It's another beautiful morning on the farm. Lori and Carl feed the chickens. Glenn hands out fresh-picked peaches and jerky for breakfast and, with us both showered up and clean, I walk Daryl to his tent. He doesn't really need the help, but he doesn't complain when I stay close to him. When we reach the tent, I notice that mine is right next to it, and my heart lifts.

"My tent..." I start.

"Figured you'd need it," he says.

We duck inside his tent and he settles onto his cot, exhaling. I unzip the windows and let the air in because it's already too hot inside the tent otherwise. I'm wearing a tank top and jeans and still feel too warm. I'm built for the cold, not this.

Daryl seems relaxed in the balmy Georgian weather, although he has left his shirt open, allowing me a view of his chest. He's got a bit of hair between his pecs and his stomach is flat, but not chiselled. I wonder what he'd feel like if I ran my hands down his sides and squeezed him a little. I bet he feels wonderful.

"Got something on my face?" he asks, eyebrow lifting.

I flush, turning away. "No. Nothing. You're fine." I hear him chuckle a bit. I look over at him again, then around the tent. "I...guess I can leave you to it? Unless you want the company."

"I wouldn't mind," he says. He shakes one hand over at where we can see my tent through the window. "Left my old cot in there. You could drag it over."

"Good idea!"

Thankfully, the cot is light, so my heavy-lifting problem isn't an issue. I settle it in Daryl's tent and lay down, closing my eyes as I take a long, cleansing breath. Once in a while, I glance over at Daryl. He's playing with one of his arrows and he keeps poking holes in the screen with it.

"You'll let the bugs in," I tease.

"Few bugs never killed anyone," he retorts.

"Tell that to ebola, malaria—"

"Don't be a smartass."

I grin at him and he smirks a bit before throwing a pillow at me. I throw it right back. He huffs out another laugh and I can't help but join him. Someone clears their throat and we both look up as Andrea peeks her head inside.

"Hey, sorry to interrupt," she says. She holds up a book, glancing down at the cover before handing it to Daryl. "It's not that great, but..."

"What, no pictures?" Daryl asks, flipping the book open and giving her another look.

"I'm so sorry. I feel like shit," Andrea admits, shaking her head.

"Yeah, you and me both."

"I don't expect you to forgive me, but if there's anything I can do..."

"You were trying to protect the group. We're good," he says. He glances past her at me. "Besides, Hope's got me." Andrea smiles a bit and glances between the two of us before she heads back out. He calls to her once more. "Hey. Shoot me again, and you'd best pray I'm dead."

She smiles and walks off. Daryl adjusts his pillow beneath him, glancing at the book again, and I sit up.

"Want me to read to you again?" I ask.

"If you want," he says. He reaches over, passing the book off, and adds, "We didn't finish that other one, 'bout the hunting dogs and Billy."

"I left my backpack in the bedroom. We can always read more later."

"Fine." He sighs, shutting his eyes again. "I was liking that one."

"Me too," I say, flipping open the book. The Case of the Missing Man, the title says. I'll give anything a try once. "Alright, chapter one..."

----------

I haven't gotten far into the book when Shane appears at the tent door, hands on his hips. Daryl frowns a bit and I place my thumb between the pages.

"Hi, Shane," I greet. "Did you need something?"

"We're starting gun practice soon. I'm getting everyone trained up," he says. "That means you."

I get a cold feeling in my stomach and force myself to smile. "Oh, no thank you. I don't plan on using guns."

Shane smiles, but it's not friendly, and he lets out a scoff. "I ain't asking. Everyone in camp needs to know how to use a gun," he says. "Now, come on."

"Really, I'm fine," I insist, my heart pounding in a not-fun-way. "I've got a knife."

"Fat lot of good a knife will be against a herd. Get close enough to stab one, two more've already got you," he retorts. He steps back, jerking his head away from us. "Move."

"If she don't wanna go, you can't force her," Daryl says, starting to sit up. "Leave her alone. She just got shot."

Shane narrows his eyes at Daryl, but Daryl matches his energy. I get to my feet, my stomach still twisted up in knots. "Protection" this and "protection" that. The only protection I've ever cared about is against pregnancy (not that I've needed it) but I can't stand this atmosphere.

"I'll...I'll go, okay? It's fine," I say. Daryl's eyes dart to me, but I keep looking at Shane. "I'll meet you and everyone else by the RV?"

"Five minutes," he huffs, then walks away, limping a bit on one leg,

Daryl stays upright, eyes narrowed. "You don't have to."

