She caught up with Hoffman at the crest of the hill. The sun had cleared the horizon and for the moment all Diana could see was his lonely, windswept silhouette as he turned toward the sound of her steps. She slowed to a walk now, approaching him cautiously. As she reached his side she looked up; his face was caught half in shadow and half in the bright golden glare of the new dawn, and she thought to herself that she had never seen anything more befitting the man.

"I just wanted to check something," she said, and reached out, taking hold of his wrist before he could move to prevent it. She ignored the sticky, drying blood beneath her fingers and pushed back his sleeve, looking down at his forearm, studying the fresh wound in silence as the sun mounted the sky and warmed the weak breeze that washed over them both. Finally, she found her voice once more and assembled a few words with the utmost care.

"That's the weirdest bite I've ever seen," she said.

"Yeah," was all he said, still staring levelly into the air over her head.

"Can I ask why?"

He didn't answer her at once, but she felt his muscles tense slightly beneath her touch before he extracted himself from her grasp, covering the cut once more, still avoiding her penetrating stare. He hung his head for a moment and she heard him release what sounded like a deep breath held for far too long, and it whistled softly through his lips as he exhaled. Only then did he return her gaze.

"They'll be better off without me," he said. Diana nodded sagely.

"Yes, she will," she told him, without bothering to check for a response to her meaningful correction. "I won't, though," she added, shouldering the axe and looking up at him, the sun sparkling for a second in her eyes as she waited for a response.

"You tried to kill me," he said, at length, and she heard the subtext very clearly in spite of his careful tone. It wasn't an accusation or even, for that matter, a simple statement of fact. There was a tiny question curled up inside the words, and she addressed it.

"My dad once told me that vengeance can change a person," she replied, looking down at her feet for a second as she spoke. "Sometimes it's for the better."

The breeze died away entirely, leaving the two of them standing in a pool of silence that contrived to be deeper still for the sudden curiosity brewing behind the detective's impassive expression.

"You sure you don't want to go with the Sheriff?" he asked, his head on one side. "He's the good guy, remember?" he added, and though there should have been a lilt of sarcasm in this last comment, Diana could hear no such scorn.

"That's the problem," she said. "I don't need a good guy. It's going to take a real asshole to survive this."

Hoffman blinked. "Did you just call me an asshole?" he asked, though he wore the faintest ghost of a smirk as he did so.

"What if I did?" asked Diana, still holding his gaze. "I'd take it as a compliment, if I were you."

Hoffman didn't reply to this. Instead, he shrugged the shotgun off his back, cracked it open and started to load it with considered ease, his hands moving slowly and carefully as he pulled the shells from the belt. When it was done, he chambered the first round with a soft click and then lowered the weapon until it was hanging at his side, muzzle pointing at the road.

"It's gonna be dangerous," he said.

"As opposed to what?" she retorted, staring him down.

"I'm not your fucking babysitter, is what I mean," he said, but there was no real annoyance in his voice and, in fact, he was watching her with the tiniest fleck of respect in his eyes.

"Good, because you'd really suck at it," she said, glancing away for a second before looking back at him, her eyes bright. "Are you any good with that?" she asked, her tone calm and conversational, nodding at the shotgun.

He shrugged lazily. "Not too bad," he said.

"I hope you're right," she told him through a pleasant smile, angling her head down the hill, where two walkers were stumbling and edging closer to them, teeth bared in silent snarls and eyes full of cold blood, driving their shadows before them. Hoffman hefted the weapon, raised it to his shoulder and cocked it, and then paused, looking down at Diana as she lifted the axe to skull-cracking height and swung it back in both hands.

"Which one do you want?" he asked her.

"The big one," she said, and charged.

A/N: What can I say? This has been one of the most heartbreaking and astounding things I've ever written. I won't say it's all been easy going, and at times this story threatened to get the better of me, but I made it and I made it work. Dear readers: once again, thank you all so much for staying with me to the end. You're incredible, each and every one of you.

I'll see you in the near future for the sequel. Oh, yes. There's more to tell, so stick around...