〰

About three months had passed since they had taken in the people from Woodbury, and surprisingly, it wasn't so bad. It was nothing like Elodie had imagined. None of these people were dangerous, none of them were mean. They were just people, exactly like Daryl had said.

They had built a community out of the small group they had arrived with. They even had a council now, a concept that still completely confused Elodie. All she knew was that the council decided on the big stuff-rationing food, managing supplies, that sort of thing. It wasn't just a small group anymore. Now, they had an entire community to look after. That meant things had to change.

Everything still felt a little off for Elodie. She wasn't used to being greeted by kids she'd never even spoken to, wasn't used to sharing a living space with this many people. There wasn't a single spot left where she could grab some alone time-hell, not even the showers were free of people. Everywhere she went, there were faces, and sometimes it was overwhelming, but overall, it was pretty cool.

Two girls had even decided-yes, decided-they were friends with Elodie. Actual friends. They were two sisters, Lizzie and Mika. Mika was sweet, a little shy, but could also be quick to open her mouth. Lizzie was a little... odd when it came to the walkers, but then again, Elodie wasn't one to judge. Not when she knew all about feeling weird herself.

The prison was starting to feel more like home every day. Thick concrete walls, sturdy fences, and a group on watch meant nothing was getting in or out without someone spotting it. Plus, they had pigs. Actual, living pigs. Elodie adored them. Maybe a little too much. That's why she wasn't allowed to tag along when Rick and Carl did the feeding anymore. They'd find her perched on the edge of the pen for hours, happily watching the pigs snort and shuffle around. Getting her to leave was next to impossible, so now she was only invited once a week, as a "treat."

This morning, the world was still wiping the sleep out of its eyes. The sun was dragging itself over the horizon, soft gold streaks brushing across the prison yard. Elodie was already sitting on an overturned crate, a chipped bowl of cereal in her lap. The milk was lukewarm, and the cereal had that slightly soggy crunch that came from sitting out too long. She barely noticed it-she was half asleep, her head bobbing like it was too heavy for her neck to hold up.

Elodie's eyelids drooped like they were weighed down with bricks, her chin dipping lower each time she blinked. Her head jerked up again, a soft grunt escaping her lips as she clutched the bowl tighter. This cycle repeated a few times-jerk awake, blink at the horizon, let her head fall again. Finally, her elbow propped on her knee, her cheek pressed into her palm, and just like that, she was out.

The next thing she felt was a hand on her shoulder. Elodie startled awake with a sharp inhale, blinking furiously as her head snapped up. Daryl's face came into focus above her.

"Ya fallin' asleep with food in your mouth now?" he asked, one eyebrow raised.

"I ain't asleep," she mumbled, her voice scratchy with grogginess. She rubbed at her eyes with the heel of her hand, clearly lying. Her cheeks warmed with embarrassment. "Just... restin' my eyes."

He huffed a soft laugh, shaking his head. "Sure looked like sleepin' to me."

Elodie grimaced, shoving a spoonful of cereal into her mouth in a half-hearted attempt to look productive. "Why'd we have to do this so early?" she grumbled between bites, her voice still thick with sleep.

Much to her dismay, Daryl had been insisting she learn how to use a gun lately. She knew how to use a knife; it was simple and straightforward. He'd taught her on the farm, and she'd gotten by with just that. But now, apparently, he thought it was time to add a gun to the mix. Even though she'd made it crystal clear back at the farm-guns were not her thing.

It was ridiculous, but she still found it a little terrifying. Just holding a gun, a deadly weapon capable of ending a life with one shot-that scared the hell out of her. But Daryl said she needed to get over her 'silly fear' and learn how to protect herself with multiple weapons.

"'Cause I'm gonna be busy later," Daryl replied simply.

"You're always busy," she complained, her lower lip jutting out just a bit.

It was true. He was always out, searching for new people with Rick or off hunting. They needed to eat, but still, Elodie missed him. During the day, she was stuck hanging out with Beth-who had gotten a boyfriend not long after people started moving in-Carl and Patrick, or Lizzie and Mika. Never both at the same time, because the boys and girls didn't really seem to get along-well, Carl and Lizzie didn't. They didn't share the same mindset, and Carl had a strong opinion, so of course, they didn't get along. Patrick and Mika, on the other hand, seemed to be just fine.

