I woke up because Shane was bleeding.

Not a great way to start the day. Or end the night. I couldn't really tell. All I knew was that it was still dark, and there was something warm and slick dripping down my back, making my shirt stick to me.

"Shane?" I whispered, groggy and a little disoriented.

I sat bolt upright when the pieces clicked into place, and I remembered that he'd been shot.

"Shane?" I asked, panic raising my volume.

"Mmph," was the only answer I got, but I breathed a sigh of relief. At least I knew he was still alive. I got out of the bed slowly, not wanting to wake him up, but was completely unsuccessful. I could barely make out Shane as he raised his head and, his words slurred with sleep, asked, "Rals?"

"Lay down," I whispered. "I need to change the dressing on your shoulder."

Shane, completely ignoring my command, sat up. "There's a flashlight on the bedside table. I put one there. Just in case."

"In case what?" I hissed softly, feeling around for the flashlight.

He stayed quiet for a moment, only speaking when I had clicked the light on and aimed the beam at him, making him squint. I immediately lowered it, not wanting to see how it washed him out and made the shadows under his eyes stand out in relief. They were bad enough without any help from bad lighting. Softly, he said, "You know what."

His eyes flicked again to the bedside table. My teeth sank into my lower lip once more, a spike of pain shooting up from my already split lip when I saw his knife sitting there. Next to me.

"Little dramatic, aren't you?" I asked, glaring at him now. "It's not even that bad."

Shane tilted his head a little sardonically, and I resisted the urge to flip him off.

Because my next rule is, well, it's honestly just a bitch.

Rule #28: It can always get bad.

Especially when it comes to, oh, I don't know any kind of wound. Which was what had earned me that particular look from Shane. He knew that. And I knew that. The irritating thing here was that he knew I knew that. 

I'm not sure a cup that's half full is something that exists in this world anymore.

I went over to one of the bags in the corner of the room, and pulled out our last roll of gauze. Sighing, I went over to a chest at the end of the bed and, opening it, found fresh sheets and blankets. I wondered briefly if this had been a guest room.

I took Shane's knife and tossed the flashlight to him, watching as he fumbled left-handed to catch it. Sitting on the end of the bed, across from him, I started tearing the sheets apart, the sharp metal parting the cloth easily.

Shane kept the light steady as I worked and whispered, "I don't take chances, Raleigh. If you hadn't been pissed when you said it, I would have slept somewhere else."

I paused in my work and raised an eyebrow at him, but Shane didn't flinch. I shook my head. "You are either very brave or very stupid bringing that up right now, Shane Moore."

I had forgiven him but... it was still pretty raw. Mostly because I'd just woken up with his blood sticking my shirt to my back.

"Probably a little of both," he offered, trying to sooth what I was beginning to suspect were permanently ruffled feathers. I finished tearing up the sheets and scooted closer to him, starting to unwrap the wound, the white bandages soaked through with blood. I tossed them into a waste basket by the door, sure they would probably stink tomorrow morning.

It wasn't like we could throw them outside though. That would be like calling every zombie in a mile radius in for dinner. Or breakfast. Whatever, it doesn't really matter the time because, let's be honest, there is no good time to get eaten by a corpse.Breakfast, dinner, snack... either way, it'll suck. To put it mildly.

Not that I intend to ever be a meal. It's just a thought.

Anyway.

I used the ripped-up sheet to start swabbing away the blood caked around the bullet hole, my own skin starting to itch as his blood dried. Shane growled when I pressed a little too hard against his shoulder, and I just smiled at him.

I looked at the knife and said, "What makes you think I could have killed you?"

"I'd already be dead," Shane said in an off-handed way that just infuriated me all over again. I pressed into the tender flesh, making him choke a little as he suppressed a groan.

"I'm serious, Shane," I muttered, stringently avoiding eye contact now, bending all of my concentration onto cleaning the wound.

Shane waited until I started wrapping him up again before he said, "You'd do it because you had to."

I sighed wearily. "You're just hellbent on not understanding me, aren't you?"

"I don't know what you mean," he said, much too innocently, making me sigh again.

"Shane, there's no me if there's no you. Don't you understand that?" I tugged at one of the knots before getting up again and digging through my pack for wet wipes and a new shirt.

