By the time I've gotten my med kit and gone back outside, the supply group is on their way out. I see Carl leading Flame back to the stables and, if Flame is back, that can only mean that Michonne is back too. I pick up the pace, eager to see her. She stands with Rick, talking to Daryl, who's parked on his motorcycle with the convoy waiting behind him.

"You know, just seeing," Daryl is saying as I approach.

"Yeah, I gotta go out and check the snares," Rick says. He's gotten shaggier as time has gone on, with longer hair and a bushier beard. "I don't want to lose whatever we catch to the walkers."

"I'll go," Michonne says.

"You just got here," Carl says.

"And I'll be back," she retorts, grinning. Her attention falls on me as I slow to a stop and the smile remains. "Hey, Hope."

"Hello and apparently goodbye, Michonne," I reply.

She shrugs. "What can I say? Gotta keep moving."

She gets into one of the vehicles and Daryl revs his motorcycle. Rick glances at me and, wordlessly, we run for the front gate. While the Governor may have knocked the original door off its hinges, we've made do. We've made a barricade of sharpened logs, fanning out from a set of iron doors. The doors themselves are hooked up to a pulley system that operates from the inside, allowing for easy opening and closing. Any walkers pressed against the doors get skewered on the barricade when they open. It's a fantastic system, if I do say so myself.

Rick and I pull the doors open, allowing Daryl and the others through, and I wave goodbye as they disappear down the road. The gates swing closed behind them.

"Carl asked me to check on Violet," I tell Rick as we walk back towards the stables. "Anything I should expect?"

"You'll see soon enough," Rick says. "Not sure if there's anything to fix it."

"Well, it's worth a try."

Carl comes around the side of the horse pen, having just finished getting Flame's saddle off, and approaches his dad. I smile at him, leaving them to talk as I split off towards the pig pen.

I notice Violet immediately. She lays on her side, letting out long, laboured breaths. I hop over the fence, kit in hand, already digging for my stethoscope.

I crouch down, popping the buds into my ears and pressing the end against her chest, moving it as I need to. Her heartbeat isn't strong, but it's there. What I'm most concerned about is the horrid sound of her lungs. I hang the stethoscope around my neck and pull out my thermometer, reaching around to stick the end into Violet's anus. She doesn't even squeal—a bad sign.

105º F. Also bad. I grimace at the thermometer even as I clean it off, giving Violet another look. My first thought is pneumonia and, if she's lying down and refusing to eat, there's a good chance it's already serious.

I should check the piglets too, just in case. I'm not even sure I have the right antibiotics to treat Violet and, if she's too far gone, it may be worth it to save what we do have to treat the piglets if they get sick.

I pat Violet on the rump and move to the edge of the pen, just able to see Rick and Hershel talking by the horse pen.

"Hershel! Rick!" I call. I beckon them over. "Violet's got a fever, and with the lethargy and her lung sounds, I'm thinking she's got some type of pneumonia."

Rick sighs, hands on his hips. "Anything we can do for her?"

"Well...that's what I wanted to ask you, Hershel," I say, nodding to the older man. "She's pretty bad. I don't know if she'll recover even with treatment and..."

"Antibiotics are a precious resource," Hershel says, finishing my thought, and I nod. He sighs. "What have we got?"

"I think I might have some doxycycline left. Maybe," I stress the last word. "If I can find them, it might not even matter. They're probably expired."

"So we're stuck," Hershel says. He eyes the pen and Violet interchangeably. "Let's leave Violet alone. She's probably on her way out, but we'll check the piglets for any signs. That's the best we can do."

"I'll do that now," I say.

"Thanks, Hope," Rick says.

I nod, smiling weakly, and head back into the pen. The piglets are kept separate from Violet anyway, ever since they were weaned. I brace myself as I enter the pen, because I know they're about to scream bloody murder just because I dared to touch them, and they're not going to like where I have to stick the thermometer.

----------

Daryl knocks on the window of the Big Spot, four good knocks with his elbow, then he settles in to wait for anything to show up.

"Give it a second," he says to the others.

Zack, leaning against the wall closest to him, nods thoughtfully. After a second, he shifts, adjusting his grip on his shotgun. "Okay, I think I got it," he says.

