I wake up in my tent as the sun rises. My eyes itch—not enough sleep—and the urge to close them again is strong. Instead, I sit up, get dressed, and step outside.

The air is cool and morning dew clings to the grass. I check the fire, burnt down to ashes, and purse my lips. I have no idea how to start a fire without matches or a lighter. I could go gather some firewood, get some sticks and tinder, and maybe ask Daryl for tips.

Speak of the devil, he emerges from his tent, wearing his angel wings vest over a long-sleeved denim button-up. He still has the rifle Shane gave him yesterday and his crossbow slung over his shoulder.

"Morning," I say. "Sleep well?"

"Fine," he says. "You?"

"Fine."

Nothing happened last night after I embraced him. He calmed down, gave me a long look as he pulled away, and disappeared into his tent for the night. I stayed by the fire for a little while longer before I retired to bed too.

"Shane said he'd go looking for Rick today," I mention as I get to my feet, brushing my hands on my jeans. "You going hunting?"

"Gonna help," he says. I cock my head at him, smiling a little, and he scoffs a bit. "Don't think about it too much."

"In case they don't say it, thank you," I say, moving closer to him. I start to reach for his arm, but I stop myself. "You're not an errand boy. I hope you know that."

He shrugs a bit, giving me another long look. He comes closer to me, just for a second, and my heart rate jumps.

"I still wanna talk," he says, voice low. "Wasn't a good day for it yesterday."

"I get it," I assure him. "No pressure."

"Thanks."

We walk back to camp without much fanfare. Shane is packing up his car already with T-Dog's help. Andrea and Dale speak to each other by the RV. I walk with Daryl to the car, then step back to let them do their work. I glance over at the house as Lori crosses my mind.

"Guys," Andrea says.

A red and grey Chevy Silverado appears over the ridge, coming down the road at full speed, engine rumbling. We jog to meet it as it pulls up in front of the house. Lori, Carl, and the others spill from the farmhouse. Our missing men climb out.

"Dad!" Carl calls, rushing to him.

Rick embraces him tightly with one arm, dragging him along with the other outstretched towards his wife. Lori hugs him and I see her visibly relax in his arms, eyes closed as she takes a long, deep breath.

Maggie runs right past her dad and into Glenn's arms, but he releases her after only a second. Hershel gives them a brief look before continuing to the house, expression stony.

"Patricia, prepare the shed for surgery," he says as he walks past her and Jimmy.

"Are you hurt?" Lori asks.

"No, but what happened to you?" Rick asks, touching her face gently as he pushes her hair away from the small cut on her forehead.

"I was in a car accident."

"Accident? How?"

"I went looking for you."

"Snuck out on her own," Shane pipes up. "Brought her back."

"Are you crazy?" Rick asks, keeping his voice low. "You could've—"

"Who the hell is that?" T-Dog interrupts, pointing to the car.

I hadn't even looked at the car, but now we all see the young man in the back seat. He's got dark hair and a blindfold around his eyes, head tilted back.

"That's Randall," Glenn says, and he doesn't sound pleased.

Daryl moves closer to the car, squinting at Randall. Rick turns to him.

"Daryl, do you mind helping us out?" Rick asks, motioning to Randall.

Daryl nods.

----------

Rick gathers everyone in the house to give us a rundown. We end up seated in the dining room, gathered around the long table with Rick at the head. A few people stay standing near the windows or leaning on the wall.

Rick tells his story, keeping it short. A few guys showed up at the bar in town and tried to convince Rick to let them come back to the farm with them. A shootout happened and the men were killed. Then, their buddies came looking for them and things went south.

In the chaos, Randall jumped down from a roof to try and reach his car, but he landed on a fence spike and impaled his leg. His group left him for dead.

"We couldn't just leave him behind," Rick says. "He would've bled out, if he lived that long."

"It's gotten bad in town," Glenn adds, solemn.

"What do we do with him?" Andrea asks.

Rick starts to answer, but Hershel comes in, wiping off his hands. "I repaired his calf muscle the best I can, but he'll probably have nerve damage. Won't be on his feet for at least a week."