My shoulders slump and my smile falls. "I don't want to. If it's the range I need, I'd rather use a bow or...crossbow. Not..." My side is hurting again but it feels like a phantom pain. I press my hand over the gauze patch, then finally look at Daryl. "I'll learn the basics, get Shane off my back, then never touch it again." His expression is pinched, lips pursed, and I wrap my arms around myself. "You think it's stupid, don't you?"

He props his elbows on his knees. "I don't get it, but I know they freak you out. You shouldn't have to put up with something if you don't want to," he says. "Even if he's got a point."

My self-hug tightens. "Look, before all this, I could understand using guns for certain things. Really, I only accepted it when it was used for hunting, and not recreational either. I...I hate the idea of using it against people. Walkers...they still look like people."

"You were all for gun control, huh?"

"Still am." I shrug. "Can't help how, or where, I was raised. I just...don't get why it's a big deal if I choose to avoid them. I'm not telling them to stop carrying! I get that it's needed now more than ever, but..." I bite my lip. I'm rambling too much. "Do I make any sense here?"

"Yeah, you're good." He stands, wincing a bit, and grips my shoulder. "Give it a try and I'll defend you if they keep pushing, alright?"

My lip trembles a bit and I step closer, wrapping my arms around him in the gentlest hug I can. He hesitates for a second before his hands rest on the small of my back.

"Thank you," I whisper. Even if it's only one person, knowing he has my back means the world.

"Yeah, no problem," he mutters.

Far off, I hear Shane shouting for everyone to gather up and I reluctantly pull myself away from Daryl's embrace. I press my hand to the knife at my side, take a deep breath, and head out of the tent with my head held as high as I can.

----------

This was a mistake.

We stand at a makeshift gun range, a field with a slight hill and a wooden fence a good distance away. Shane explains that, with the slope of the hill, there's no chance of a stray bullet hitting anybody beyond the fence.

Old cans and bottles line the top of the fence, targets for us to shoot, but I just stand there with the unfamiliar weight of a handgun in my grasp. I've had toy guns, of course. Some didn't shoot anything, some shot those little foam bullets, but those were plastic. They were toys. This...this thing in my hand is a weapon and I already bear a scar from being on the wrong end of one. Daryl's laid up at camp because of one.

I stare at it and hate it more with every second.

Shane runs through how to put the safety on and off, how to check how much ammo we have, and how to aim and shoot. Rick and T-Dog stand by as deputy instructors. Everyone else—Patricia, Beth, Jimmy, Andrea, Carl—is already taking shots at the targets. Carol and Lori linger behind with their guns, but don't shoot.

I keep standing there, flinching whenever a shot goes off, trying to push past it all and do what I need to do because the world is different now, you coward, but I can't.

"Hope, you've gotta shoot if you're gonna learn," Shane calls. I grit my teeth, wishing that if he had something to say, he'd say it to me a little more privately. He limps closer and points at the untouched bottles acting as my targets. "Go on."

I take a deep breath, lift the gun, and try to aim. My hands shake. Even squinting one eye, I can't get a good line of sight.

"Any day now," I hear Shane call.

Annoyance spikes through me, like he's cuffed me on the back of my head with his words, so I just pull the trigger. The bullet doesn't go anywhere near the bottle, splintering part of the fence, and I look back at him, dropping my arms to my sides.

"Can I please go home?" I ask, hoping I don't sound as whiny and desperate as I feel. "Please?"

"If you can't shoot a gun, you've got no hope of surviving," Shane says as he comes up to me, jaw clenched. "Try again. You gotta get used to it."

"I don't want to get used to it. I hate that I'm even touching this thing!" I retort, tears pricking the corners of my eyes. I blink hard, trying to force them back, and hold the gun out. "Please, I tried. I can't."

"You barely tried. You can leave once you hit a target," he insists.

"But—"

"Shane," Rick cuts in, moving to his side. "Back off a bit, alright?" Shane shakes his head, muttering something under his breath, but he moves away and Rick focuses back on me. "What's going on?"

"I don't want to be here, Rick," I say. "I...I don't want to use a gun. Please, just let me sit in the car until it's time to go back to the farm."

"You've got to know how to use these, just in case. It's for your own protection."

"If it's so good at protecting people, then others can use it. I don't want any part of it," I say. Rick purses his lips, glancing towards the others, and I hold the gun out to him. "Please."

"I know you don't see it, but..."

I bite the inside of my cheek and compose myself. I look down at the gun. I aim it at the ground, away from anyone and myself, and keep my finger off the trigger. Safety on, push the magazine release, pull the slide back and inspect the chamber. No bullet.

