front of your good eye, so you can see exactly how effective they are at terrorizing and torturing someone. I'll wear your ears around my neck," I added, taking inspiration from Daryl coming out of the woods covered in blood back on the farm. "So everyone knows better than to try this sort of thing near me again. And then- then-"

He roared, throwing himself out of and away from me rapidly, and I laughed when I saw him soft and flopping as he yanked his jeans back into place. He strode around the chair to the table, taking up his gun belt and buckling it into place.

He made his way out of the room without a word, while I laughed long and loud into the silence.

Chapter Text

He came back about an hour later. Wordlessly, he wrapped a strip of black cloth around my eyes, and left again.

Now in the dark and tied, I focused on breathing. This wasn't the caves, and he wasn't fucking Tom Ford. All he could do was cause me pain. He could hurt my body, but this time-

I realized abruptly that this time I knew they were coming. For all I'd doubted Shane in the past, for all I swore I wouldn't depend on Daryl ever again- I knew they'd come. I knew they'd find me. It was only a matter of time, and if I got myself out first.

It was easy after that. I let my mind drift for a while, wondering if Merle was in another room or if he was dead somewhere. How long would it take for them to notice we'd gone? How long would it take for them to track us to the meeting place, see what we'd done there, and figure it out? Honestly, it couldn't take all that long- a few hours at most. Ricky had been due to meet with the man, after all, and when he chose not to he'd be looking for Merle to let him know he'd changed his mind.

Funny how I never doubted that he would change his mind. My brother just didn't have it in him to trade a woman's life like that.

As soon as they realized, they'd be coming for us. They had the map I'd made, and I'd harped on recon enough that hopefully they'd listen and take a breath to watch and wait before charging in, but I didn't doubt that they'd come for me.

I held that in my mind, wondered at it; at the change from the black despair of the caves and afterward to this confidence in rescue or escape on my own. I twisted my hands and feet, testing my bonds, but the leather straps held annoyingly firm. If I wanted to escape, I'd have to wait for someone to release me from these first. Otherwise, I was biding my time until they got here.

The Blind Angel can see. Repeat, the Blind Angel can see.

I shook the echo from my mind and wondered how they'd take it, if Shane and Daryl came in and saw me like this. It wasn't that they hadn't seen me naked before; at this point, they'd both seen everything in various situations. But this was different, and sometimes men had issues with women who'd been-

That was a disservice to them both, I chided myself. I'd told them plenty about what had happened, back in the caves, and some from before that, even. They hadn't turned me away yet, and wasn't that interesting to consider as well?

The faint sounds of movement, scuffling, reached my straining ears. I stilled further, relaxing my muscles and quieting my thoughts to focus everything on the noise outside the door. Scratching, shifting of feet, whispers I couldn't make out-

The door creaked as it opened, and near-noiseless footsteps entered. I felt myself smile, a feral thing, as I recognized them.

"Hello, Merle. Not dead yet, then?"

Shaking hands undid the blindfold over my eyes, and I blinked as the figures around me swam watery as my vision adjusted to sudden restoration. Shane's hands were gentle as he turned my face to his, searching for something in my eyes before he nodded and moved to the leather holding my arms.

Daryl was already grimly working on my legs, his eyes fixed on what he was doing, and soon enough I was free. Merle watched the door, his back to us, and I winced when I tried to stand and my legs- numb from lack of movement and restraint- buckled.

Shane caught me without a word, his hands barely touching my skin. Something cold began then, with the way neither of them would meet my eyes, with the cautious, minimal touch on my sides to keep me standing as Daryl pulled what was left of my underwear out of the tangle of my jeans and slid them up my hips.

I buttoned and zipped them myself, batting him aside and forcing my fingers to do as they were told. When that worked reasonably successfully, I held my hand out toward Daryl, palm up. I needed a goddamn weapon.

He stripped off his vest, pulled the forcibly-sleeveless flannel over his head, and handed it to me without meeting my eyes. I blinked, frowned at the shirt in my hands as he shrugged the vest back over his shoulders, and wished any of these men would look me in the goddamn eyes. I pulled the shirt on, not self-conscious, exactly, but finding myself desperate to be covered up all the same.

Now I spoke again, breaking the silence with a whisper. "Weapon, damn it."

"Give the girlie a gun and get ya asses in gear," Merle snapped, voice low and commanding. "Time we's on our way, afore someone comes to check on 'er."

"I mean, while we're here," I muttered, taking the handgun from Shane. I popped the magazine and cleared the chamber, checked the rounds were loaded correctly, and reversed the process. Gun in hand, I moved to Merle's back and tapped his shoulder in wordless command.

"Ain't goin' after him now, damn it. Fall in or I'll have one a them two knock ya senseless an' carry ya out."

"Well, well, I didn't know you cared."

"Shut it. We's movin', boys and girls. Keep it tight an' professional now."

I moved forward at Merle's shoulder, gun at the ready. Maybe we weren't going for him right now, but I would take his fucking head sometime soon enough.

Merle lead the way out, slipping along a twisting route that avoided any of the main areas. I questioned several of his choices, the map I'd made of the place in my head as we moved, wondering what it was about these buildings he didn't think we should get close to.

I held the gun in both hands to steady it, the adrenaline that had been coursing through me since I'd bailed from the car at a new high that had my hands shaking more than I wanted to admit. We stopped behind a small outbuilding, no more than a shed, and Merle checked his watch, frowned, and flashed five fingers at us twice.

Ten minutes, I interpreted. He took a knee, on guard but relaxed. We took our cues from him, and I leaned against the side of the building for support, wanting nothing more than to stretch my aching muscles and work my hands and feet back to full manipulation. That wasn't a good idea though, since we weren't out of the woods yet, and I settled for lifting myself up onto my toes and slowly lowering back down to work my feet.

Shane and Daryl weren't looking at me. Merle glanced my way once, his eyes sweeping over me in a clear check-up, and nodded. Then he went back to keeping watch around the corner.

The Blind Angel can see, I thought bitterly. But does she want to, with the way Walsh and Dixon were acting?

We made it out without incident. As the trees closed around us, I relaxed, shoving the gun into my belt. "Hold up for a minute, Merle," I called, stopping abruptly.

He turned, concern in his face. "Ain't far enough yet, girlie pop. What's wrong?"

"I need a second is all." Already bent over, dangling face downward with my fingertips brushing the ground, I pushed the fold a little further until my palms were flat on the ground and face was jammed against my knees.

My back cracked like a whip, a wave of release starting somewhere in the center and running up toward my neck. Satisfied, I pushed the fold just a little more, lacing my fingers together behind my ankles, and was rewarded with one more pop down near my hips that had me sighing. I rolled up slowly, grabbed my gun, and nodded. "Ok, let's roll."