Hanging out with them was okay, but Elodie really missed the time she used to spend with Daryl. She didn't often join him on his hunting trips because she scared away the food by being louder than she noticed. And she didn't like to watch how Daryl killed the poor animals. She knew they needed to eat, but it was still sad to see-especially when Daryl made it look so easy, like it didn't bother him at all. Probably didn't.

Daryl didn't respond to her statement. He shifted his weight, looking out over the yard, before glancing back at her. "Finish up."

Elodie groaned quietly, letting her head tip back as though she were gathering the strength to stand. "Fine," she muttered, shoveling the last bites into her mouth as Daryl walked away.

When she finally dragged herself over to his bike, the sun had climbed higher in the sky, warming the air just enough to make her yawn again. She was still sulking, trudging across the yard to where Daryl's motorcycle was parked, leaning slightly to one side like it was just as tired as she was. Its owner stood nearby, adjusting the straps on a small bag slung over the back of the bike.

As she reached the bike, she didn't say anything-just climbed onto the back, arms folded, slumping slightly to make it clear she wasn't thrilled about the early start. Mornings were the absolute worst.

Daryl glanced back at her as he settled in front. "You good?"

"No," she muttered, already leaning forward to rest her forehead lightly against his back. "Gonna sleep on the way there."

"'S long as ya hold on."

〰

The bike came to a stop in a wide open area, the trees towering over them, their branches reaching higher and higher as if they were trying to touch the sky. The overgrown grass rustled under the tires, flattened by the weight of the bike. Weak sunlight filtered through the thick canopy above, casting dappled patterns on Elodie's cold face and warming her skin with the softest touch. Elodie stirred against Daryl's back, her face scrunching up as she reluctantly peeled herself away.

Daryl shot her an amused glance over his shoulder and gave her a light nudge on the arm. "C'mon, slugger. Up and at 'em. We're here."

She muttered something unintelligible, her voice thick with lingering drowsiness, and reached clumsily for his arm as he helped her off the bike. Her legs felt wobbly, the ride and her half-asleep state causing her to be momentarily disoriented.

"You good?" he asked, steadying her by the shoulder.

"Yes," she mumbled, taking a few steps to stretch her legs. She blinked around the clearing, her brows knitting as she tried to wake up fully. The place was quiet, but there was a kind of peace to it too, like the rest of the world didn't exist here.

Daryl didn't seem to share her appreciation for the calm. His hand rested on the handle of his crossbow as he scanned their surroundings. He circled the clearing as he checked for any signs of walkers or other kinds of trouble.

Elodie crossed her arms, her boots scraping idly against the ground as she waited. She watched him move, her tired mind only half-registering the way his shoulders seemed tense, ready to spring into action at any time. He always did this, even when they were sure a place was safe. She guessed it made him feel better, but it also made her feel better, too.

Satisfied the area was clear, he finally relaxed, slinging his crossbow across his back. Without a word, he walked to the bike and pulled his bag free from its straps. From it, he retrieved a stack of tin cans, their labels faded and edges rusted. Elodie tilted her head, curiosity replacing her drowsiness as she watched him head over to a fallen log and start setting up the cans in a neat little row.

He motioned for her to join him. "A'right, let's get started."

Elodie sighed, dragging her feet a little as she trudged over to him. She looked at the gun he held out to her and felt her brows sink into a frown. "I don't like guns, Daryl."

"Good," he murmured. "Ya don't gotta like it. You just gotta be able to use it if ya need to."

She bit her lip, her eyes on the ground, and after a long moment, she nodded. Her eyes flicked over to the tin cans again. The thought of actually pulling the trigger felt insane. How could she shoot anything? How could she even think of it? She wasn't like Carl. Carl, who could shoot someone and barely blink. The idea turned her stomach.