I stripped my shirt off and threw it into the wastebasket, and handed Shane the packet of wipes, sitting with my back to him. I shivered when the cold cloth made contact with my skin and said, "You know what I'm saying, Shane. I know you do, so please don't pretend otherwise."

Now it was Shane's turn to sigh as he threw one used up wipe over my head into the trash. His voice a little rough he said, "I understand you, Raleigh. I just don't want to hear it."

"Why?" I whispered.

"Because..." Shane inhaled sharply, gathering his thoughts. "Because it doesn't matter. It doesn't matter if I'm dead, just as long as you're still breathing. Because if you're not breathing, then I failed. I fucked up past the point of no return and it was all useless and I can't believe that what I'm doing right now is for nothing."

I sat there in silence, absorbing his words, my skin no longer itching. I turned my head slightly when I felt Shane's mouth on my shoulder, working its way up to my neck. My breath hitched slightly when his teeth grazed along my skin and turned around, placing my hand over his mouth.

He raised an eyebrow, eyes like a dark ocean, but didn't try to move my hand. Slowly, distinctly, I whispered, "You know that that is so very messed up, right?"

Shane shrugged, and I felt his tongue flick against my palm. Fighting furiously against a smile, I said, "What are you? Seven? That's not going to work."

Shane narrowed his eyes at me, his hand sliding slowly up my leg. I used my free hand to trap his, halting its progress, and he made a small, irritated sound against my palm. I opened my mouth, then shut it, frowning.

There was something I wanted to say to him, but I wasn't sure how to.

He just let me think, watching me steadily.

"Shane?" I started hesitantly, and he raised an eyebrow, letting me know he was listening. I opened my mouth again, then shut it. There was no way to say what I wanted, because what I wanted was completely impossible.

I just wanted him to be safe, but we'd already had this conversation. Safe is just another four letter word. It doesn't mean anything.

I shook my head and groaned, frustrated.

Shane pulled the hand I had over his mouth away, kissing my palm before he let go. I looked up at the ceiling, my hands falling into my lap, then looked back down when I heard the subtle chinking of his dog tags.

I frowned as Shane took them off. I was pretty sure he hadn't taken his tags off since he was eighteen.

"What are you..." I trailed off when he took the chain over my head, looping them over my neck.

The metal plates rested heavily against my sternum, warm from his body heat, unfamiliar and completely right all at the same time.

Shane placed his hand over the tags, holding them against my heart, and said, "That's me. Down to a blood type. You've got me, Raleigh. You've had me since we talked in that goddamn hospital that very first day, and you didn't look at me like I was broken beyond repair. You looked at me like I could be fixed. You didn't care about the scars, you didn't flinch when I got pissed because I couldn't walk right. It wasn't a doctor that I needed back then. It was you."

He smiled slightly. "God that sounded stupid."

I nodded, and he laughed. His index finger tapped lightly against one of the tags, and he said, "Stupid, but true. I needed you then. I need you now. Like you said, honey: you're gone, I'm gone. It just feels different when you say it. It scares me when you say it. Scares me down to my core."

"And what exactly do you think it makes me feel when I wake up with a knife next to me. One that you thought I could somehow use on you?" I snapped, then took in another breath, trying hard not to get mad again.

Something that's been increasingly difficult to do as this shit show has progressed.

Shane shrugged. He looked at the knife in question and said, "Because I wasn't going to be the thing that got you killed. So, it..." Shane hesitated, then charged on. "It didn't matter how it would make you feel. The only thing I could think was that, 'if I turn. She'll fight. She's gotta fight.' Nothin' more to it than that."

I shook my head, my fingers clutching around the tags. "What is wrong with you?"

"You," he shot back, making me stare at him. He looked back at me and said candidly, "You're what's wrong with me. Just like I'm what's wrong with you. That's how it is I guess. I don't really know."

Shane's fingers wrapped themselves around mine, where they were still gripping the tags. Smiling just a little, he said, "I know this isn't a ring but—"

"I hate rings," I interrupted then, blinked as what he was saying caught up.