Merle was eyeing me, a strange look in his eyes and twist to his lips. "What?" I demanded with a frown.

He shook his head and turned to keep moving. Shane and Daryl didn't say anything. They didn't even look at me.

When we reached the truck, the three of them went still, weapons lowering for the first time since we'd left the torture chamber. I grabbed the handle to the passenger side, opening the door and expecting them to jump in urgently as well, but paused when I realized they weren't moving.

Merle stood with his back to us, staring out at nothing. Shane leaned on the truck bed, hands pressed to his face, a posture I remembered all too well from after Otis. And Daryl stared at his shoes, shoulders hunched and hand gripping his crossbow strap so tight his knuckles were white. I sighed and closed the truck door again, crossing my arms over my chest and tapping the toe of one shoe impatiently.

"Shouldn't we be getting back to the prison and making sure everyone's ok?" I asked pointedly.

Daryl scoffed, Merle didn't twitch, and Shane's head whipped up from his hands, both of them shoving into his hair at once. "Making sure- girl, you're not ok!"

"And you say this why?" I asked, eyebrow lifting as I met his eyes.

His slid from mine, his gesture wild as he answered. "Look at you! Look how we fucking found you! Angel, you were- you-"

"I was tied to the chair, naked to my knees. Yes, I know," I snapped. "Yes, he raped me. He didn't get very far with it, as he's clearly an imbecile when it comes to torture. I've had far better. Well, worse. Whatever." I dismissed Philip's fucking pathetic attempt at rape and questioning with a wave of my hand. "I'm far more concerned about what's going on at home. Ricky tried to go through with handing Michonne over. Did he change his mind? Tell me he changed his mind, or I'll have to do more than just deck him once when we get back."

"Did he-" Shane cut off with a groan that turned into a scream, kicking the truck tire before gripping the bed, his head hanging low.

Daryl hadn't twitched from his position, but now his free hand gripped his knife handle just as tightly as he did the crossbow strap. Merle stirred, turning hard eyes my way.

"Ol' Rick changed his mind, lil sister," he said, voice shockingly gentle. "An' he's gearin' the place up for war. Got 'im a decent plan made up already. Bout took me out when I showed up without ya to tell 'em where ya were and get these boys here on the move. Wanted to come too," he added. "Wouldn't let 'im."

"Good," I told Merle firmly. "He didn't need to. Shit would have been real bad if he'd been picked up because things went sideways. Now, listen up, everyone. I am fine. I have been through far worse and stayed on my feet. I have been through far worse and come out significantly fucked up, but that is not this time. I'm going to kill the bastard, and I'll be doing it soon. So can we please get back home so I can shower, change my clothes, and get back here for that animal's head?"

Wordlessly, Daryl opened the passenger door of the truck, then vaulted into the bed, his back pressed against the glass. He stared straight ahead, toward the trees, chewing on his thumbnail, the crossbow resting across his lap.

I decided that was my cue and climbed into the passenger seat. Shane closed the door before I could reach for it, rounding the truck to the driver's side as Merle climbed more slowly into the bed beside his brother.

Goddamn it, I thought as I tipped my head back against the seat. This was going to become a thing, wasn't it?

Chapter Text

Silence filled the cab of the truck, more uncomfortable and pressuring than Philip's terrible attempt at torture had been. I stared out the passenger window, not looking at Shane, and trying not to think about what it meant that he hadn't been able to look at me.

But they'd come for me, I thought, tears burning on the back of my throat. They'd come for me, knowing what he was like. They'd seen Maggie; we'd all heard the story from both her and Glenn. We knew what he would do to Michonne. Had they not realized he'd do the same to me in a heartbeat? I didn't get it.

I breathed slow and deep until the threat of tears faded away. Who gave a shit what they were thinking now? I was free; I'd kill the bastard; and we could forget all the confessions of love and the casual sex and just be friendly survivors.

Of course, for all that to happen, we had to, you know, survive. Which meant I needed some information about what the hell was happening while I was busy with the Governor's attempt at grown-up questioning.

I turned to glare at Shane's tightly clenched jaw. One hand held the wheel in a deliberately casual grip, the fingers of the other drumming restlessly against the side window as he stared straight ahead. Fuck it, I thought. We'd been friends way too long for this. "What the shit's the problem, Walsh?" I demanded. "Either get whatever you're thinking out or give me the update about back home. I need information."

"You need a doctor," he shot back. "And a good therapist."

"Had one, after the caves. She wasn't exactly equipped for all that. Information, Walsh. Now."

He slammed his free hand into the steering wheel with a short scream. "Stop it. Just- stop it. You see how you were in there? You- I know- damn it, woman. Can't you slow down, take a minute at least?"

"What for?" I sneered, my lip curling up. The scar made it feel strange, pulling and pinching oddly, and that just served to remind me of how they saw me. "I'm fine. Been through worse shit, Shane. Stop looking like that."

"Like what?" He spat the words out, turning to skewer me with a hot glare of his own. "Like what, Angel?"

"Like you think I'm fucking broken," I snapped back. "Because I'm not. I'm fine. I'm ready to go to fucking war, is what I am. So give me the goddamn update already."

He snarled. "You want an update? The update is he hasn't done shit. He grabbed you because you decided to play assassins with Merle fucking Dixon- why the hell didn't you come get me, girl?- and booked it out of there. We haven't seen a hint of him, and we were searching everywhere for you and that waste of air back there, and then he shows up remarkably hale of health and says he let you get picked up by the bastard. So I socked him in the face as hard as I could, Rick pulled me off him, and then suddenly Merle thinks he's a soldier and starts giving orders to lead a rescue mission. Merle fucking Dixon!"

"What?" Merle yelled from the bed of the truck, half turned and glaring through the back glass at us both.

I couldn't help it. I burst out laughing.

Shane's hands tightening around the wheel, both of them now, and his jaw twitched as he ground his teeth together. Before he could say anything else, we were roaring up to the prison, walkers in the yard turning to stare with dead eyes, and Glenn ran the gate open.

My brother stood nearby with a gun in his hands, eyes grim as he surveyed the dead.

Inside, Ricky pulled me into a hug that I clung to harder than I wanted to admit. He pulled back, hands on my shoulders as he looked into my eyes. "Ok, Hell's Angel?"

I nodded. "I'm fine. What's the plan? You know he's going to hit us hard, after this."

"Yeah," Ricky agreed. "Yeah. We need- we need everyone."

It was time for another council of war.

Ricky told them what the Governor had wanted. He apologized to Michonne for having considered it, and she just shrugged. I could tell from the look in her eyes she understood why he would.