Daryl handed her the gun, adjusting her grip. The way he held the gun looked like he could just flick it and have it do exactly what he wanted. She took it from him gingerly, like it might suddenly explode in her hands. Her fingers barely wrapped around the handle.

"Hold it like this," he instructed, moving to her side. His fingers gently adjusted her grip, turning her palms this way and that, making sure her hands were positioned properly. "Your dominant hand goes on the grip, like this," he said, guiding her hand firmly around the handle. "Then your other hand goes here, like you're steadyin' it. Don't hold it loose. Keep your finger off the trigger unless you're ready to shoot."

She tried to mirror him, but her grip felt awkward, her fingers stiff. "Like this?" she asked, unsure, the gun trembling slightly in her hands.

"Nah. You're holdin' it like it's gonna bite ya. Firm but not too tight, a'right? Relax your hands a little, but keep a good hold." He moved her hands again. "It's 'bout control. You control the gun, not the other way 'round."

Elodie nodded, trying to make sense of his words. But it was all so much to take in, the feel of the gun, the position, the aim. It made her feel more out of place than ever. Still, she didn't want to disappoint him.

"Good. Now ya work on your stance." He stepped back, crossing his arms as he watched her. "Feet shoulder-width apart. Knees loose, not locked. Ya wanna stay balanced, grounded. That way the recoil doesn't knock ya on your ass."

She glanced down at her feet and shuffled them apart, planting them like roots in the dirt. She bent her knees slightly, trying to keep her posture from looking as stiff as she felt. She adjusted her grip on the gun again, trying to keep her arms loose, but firm enough to control it.

She peered up at Daryl for reassurance, clearly not all too confident. "Like this?"

He gave her a quick once-over, nodding. "Good. Steady enough. Now line up with the cans. Pick one out."

Heart already pounding in her chest, she shifted her attention to the tin cans on the log. They sat there innocently, five of them in a row. Elodie bit her lip, eyes flicking from one to the next. Innocent little things, but they felt like impossible targets.

"Which one do I... which one do I pick?"

"Pick whichever one you want."

"Uh..." Her gaze flicked between the cans again, faster now. Decisions weren't her strong suit. Never had been. Her eyes darted from can to can, back and forth, her brain scrambling. She looked at the first one, then the second, then the third.

Noticing her indecision, Daryl sighed and stepped forward. "Pick the one in the middle," he said, pointing to the can at the center of the row. "Ain't gotta overthink it."

Elodie nodded quickly, grateful for the decision being made for her. She raised the gun, her arms trembling. The trigger felt impossibly far away, like it was mocking her too. Like it belonged to someone else, not her.

"Just squeeze," Daryl told her. "Nice and easy."

Her hands shook harder. The gun was heavier than she'd expected, and holding it steady felt like trying to balance a brick on a stick. Her finger hovered over the trigger, heart pounding so loud she was sure Daryl could hear it.

It's just a can. Just a can. Just a can.

Her finger hovered over the trigger. She squeezed.

The shot cracked through the air, jolting her out of her skin, rattling her teeth. The recoil slammed back into her palms, and she stumbled, nearly losing her footing. Her ears rang, and her hands felt like they'd just been struck by lightning.

The can didn't even flinch.

"Oh." She felt her shoulders sag. She didn't even know why she thought she'd hit it. "I missed."

Daryl didn't look annoyed, though. If anything, he looked mildly amused. "Don't worry 'bout it," he said with a small grunt. "Nobody hits their first try. Ya wanna go again?"

She didn't. "No."

Daryl let out a short chuckle, but there was no teasing in it. "Tough luck. You gotta."

With a groan, Elodie raised the gun again, her shoulders slumping. She didn't feel like trying again, but she knew he wouldn't drop it. So, she lined up the shot once again, trying to focus, trying to stop her hands from shaking.

Shifting her stance, her feet rooted themselves a little firmer in the dirt. She narrowed her eyes, locking onto the can in the middle of the row. I can hit it. I can. I can. It wasn't going to jump out at her or fight back. She could do this.

And again, she pulled the trigger.

