Hope's POV

Daryl doesn't talk the whole way back from the woods. I hold his hand gently, pressing a kiss to the burn. He doesn't flinch or register any kind of emotion.

My heart aches for him. I just want him to be alright, to not feel the crushing agony he's obviously experiencing. Daryl Dixon does not purposely abuse himself like I just saw him do; not unless he's trying to feel something beyond the numbness.

We emerge from the trees, and Rick hands Daryl a paper. It reads "From A Friend" in neat writing. Daryl swings his crossbow off his shoulder and readies it. I look to the alluring amount of water sitting in the road, my entire body craving it.

"What else are we going to do?" Tara asks.

"Not this. We don't know who left it," Rick says, his gaze watching the horizon.

"If that's a trap, we already happen to be in it," Eugene mumbles, his gaze never leaving the precious liquids. "But I, for one, would like to think it is indeed from a friend."

"What if it isn't? They put something in it?" Carol suggests.

Eugene lunges forwards and grabs a bottle.

"Eugene!" Rosita snaps.

"What are you doing, dude?" Tara asks.

"Quality assurance," he answers, bringing the bottle to his parched lips.

Abraham smacks it away before he can drink too much, staring at the phoney scientist. Water dribbles down Eugene's chin as we all stand in silence.

"We can't," Rick insists.

Thunder rumbles above us, and the heavens open in a blessed downpour of rain. Everyone starts to laugh and let out noises of joy, save for some. I tilt my head back, feeling the water rinsing some of the dirt and grime from my body. I run my fingers through my soaked hair, feeling it grow slightly cleaner too.

Daryl stares straight ahead, and I look to him, my smile falling. He looks down at me, and I place my hands on his arms gently. Some of the dirt washes off, and I run my hand down his muscled arm to his hand, where I grasp it. He doesn't move, and my heart aches even more.

"Grab whatever you can find to capture water," Rick commands, grabbing jugs. "Come on."

We set out our water bottles as the sky cracks and growls. At the same moment, we all realize this rain isn't going to be welcome forever. There's a mighty storm brewing.

"Let's keep moving!" Rick yells over the torrent.

I look up at Daryl, thinking of the barn. He nods and looks to Rick.

"There's a barn!" he yells.

"Where?" Rick asks.

Daryl takes my hand, and we head off through the brush. Everyone follows behind us.

When we reach the barn, a few of the men and Maggie go inside to sweep it. I shiver from the cold, making Daryl wrap his arms around me in an attempt at keeping me warm. Soon enough, we get the all clear signal and file inside.

We all spread out, setting up places to sleep. Rick gives me the room with a few quilts on the floor, and no one else objects. Guilt gnaws at the pit of my stomach. I don't want to keep being treated like I'm more important than everyone else. I hate it.

Even so, they start a fire and arrange the supplies we have nearby to let them dry. Night falls swiftly, and the storm still rages on outside.

I warm myself by the fire, wrapped in a quilt. Daryl tries to make the fire larger, but to no avail.

"I'll try it," Glenn offers.

"Nah. Wood's too wet," Daryl grumbles, settling back down beside me.

I watch everyone's moderately cleaner faces. I think it makes us look younger and less tired than we actually are. Rick looks at Carl, who sleeps soundly with Judith in his arms.

"He's gonna be ok," Carol says. "He bounces back...more than any of us do."

"I used to feel sorry for kids who have to grow up now," Rick admits. "In this world...but I think I got it wrong. Growing up is getting used to the world. This is easier for them."

"This isn't the world. This isn't it," Michonne comments.

Glenn looks back at a sleeping Maggie, pursing his lips.

"It might be," he mumbles. "It might."

"That's giving up," Michonne says.

"No, it's accepting reality," he argues softly.

"It's fine to feel otherwise," Rick says. "This is what we have to live with." There's a long silence, and we stare at the flickering flames. Then, the sheriff starts to tell a story. "When I was a kid, I asked my grandpa once if he ever killed any Germans in the war. He wouldn't answer. Said that was grown up stuff, so..." We all listen closer, and he smiles sadly. "So I asked if the Germans ever tried to kill him. He got real quiet. Said he was dead the minute he stepped into enemy territory. Every day he woke up, he told himself, 'Rest in peace. Now get up and go to war.' Then after a few years of pretending he was dead, he made it out alive. That's the trick of it, I think. We do what we need to do, and then...we get to live. But no matter what we find in DC, I know we'll be ok. Because this is how we survive. We tell ourselves that we are the walking dead."

I hug the quilt around me a little tighter.

We are the walking dead.

"We ain't them," Daryl says after a long silence.

He shifts a little, resting on one knee.

"We aren't them," Rick says. "Hey...we aren't."

Daryl stands up, scooping me and the quilt into his arms carefully.

"We ain't them," he repeats softly as he walks away.

He sets me down in our own little room, shutting the door. I fluff my hair a little, my hair starting to dry into my natural curls. He walks to the door, crossing his arms and peeking back out at the others. I hug my knees to my chest, biting my lip.

"Daryl...what do you need?" I ask, my voice pained.

He looks over at me. "What d'you mean?"

"What do you need?" I repeat, letting the blanket fall off my shoulders as I stand up.

He looks away. "I dunno."

I move to him, my hands resting on his arms again as I turn him towards me. I place my hand on his cheek, leaning up and giving him a hesitant kiss on his rough lips. I break away, meeting his gaze as my fingers brush his neck gently.

He leans forwards and captures my lips in his again, his strong arms surrounding me as he grips fistfuls of my shirt in his hands. I cup his face in my hands, slipping my tongue into his mouth. His hands grab my thighs as he lifts me up, and I wrap my legs around his waist as he presses me against the wooden wall. He breaks the kiss to breathe, and we stare at each other, our breaths heavy.

"You. I need you," he responds breathlessly.

"Well, I'm right here," I whisper, brushing some hair out of his eyes.

He leans into a kiss again, his tongue finding its way back into my mouth. He pulls my shirt over my head, breaking the kiss for a brief moment. He almost attacks my lips and jaw and chest with his mouth, kissing hungrily and desperately. He pulls off the wall, turning and lowering me onto the ground with my legs still around his waist. He needs me close to him, he needs to feel something other than grief or pain.

"What if they hear?" I mumble as he shakes off his own shirt.

"You just gotta be quiet then," he whispers. "Can you handle that, angel?"

"I'll try."

He smiles lightly.

----------

I let myself sigh dreamily, my entire body feeling blissful. Daryl buries his nose in my hair, taking long deep breaths as he slowly relaxes.

"I love you," he mumbles. My eyes droop sleepily, and he gives me one more kiss before I can reply. "I know you do too. Get some sleep, darlin'."

I pull him close to me, nodding as I let myself start to drift off. He drapes the fire-warmed quilt over us, holding me against him as he trails little kisses along my face and jaw. His calloused fingers run along my back; the feeling warm and familiar. I hug him tightly, realizing just how much I missed this; how much I missed being near him.

As I fall asleep to the sound of rain on the barn roof, I feel him press a kiss to my cheek.

"I don't deserve you..."