A/N:

WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH! I can't believe this moment is finally here, and now that it is I'm absolutely freaking out!

Before we get into it, I just want to take a moment to thank two very special ladies, without whom none of this would exist. Emily and Alli, you two are my absolute faves! I know we fight sometimes (Em) but it's all for the cause and thanks to you I have what I reckon might turn out to be my best thing ever. You two have helped me so much you have absolutely no idea, sitting through pain in the arse edits and rewrites and screaming even when you both had your own shit to do so from the bottom of my heart I thank you! I must insist dear readers if you have found this page, please go check out the amazing works of kaoscraze and allidon - they will honest to God blow your frillies clean off. Also hayooge thanks to Em for my cover photo ya wee babe!

Anyway this story came to me while I was scrubbing pots and listening to tunes (as you do) and I kid you not, one lyric of a song stuck in my head and I suddenly had this picture that wouldn't go away. The idea was one I hadn't heard before and I've been paranoid since I started writing this that some bugger that was better or quicker at typing than me would beat me to it. I have SLAVED over this story, it's taken over my life and delayed me on other things that should really be taking priority. That's how much I want you to love this story. The shape and plot of this story have changed so many times it's agonising. I won't spoil it, I want you to discover the journey between these two on your own. It is an AU but you smart cookies would have realised that. There are also flashbacks for a bit too, they're pretty self evident too. Sooooo… my dears, I hope you're ready for this, because I've been ready for MONTHS! It's not even finished yet (risky business for me considering I change things on a whim!) but for now, feast thine peepers on a tale of angst, love, friendship and the belief that no matter what life throws at you, some things never die.

I give you Embers.

Disclaimer: TWD and its characters do not belong to me in any way whatsoever, but FEELINGS DO!.

Chapter 1

"Okay my turn," she said, sucking the spoon clean and thinking hard. "Cat or dog?"
"Cat, every single time," he replied without missing a beat.
"Oh yeah right, since when were you a cat person?"
"Since forever!"
"Pfft! You've never petted a pussy in your life."

They exchanged an immature look and erupted into fits of laughter.

"What the hell?!" he finally caught a breath, sending her rolling backwards with a playful shove. "Thought you were 'sposed to be a good Christian girl?"
"Oh God," she giggled, sitting up and trying to compose herself. "Right, you're up… and give me a hard one this time!"
"Haha! Betcha say that to all the guys!" He laughed.
"Only the cute ones…" she teased.
"Pfft, yeah right." He shook his head and tried to hide a shy smile.
"Are you blushing?" She put down the tub of ice cream. "Oh my God Daryl that is so cute!"
"Stop. Look are we playin' this damn game or not?"
"Oh hell no, I have a better game. Let's See What Makes Daryl Go The Reddest!"
"Aw hell woman, ain't ya got no one else ya can pester?"
"You're so adorable you know. Look at your little red cheeks!"
"You're crazy, ya know that?"
"Only about you." she smiled.

He processed her last statement for a moment before looking up to meet her stare. The humour was gone from her face now; she was still smiling, but it wasn't the same teasing grin she'd just been bugging the hell out of him with. The faint glow in her own cheeks didn't go unnoticed, nor did the shy little smile pulling at the corners of her lips. Just as he was thinking of something to say to break the awkward silence, she let out a loud cackle.

"Dammit Carol! Ya try'na give me a heart attack?" he laughed nervously.
"Oh you're too damn easy to wind up Dixon," she tutted, shoving him with her foot.

He inwardly breathed a sigh of relief and felt the tension melt away as the usual jokey ease settled in between them once again. He fidgeted with the frayed knee of his pants, absently picking at the flap and letting it slap against his knee. His faraway expression didn't escape her notice.

"Okay spill," she probed, her eyes seeking his like missiles.
Daryl shot her a quick glance and returned his gaze to his ragged knee. "S'my old man. Fell off the wagon again. Hell I think this is the worst he's ever been."
"God Daryl, I knew something was bothering you. Why didn't you say anything?"
"Ain't your problem. Besides, nothin' ya can do."
"What you gonna do?" Carol eyed him with concern.
"Not much I can do," he looked up, "stay out of his way."
"You can stay here?" She suggested.
"I'm a big boy, can take care of myself." He managed a half smile.

He knew it was a half truth, but it would placate her for now. That was the last thing he needed, her worrying about him and inevitably getting involved. It did his heart some good to know she cared so much but it also filled him with dread. Daryl had enough to worry about without adding Carol's safety to the chaotic swirl in his head. She had never met his father, and never would if he had anything to do with it. She'd never been to his house; his life was so far removed from hers that he thought she'd take one look at the dungeon he called home and wouldn't think twice about sticking her nose in.