"When he is, we give him a canteen, take him out to the main road, send him on his way," Rick says.

"Isn't that the same as leaving him for the walkers?" Andrea asks.

Daryl comes in the side door and we lock eyes. He nods once at me, doing that funny "smile" where you purse your lips a little bit. I return it as he settles against the wall.

"He'll have a fighting chance," Rick replies.

"Just gonna let him go?" Shane asks. "He knows where we are."

"He was blindfolded the whole way here," Rick retorts. "He's not a threat."

"Not a threat," Shane repeats. "How many of them were there? You killed three of their men, you took one of 'em hostage, but they just ain't gonna come looking?"

"They left him for dead. No one is looking!"

"We should still post a guard," T-Dog says.

"He's out cold right now, will be for hours," Hershel says.

"You know what? I'm gonna go get him some flowers and candy," Shane says. He scoffs, heading to the door. "Look at this, folks! We're back in fantasyland!"

"You know, we haven't even dealt with what you did at my barn yet," Hershel calls after him, making him stop. "Let me make this perfectly clear, once and for all—this is my farm. Now I wanted you gone. Rick talked me out of it, but that doesn't mean I have to like it. So do us both a favour—keep your mouth shut."

Shane looks at Hershel the whole time he's talking like a broody teenager who believes he knows better. I can see the rebellion in his eyes, in the smug way he purses his lips. He sighs, rolling his eyes before he turns and goes right back out the door.

"Look, we're not gonna do anything about it today," Rick says. "Let's just cool off."

Andrea is the first to leave, going after Shane, and I slide out of my seat and go to Daryl. He purses his lips, then heads back out the side door, and I follow.

"You going hunting again?" I ask, catching up enough to walk by his side.

"Maybe. Still got some squirrel," he says. "Why?"

"Just wondering."

We keep walking, past the fence and into the field.

"I...was actually hoping you'd show me something," I say. He raises an eyebrow and I reach to my belt, slipping my knife from its sheath. "Remember? You were gonna show me how to use this."

"Like in fighting or hunting?"

"Both? Or whatever you're comfortable with."

He hums in thought and we reach the campsite. He sets his rifle and crossbow down by his tent, then turns to me.

"Sure," he says. "Fighting tips first. I can show you hunting later."

I can't help the smile that spreads across my face. "Sweet! Thank you!"

"You got a marker?"

I blink a few times. "Um...maybe, why?"

"Go get it."

I go into my tent and dig through my backpack. Sure enough, I have a few old Sharpies and some pens tucked in one of the side pockets. I return with two markers, one black and one red, holding them up to him. He nods, shrugging his vest off and setting it aside.

"You only need one. Take the cap off. Leave it open."

I do so, tucking the red marker in my back pocket and, when I look back up at him, he's unbuttoning his shirt. My eyes go wide as he tosses it aside, left in nothing but his pants and shoes, torso and all its scars exposed to the light of day, including the still-stitched arrow wound. He's...oh, boy, he's wonderful. Nice shoulders, broad chest, a bit of fat that the apocalypse hasn't eaten away still clinging to his stomach, his hips.

He notices me staring and raises an eyebrow.

"I...I'm totally lost right now," I admit.

"This is how Merle taught me," he says, coming closer to me. I try desperately to keep my eyes on his face. "Pretend the marker's your knife."

"Okay..."

"You're gonna attack me. I'll dodge. Anytime that marker touches me, we'll say it's a wound. No one gets hurt, but you get the practice."

"Shouldn't I aim for the head?"

"If it's a geek, yeah. Good to be ready for anything, though."

I look down at the marker, then nod. "And...you're feeling okay? Your injury..."

"I feel fine," he says. "One more thing, just in case."

He reaches to my hip and removes the sheath from my belt, setting it and my knife by his weapons. He steps back, pats his chest once, and spreads his arms, giving me the tiniest bit of a smirk.

I grip the marker the way I would a knife, steady myself, then lunge.

He knocks my arm aside and sidesteps. I spin around and swing the marker, but he catches my arm and stops it in place. Our eyes lock and I narrow mine, wrenching my arm away and trying again. Again and again, he stops me, trapping my wrists in his hands, dodging my swings, and jumping away from stabbing attempts.