This shot was closer. The can wobbled, teetering on the log for a split second before settling stubbornly back into place. Elodie let out a frustrated sigh. "I can't do it."

"You're doin' fine. You just gotta keep tryin'." He stood next to her, looking down at the row of cans. "One more time. Focus. The can's your target. Just the can."

She let out a long sigh, her arms aching as she let the gun dangle loosely in her hands. She flopped her arms by her side. "My arms are tired."

Daryl glanced over at her. "Yeah, right."

She tipped her head up at him with a small frown. "Serious."

He shook his head, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Tell ya what. When we're done here, we'll go find ya some Twinkies. You like those, don't ya?"

The mention of Twinkies made her stop mid-sigh. Her eyes widened, and for the first time that morning, she felt excited. "Really?"

Daryl nodded, looking her way but keeping his tone casual. "Yeah."

"Really?"

"Ask one more time and I'll be changin' my damn mind," he warned, giving her a pointed look.

Swallowing the urge to ask again, she nodded quickly instead. "I'll do it. I'll really do it."

"Good," Daryl said, his voice turning more serious again. "Now, get your arms ready. Third time's the charm."

The promise of Twinkies gave her new motivation. She raised the gun again, her hands a little steadier this time. She focused on the can, the one right in front of her, the middle one. She pushed everything else from her mind, even the ringing in her ears from the earlier shots, the way her arms burned.

Before she could hesitate too much, she pulled the trigger once more.

This time, the can flew off the log, spinning through the air before landing in the dirt with a soft thud.

Elodie froze for a moment, blinking in disbelief. She had hit it. She had actually hit it. The can was on the ground, defeated by her. She couldn't hold back the grin on her face. "I did it."

Daryl nodded, a small but proud smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Yeah. You did."

〰

The gas station finally became visible up ahead, its faded sign barely legible through the grime and vines that had started to claim it. The windows were cracked, some shattered entirely. Daryl pulled the bike to a stop and dismounted, crossbow in hand as he scanned the area.

"Walkers?" Elodie asked as she climbed off the bike herself, her eyes darting around nervously.

"Just one," he murmured, jerking his head toward the station. "Ain't seen us yet."

Her stomach twisted. She already knew where this was going. When Daryl glanced at her and pointed to her holstered gun, she shook her head hard.

"I'm not killin' it," she whispered nervously.

"Ya don't gotta like it, remember?" Daryl muttered. "But ya gotta try. I'm right here."

Her hands felt clammy as she hesitated. Daryl didn't push her. He just waited, patient and calm, until she finally sighed and drew the gun. It felt heavier than it had before for some reason.

She raised it with trembling hands, lining up the shot as best she could. The walker wasn't moving fast, its movements jerky and uncoordinated. It looked like an easy target-on paper.

But it was hard to keep her aim steady on its head. She knew that was where she needed to shoot. Kill the head or it kept coming. But it was practically impossible to hold her aim still, the way it staggered around. Couldn't Daryl just have taped the walker to the wall?

Teeth chewing her bottom lip, she squinted her eyes, hoping it would help her see better. Stop shakin'. Keep still. But it was just so hard.

She then squeezed the trigger, mainly hoping for a little bit of luck from the universe to make her bullet hit the mark.

The shot cracked, and the bullet struck the walker square in the chest. It let out a low groan, its body jerking back slightly. But it didn't fall. Instead, it staggered back a step, its head whipping around as if searching for the source of the threat. Then its hollow eyes locked onto Elodie, and it started coming straight at her, its pace quickening.

Panic shot through her veins. Elodie's hand trembled as she backed up a step, trying to aim again. Her finger tightened on the trigger-only to miss entirely, the bullet grazing its shoulder and doing nothing to slow it down.

No, no, no!

When her back bumped into something solid, Elodie gave a small shriek, only to realize it was-of course-Daryl. His eyes weren't on her, but on the walker, and with a quick but gentle shove, he moved her aside while smoothly raising his crossbow.

"Easy," he muttered reassuringly. "I got it."

