This Woman

This is sort of a companion piece to This Man, although they aren't part of the same "universe". I have seen the season finale now, so this story reflects that more than This Man. I am now officially addicted to Caryl and back in the swing of writing. How am I going to continue without TWD until freaking Autumn?

Thank you to those who reviewed my other story, it means alot.

He was pissed at her for doubting Rick. For doubting him. He understood why she did, Rick was usually the good man, the soft option. He had kept his morals for so long, struggled to adjust to the new world, where there were no laws and it was simply survival of the fittest. And now he was coming undone. Daryl had endured a fair amount of crazy asses in his 35 years, well before the dead were walking, so it didn't bother him so much. In fact, he was pleased. Rick needed to stand up and take control. This group was going to shit and something had to change. This situation was supposed to fuck you up. Shane had been a liability since Rick rolled up and he knew that if it were he in Rick's position, Shane would have been dead a lot longer. But he was still pissed at her, she'd been the only one to have unwaivering faith in him up until now. This woman was starting to mean everything to him.

He watched her from across the fire, she was distributing out their meagre supplies equally, focused on the task in hand. She could sense his annoyance, his irritation with being called a "henchman" and she was quite rightly giving him a wide berth. He'd get over it though. She was just frightened and she was goading him into doing something, when reality was, right now, there was nothing they could do but wait it out.

He took watch first, as the fire died down, his eyes occassionally dropping down to Carol's restless form. She was shivering despite her proximity to the fire, feet tucked up to her stomach, hands forming a makeshift pillow under her head. She was awake, he could tell, even as the hours passed, Rick waking to relieve him. He was over their tense conversation now, it was time to let her know.

He picked his way though the sleeping camp, dropping down to sit beside her. Daryl wasn't one for words. Hell, he wasn't one for women in his life. Before, it was just bed 'em and move on. No time for emotions or feelings. That's how his father worked, Merle too. He never got close to a woman as fragile as Carol. She needed lookin' after and he found himself wanting to. He shrugged off his leather vest and balled it up, she opened her eyes and stared up at him. He motioned for to lift her head and stuffed it underneath her. She gave him a soft smile as he unclipped his holster, laying it above their heads. He lay down on his side, facing her, reaching out he ran his hand over her throat, stopping at the small gold cross strung around her neck.

"Have faith." He whispered softly, so low she could hardly hear him, even though his face was inches from hers. He toyed lightly with the pendant, before setting it down over the hollow of her throat. "I ain't leavin' you, I swear it."

Her eyes were glazed and for a heart stopping moment, Daryl thought she was going to cry. Dammit, why did he bother? Tears were not his forte.

"I believe it." She replied, her hand covering his. "No secrets, alright? I can handle the truth." She looked to Lori, sleeping across the way, Carl tucked tight to her chest. He knew what she meant. Lori couldn't bring herself to look at Rick after his secrets came tumbling out. "I swear it." She echoed his words.

He nodded his assent and shuffled himself closer, to bring some warmth to her shivering frame.

"We got this shit." Were his last words as they finally dozed off.

Three days later, they'd moved further West, having accumulated a few more weapons in a superstore that seemed to have everything. Daryl picked out a hatchet especially for Carol, lightweight and easy to handle. This woman was going to get some lessons in self defence the moment they set up a reasonably safe camp again. He was keeping an eye out for a gun for her too, but he hadn't come across anything he thought she could handle. Though, when he thought about it, he was hoping that she would never have to use any sort of weapon with him around.

He'd taken to following her everywhere. He couldn't help himself, he wanted her in his eyeline at all times. She rode his bike with him, never once complaining as the now-cold air whipped around her face, hardly protected by her thin scarf. He took her hunting with him, even showed her how to use his crossbow once or twice. She was getting better at being quieter on her feet. Sure, he was better and faster at hunting their supper on his own, but he felt better knowing she was with him and that she was learning how to fend for herself. They holed up in another farm, not all too dissimilar to Hershel's, one that had clearly been abandoned for some time. It wasn't perfect by any means, but it had a clean well and plenty of forestry for hunting. They couldn't stay here all winter, the small towns surrounding the area were picked clean, leaving them just enough for a two or three weeks, providing Walkers didn't drive them out first. They'd acquired another RV and were hoping to get one more, allowing them to forgo the tents as the weather cooled off on their travels.

He was not looking forward to spending nights in an RV. It would mean sleeping on floors like sardines. It would mean no privacy with Carol.

It wasn't like they needed it or anything, not really. Daryl knew that technically, they were a couple of sorts. If this were the old world, he might even call her his girlfriend. But they weren't having sex. It wasn't like he wasn't attracted to her, because he definitely was. He was often grateful for the cold showers available to them every morning. He just didn't know how to instigate that kind of intimacy. It just seemed so stupid and trivial to get down and dirty with someone who was so graceful and delicate, in times where they could die at any moment.

Sometimes, in his weaker moments, he wondered if it was a case of she didn't find him attractive. He was uneducated, a redneck. He wasn't ashamed of it anymore, it's what kept them alive all this time, but he wondered if he was getting ideas above his station. She told him she used to be a kindergarten teacher, before she married that lazy ass husband and she used to do ballet, before she got pregnant. Ballet! Seriously, he never even heard of people doing that before her. One day, when he was teaching her how to build a good fire, she confessed that before the Walkers came, she'd never been camping. What kind of person never went camping? Even as a kid? She was definitely from a different world to him, she probably thought guys like him existed only in horror movies or something.

But when he shook himself from those weaker moments, he knew she felt the same way back. He couldn't seem to stop touching her. Every opportunity to run his fingers across her shoulders as he walked past her as she prepared dinner or scrubbed clothes. Every night round the camp fire, he'd sit as close to her as she could, hand thrown around her waist. He didn't even care if he was being obvious about it anymore. And everytime he did touch her, she'd look up at him and smile, like she fucking adored him. He didn't think a person could make someone feel so good without it being sexual.

This woman was everything. This woman made him realise what he was surviving for.