"Got what?" Michonne asks, hand on her sword hilt as she paces.

"Oh, I've been trying to guess what Daryl did before the turn," Zack explains. He smiles as he comes closer to Daryl, perching himself on the window ledge next to him.

Daryl suppresses an eye-roll. Here we go again. "He's been trying to guess for, like, six weeks," he says.

"Yeah, I'm pacing myself! One shot a day," Zack insists, shaking one finger in the air.

"Alright, shoot."

He's already guessed big game hunter, zookeeper, park ranger, tattoo artist, soldier, and a whole whack of other nonsense. Zack seems to get a real kick out of it. Daryl doesn't really see the point, but he humours him.

"Well, the way you are at the prison, you being on the council, you're able to track, you're helping people, but you're still being kind of, ah...surly," Zack explains.

Michonne raises an eyebrow. Daryl keeps a straight face as Zack looks between the two adults.

"Big swing here," he says, as if trying to ramp up the tension. Daryl adjusts his crossbow and Zack stares him in the eye. "Homicide cop."

Michonne bursts out laughing. Daryl squints at her. "What's so funny?" he asks.

"Nothing," she says, although her amusement still bleeds into her words. "It makes perfect sense."

Zack looks so proud of himself that Daryl can't help but mess with him a little. "Actually, the man's right," he says. "Undercover."

Zack gawks a little. "Come on, really?"

"Yep. I mean, I don't like to talk about it 'cause it was a lot of heavy shit, you know?"

Zack looks at Michonne, then back to Daryl, and lets out a half-laugh. "Come on, dude, really?"Daryl stares at him for about a second before looking away and Zack sighs. "Okay. I'll just keep guessing, I guess."

"Yeah, you keep doing that."

There's a thump against the glass as a walker looms from the dark store, snarling and pounding on the glass. Daryl stands, adjusting his crossbow.

"We're gonna do this, Detective?" Michonne asks.

"Let's do it," Daryl says as Tyreese hands him a crowbar.

They make quick work of opening the doors and dispatching the walker waiting behind them. Tyreese drags the body out and both Sasha and Daryl poke their heads in. Sasha eyes the group.

"Alright, we go in, stay in formation for the sweep," she says. "After that, you all know what you're supposed to look for. Any questions?"

"Was there ever a time when you weren't the boss of me?" Tyreese asks.

"You had a few years before I was born," Sasha retorts with a smirk, and everyone ducks inside.

After a quick sweep, everyone splits up. Daryl heads for the pharmacy, bag in hand, and starts shoving whatever menstrual products, painkillers, bandages, and ointments he can get his hands on; toothpaste, toothbrushes, deodorant, Tylenol, and the list goes on. He even finds that diva thing Hope mentioned. It looks weird, this pink rubber cup with a stiff end like an unfinished wine glass. 

He rounds the corner into the next aisle and keeps grabbing and stuffing. He stops as his hand touches a bottle of prenatal vitamins. There's a smiling woman on the bottle, caressing her rounded stomach, and for a moment, he pictures Hope, all round and glowing with his child.

He swallows the lump in his throat and the bottle goes into his bag. Pregnancy tests follow, then condoms, and he snorts to himself. The three stages, he thinks.

A flashlight beam flashes across his face and he looks up, seeing Glenn at the end of the aisle. Daryl glances down at the pack of eight condoms in his hand, then tosses it to him.

"Catch," he says.

The pack hits Glenn's chest and he almost fumbles. He saves it, flashlight beam darting across the box, and his lips purse.

"Might be too late for that, man," he says.

Daryl wanders closer, picking out a few more items as he tries to find the right thing to say. He had wondered, briefly, why Glenn had insisted on replacing Maggie on this run, but now it's a little clearer. He wouldn't want Hope putting herself in harm's way either, not after news like that.

"Damn," he mutters.

Glenn exhales and holds the box back out to Daryl. "Hope's gonna need these back for rationing anyway," he says.

Daryl looks him over, then takes the box back, stuffing it in with all his other treasures. He starts to speak when there's a loud crash, a cacophony of breaking glass.

