I have absolutely no idea where this came from and it's a little strange, but it seemed like a good idea at the time. It takes place after the hard winter on the run is over, shortly before they claim the prison.
Disclaimer: The Walking Dead and all related characters do not belong to me. I'm just bringing them out for a visit.
It was the freckles that did him in.
He first noticed them as a link between mother and daughter. Daryl hadn't paid much attention to either of them before, but one day as he was sharpening his hunting knife at their quarry camp, Carol and Sophia came by to ask if he or Merle had any clothes they wanted washed. He didn't really remember the conversation, but he remembered thinking they had matching freckles – just a dusting across the nose.
After that, Carol's freckles drew his eye. Not all the time or even every day, but once in a while they would catch his attention. Sometimes it was the ones on her collarbones as she leaned over to fill a plate for him. Other times, it would be the back of her neck when she bent to do some mending. In warm weather, it was the sprinkle on her shoulders that drew him in. They were irresistible. Sometimes the urge to touch her speckled skin was almost overwhelming – despite the pattern marking her complexion, he knew she would feel smooth as silk under his fingers.
Her freckles were more pronounced in the summer – at the quarry, on the farm, and for a while after that. They faded as fall came to an end but didn't disappear completely. He never stopped noticing them, even in the deepest winter when the sun was scarce. Springtime made it easier as the little specks grew again in strength and number with the lengthening days.
It seemed fitting to him that she would be marked by the sun. Before, she was subdued, beaten down by life. But like sunshine bursting through the clouds, these days she was bright and warm, and her presence always made people smile. A world with no sun would be barren and black - desolate.
After a long, difficult stretch on the move, they had finally found a place to rest for a few days. The house gave them a chance to recover, both physically and mentally. Being able to cook food, wash their clothes, and bathe without fear was a relief. The house wasn't huge, but they were able to spread out a bit and have a little space, though privacy and modesty had gone out the door long ago. After so much time on the road, they no longer worried about whether they smelled or if someone was looking when they changed their pants. Things that might have been embarrassing in the old world were simply ignored now – backs were turned and eyes averted politely, and that worked well enough.
Daryl had returned from his hunt a few minutes ago and stepped from the mud porch through the kitchen into the sun room where their clean laundry was stacked. But he found Carol already there changing clothes. Her back was to him, bare from the waist up. The sun streaming in the wide windows silhouetted her where she stood half in the light. A glowing halo edged her hair and one shoulder where the sun touched.
She started when she heard the door, pulling the shirt in her arms tight to her chest and turning quickly, keeping her back to the door. When she saw it was him, she moved as though to finish putting on the shirt in her hands, but he stopped her with a word.
"Wait."
The glimpses he usually got of her freckles were flashes at necklines or shoulders peeking out of tank tops. He'd never seen her skin on display this way before - her body exposed, lines unbroken by sleeves or hems. The urge to touch her was finally too strong for him to resist. Approaching her carefully, he traced one finger over the curve of her shoulder and down her arm until it reached the fabric of the shirt she held. She pulled in a shaky breath as she watched his finger move.
"What are you doing?" Her voice reflected the confusion in her face, but there was something more there, too.
He let the rest of his fingers join the other and drift back up her arm. His fingertips made circles at the point of her shoulder. Her skin was just as soft as he expected and warm from the sunlight streaming in.
"Lookin' at your freckles," he said softly as he let his palm cup her shoulder. "That OK?"
She swallowed hard, her tongue flicking out to wet her lip before nodding.
They were scattered all across her shoulders and up the back of her neck. They were darkest where her skin was most often exposed to the sun, and like a tan, gradually faded where sleeves and collars covered. That blending was fascinating – so many individual spots of color making a smooth change from dark to light.
Leaving his hand on her shoulder, he slid the other up the back of her neck to bare her hairline there. She shivered at the unexpected touch. The freckles climbed up the back of her neck, but faded out underneath the fringe of lengthening curls. He smoothed her hair back down then moved on to her ear, tracing his fingers around its delicate curves, then letting his palm settle at the side of her neck. He could feel the rapid beat of her heart and the tremor in her breath. She had no freckles on her ear at all.
He kept his face close as he examined her skin. She was beautiful in the light, pale and fragile and painted by the sun. Breathing in, he thought she even smelled warm and clean like sunshine. Liking the thrum of her pulse against his fingers, he left that hand at her neck. Leaning back a bit, he slid the other palm down the flat of her back, letting his thumb follow the line of her spine until his hand rested at her waistband. There were scars over her back, but most of the skin there was so fair it was nearly translucent. He had to look closely to see where the freckles would bloom if she let the sun kiss her there.
"Sun kisses," he said, without thinking.
A short smile touched her lips as she watched him from the corner of her eye. "That's what my mother used to call them. I didn't like having freckles when I was young, and she was trying to make me feel better about them."
He bent his head and pressed a soft kiss to the skin of her shoulder, where they were most liberally sprinkled. "I like them."
As he stepped away, she turned toward him, arms still tangled in the shirt clutched to her chest, body still haloed by the sunlight. He pulled in a deep breath before turning to leave.
Yes. It was definitely the freckles.