I told her flatly I'd have killed her before I let him. "I wouldn't turn anyone over to that man."

Maggie shuddered. Her eyes lingered on me, and I realized abruptly I was still wearing Dixon's shirt. I met her gaze and smiled, and her smile back was hesitant, but it was there. "We'll get the bastard. I'm going to start with his feet."

They all eyed me funny, and I realized my voice had been far too cheerful for the content of the statement. Whatever, I thought as I waved for Ricky to continue. I would. The Governor was mine, no matter what Michonne or Merle or Ricky thought.

We had two options, according to my brother. Stand and fight, or run. He'd decided, with his brief consideration of turning over Michonne, that it had to be a group decision which we did. I settled back, studying the map of the area we'd marked with herds and safe spots and very much not safe spots over the winter as well as the sketches of Woodbury. I was going anywhere, no matter what they decided.

We weren't running. But we'd make it look like we were. Ricky, Shane, Daryl, Merle, and I put our heads together after the consensus was reached, Merle sliding into our planning unit shockingly easily, all things considered. His successful retrieval had apparently earned him points in the minds of all three of my boys.

Though I wasn't sure two of the three were my boys anymore, and Ricky and I had a very, very different relationship. Daryl had replaced the sleeveless flannel I still wore with another of a matching variety, though this one had sleeves, and he'd tipped my chin to scan my face while I frowned at him and tried to figure out what the hell he was doing. He'd nodded once and hadn't looked at or touched me again.

I'd sketched out the prison like I had Woodbury, and we compared the two side by side, trying to determine which was the better option- taking the fight to Woodbury or waiting for them to come to us. I voted as I had all along- a one to three man operation, myself at the helm, and a stealth entrance. Problem solved.

Merle shook his head. "He's on high alert now. We's gotten in twice. Ain't gonna be a third, lil sister. Wait for 'im to come to us. He'll get messy. His people, they ain't soldiers."

"Half of us ain't neither, asshole," Daryl pointed out. "Pretty sure you'n'Angel are the only ones."

"Rick and I aren't strangers to danger either," Shane snapped.

They glared at each other, and I glanced between them, eyebrows raised in surprise. They weren't best friends, but Walsh and Dixon had gotten along well for a long time now. The animosity in their eyes was a surprise, and not one I was prepared to deal with at the moment.

"Police work is different from war, Walsh," I told him. "Not an insult or a put-down, just a fact. But this won't be war, not really. He's clever, but he's not a general. And our people might not be soldiers, but we've all been scrapping tooth and nail since the world ended. Woodbury's been behind walls for a long time."

"And most of 'em there only take pot shots at the dead from on top'a them walls," Merle agreed. "We's got that advantage, least. He's got more of 'em than us, though."

Ricky nodded, frowning down at the maps on the table in front of us. "So we need a plan."

The plan wasn't shit, I supposed. It wasn't ideal, in my opinion, but it utilized the best resources we had available: the element of surprise, the unfamiliarity our attackers would have with the prison, their lack of experience, and the hungry dead. It would probably work.

And I'd ensure that even if it didn't, it would. Because despite what I told the boys, I wasn't going to follow Ricky's plan. I would go along to a certain point, and then I'd sneak out the back and lie in wait for the retreat we expected them to make.

I'd take the Governor out if Ricky didn't nail him in the prison. He didn't get to survive this shit.

And honestly, neither did any of his people. I'd take a lot of heat for it. Ricky might even kick me out. It didn't matter. I'd be taking down anyone who came and held a gun against my people.

We needed to be safe, and that was the best way.

It didn't take long to have my shit packed and loaded. I started on the weapons next, distributing guns and ammo to various perches. Then it was back in to see what else needed to be packed, since speed was of the essence at this point.

We knew he was coming. We'd sent Merle and Shane to keep watch on Woodbury, and they'd come back as soon as he started mobilizing.

Dixon brushed past me in the common area, his eyes fixed on the ground, and it pissed me off. "Hey," I snapped.

He paused. "What?"

"'What', you! The shit's your problem?" I demanded, arms crossed.

He shifted on his feet, hitching the bag on his shoulder higher and fiddling with the strap. "Nothin'."

"Nothing, my ass. You and Shane are bitching at each other and neither of you is looking me in the eyes. Got an issue with used goods or something?" Temper made me mean, as did the hurt I hated to feel curling under it.

Daryl's eyes flew up from our feet to meet mine, something hot and hard sparking in them. "Don't ya fuckin' dare. Just- fuckin' don't. I saw ya. Ain't gonna forget it."

"Well, try." I started to turn away, voice going snide to hide the way it made me want to cry. So he did see me as used goods now. That's what it meant, that he wouldn't forget it. "And stop being a dick to Shane."

He grabbed my arm, spinning me back to face him, and blocked the punch I threw automatically. I glared, he glared, and then he took my face in both hands and brushed a kiss to my lips, feather-light and over before I knew it was happening.

"Don't be a bitch," he said flatly. "An' don't run off in the middle of the goddamn fight, neither."

I blinked, frozen, as he stalked off, looking just as angry as before. "What the shit?"

Carol muffled a laugh from nearby, and I grimaced. She patted my shoulder as she rounded me with a load of her own for the cars. "They care, honey. That's all. They care and they don't know how to deal with a certain kind of hurt to women they love."

I didn't have a response for that, so I went back to loading cans into a backpack.

Chapter Text

I moved through the hallways in the tombs, making sure everything was set. The kids and Hershel had been sent out with our vehicles, including a very angry Carl who had argued hard and violently that he should be part of the assault. His father had disagreed, and tried to rope both Shane and I to his side.

By mutual self-preservation instinct, we immediately noped out of that conversation and left Ricky on his own. Carl, pissed, had brushed past us both without a goodbye when told it was time to head out with Beth, Judith, and Hershel.

Now I did final checks, Glenn having signaled the rising dust cloud in the distance that showed the Governor and his people were on their way. In the darkness, I was damn near invisible, soundless as I moved from one carcass used to lure the walkers back in to another. At several checkpoints our people waited. I didn't speak or let them know I was roaming around, though they probably expected it by this point.

"Now, Imma say somethin' yall both need to hear, an' ya need to listen up, children."

I paused at the intensity in Merle's voice, smothering a laugh when he talked right over Walsh trying to say he wasn't a child, damn it.

"That there girlie, she's tough shit, an' she don't need yer arguin' and bitchin'. She went through somethin', right enough, and what she needs from you two assholes is ya to rally together and be there for her. Not ya own goddamn egos or hurt feelin's or what the fuck ever is happenin' right now. Ain't neither of ya to blame, ain't neither of ya own her, an' ya need to get yer heads outta ya ass an' share, or I'll come take 'er for my own self, ya hear?"