His bolt flew, piercing the walker cleanly through the skull. It crumpled to the ground, its moan cut short. Elodie let out a shaky breath, her hands still gripping the gun as if it might float away.

She glanced up at Daryl, her cheeks flushed with both embarrassment and relief. "Sorry."

"Ya tried," he said, retrieving his bolt and wiping it clean on the walker's shirt. "That's what matters."

Her lips pressed into a thin line as she tried to process his words. "But what if-what if ya weren't here? I'd-"

"You're gettin' there. And if I wasn't here?" He shrugged. "You'd find a way. You're tougher than ya think."

Tough? She wasn't tough. At all. The words didn't feel like much comfort, but she nodded anyway, sticking the gun back where it belonged.

As she followed Daryl toward the entrance, Elodie shuffled past the fallen walker's body, her eyes helplessy drawn to the crumpled figure. The namecard pinned to its blouse caught her attention, and she leaned in, squinting to read the small, handwritten letters.

James.

Her eyes held on to the name tag for a moment longer than she meant to, her nails digging painfully into the palms of her hands. Her stomach twisted, and a sharp chill ran down her spine, making the hair on the back of her neck prickle. It felt like someone was twisting a hot knife in her chest, making every second agonizingly slow. Her head spun, vision blurring for a moment-whether from the tears or something else, she wasn't sure.

She felt sick. That she was sure of.

"Lo," Daryl's voice interrupted her, like he could sense something was wrong. "You alright?"

Flinching, she forced her gaze away from the walker and looked at Daryl. He was standing a few paces ahead of her, his hand resting on the doorframe of the gas station, waiting for her.

The walker's name wasn't important. The name on the shirt didn't mean anything.

"I'm okay," she said quickly, turning away from the body with a stiff motion. She was being too sensitive, and she hated it. It wasn't him. Of course it wasn't. Its name was James.

She forced herself to move forward, step by step, until she was with Daryl, following him inside as he pushed the door open.

It was dark in the gas station-the shelves empty or half-empty, but there were a few cans scattered here and there, some bottled water, and a couple of packs of stale chips. The air was musty, the floors covered in dust.

Daryl paused, holding up a hand. Elodie knew what that meant: silence. She held her breath and did as he said.

"All clear," he finally said, stepping aside to let her in. As she entered, he added, "Grab what ya can find. Non-perishables, most of all. If it ain't spoiled, it's worth takin'."

Elodie turned to glance at him, frowning slightly. "What's... non-perishables?" she asked, mimicking his pronouncation as best she could, though the word still came out awkward.

"Non-perishables? Stuff that don't go bad," he explained. "Canned food. Stuff in jars. Things sealed up tight."

"Oh," Elodie said, nodding quickly, feeling a little embarrassed for asking.

"I'll find the Twinkies," Daryl said without looking back. "They got to be somewhere in here."

Her lips twitched into a small, almost embarrassed smile. Her arms were still shaking, but the thought of the sweet, spongy snack was enough to pull her focus away from that.

"Thank you," she said quietly.

Daryl grunted in response, his version of acknowledgment, as he headed deeper into the gas station.

Taking a breath, Elodie turned her attention to the shelves around her. Most of the contents were either completely gone or too far gone to bother with-boxes torn open, jars shattered, and cans rusted. Still, she moved down the aisle, keeping her eyes peeled for anything usable.

She found a few cans of what looked like soup, though the labels were mostly gone, the contents a mystery. Carefully, she piled them into her arms, glancing down every few seconds to make sure she wasn't dropping anything. A box of crackers caught her eye next, and she grabbed it, giving it a little shake to confirm the contents before adding it to the growing pile in her arms.

By the time she rounded the corner, she had an awkward stack balanced against her chest, and her arms were starting to ache. She bit her lip, glancing toward Daryl, who had gone deeper into the gas station. He had the bag, of course, and she was beginning to regret not asking him for it sooner.

"Daryl?" she called, trying not to be too loud.

"Yeah?" His voice came from somewhere near the back, followed by the sound of something heavy being moved.

"Help," she said, stepping toward the sound of his voice, the cans wobbling dangerously in her arms.