Daryl mutters a curse and moves past Glenn, running towards the sound. He finds the source of the crash; three giant shelving units toppled onto a display of sweetwater. Daryl shines his flashlight underneath to see Bob trapped among the broken wine bottles.

"You alright? You cut or something?" he asks.

"Nah, man, but my foot is caught," Bob says, looking down towards his leg.

"Alright," Daryl says, standing. He looks over as Tyreese and Zack approach. "He's just caught. Come on, help me up."

"What happened?" Glenn calls from a distance.

"Everyone's alright! We're over in wine and beer!" Zack calls.

Tyreese, Daryl, and Zack all heave the shelving unit up, pushing it back into place. They move to the next one.

"I was moving fast, man. I drove right into the drinks," Bob says to Tyreese as he squats next to him. His tone sounds like he's trying to make light of it all, but there's a tremor that won't go away.

"Man, you lucked out. If this thing had come down on you the wrong way—"

There's a crash from above and the ceiling opens. Gravel and blood rain down as a walker drops through it, only for his intestines to snag on a loose piece of metal. It dangles, swinging like a grotesque chandelier as Daryl, Tyreese, and Zack back away from it.

Glenn, Sasha, and Michonne appear, everyone staring at the walker.

"Yeah, uh, we should probably go now," Glenn says.

"Bob's still stuck," Daryl says. "Get him out of there!"

"We'll get the others," Michonne says.

Another walker falls through the ceiling. This time, it hits the ground still intact, snarling and growling as it writhes on the linoleum. Another follows, then another, and another, and the survivors back away in horror as more of the roof opens to harsh daylight.

It's amazing how quickly things go to shit.

As more walkers fall through the ceiling and gunshots flood the once-quiet store, Daryl takes up the perimeter around Bob's shelving prison. He doesn't have time to stop and free him, not when there's another geek at his back whenever he turns, and he'll be damned if he dies on a fucking supply run.

Daryl hops up onto a pyramid of beer, shooting one walker in the head and swinging his crossbow into another. There's a creaking noise from up above as plaster rains onto him and, when he looks up, he realizes that there's a helicopter on the roof, and it's ready to come and join the party.

More walkers surge forward, trying to snatch him, and he shoots down two more, only to have another three replace them in a never-ending wave. There's one headed for Bob, crawling towards him slowly, but Daryl can't find an opening. Sweat rolls down his face.

Glenn appears around the corner, firing off three quick shots, and the last few walkers trapping him on the beer pyramid go down. The helicopter above creaks again, shifting.

"Daryl, go!" Glenn screams.

He climbs down, heading towards Bob, when a giant, ginger-bearded walker appears, and Daryl's got maybe half a second to get his gun. Before he can, three gunshots go off and the walker's jaw flies off, then it drops when the bullets finally hit the brain.

"Gotcha!" Zack shouts. He shoots another.

Daryl rushes past, finally reaching the walker going for Bob, and he grabs it by its destroyed ankles. It snarls as he drags it away, but he silences it with a stomp to the head that sprays blood up his pant leg.

With that done, he hurries to free Bob. Zack is already there, lifting the shelf with everything he has, and Daryl grabs Bob by the backpack straps and hauls him out.

"Come on, time to go," he says, breaths quick.

The roof sags even more and more debris comes down. Daryl gets Bob on his feet and pushes him ahead when he hears Zack scream. He whirls around just as the boy goes down, screaming as a walker claws its way up his body.

"ZACK!" Glenn shouts.

Another bloodcurdling wail as the walker takes a bite out of Zack's neck, blood spraying as his screams start to gurgle. They stare for only a second, powerless to stop his death, before the helicopter creaks once again and Daryl snaps himself out of it, running as he pushes everyone towards the exit. There's no time to put him out of his misery, to stop his suffering.

"GO! RUN!"

He looks back just once before the ceiling caves in behind them, blocking Zack from view forevermore.

----------

The other pigs are fine, for now, all energetic and eating well and being very, very loud when I pick them up. I worry about their long-term health.

I go back inside and keep myself busy. I'm in my office, doing inventory of my supplies, walkman in my ears. It turns out that the cassette I grabbed from Merle's car had Motörhead on it, along with other classic rock bands, and it's become one of my favourites to listen to.