I blinked rapidly in the silence that followed, then turned around and went right back in the direction I'd come. I absolutely wasn't dealing with any of that, not right now. I had work to do.

Revving engines and gunfire announced their arrival. I stayed crouched in my place in the darkness, the countdown running in my head, listening hard for the inevitable approaching footsteps or voices.

He wouldn't just assume we'd left. He'd assume we'd left a trap behind, at best, or were lurking in wait for him- as we were. So he'd make sure his people checked every nook and cranny. And that's when we'd get them.

The screech of the gate between C block and the tombs started the countdown for all of us.

Twenty, I thought. Nineteen. Eighteen. Seventeen.

The alarm blared, lights strobed, flash-bangs and smoke grenades exploding. The dead, riled up and smelling live things, began to do exactly as predicted. The living did as well, turning and running for the exits as fast as they possibly could. Screams filled the air along with the sound of the alarm, the moans of the dead, random gunfire, the Governor screaming for his people to maintain order.

Then Maggie, Glenn, and Carol started lighting them up from their hiding places, shooting at feet and herding them back to their vehicles to drive away and- hopefully- refuse to come back.

At least, that was the plan, and I assumed it was going as intended based on the noises I heard.

My part, like that of all of us in the tombs, was to assist the dead in herding the living back out through C block. This was where I'd piss everyone off, but I didn't care. I had my own priorities, and just scaring them off might work. It might.

But if I killed them all- especially Philip- it would work.

I didn't trade on 'might', not anymore. Not after his torture room. Merle was wrong about one thing- I didn't need Walsh or Dixon or anyone else to 'be there for me'. I need the Governor dead, and my people safe from him getting his hands on any more of them. What he'd done to Maggie was bad enough. I wasn't giving him the chance to do worse to someone else.

As for Shane and Daryl and whatever the three of us had going on, that wasn't something I would be dealing with any time soon. In fact, I decided as I slipped down to the barricades we'd deconstructed and out into the sunlight, I wouldn't deal with it at all. I'd do what I wanted, and we'd either keep on keeping on as we were, casual and no-strings attached, or we'd stop fucking if neither of them could handle it.

But I would absolutely not take up with Merle Dixon, no matter what he threatened. I shuddered in horror at the thought, even as I watched Woodbury's erstwhile soldiers run for their vehicles, bullets at their heels, and peel out quickly.

Time to get to work.

I'd parked one of our cars intentionally, knowing I'd be coming to it and using it to give chase. I was on the way rapidly, following close enough to pull off when the back truck peeled around to the front and cut off the retreating group.

I moved in on foot, closing the distance rapidly. No one paid attention to the woods around them, fixated as they were on Philip the dick screaming for them to get back and resume the attack. One woman headed up the objections, arguing with him directly in a show of bravery I appreciated.

Then Philip opened fire.

I'd once watched through a scope as a man was eaten alive by starved, half-feral dogs. I'd been under strict orders to not interfere with the running of the prison. My job was to take out one man, and one man only.

The screams still lingered in my ears sometimes. I'd never looked at dogs the same, though I knew it was the people who kept them chained and starved who were to blame. Still, it's hard to see a dog yawn and lick its teeth when you've seen one rip chunks of flesh from a man's body and lick the blood from its snout.

Watching Philip open fire, mowing down his own screaming, running people from behind threw me into a state of confusion. I'd seen atrocities before, including those worse than this. I'd seen the dead eat the living. I'd seen the living ravage the dead, before the world ended.

But the Governor's actions, his single eye staring at nothing, were so out of place for where I was, what I'd been dealing with since the world ended, that it froze me for a moment. I was overseas, working; I was behind the scope, waiting for my shot; I was in a crowd like that one, dodging bullets and heading toward the man firing them to end the torment; I was in a firefight, steadily advancing through the combat zone; I was-

I was moving, feet carrying me forward, gun firing rapidly at the man who'd mowed down his own retreating people. He turned, his gun swinging my way, and everything snapped back into focus.

I dodged and weaved, but I was at a disadvantage. He stood still; I was moving. He was calm, I was shaken and pissed.

The round hit my shoulder and staggered me, pain blinding everything for a moment. I went down, but I rolled with it and came back up, determined to get to the Governor and end this, once and for all. Adrenaline was a powerful bitch and I used it to my advantage, closing in on him and using the butt of my rifle to slam into his head.

Only I missed, and he swept my legs from under me, and I hit the ground, head slamming into one of his people's fallen weapons. I blinked at the new bloom of pain in my skull, black spots dancing in front of my vision. He set one foot on my chest, holding me down with crushing weight when I tried to stand.

The look in his eye as he studied me sent cold fear swimming through the adrenaline. My fingers scrabbled, clawing at the earth and trying to get ahold of something, anything, I could use to remove the weight cutting off my air and pinning me down, flat on my back. I found nothing, and the darkness returned as heaviness flooded my limbs, starting with the iron in my lungs and spreading outward.

I tried to stay awake, stay alert, my eyes darting and sucking desperately for what air I could get as he leaned forward, head tilted to study me like a bug he'd trapped beneath a glass; a turtle on its back. Then he brushed his fingers in the blood on my shoulder, lightening the foot on my sternum enough for me to gasp in oxygen, wheezing as I tried to flood my system again.

The pressure returned, and his fingers dug into the bullet hole, pain exploding. I'd have screamed, but there wasn't the air in my lungs to make it happen.

Then the world went dark.

Chapter Text

Pain was endless. Pain was everything. I floated in the arms of it, nothing more and nothing less than the fire of it surrounding me. It was strangely familiar, the endless void. Almost comforting in a way.

Light streamed in, blinding me and slamming me into my body to the sound of screaming. It took the pain concentrating into my shoulder and spiraling outward in a fresh wave for me to realize it was me screaming, raw and ragged, and voices around me snapped and snarled.

"Be still now, Angel," Tom Ford said, his voice a whisper in my ear. "Come on, be a good girl, be still."

I thrashed, I struggled, fueled by the pain and my now-racing heart and the sound of his voice. I wouldn't be back there, I thought desperately. I'd die before letting him get his hands on me again, and I bit down hard, slamming my back teeth together, but nothing cracked. Nothing broke. The capsule didn't spill sweet poison onto my tongue to end the agony.

I screamed again, frustration turning it to ragged dry sobbing on my parched and mutilated throat. Still, the pain continued, shooting, stabbing, swirling, filling the cracks and crevices of my body and mind and burrowing in, making it home, never letting up or letting go.