My breath whooshed out softly and I looked down, my fingers loosening to cup around the tags. Shane let his finger tap softly against the metal again, and said, "This is more me than anything else I could find, Raleigh. I mean it when I say you've got me. And I'll do my damnedest to stick around but—"

I slapped my hand over his mouth again. "Nope. Stop there. That's perfect. If you keep going, you'll screw it up."

Shane's eyes crinkled up in a grin and he nodded. When I removed my hand, he gave me a crooked little smile and said, "So, does that count as a yes?"

"Sure," I said readily. "If that's what it was you were after."

Shane rolled his eyes, then let his gaze wander over my bare skin, followed quickly by his fingers. Moving so close that his lips brushed mine when he spoke, he said, "I might have been after a little more than a yes."

I tried to laugh, but Shane was kissing me and I had to keep reminding myself to be careful of his shoulder.

That next morning, I went down the hall to find Kyle still asleep, which I just chocked up to the blood loss. I sat on the bed next to him and shook his shoulder gently.

"Kyle," I said quietly, not wanting to scare him awake. Mostly because that might end up with me getting stabbed considering he sleeps with a knife, even when we're inside someplace.

He stirred a little, but didn't open his eyes and I shook him a little harder. "Kyle, come on. Wake up, talk to me."

"I have a headache," he muttered. "Go 'way."

I tapped the water bottle I had grabbed against his shoulder and said, "You're probably dehydrated. I need you to drink something, then I need you to get up and eat something. Preferably something with a lot of sugar in it."

Kyle smirked a little, eyes still closed and said, "Sacha and I found a stash of those weird little candy bars, like what you give kids on Halloween. Does that mean I get dibs?"

"Not on any Baby Ruths." I laughed and he sat up, hands shaded around his eyes.

He moaned and said, "It's like a hangover minus the fun of the night before." He paused and looked at me, squinting. "I kinda feel like I'm gonna puke."

I grimaced. "Lovely. That tracks pretty normally with excessive blood loss though. Once we get your fluids back to normal," I took the opportunity to wave the water bottle at him, which he took and opened, "and we get your sugar straightened out, you'll feel fine."

Kyle nodded, and drained the bottle. He looked down, kind of perplexed, and said, "I'm thirsty."

I laughed. "Yeah, I thought you'd be."

He smiled when I produced another bottle and took that, drinking more slowly. I took his wrist and pressed my fingers into it, counting silently in my head as I tracked his pulse. Looking up, I asked, "Do you feel dizzy or anything like that? Cause if you do it might mean your pressure's still too low and you'll need to stay in bed."

Kyle shrugged. "No. I actually feel all right considering the partial oil change treatment."

I smiled, then frowned as images of the day before flashed in my head. I was jolted from my memories when Kyle touched my hand and said, "Thank you."

I shook my head, bewildered and asked, "For what?"

Kyle snorted, then winced. "For killing that SOB. I saw what you did to him, Rals." I flinched and he shook his head. "I know this is twisted but considering what he wanted to do to me and Sach, what you did seems about only half of what he deserved. So..." he trailed off, looking uncomfortable.

I held up my hand. "If you try the 'he was just a monster who needed to be put down so don't feel bad about it' speech like your brother, I'll tell you what I told him. I don't care about that guy, and I don't care about what I did. The only thing that bothers me is that you almost died and Shane got shot and there's only so much I can ever do to make sure you all keep breathing. So if you don't mind, I'd rather just try to repress the hell out of what happened yesterday and move on."

Kyle rolled his eyes. "Repression. Sure, 'cause that sounds healthy." Then he shrugged. "If that's what you want, Rals, consider it repressed."

Now I rolled my eyes at him and stood up. "Can you walk all right?"

Kyle gave me a dramatic look. "Nope, you'll have to carry me."

I turned around, waving a hand over my shoulder. "Guess that means I get all the Baby Ruths."

"Hey!" Kyle said indignantly and threw the covers aside to stand up and join me at the door. "We'll split 'em."

I smiled. "Only 'cause you're hurt."

Kyle put a hand over his chest. "You're heartless, you know that?"

"Love you too, Ky." I laughed and led the way down the stairs.

In case you're curious, that was all a lie. Repression doesn't work. You remember all of it, and those memories are as sharp as the actual events.

You don't forget, you just learn to live with the pain.