I put the magazine and gun into Rick's hands. "Just because I don't want to use it doesn't mean I wasn't listening, okay?" I'm done asking permission, so I move past him and head to the cars. "I'll be over here."

I climb into the back of the Cherokee, shut the door behind me, and clamp my hands over my ears as I try desperately to calm myself down.

----------

The ride back to the farm is awkward and I focus on staring out the window and humming to myself instead of looking at everyone. The upset in my stomach, my chest, everywhere, won't leave and I feel like I'm a second away from bursting out crying. I tried; can't anyone see that?

At least Shane isn't around. Andrea took to shooting like a fish in water, so Shane kept her behind for an "advanced class." I'm just glad he isn't around to berate me.

I'm out of the car and hurrying back to Daryl's tent the second the vehicle stops, and he looks up from his book when I walk in. I flop unceremoniously onto my cot, face down in the pillow, still trying with all my might not to sob like a child.

"How'd it go?" Daryl asks.

I sniffle, lift my face from the pillow, then choke out a sob before mashing my face back into it.

"I'm...I'm such a, a...p-pussy," I whimper.

I hear him sputter, just once, and the cot shifts. "You gonna tell me what happened?"

"What else could've happened?" I ask, rolling onto my side, sniffling again as I wipe my nose. "I could barely get myself to shoot the dang thing and everyone was staring, Rick and Shane were talking down to me like I was some...some stupid kid—"

"Hope..."

"It doesn't affect them. It doesn't affect them if I don't want to shoot but they're...they're being so pushy! I...I just..."

"I can tell 'em how it is," he says. "Just say the word."

"God, no, I couldn't ask you to do that. You're not my attack dog," I say.

"Could be. I can bark."

I gawk at him, a choked laugh sneaking out. "N...never say that again, oh my word."

He sighs and adjusts his pillow. "Sorry, was trying to cheer you up but I'm shit at it." Again, I give him a brief laugh, and he fixes me with a look. "Anything I can do?"

"I...I could really use a hug," I admit. His eyes widen a bit. "I...it's okay if you don't want to give one though. You asked so...so..."

"Get over here, girl."

I walk to him and he holds his arms out, although he's still lying down. I hesitate, looking him over, and he curls his fingers a few times in a "gimme, gimme" motion.

"You ain't gonna crush me. Come 'ere."

It's a bit awkward, with the cot being only big enough for one, but I lay down on top of him with our stomachs touching, trying to keep my legs up as I do. He secures his arms around me and I close my eyes, pressing my ear to his chest as he starts to rub my back. I sniffle again.

"So the no crying thing just ain't gonna work, huh?" he mumbles.

"Don't think so," I reply. I nuzzle against his collarbone, one hand coming up to rest by my face. "I'm too much of a softie...I'm sorry."

"Don't beat yourself up about it," he says. I lift my head, looking down at him. "You've got good reason to be scared. Had this buddy once, found his dad's hunting equipment. We were pretty young then. Well, the cabinet wasn't locked up and he played with one of the rifles, ended up shooting himself in the foot. Could've been worse, you know? But he recovered, always limped after that, and was real skittish about guns. Maybe you're dealing with that too."

I gaze at him, stunned. How it never crossed my mind that this sudden hyper-anxiety around guns could be because of my injury, I'll never know. It makes sense, though, and the fact that Daryl can see that is such a comfort that I want to cry all over again.

Instead, I press my face back to his chest. "You really are the best, Daryl," I whisper.

He frowns. "For telling you a story?"

"No, silly," I say with a soft laugh. "For...trying to understand me. It means a lot."

He closes his eyes. "Well, thanks for noticing."

I fold my hands under my chin, still watching him. "How're you feeling?"

"Useless," he says. "Found Sophia's doll and I can't even get out there and look for her."

"There's always tomorrow. We'll find her then."

He stares up at me and slowly reaches up to brush his fingertips along the side of my face. I revel in his touch. "Sometimes feels like you and Carol are the only ones who still believe we can find her. Believe in me."

"I want to believe she's alive," I say. For Carol's sake and the group at large. I don't want to think about the alternative and how that could affect things.

"Me too."

I smile at him softly. "We'll rest, heal up, and then we'll head back out and search for her. I'll come with you so if you end up hurt again, at least you'll have a medic around."

"Lucky me, huh?"

I shift and slowly maneuver myself off of him. "I've probably squished you enough," I say as I get up. "I can leave you to sleep, maybe read some more?" I motion to the book he's set by his cot. "Has it gotten any better?"

"It's ass. Liked the other one more."

I smile. "One reading of Where the Red Fern Grows, coming right up."