"Damn it! I can't get it out if she's doing this! Hold her still!"

That only made me fight harder, ignoring the commentary from the others whipping around my head, asking if they should knock me out or what. I screamed again, digging deep and finding words this time, forcing them out through my tortured throat. "Hell is waiting, you raping motherfucker, and I'm your guide!"

Silence from the room, but I wasn't done yet. Through the shattered-glass pain in my throat, my voice continued, low and shredded, even as I took advantage of the distraction I'd caused and freed one of my legs from whoever held it. "I'll pour Tom Ford down your severed throat before I let you die, you lay a hand on me again, fucker. I'm the angel of fucking death, remember, and-"

"Shit," someone swore, and I paused in the act of kicking whoever had held my feet. I knew that voice.

"Dixon?" I whispered. How was he here? He was- he couldn't be-

I opened my eyes, struggling through the sea of torment to blink into light, focusing on the faces swimming overhead. I couldn't get my vision working right, but that voice, the one I knew, spoke again.

"Yeah, that's me. Hey. Ya gotta settle down, baby. He's tryna help. Got lead in ya don't need to be there."

I breathed deeply, focusing on the voice, on the words. Lead in me. Dixon in the caves, Tom Ford- Tom Ford helping? This wasn't right, and I shouldn't be able to see, but I could, faces overhead. As I blinked furiously, someone's fingers brushed my cheek, and I turned into the touch.

I knew that touch. It was gentle, it was familiar, it was- "Walsh," I murmured.

The scent of Tom Ford faded away. The pain did not, and it swept out and pulled me under again to drown in the void of it once more.

"Hey, girl. Angel. My angel," Shane's voice sounded ragged, pained. Exhausted. "I'm right here. You're ok, alright? You're ok."

"Walsh," I mumbled, half-caught in the dream still, the ocean of pain now a river I floated along.

"Yeah, angel. I'm here. You're fine. Go to sleep, ok? We gave you a pretty strong sedative to keep you under so Hershel could do what he needed to with that shoulder. Go back to sleep."

Sedative? I thought blearily. Fuck, I hated those. They always gave me-

Hands on my body had me flinching back, unable to stop myself. That cold, calculated voice, so cultured on the surface but hiding the monster underneath whispered promises of what he'd do, and I wasn't sure who it was, Tom Ford or the Governor.

I wasn't sure it mattered.

I forced myself into stillness, trying to relax the muscles quivering in fearful anticipation of the pain sure to follow, the spreading feeling of minor disgust at myself and my body as it was used for someone else's pleasure, but I couldn't make them relax. I hadn't learned the techniques yet; it was boot camp and I was still learning how to be a good little soldier, not yet the brutal, cold killing machine I'd become, eventually-

I shuddered hard, wondering why the camp didn't do something about the cold showers, but it was just another tactic to break men down and make them part of a unit, not an individual. A creak of a metal gate in the distance had me straining to hear, the soft swish of footsteps reaching my dark corner; my hiding place.

I wished I could see. Ironic, the Blind Angel craving light, craving the cover taken off her eyes. I wanted to look in his face just once, just once, so I knew who to find in my sights later.

"Shhh, baby. Ya dreamin'. Ain't no one here but me'n'Shane, an' nobody's comin' for ya."

I listened hard to the voice, a whisper in my ear that swept the noises, the cold, the darkness away.

My eyes shot open, taking in the bunk above my head as I frowned. What the fuck? Where was- Shit. Shit, I thought, replaying the last few bits of clear memory in my mind.

The Governor had shot all of his own people. Then he'd shot me when I tried to take him down. I'd winged him myself, but it hadn't been a good hit. He'd gotten me down, cutting off my air with his damn foot on my chest- no wonder it hurt to breathe- and then he'd been digging around in my shoulder, and that was it. After that, everything was hazy and pain-drenched.

I felt awkward, limbs heavy like they'd been when I first woke up in a hospital in the States after being rescued from the caves. Medication, I thought as I tried to gather my scrambled brain. They'd sedated me. Walsh had said so.

I scrubbed a hand over my face, some of the tortured frenzy of blended dream and reality coming back in bits and pieces. It had been bad, but nowhere near as bad as when I'd tried to kill Ricky and punched Hershel, after the farm fell.

Walsh and Dixon, I thought. I'd heard their voices. I'd known them, in all of that. I hadn't, not before. Something had changed.

I turned my head, trying to take in my surroundings even as my eyelids became as heavy as my limbs felt. I would be swept back under soon, into true sleep or into the medication, I couldn't tell.

They were both there. In the floor of the cell I was in- I'd be pissy about that when I wasn't so tired- they sat side-by-side, leaning against the wall. Both of them were asleep in the near-darkness, lit only by a solar camp lantern turned down low. I smiled at the sight even as my eyes fell closed again.

My boys, I thought. Merle might have been right.

Chapter Text

My eyes snapped open, the haze that clouded recent memory gone. I sat bolt upright, ready to roll out of this bed and get busy finding that murdering bastard who'd killed his own people, and a shot of pain speared through my shoulder and had me making an annoyed grunt.

"Angel?"

Shane and Daryl were both awake, watching me from their own half-up positions. I waved them off, wincing when I realized breathing hurt like hell, too. Bastard had a heavy foot, and I wondered if he'd crushed a rib or something while trying to prevent my access to oxygen. "Fine," I croaked.

It felt like eating gravel. Shit, I sounded rough as hell. "Water?" I managed after swallowing hard.

"Yeah, hang on." Daryl snatched up a bottle nearby, his movements jerky and rough as he held it out to me.

It trembled in his hands. The room was still lit only by the solar lantern, and darkness came from the narrow high windows in the hall outside the cell. It was night then, I knew, but the question was which night. Was it still the same day he'd shot up his people? Had someone killed him?

I sipped the water slowly, letting it soothe my throat without overwhelming my system. I tried to remember what had been happening right as I'd been busy passing out. Fucking Philip had been standing on me, digging his fingers into my shoulder, but then what? There was nothing else in my memory but the pain, and it was tangled and confused with Tom Ford and others in the caves.

"We get him?" I asked when I felt like my voice might not shred my throat with plexiglass shards. "He dead?"

"He- shit. Why you asking about him, girl? We almost- he almost killed you. Again."

I frowned at Shane. "No 'again'. He didn't almost kill me when he took me. He didn't even try!"

Shane scrubbed a hand over his face and I noticed he was growing a serious stubble that needed attention. Oh well, different priorities in the end of the world and all, I supposed. "Harley-"

"Ya been talkin' again," Dixon said in a low voice, his eyes on his clenched hands. They rested on his knees, drawn up close to his chest. "While ya was under."