When she found him, he was crouched by a shelf. He looked up at her, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as he straightened.

"Look," he said, pulling a pack of Twinkies from under a pile of crushed cereal boxes. He held it up. "Found 'em."

"Will they still taste good?" she asked, shifting her awkward stack of supplies so she could lean against the nearest shelf for support. A can wobbled at the top of her pile, and she hastily steadied it with her chin.

Daryl raised an eyebrow at her. "These things last 'bout forever." He dropped the Twinkies into the bag slung over his shoulder, then motioned toward her overloaded arms. "Ya look like you're 'bout to topple over. Gimme that."

She hesitated for a moment before stepping closer, carefully transferring the pile into his waiting hands. He slung the cans into the bag one by one, giving each a quick glance to make sure it was worth keeping. When her arms were finally empty, she let out a breath as she dropped her arms.

As Daryl finished packing up the last of the cans into the bag, he moved back toward Elodie, holding out a pair of small, battered walkie-talkies he had found earlier. "Found these," he said, handing one to her. "Might come in handy."

Elodie took the walkie-talkie with a curious look. The buttons looked tempting, almost begging to be pushed, and before Daryl could say a word, she was already pressing them.

"Hey-be careful with it," he told her as he reached out to gently tap her hand away from the buttons. "Ya don't want to fry the thing."

Elodie jumped slightly at his touch, giving a small nod. "Sorry," she murmured, her eyes never leaving the walkie-talkie.

"S all good'. Just showin' you how it works," Daryl said, taking a step back to give her some space. "Ya know how to use it?"

"Sort of," she replied, turning the device in her hand. Her fingers hovered over the talk button. "Press this one to talk, right?"

"Right," he confirmed, nodding. "Press it to talk, and let go to listen. Ya got it?"

"Got it."

Daryl reached over and took the walkie-talkie from her briefly, adjusting a small knob on the side to change the channel. "Here," he said, showing her how to switch between channels. "Let's stick with channel six for us."

She nodded and started fiddling with the dial, her touch more careful now. Her lip caught between her teeth as she turned it one notch at a time. She moved the dial slowly, pausing on channel five and listening just for the fun of it.

Static crackled at first, but then, a voice came through-faint, crackling, like it was clawing its way through a storm. It was there and then gone, but not before they caught a few words.

"Those who-"

Elodie froze, pressing the device closer to her ear to hear it better through the white noise that followed, her small face twisting in concentration. The static swallowed the voice for a moment, then spat it back out.

"-survive." The voice then disappeared into the noise. It was gone.

"D'ya hear that?" Elodie's voice rose with confusion as she pulled the walkie-talkie away, staring at it like it had betrayed her.

Daryl's jaw tightened. "Yeah."

"What's it mean?" she asked, her hand still pressed against the device, trying to pick out any hint of the message through the static.

He reached out and gently took the walkie-talkie from her hands, ignoring her surprised frown. "It's nothin'. Prob'ly just some old broadcast."

"What?" Elodie's face scrunched up in doubt. "But what if someone needs-"

"It's automatic," he cut in, his tone softening just a little. "Ya remember those church bells near Hershel's farm? Same idea. Just a loop, playin' over and over."

Her shoulders slumped slightly. "Oh. Yeah, I think."

"Yeah," Daryl echoed, turning the walkie talkie off. "Nothin' real. Just noise."

She let out a quiet sigh, realizing that Daryl was probably right, though it didn't make her feel any less anxious. She nodded, not wanting to press the issue further, knowing it wasn't worth getting all worked up over a message that might be nothing more than an old broadcast. "'Kay," she murmured. Daryl had his reasons for brushing it off, and she wasn't going to argue.

He nodded once, sliding the walkie-talkies into his bag. "We'll clip 'em to your pack when we get back to the prison," he said before glancing toward the shelves she'd been searching before. "Y'find anythin' else?"

"Just this stuff," she said, wiping her hands on her jeans. "Most of it's trashed or, like... gross."

"Better than nothin'," Daryl replied. He shifted the bag to his back, scanning the aisle. After a moment, he nodded. "C'mon, let's check the front. Might be some water or somethin' we missed."