We continue the dance, jabbing, dodging, there and there, and after a few minutes, he grabs my wrists again and holds me there as I pant, marker still gripped tight.

"Should I go easy on ya?" he asks.

"Walkers won't, so no," I retort.

He releases me, glancing down at himself. There's a smudge of black marker just above his collarbone and another on his side, opposite his wound (I tried not to aim there for his sake). Other than that, he's unmarked.

"God, this is a lot harder than I thought," I admit, capping the marker so it doesn't dry out too fast.

"You're holding back," he says. "When it's a walker, you can fight dirty. Kick a kneecap in, cripple it if you have to."

I bow my head a little, sheepish. "But right now, it's you."

"So?"

"I don't want to hurt you."

He smirks a bit. "You've got a marker, angel face. I'm not pissing myself here."

I flush at the nickname, crossing my arms over my chest as I pout a little, and he closes the distance between us. He slips the marker from my grip, taking the cap off again as he spins it in his fingers.

"You ready to defend?" he asks.

I blink. "Defend?"

"I'll come at you like I'm a walker, 'stead of the other way around," he says. "You still got that other marker?"

Already, my body feels hot, but I nod as I pull it out. "Should...I take my shirt off?"

His eyes widen, just a smidge, but he shrugs. "I mean, I've seen it before, but it's up to you."

I almost forgot about that. When I woke up after getting shot, I was only wearing a bra and Daryl was right there. Not the way I imagined being undressed in front of someone. I didn't even wear bikinis for the longest time, so...

But, screw it, I think. Live a little. It's just us out in this field and it's the end of the world. I reach down and tug my tank top off, balling it up and throwing it towards our weapons. My bra is old, pale pink but dirty from how often I've had to wear it since the world ended, and a little thrill goes through me when Daryl's gaze darts to my chest.

"Come at me," I declare.

He does. I'm nowhere near as good at evading him, but it feels easier than trying to attack. I try to mimic his moves, try to watch how his arm tenses a second before he thrusts, and we're back in the dance. I feel the marker graze my skin over and over again, but we don't stop. He's so close, his breaths picking up.

I try to block his arm as he comes in for a powerful swing and, beneath me, my heel catches on a loose branch. I lose my footing and tumble backwards and Daryl comes with me, catching himself as I shove my hands against his chest. He kneels over me, his marker raised, staring down at me.

"You even trying, Hope?" he asks. He pushes against my hands and I strain with all my might, marker smearing against his left pec. "I ain't even pushing as hard as a walker would. Knife to the chest ain't stopping me. What do you do? Huh?"

He gets closer. His marker hovers by my head and I look up at his face, shining with sweat, sun lighting up the stray hairs around his head like a halo and he's just so. Damn. Gorgeous.

Screw it, right?

I drop my marker, freeing one of my hands, and lock it around his neck before pulling his lips down to mine. For a split second, he stiffens, then lets out a low groan into my throat that sets every one of my nerves alive, pushing deeper into the kiss.

He breaks away from me, both of us panting, and he wets his lips with the tip of his tongue. I keep clinging to the back of his neck.

"That ain't how to stop a walker," he says, voice low.

"I know," I say, a little breathless, eyes still wide, trembling with adrenaline.

He presses his lips to mine again and I eagerly reciprocate, throwing my arms around his neck, his hand falling to my hip. When I break away for a second to gasp, I feel his tongue touch my lower lip and mine greets his, deepening the kiss further, and I can't help but moan into his mouth.

His knee nudges between my legs, hand drifting to my thigh and hiking it closer to him, and the sudden flush of excitement startles me.

I break away. "Wait, wait wait wait," I gasp, still trying to catch my breath.

He leans back a bit. "You okay?"

"I...I don't..." I stop, unable to focus when he's looking at me so intensely, when his knee is keeping my legs apart, hand gripping my thigh. "We have to talk."

"Now?" he clarifies.

"Yes!" I retort. I pat his chest. "Let me sit up." He sits back on his knees, I push myself up, and he waits as I brush the dirt from my sweaty skin. I clear my throat. "I'm...I'm a virgin."