I paused; grimaced. "Shit. How bad this time?"

"Bad 'nough," he muttered. "Ya need to do some talkin' fer real, though. We can take it, an' ya ain't ok, no matter what ya say."

"I'm literally fine," I snapped, temper rising. If I'd been talking, they should know I could handle what that asshole did just fine. I'd been through far worse and come out on the other side stronger. Not broken. Fucked up in a few ways, maybe, but fine all the same. "I don't need shit but to see him dead."

"Sure," Daryl agreed, tossing his head and meeting my eyes. "But see, ya ain't fine. Tough shit, ain't sayin' ya ain't. But ya were- shit."

"You were begging for us to come get you," Shane said flatly. "From the- the caves. From the one-eyed bastard. You were begging for help. That says you're not right. Talk to us. Please."

"Or we'll make ya talk to my brother."

"Absolutely not." I recoiled, horrified at the idea of spilling my soul to Merle fucking Dixon. "Why- I was drugged, you know. You drugged me. You can't base anything off what I said while drugged!"

"Seems like it was more genuine than anything else you say," Shane snarled. "Besides, you said Merle was right about something. What was he right about?"

I blinked, confused as fuck. "Merle hasn't been right about shit. Army bastard."

"Better'n Motorcycle Asshole, I guess," Daryl muttered. "Ya said it all the same, baby. We's just- we's worried about ya, is all. We care. Love ya, after all."

I stared at him, bewildered and thoroughly freaked out over him just saying that, sitting next to Shane like he was. And Walsh was nodding along, reaching out and giving Daryl's shoulder a squeeze.

"We do," he said firmly. "You can hate it all you want- you're not exactly great with feelings- but we do. And we won't stop."

I blinked, mouth opening and clicking closed again abruptly. "I don't know what you want me to say."

"Ain't gotta say nothin' in particular. Ya want us to stop bein' whatever we are, that's fine. Just give the word. Ain't gonna change how we feel about ya, though."

I shook my head, taking a page from Shane's book and shoving my hands into my hair. I couldn't think; couldn't speak. I didn't have any idea what to say, or what they wanted from me, and I did the only thing I could think to do. I changed the subject. "What's going on? How long has it been? Did you kill him? I'm alive, so something happened, but I don't know what…"

They were quiet for a moment, then Shane sighed. "He's not dead," he said softly. "We tried, but he ran. We couldn't find him. It's coming up on sunrise, probably. Rick took a team and went to Woodbury to see if he ran there. They're not back yet."

I stared at the floor. They weren't back yet. He wouldn't go there, though. Not after killing all his people, I thought. My mind whirled, spinning along one thread of the web of information I'd gathered about him, his people, everything. He wouldn't go to Woodbury again. He'd take to the ground, hide himself away, especially if-

"We hurt him. He's prob'ly gonna die from it. Bleed out somewheres, alone. But he ran off with a couple of his asshole sidekicks," Daryl added.

I stared down at my hands, trying to figure out the best approach. Where he'd go; what he'd do.

But I couldn't think. It had to be the drugs still in my system, I thought as my eyes swam and my thoughts weren't much better. It was the drugs they'd given me, clouding my vision and making me feel like I was going to break into a thousand pieces at the thought of him always hiding in the shadows somewhere.

I was the monster in the shadows. I was the boogeyman under the bed. No one was supposed to haunt me, to stalk me, to make me look over my shoulder in fear whenever I stepped out.

"Shit. Angel. Baby."

Daryl's hands were against my cheeks, lifting my face to stare into my eyes. In a heartbeat, Shane's arms were around me, strong and warm even as I leaned into Daryl's calloused thumbs sweeping my cheeks. I was crying, and I could feel my body shaking, but I didn't know why. I didn't have words, couldn't form thoughts.

"It's aight," Daryl whispered. "We's got ya, baby. Let it out."

Something snapped. A lock, a dam, a glacier breaking and plunging into the sea- and I found myself lost in a flood of things I couldn't put to words. Grief, fear, pain, horror- it flowed through and over me, and I would have drowned in the tide without the arm around my waist and the hands on my face.

I clung to those places of warmth and hoped they could weather the storm with me.

They held me between them. I found myself, voice shaking, telling them things I'd sworn I wouldn't share with anyone in this life. Horrors I'd committed. Horrors committed to me. And through it all, they stayed.

They stayed. They listened. Shane whispered in my ear that nothing changed; I was still his angel and always would be. Daryl's hands never stopped caressing my skin, tracing the pattern of scars feather-lightly, ghosting over my face, caressing my hair, playing with my fingers. He gave comfort wordlessly, as he did many things, but it spoke louder than any of his words could have.

When I told them how I'd told that bastard Philip what I'd do to him while he raped me, they both stilled, tension in their muscles as I told the story.

Then, to my utter shock, Shane snorted out a laugh as I described him throwing himself away from me, limp and flaccid and unfinished. For some reason, his laughter started mine and before we could figure out just what the fuck was happening, all three of us were laughing our assess off where moments before, I'd been crying.

Then the door to C block opened and Carl's voice echoed. "Daryl! Uncle Shane! They're back!"

"Ricky," I breathed, sobering immediately. "Come on."

I shot to my feet, ignoring their protests, and headed out. It had done me good after all, I supposed, opening up to them. My boys, I thought fondly. We could do this. Stay casual, stay this. It wasn't awful, knowing they were there.

I snagged a rifle from the shelf as I made my way out.

A bus approached, Ricky in the driver's seat. Two more cars followed behind, and I frowned as they pulled through the gate.

Ricky came straight to me, setting one hand on my shoulder and staring into my eyes. "Alright, sis?"

"I'm fine. Patched up good," I agreed. "Ricky, what is this?"

"Yeah, Dad," Carl agreed, eyes hard.

Rick sighed, staring at Carl with a haunted look that had me narrowing my eyes between them. Something had happened. Something that had Ricky worried about his son and Carl being stubborn about it, whatever it was. "They're going to join us here."

Oh, what a massively horrible idea that was, I thought, opening my mouth to argue with a frown. Carl beat me to it, snapping at his dad. I barely listened as Rick gave his reasoning, focused on the old ladies and young children being carefully helped from the bus by none other than Tyreese and Sasha, two of the people Carl had found in the prison and my brother had waved a gun around at.

More mouths to feed, I thought. More people to keep an eye on. More threats to our safety.

Then I watched an old lady grip Maggie's outstretched hands with shaking ones of her own and felt mildly ashamed of myself. These weren't a threat, I thought. But they were a liability.

Carl stormed away, and I glanced at my brother. "He's right, you know. This is a bad idea."