She had become his best friend since he had moved to Senoia two years ago and started at her school. He didn't know anybody and made a conscientious effort to keep his head down and not attract any attention to himself. He was a loner and always had been. When he walked he kept his eyes trained on the ground and his face was always hidden behind a mop of ragged dirty blond hair which was gradually turning darker. Daryl shielded himself from the world, hunching into himself like a hedgehog instinctively curls up into a ball. Carol had zoned in on him though. While everyone else barely noticed his existence, she attached herself to him and despite his initial protestation she wouldn't leave him the hell alone and he gave in to her persistence. In the beginning it was hard for him; he'd never really had what he'd call a friend. He would hang around by himself, finding what solace he could from the forest, away from people. Having someone there was new to Daryl, and it took a while for him to learn that it was alright to let someone in. He'd never have thought in a million years it would be a girl. Daryl didn't think he was much to look at so it came as a surprise that Carol Grant - arguably the most beautiful girl in his year - chose to adopt him as her best friend. It took a while for them to grow into the comfortable ease that they now shared, but there was still so much she didn't know about him. If he had anything to do, it was make damn sure that she never knew half of the horrors that he'd gone through, or still did. He wasn't sure if she had picked up on it, but he liked her. She was his best friend, but as she blossomed into womanhood, he was beginning to see just what she was to him. It was more than just friendship, but he knew she'd never see him that way and as much as it hurt him to admit, he would just have to accept it. He'd rather have her as a friend than not at all.

"Carol! Honey it's getting late, come on in now."
Carol rolled her eyes at her mother's voice ringing up from below. "Okay Mom, be right down."
"Hi Daryl!"
"Hey Mrs G," he called down.
"You staying for supper?"
"Umm, no thanks, I really should get back."
"Okay, one night soon then. Goodnight!"

The click of the back door followed by the dog's muffled barking indicated they were alone again. Carol looked at him with disappointed eyes and stood up to see him off.

"You could stay for a little while?" she asked hopefully.
"Nah, better get back and check he's okay." Daryl eyed her curiously. "Y'alright?"
Carol nodded and produced a weak smile. "Fine. Just wish you could stay."

Daryl gave her a half smile in agreement and made his way to the ladder. As he swung his leg onto the top rung and looked up at her one last time he was smothered by a soft cloud of auburn curls as she leaned down and caught him with a peck on the cheek that nearly sent him sprawling to the ground in surprise.

"What was that for?" he gulped, his face and ears filling hotly with colour.
"Kiss for luck," she said quietly, her smile tinged with sadness.
"Pfft, stop. See ya tomorrow."

Carol watched him descend and jump the fence at the side of her garden. He looked up and nodded goodbye at her and disappeared behind the house.

What the hell had just happened? The burn of his ears and cheeks told him it was more than a kiss for luck. He could have used the luck for sure, but for now the feeling that unravelled in his stomach from the tingle on his cheek where her lips had just been… he would take it. Daryl headed for home, knowing that whatever mood the beast was in, it couldn't stomp out the feelings that were stirring in his chest.

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxooxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxox

This summer was allegedly the hottest ever. So far the weathermen had it spot on and he hated those smartasses. Leather wasn't a practical choice for a day like this; it was stuck to his arms and chafing him like hell but he knew taking it off would have him burnt to a crisp before the afternoon was out. The hour he'd already spent welded to his motorcycle had been a pain in the ass, and he thanked the Lord he was almost there. The machine was scorching to the touch and he'd uttered more than a few colourful words along the road as his leg had ridden a little too close and the metal had seared him through the holes in his knees. He hated wearing a helmet, and in the humidity it had become close to intolerable. His head itched with the heat and sweat, and he just couldn't wait any longer.

The bike puttered to a halt as he stopped at the corner house he'd been looking for and kicked the stand out. He ripped his helmet off and threw it on the grass in frustration. The air hit his sweltered face in a welcome wave and he sucked in a deep lungful of it. He closed his eyes and sniffed the air, the familiar smell of home filling his nose, and let out a sigh of relief that for a while he could rest.

His eyes opened and he turned his gaze on the house. It looked abandoned; the garden was wildly overgrown, and the windows were bare and dirty. It was a sorry sight to behold, and he felt a pang of guilt as he surveyed the scene. Memories flooded back from the day he'd left town, eyes burning as he followed his old man and Merle, not wanting to leave but having no choice. He'd have given anything to tell them to shove it, but he was a coward, and rather than stand up for himself he did what came easiest and bailed out. His stomach tied itself in knots, wishing he could go back and rewrite time. He'd been a stupid kid; if he could've met his younger self he'd have kicked some sense into him. Hell, what did it matter? It was a hundred years ago. He snorted at his own pathetic attempts at remorse and got off to grab his helmet. Then a thought glinted in his head and he wondered for a moment.

Making his way around the side of the house through the overgrown footpath, he came to the start of the fence he'd jumped over so many times as a teenager and looked up. It was still there. It had seen better days, granted, but the treehouse was perched up in the boughs of the big old tree in Carol's back garden, welcoming him back like an old friend. As soon as he saw it he felt like he'd come home. He stood behind the fence for a moment and just looked at the beat up wooden shack. He wanted to climb that rickety old ladder with the wobbly slats and find her sprawled on her belly reading with her chin in her palms. But he stood rooted to the spot, frozen in apprehension. If he went up there he would feel like an intruder, a betrayer. All of a sudden it didn't look so welcoming and he felt like the house had him gripped in a horrid glare, unwelcoming and unfriendly; it knew what he had done, and it didn't take kindly to the return of this faceless jerk, coming back like he had the right.