His eyebrows lift. "Yeah, I figured."

I wince. "Oh...that obvious?"

"Christian girl, said you don't 'put out'," he lists. I reach for the cross still dangling from my neck, fingertips brushing it. "So, yeah."

"I was saving myself for marriage," I explain. I suck in a breath and add, slowly, "And...so far, I'm still planning on that."

His eyes narrow. "Seriously?"

I frown. "Yes, seriously! It's not about the...the ceremonies or certificates or tax benefits. I just...wanted to wait for the person who'd fully commit to me. I wanted my virginity to be a gift to him that I chose to share," I explain. Daryl still looks at me like I'm crazy and the flush on my face is no longer a pleasant, warm feeling, leaving me hot with shame as I get to my feet, covering my chest with my arms. "I...I'm sorry, I haven't had the chance to unpack it all yet, okay? Maybe I'll change my mind, but for now you could try not to be a dick about it."

I head towards my tent and I hear him groan as he stands back up.

"Alright, alright, I'm sorry," he calls after me. I duck into my tent but he follows me. "I just didn't think anyone still cared about that sorta thing."

"Well, I do," I say. "I know I won't get the pretty ring or the white dress or the cake or the party with all my loved ones, but..." I can't look at him. I sit down on my cot, staring at my hands. "I just...I don't know. I know it shouldn't matter anymore but I wanted it so badly and...and..."

Daryl kneels in front of me. My breaths quiver as he reaches up to caress my cheek, peering at me through my loose curls.

"So, no sex. Got it," he says.

I brush my knuckles beneath my eyes as they start to water. "You're...you're okay with that?"

"Gotta be, right? I ain't gonna force you," he says. He stands, sighing as he sits down beside me. "I've done some stupid shit with girls. Sometimes wish it hadn't happened." I look at him, eyes wide, disbelieving, but he just stares ahead. "It's something you wanna treasure. That's fine. I can wait."

My smile is wobbly, but I'm just so relieved that it feels like I could burst with gratitude. I hug his arm, tucking my head against his shoulder as I squeeze gently.

"Thank you," I whisper.

"Geez, that's basic fucking decency," he replies. "Have other guys taken it bad before?"

"Of the two I got to second base with? One guy, Bennett, tried to force me into giving him head because I 'owed it to him' and the other...Tristan, he just ghosted me after saying he was fine with it."

"Motherfuckers," he mutters.

"I need to think about it," I continue. "I know the whole...marriage concept doesn't make sense anymore, but I don't want to just have sex for the hell of it. I still want it to be special. That's aside from the no birth control or doctors in case of pregnancy and whatnot..." Lori crosses my mind and, oh boy, I wouldn't want to be dealing with what she is right now. I look up at him. "You're sure you're okay with that?"

He nods. We sit together in silence for a few seconds.

"So, what are you comfortable with?" he asks. "Said you've been to second base."

"I'm willing to play it by ear. Just...communicate with me and I'll tell you if something we're doing is getting to be a little too much, okay?" He nods. "What about you? What are you okay with?"

"I'm still figuring that out. This is the most I've been touched in years," he says, gesturing vaguely at me.

"So...you're okay if I touch you? Like this?" I ask, squeezing his arm a little.

"Feels okay, yeah."

I pull back a bit, glancing over the deep scars I can see from where I am. "Do you have any no-touch zones?"

He purses his lips, then shrugs. "I'll let you know."

I run my hand over his shoulder, his bicep. "Fair warning...I like touching, so please just tell me if I cross the line."

"Sure."

Again, we let the silence breathe for a few seconds. The tent is starting to get hot and we should probably get back to...whatever.

I reach over, cupping his face in my hand, and I turn it towards me as I press a gentle kiss to his lips. He leans into it a little.

I pull away. "Want to practice knife-fighting some more or do you want to go hunting?" I murmur.

"Hunting," he says. "I'm getting hungry."

"I'll go find something to get the marker off."

We stand, leave the tent, and pull our shirts back on before going our separate ways. I pause on my way to the farmhouse, looking back at him as he disappears into the trees, and my heart goes after him.