"It's the right thing to do. Bring people in. Give them safety," Ricky said, shaking his head. He had our daddy's stubborn cop face on, and I knew there was no point in arguing. "Carl killed a kid, in the woods. He was trying to surrender."

"He tell you that?" I asked, eyebrow shooting up in surprise.

"Hershel did. Carl said he was a threat. Hershel says he wasn't. No matter who's right, I don't want my son to become a killer," Ricky said gently. "I want to show him there's a better way. Starting now. Starting with them. You ok with that?"

"Does it matter?" I asked dryly, ignoring the killer thing. He wasn't wrong. I didn't want Carl becoming a killer, either.

I'd handle it for all of us, I thought, eyes going to the trees surrounding the prison as Ricky tossed an arm over my shoulders and pulled me in for a hug. Starting with the bastard who was still out there.

Chapter Text

"I'll be fine, Walsh. How come you never fuss over Dixon like this?" I complained as I loaded necessities into the backpack. A warm shirt, ammo, water, rations- I tossed in an extra knife, just in case, and called that packed enough.

Shane, leaning in the doorway to my cell, rolled his eyes as I slung it over my shoulder. "Obviously, I like him less than I do you."

"You say that," I teased, stepping close and setting a hand on his chest. Despite the backpack, his arms came around me, and I kissed him long and hard. Pulling back, I flashed him a wicked grin. "But who knows what you two get up to while I'm gone?"

I sauntered toward the common area, laughing as I heard the unmistakable ringing sound of Walsh hitting his head on the cell door. Repeatedly.

We'd settled into a routine here. A rhythm at least. We each had our own spaces, but more often than not I was in one of theirs or they came to mine. It just felt natural to us at this point, sleeping clustered together on the set of side-by-side mattresses I'd immediately replaced the bunks with. Bolted in didn't matter when you gave a determined ex-spy the right tools and a fierce determination.

Those from Woodbury had settled in well in the handful of weeks since Ricky had escorted a bus back and Carl and I looked on in mutual distrust and distaste. It wasn't that I didn't still dislike it; but I'd recognized the look in my brother's eyes and known it was no use. And they seemed ok, after all. Tyreese, Sasha, and the sole survivor of the Governor's shooting spree- a woman named Karen who was actually the reason I was still alive, since she'd distracted him enough to give me oxygen until Walsh, Dixon, and Ricky had ridden to the rescue- sort of managed the Woodbury refugees and integrated them into our little power structure well.

And when fucking Philip had torched his own town the day after they'd moved here, it wasn't like I could complain that much about their presence.

Carl did. Carl, I'd discovered, was very much not doing so great in the wake of Lori's death. He hid it behind quiet competence, doing whatever needed to be done and doing it well, and my heart had twisted when I realized just what was boiling and bubbling underneath.

I'd gotten the story out of him, about what happened in the trees while they waited. The kid had been a teenager. He'd been scared, and he'd been about to give over his gun. My nephew had looked me dead in the eyes and said we were safer because he'd taken the kid out.

Talk about a mirror moment. I'd struggled to find what to say, because my brain and my gut said he was probably right. I'd been ready to kill everyone who fled. The Governor just beat me to it.

That was a little tidbit of information I shared with no one, of course- my plans in chasing the group down. Not even my boys.

Instead of telling Carl I agreed with him, I decided it was probably best to largely keep my mouth shut and my lack of morals out of it. Ricky was worried about him, and when I met his eyes and saw fire and ice warring in them, so was I. Instead of giving him advice, I did something that came far more natural. I pulled him into a hug. He resisted at first, but in moments he'd melted into me and begun to cry. It was only when the tears were over that we talked about how killing might be necessary and being willing to do whatever it took to keep the group safe was admirable, but unnecessary. He didn't need that kind of thing on his shoulders.

I'd made him promise to talk to me about safety measures before taking them into his own hands, and so far, he'd upheld that promise. I hadn't told my brother about what Carl said during those meetings; about the way we coldly discussed if everyone from Woodbury should die; if we needed to handle this or that threat before the others noticed; how to search for the Governor and still keep our people here safe.

Carl wasn't forgetting about him. Neither was I. But more importantly, Carl had someone he could tell about the darkest parts of himself, someone who stared into the abyss with him and never once blinked. It was already doing wonders, but there was a long way to go.

I left the moralizing to Ricky. Carl and I talked logistics, threat assessment, and feasibility. In the end, nearly every time, Carl himself came to the conclusion that what he was proposing was the wrong idea. For which I was grateful, because sometimes I was firmly on the kid's side, and talking him out of it wouldn't have been possible.

But one thing neither of us ever wavered on was finding fucking Philip. He was out there still, and we both knew it. We both wanted him dead- as did Michonne, Merle, and Daryl.

Ricky hated us going out looking, but we weren't about to stop just because Ricky didn't like it. I hadn't let my big brother's disapproval stop me from making any decisions in life- from going out with Tommy Kincaid in middle school, resulting in having to punch him in the nose when he tried to put his hands places I didn't want them; to joining the military; to leaving the safety of the prison fences whenever I wanted, to go wherever I wanted. Ricky wasn't my lord and master, Rickytatership be damned.

"I'll be fine, Shane. I always am," I told him far more gently as he followed me to my favorite present since the world ended.

Standing beside it with matching scowls were the brothers Dixon, and I bit back a laugh at the sight of them glaring at each other. Merle too had settled in well. He treated Daryl differently now, for all he called him 'Darylina' and still teased him heavily. But there was a warmth to it, an affection that had been missing before, back in the quarry. Daryl had earned Merle's respect since they found each other again, and I had a feeling it had happened purely because Daryl hadn't given a single shit if Merle respected him or not. Daryl had made choices; choices that prioritized others, not just his brother. Merle looked at him differently because of it. In a good way.

Of course, not being on drugs and booze also helped.

"How's my baby?" I called as Shane and I got closer. Daryl scrubbed at his oil-stained hands with a dirty bandana, so I knew he'd been working on her in anticipation of my going out.

Merle flashed me a crooked grin. "Purrin' like a kitten now's ol' Merle put Darylina here straight on a few things."

"I rather doubt that," I told him dryly. "Thanks, Dixon."

Daryl shrugged one shoulder, scowling at his brother still. "Ain't told me shit, asshole."

I ignored them both, dropping my backpack on the ground beside the bike to examine it myself. I checked the tank and the oil, both fine, and then checked the saddle bags to make sure the emergency provisions were stashed where they should be. More food and water, more ammo, and a few specific things for myself, tools and tricks I'd picked up along the way, as well as matches and a lighter in a waterproof bag. I was good to go, just as soon as I finished my goodbyes.