The curtain pulls back and I look up, pulling my headphones off. Maggie stands at the entrance.

"Hey," she says. "Any chance I could get some tampons?"

"Of course," I say.

As I stand to open my storage chest, I glance back at her. She has a tiny smile on her face, just coming in above the general exhaustion that comes with your period. I grab a handful of tampons and bring them back to the desk, counting them out.

"You seem happy," I comment as I mark down the type and how many I've given her in my notebook. "Having a good day?"

She shrugs. "Just...didn't want to be pregnant, that's all."

I hold back a wince. "You and Glenn aren't ready, huh?"

"I don't know if we'll ever be." I hand her the tampons and she gives me a grateful smile. "Thank you."

"That's what I'm here for," I say. "Do you need any Midol?"

"Yeah, that'd be great."

I go back to my box. God, it's like no matter what I do today, something reminds me of babies. Maybe I'm stewing too much in how it's selfish to bring a kid into such a cruel world, yet also thinking that humanity won't survive if we don't have kids, and...

"Are you and Daryl thinking about having any?" she asks.

I purse my lips as my hand closes around the Midol bottle. I exhale, looking up at her as I force a smile. "Honestly, we know that there's a good chance it'll happen, and we're prepared for if it does," I admit. I decide to withhold my personal feelings about babies and my age and other insecurities.

"Aren't you scared?"

"All the time, about everything." I shake a few pills into my hand, holding it out to her and letting her grab two from my palm. I pour the rest carefully back into the bottle. "Less so now, with things the way they are lately, but...you know, every time Daryl leaves..." I shake my head. "I don't want to be afraid of living."

"I'm the same way with Glenn," she says. She smiles briefly, just a quick tug of her cheeks. "Daddy says you can't have courage without fear. I try to think about that."

"I like that. I'll have to keep that in mind."

She nods, then gives her hands a bit of a shake as she lifts her newfound treasures. "Thanks again for this, Hope."

"No problem, Maggie."

She heads out, and I sigh as I sit back down. Once I finish up here, I'll go out and check on the pigs again. Maybe Rick will need some help with his crops after, or I can help Carol and the others prepare dinner. Carol should be finishing up storytime with the kids soon, anyway.

----------

Violet's dead. I find Rick standing by the pigpen, staring in at her with a clenched jaw. She's so still that I don't even have to get close to know that she's gone. My chest tightens up. I knew it could happen and yet...

"She died so fast," I say, half to myself.

Rick sighs. "Don't suppose it'd be a good idea to eat her."

"Definitely not."

Another sigh. He runs his hand over his hair, then steps back. "Could you keep checking on the piglets?" he asks. "Maybe if we catch it earlier—"

"I'll do everything I can. I'll talk to Hershel about options."

Rumbling sounds in the distance and both Rick and I look up as headlights appear down the road. We move to open the gate, a well-oiled machine, and Daryl leads his convoy back into our gated community.

I start to follow the vehicles up the road, only briefly stopping to look back at Rick. "You'll take care of things out here?" I ask.

He nods. "Go. I've got it."

I smile and keep moving. The cars pull into the lot and I move up to them as Daryl climbs off his bike. My smile falls the second I get a look at his face.

"Oh, no," I whisper. I move to him even as he makes a beeline for me, meeting him in the middle. I cup his sorrowful face. "Daryl, what happened?"

"Zack." My stomach clenches at the raspy, choked way he says his name. "Roof caved in. We barely got out. Zack...he—"

I pull him into a hug, squeezing him as tight as I can, and I hear him take a long, deep breath.

"Oh, god, Beth—" I start.

"I'll tell her," he says. "Least I can do."

I look towards the cars as the others climb out and start unloading supplies. Sasha, Tyreese, Glenn, and Michonne all look carefully composed, although I can see the exhaustion and sadness behind their eyes. Bob helps, but it's like he isn't paying attention, his thoughts a million miles away. Sure enough, Zack is nowhere to be seen.

"I'm sorry," I say.

Daryl sighs. "Me too."

----------

I keep a death ledger. Maybe it's a little morbid, but I see it as a record of our lives here. Maybe, someday far down the line, when things have righted themselves, this journal could be a piece of human history. It's hard to picture something like this being that important, but I want to try.