Elodie nodded, falling into step beside him as they made their way toward the front of the station, the only sound the soft shuffle of their boots against the dusty floor. She glanced around, surprised at how much of the gas station had been picked clean. She couldn't help but think of how many people had passed through here before them, taking whatever they could.

A bottle of water caught her eye. Then another. And another. A small stash, hidden away behind some broken plastic trays. She stepped forward. "Water," she announced, pointing to the stack.

Daryl's eyes flicked over to it, a small nod of approval before he made his way over. "Good eye," he said, crouching down to grab the bottles, carefully tucking them into the bag.

Elodie lingered for a moment, glancing at the counter. A few things were strewn about-a pack of gum, some expired movie theater tickets, an old tin of mints. None of it was any use, but she still felt the pull to check.

She picked up the old tin of mints, half-opening it to see if there was any left. But it was empty. The emptiness seemed fitting.

It felt like ages ago, but at the same time, just yesterday, she had stood in an exact place like this-the grocery store, tasked with guarding the groceries while her mother went to grab something she'd forgotten. It had felt like the end of the world then, when the cashier snapped her fingers in Elodie's face because she had panicked, not knowing what to do when it was her turn to pay for the groceries.

She had been five at the time, clueless about how to handle situations like that. Her mother had been furious, embarrassed by her-so furious that Elodie never joined her on another grocery trip after that.

Elodie snapped the tin shut, the sound of the metal clinking against itself pulling her out of her thoughts. The world she knew was gone, and there was no point in holding on to things that weren't coming back. Daryl didn't, so she shouldn't either. So, she stuffed the tin back on the counter with a quiet thud.

Turning back toward Daryl, she found him already standing by the door, the bag of supplies slung over his shoulder. He was looking right at her. "Ready to go?"

She gave him a small nod. "Yes."

They stepped carefully back toward the door, Daryl first, Elodie following close behind. As they passed the dead walker, Elodie felt her stomach twist again. She squeezed her eyes shut tight, unable to look at the body. She didn't want to look at it. It was stupid, really, to be bothered by a name, but still, she grabbed onto the back of Daryl's sleeve, her fingers curling around the fabric.

Daryl didn't say anything. He just kept walking. Elodie knew the walker was still there, but she didn't want nor have to see it. She didn't have to know any more about it.

She kept her gaze on the ground, her boots crunching softly on the gravel as they made their way back toward the motorcycle. When they reached it, Daryl started by attaching the bag of supplies to the back of his bike. The straps were worn and stretched, but they held. Finally, he handed her the box of Twinkies

"Here," he said. "Earned it."

Elodie stared at the box for a moment, then looked up at Daryl, her brow furrowed. A small, genuine smile crept across her lips. "Thank you."

Daryl nodded in acknowledgment, his eyes back on the bike, making sure everything was in place. He was trying to act like it was no big deal, but Elodie could tell he was watching her from the corner of his eye, making sure she was okay. Making sure she liked it.

She broke the Twinkie in half, the soft spongy cake crumbling slightly as she did. She handed half of it to Daryl, her hand outstretched. "Here," she told him, before adding, "earned it."

He paused, his eyes flicking from the Twinkie to her. For a second, he looked almost surprised, but then he reached out, taking the half she offered.

Elodie's grin widened as she watched him take a cautious bite. She could tell he wasn't one to splurge on sweets-probably hadn't had a Twinkie since he was a kid himself. But when he smiled, just a little, just for a second, she knew it was worth it.

They settled onto the bike, Elodie seated behind Daryl as they ate their Twinkie halves, the crumbs falling between them. She kicked her feet up on the bike's footrests and leaned against Daryl's shoulder, enjoying the moment.

✎ AUTHOR'S NOTE:

extra long chapter for my dear readers who i've been neglecting on accident... sorry guys... i keep saying i'll get back on my grind AND THEN I DON'T! i try to... that counts.

ANYWAY! pls don't forget to comment and vote while reading! love u all to death and beyond <3