Sudden impatience to be on my way rolled through me. I was on his trail; I knew I was. With the group of us looking, we'd definitely find him. I wanted to be the one, however. I wanted his head on a pike for the gates, for Maggie and I to spit at whenever we walked by.

Maggie wasn't so into the pike plan, but she appreciated being included nonetheless.

"Don't you two ever stop bickering?" Shane demanded as Daryl and Merle argued. "Shit. Angel, don't you want to take one of them with you so I can get some peace and quiet around here?"

"Nope," I said brightly. I winked at Merle, then leaned into Daryl's open arms for a long embrace. "Besides, Dixon's leaving tomorrow with Michonne. You'll have your quiet then."

"Then I'll be worrying about both of you," he muttered, shoving a hand through his hair and glaring at nothing.

I smirked at him from Daryl's arms. "Told you you like him, too."

Shane groaned as Merle's big laugh echoed. "I like him just fine, sure. I love you."

"Not sure I like ya back, pig bastard," Daryl muttered, but he was smiling faintly as he looked into my eyes. He kissed me gently, soft and sweet. "But I love ya, too."

I hugged them both again, not able to say the same back. Casual we'd agreed to, but they insisted on saying that to me at every turn. It made me crazy, but I couldn't convince them to stop. "Bye, boys. Don't fight too much while I'm gone," I ordered. "Shane, keep Ricky from doing anything too nuts, ok?"

"Like answer unplugged phones or like shoot at newcomers?"

"Both," I said dryly. "Also, did he tell you he's planning on bringing more people in? Survivors he finds out there. What a terrible idea."

"Is it?" Daryl, of all people, was the one who asked. He shrugged when I turned to him, eyebrows up in surprise. "They's just tryna live, like us."

"What happened to 'let them take their chances like we had to'?" Shane asked, eyes narrowed.

Merle sighed. "Arguin' already? Girlie ain't even done left yet. Finish suckin' face and let her get on her damn way, will ya? Children," he muttered, turning and stalking off toward C block "Imma go find Carol. See what she's got cookin'."

"Of course he is. Never can leave that poor woman alone when there's food involved. Ok, boys. For real, I have to get going. I marked my area on the map in the common room, and I'll be out three days. Give me a day's leeway before you send the search party after me." I'd gone serious, tossing my leg over the motorcycle Merle had found me while I was wounded and gotten Carl, of all people, to help him bring back.

Ricky had been pissed. I figured he was just jealous.

"Be safe, angel," Shane said firmly.

I nodded, kicking the bike to life. "Always am."

"Naw, ya ain't. Cain't stop ya, though. Get back on time. I don't wanna have to hear from Merle about savin' ya ass," Daryl said, tossing hair from his eyes as he leaned in and kissed me again. "Go easy on the clutch."

"Oh, fuck off, Dixon," I said, laughing as I revved the engine and took off. I grinned at both of them scowling after me in the rearview as I headed down the gravel drive toward the main gate.

We'd fixed them, and we were working on reinforcements for them as well. No one would ram them again; at least not easily. Just inside, I stopped the bike to whistle at my other two favorite boys. "Hey, Grimes One and Two. I'm off. Don't bring in any psychos while I'm gone."

"You’re the only psycho allowed, Aunt Angel," Carl called back, grinning up from where he and Ricky worked on building an enclosure.

My brother had decided to become a farmer as well as a dictator, and he was lusting after some wild pigs he'd seen something awful. Frankly, it was weird. He turned to me now, stripping off his work gloves as the two of them came over to say goodbye. "I'll bring in anyone who can answer my questions."

"Ricky, they're hallucination questions," I protested, once again. "I think it's more concerning if people can answer them."

He rolled his eyes, smile faint, and ignored me. "Got ammo? Extra water? Map?"

"Yes, Mom." I answered dutifully. It was my turn to deliver an eye roll. "I'll be careful, too. I'm a big girl; I can handle myself."

"I know. But I'm a big brother. I'm supposed to worry." They both hugged me. Halfway back to his pigpen, Ricky turned. "Oh, Angel. When you get back, you're going to be on the Council I'm setting up. The Council will run things here, make all the big decisions. Not me."

I blinked. "That's a terrible idea. You know how committees can be!"

"Still." He shrugged. "I'm not fit to do it all on my own."

I processed that for a minute, then narrowed my eyes at him. "You can't just give up the Rickytatorship that easily! What will I tease you about?"

His lips twitched as he got our dad's cop look firmly in place. "Oh, I'm sure you'll find something, Hell's Angel."

"Of course I will!" I called back. Then I kicked the bike into gear, whipping through the gates and opening the throttle to feel the wind in my hair.

Chapter Text

My company-mandated therapist had been convinced that if only I talked through the worst things, the dark moments, I'd be able to integrate them into my life and move on. I didn't agree.

Some things stayed with you, no matter how you talked, no matter how much time passed.

Before the world decided to end, I thought the worst things that could happen to me already had. I'd believed that from there- the caves, the hospital room, the therapist's soothing office with its pastels and cool grey walls- things would move in a predictable, monotonous, dull way. I'd believed I could stay shrouded in the ice I'd built up, never warming all the way but never losing the numbness that kept me above water, either.

I was wrong. Nothing was less predictable than life, it seemed, and life at the end of the world was even worse.

I puttered up the last of the road toward the prison gates, waving at the person grabbing the ropes to haul open the reinforced steel that formed a small atrium before the main gate rolled back. When they clanged shut behind me, I set my feet, turned to kill the single walker who'd managed to slip through, and waited for the gate to be drug back by Glenn.

"Hey," I called as he did. "How's things?"

"Hey back." He shrugged. "Rick set up his Council. I'm on it. So are you."

"Of course you are," I called cheerfully over the engine. "And no I'm not!"

"Tell him that!" Glenn yelled after me.

I laughed and waved, making my way up the drive. It had only been a few days, but it was good to be home. I was surprised to call this place that; surprised to feel the ache of it in the darkness while perching in trees or behind locked and barricaded doors at night while out.

It was home. I was home.

I didn't think the therapist was right about all the talking. But you can learn to live with things, even if you never really get over them. You can learn to be who you are because of, or in spite of, or in protest against, the things that left you scarred.

I didn't know if it was because of them or in spite of them that I'd made it this far. But if the poor woman was alive- and I highly doubted it- I'd tell her that she'd been right about one thing. I wasn't a corpse, not yet. And until I was, I'd keep going.

"Hey, Walsh!" I yelled as I pulled into the courtyard. "See? Not dead yet!"

"Damn it, angel!" he yelled back with an annoyed look. Beside him at the table, maps and notebooks scattered around, Dixon rolled his eyes at me.