We don't have exact dates, but I have a calendar grid and count the days that way. At least then, we know how many weeks have passed, how many months. I write down when people join us and when people leave us.

The last time I wrote down a death was thirty days ago.

Another lump in my throat, even as I write down Zack's name. Thirty days without losing someone. Almost a miracle.

I press my face into my hands and take a long breath, preparing for another part of my many roles. We still have a section of the fields where we keep graves and I have to make sure funerals are arranged. They aren't extravagant, but we make crosses and set out a plot for the deceased. It's the least we can do.

Carl has helped with making crosses before. Maybe I can ask him to help out if he isn't too busy.

The curtain sweeps aside and I sit up, blinking away the moisture building on my lashes, but it's only Daryl. He doesn't step in, just stands and holds the curtain.

"Come to bed," he says. I start to open my mouth, but he stops me. "Got time for that tomorrow."

He extends his hand, making a come hither motion, and I sigh as I close the book and stand up. I take his hand and we go back to our cell. He flops onto the bed with a sigh, running his hands over his face, and I stoop to undo his laces. I wiggle his boot off, setting it aside, and he lets out another sigh.

"I'm tired of losing people," he says.

I pull off his other boot, then sit as I pull off my own. "I don't think it ever gets easier, does it?"

"Nah. Just...get used to it."

I hear him shift, then his calloused fingers against the back of my neck as he brushes my hair aside. He kisses my nape, then my shoulder, before resting his forehead against it. I glance down at him, cheek pressed to his hair.

"New day tomorrow," I say. "Another fresh start."

His arms surround my middle, hugging me close to him. "How the hell are you always so...?"

"Stupidly optimistic?"

"I was gonna say bright, but yeah."

A small laugh. "I...don't think I am. I just try to be. Say the positive thing even if I might not believe it."

"Mm, think I'm too blunt for that."

"I'll do it for the both of us, okay?"

"Deal."

I kiss his hair, then shift forward. "Come on," I say. "Help me get undressed, would you?"

I don't know when it started or when it became normal, but we undress each other when we prepare for bed. Sometimes it leads to more, but most often it's just a small act of intimacy. I get his belt off, he takes mine, we hang up our knives together next to his crossbow.

He lays back on the bed, only in his boxers, and I tug an army green tank top on. It's the closest thing I have to pyjamas. I climb in next to him and he immediately rolls over, burying his face in my chest. I shift, getting my arms around him as he uses me as a pillow.

"Two o'clock in the mornin', baby..." I murmur, half-talking, half-singing. "I know it's late, I know it's late. I'm young and I like the night, and I can make you feel all right..."

He exhales, breath ghosting over my cross necklace. "You sing Motörhead so...pretty."

I pause. "Want me to stop?"

"Never said that."

I hum a bit, finding my place again before singing words again. My hand traces his body rhythmically. "I've been around for quite a while and I've learned now how to make you smile. I know you won't refuse. You know I'm fast and loose."

"Hardly," he mutters.

I tap his head. "Shush. I'm trying to lull you to sleep, asshole."

He chuckles, pressing a kiss to the swell of my breast.

I roll my eyes. "Two o'clock in the morning, sugar. I know you're sleeping, you must be sleeping. Why don't you invite me in? Get yourself some original sin. I'll wake you up and stay in bed. Don't get up, get down instead."

He breathes softly, eyes closed, warmth pressed to mine.

"I don't need no excuse. You like it fast and loose," I murmur. "No remorse."

Another long breath from him. His voice is low, raspy with exhaustion. "You know any more?"

"That tape only has that, Ace of Spades, and Jailbait, and...I refuse to sing Jailbait."

He snorts. "Too weird?"

"Way too weird."

He steals another lazy kiss on my chest. "I like your voice," he mumbles. "Pretty."

I shift again. My fingertips are starting to tingle from where he's lying on my arm. "You've said that."

"I know. Reminding you." Another shift, another sleepy sigh as his eyelashes flutter. "Love you. Lots."

I'll never get tired of hearing that. Music to my ears. "I love you too," I say.

It doesn't take long for him to fall asleep, and I'm quick to follow.