Snorting again but this time at how much of an ass he was being, he put his hand on the rail and vaulted over. The seared grass crunched under his boots as he sized up the house. Whether it welcomed him or not, he was going up.

The wood still held some weight, he would just need to be careful as he climbed the ladder. It had always been unsteady anyway, and if the worst came to the worst he could always get a foothold on the tree trunk. It held though, and as his head peered over the last rung he paused. Daryl really did feel like he was home now. The ridiculous possessed treehouse notion fizzled away and he hauled himself into the small cabin. It was definitely a tighter squeeze than he remembered, but then he had been a scrawny young pup. The years had seen him fill out considerably and his ridiculous choice of clothing on the hottest day of the year was making movement frustrating and harder than it should have been. He'd finally had enough. Angrily he freed his arms from the sticky leather and hurled the jacket at the side of the house. The relief was immense; his skin breathed as his sleeveless shirt clung to his drenched back. The comparative coolness of the air inside the little cabin was bliss, like a clear pool in the parched desert.

With his restrictive leather gone he could finally breathe and take in his surroundings. The same woody smell filled his nose, the same sights greeted him, and the floorboards creaked under his weight in greeting. Carol's pile of battered magazines were still strewn in the corner, like she'd just got up to go to the bathroom and would be back any minute. A leak in the roof had glued pages to the floor and the rest were curling at the edges with the humidity. Most of the text and pictures were an indecipherable blur punctuated with the odd wash of yellowed colour. He smirked at the mess; she'd never been the tidiest of girls. Somehow he found comfort in the disarray of pages stuck to the floor where she'd left them. It was like she was still here. Magazines aside, he could feel her presence, like her spirit was woven into the grain of the wood. A thousand memories lived within these four walls, each one playing in his mind like a cinema reel.

He sat down next to the scattering of water buckled pages, running his hand over them and picking lazily at the edges. A dark bundle in the corner caught his attention and he stared at it for a moment, recognition suddenly igniting in his eyes. He leaned over and grabbed it, pulling himself up again and examining the garment in his lap. His sweater.

It was damp and he was sure he had seen a huge motherfucker of a spider scurry under the floorboards when he moved it. Seeing it, holding it in his hands again rattled his emotions a little. She loved this sweater. He'd given her it to wear one day when she was cold and she'd never given it back. She wore it casually slobbing out up here on lazy days and sometimes she slept in it. Back then it had smelt of her and he would take sly sniffs when she wasn't wearing it. He brought it up to his nose and inhaled. He immediately reeled back at the bitter, damp stench. Of course it wasn't going to smell like her after fifteen years in a leaky wooden shack. Dumbass

He studied it in his hands and his thoughts drifted to Carol. The magazines spread over the floor didn't bother him; part of the reason he'd loved spending time with her was she didn't stand on ceremony for visitors and the world took her as they found her, which was usually sprawled out in a sea of magazines and sweet wrappers. The mess was comforting and familiar. What niggled away at him was the sweater, her favourite claimed item of his, lying abandoned and forgotten in the corner. She loved that sweater, and it had been something that connected them. He would see her wearing it and feel content, knowing that it was something of his that she wrapped herself in and even if he wasn't there in person she would still have a part of him to snuggle up to. Seeing it festering in the corner made his gut ache and he knew that it was his fault.

His mind wandered to wherever she might be now. A stab of jealousy ripped through him as he considered the very real possibility that she was happily married with kids and a big old family home in the country with a dog. He couldn't process the thought, and yet he felt it truthfully in his heart. It was unrealistic and selfish of him to expect her to put her life on hold after him but he wanted it so badly to be true. She was his Carol, and the thought of another man calling her his and her being happy about it left a bad taste in his mouth. Anger bubbled below the surface. Angry at her. Angry at himself, his old man, Merle.

With his arms locked around his knees he bowed his head and stared at the floor, the light dancing through the gap in the roof making shapes on the mottled wood. Coming up here was like a damn time capsule. He'd had some dumb ideas in his life but this had to be up there with the dumbest. He hadn't known what he was hoping to achieve by this little wander down memory lane, but it wasn't this. His stomach swirled with anger and hurt and resentment. All he'd felt when he'd coasted back into town was a warm, familiar nostalgia of somewhere he'd called home for a while and almost instantly he was drawn to her old home. Now in place of rosy nostalgia he felt bitter and guilty and sick.

He lobbed the sweater back into the corner and huffed an irritated sigh. What was the point of all this? Not a damn thing. Hoping and praying and wishing never did him any good in the past. This wasn't him, this wasn't his life anymore. The past was gone… she was gone. It hurt to accept, but the fact remained and he would just have to get over it.

He grunted to his feet and grabbed his jacket from the crumpled heap on the floor and headed for the ladder, desperate to get out of there, away from the feelings choking him.

With a last look at the abandoned sweater and pile of aged magazines, he climbed out into the humidity again and left his ghosts in the treehouse.