Disclaimer: I own nothing from The Walking Dead.
Author's Note: This is inspired by a conversation I saw on Tumblr.
All We Have
Chapter 1
Daryl's head swam and his gut tightened as he tore down the leaf-littered highway on his motorcycle, heart racing as he played Rick's words over and over again in his head. Carol had killed Karen and David. Carol could not be trusted around the rest of the group. The group would not want her.
The moment Rick had told him, Daryl had felt like the entire world had dropped out from under his feet. He couldn't expect Rick to understand. He couldn't expect anybody to understand, because it wasn't like he and Carol had made their relationship public. It had been new. It had been two friends scratching an itch. But, they'd both known it went deeper than that, and Daryl had been pondering just how deep that was on his way home from the veterinary school run. He'd made his decision, sitting there with that bead of Jasper between his fingers. He was going to tell her. He was going to take that leap, a leap no Dixon man ever dared to make unless they knew with absolute certainty that she was going to make that leap, too.
He'd come home wanting to find her, wanting to pull her into his arms and tell her he loved her. He'd come so close to saying it those nights in her cell or in his, when one of them would come to the other, and they'd say nothing, only strip down to nothing and forget about the world for a little while, bringing one another over the brink again and again.
But she was gone. Banished by Rick. And he wasn't certain what hurt more: that Rick had sent her away on his own accord or that she hadn't fought to come back, that she had let him leave her there. What had she been thinking?
Rick had yelled at him, had tried to convince him not to leave, to tell him that Carol wouldn't be welcome back at the prison if he brought her back. Daryl had swung at Rick, who'd quickly ducked away before charging and pinning Daryl to the prison wall. He'd already dealt with Tyreese, and the anger was still sizzling and popping under his skin. It hadn't been a surprise to Daryl that Rick would push him. It only proved to Daryl that Rick truly was losing his grip on reality.
He'd known about Karen and David. Well, he hadn't known in the sense that she'd told him or that he'd seen her do it, but the night it had happened, before anybody had known, she'd come to him, and she'd done something he hadn't seen her do since Sophia died. She'd broken down, and he'd held her, and they hadn't spoken. He'd just held her and stroked her hair and she'd clung to him. And when he'd woken the next morning, she was gone, and it was as if it had never happened, as if it had all been a dream. Until Tyreese had found the bodies.
There was no doubt in Daryl's mind why she'd done it. They were sick. Patrick had died and pretty much wiped out an entire cellblock. If one boy could do that, then what could two sick people do? There was already a chance that everybody could get sick or die, because pretty much everybody had been exposed to someone who had been exposed to Karen, David and Patrick.
All he knew was that he had to find her. She was out there alone, and while he didn't quite want to think about why she was out there and hadn't fought to come back, he just wanted to find her and make sure she was ok.
And there was the distinct possibility that he might never find her. He'd managed to at least get a hunch on where Rick had left Carol, considering there were only a handful of suburbs within a twenty-mile radius. The car had been dry when Rick had driven through the gates, which indicated he hadn't met any bad weather, and that narrowed out the direction a storm had passed from. So he'd got on his bike and headed off to find her, silently praying she'd be easy to find.
...
Carol leaned over the toilet, coughing, shoulders shaking as she spat into the bowl. Her eyes were watering, partly from crying, partly from throwing up, and as she pulled back and slid back on the floor to sit against the bathroom door, she sniffled, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.
She'd found out that morning. The morning Rick had invited her out on a run. She hadn't been too certain of what to say or how to say it, but she'd also known that she had to get out, and going on a run for supplies seemed like the best way to go about it. She could have used that information to convince Rick to take her back to the prison, but what had been the point? His mind was poisoned against her by his own self-righteousness. He'd stopped making decisions for the group, but he'd turned her away, because she'd put two dying people out of their misery. She didn't feel good about what she'd done. Far from it. But it had to be done. Something had to be done to ease Karen and David's suffering and to try to stop the spread through the prison. Of course, she hadn't succeeded. At least Karen and David's suffering was at an end.
They'd been careful. Very careful. It had started out as two people scratching an itch. No words needed. He'd come to her, or she'd come to him, and they wouldn't speak of it. When it was over, she'd slip away, or he'd slip away, and the next day, things were back to normal. Until night fell, until everyone was sleeping, and then they had their time.
But all the care in the world hadn't prevented this from happening. Maybe Rick's banishing her was for the best. Now she didn't have to see the pain in Daryl's eyes when she told him she was probably going to die, because she'd been stupid enough to let her hormones become more important than survival. She was pregnant, and she was considerably older than she'd been when she'd given birth to Sophia. She hadn't wanted more children. Not even when Sophia was born. Sophia was her little girl, and she'd thought it would be cruel to bring another life into that volatile home.
She'd gotten pregnant when Sophia was seven, but she'd lost that baby. And then again when Sophia was ten. She'd lost that baby, too. Always early on, so there was, at least, the possibility that this pregnancy wouldn't take. But in this moment, all the uncertainties and possibilities did nothing to stem her fears.
She took a few deep breaths, closing her eyes and leaning back against the door. It was an impossible decision. She could just stick her gun in her mouth right now, pull the trigger and save herself from nine months of worry and dread. But she'd never been one to take the easy way out. And as long as she had breath in her body, she could fight.
She' d contemplated ending it all when Sophia died. She'd considered it, really, but she'd pulled through it, and somehow, now, opting out felt like it would cheapen every raw emotion she'd felt since Sophia's death. No. Suicide wasn't an option. If it ever was for her, it would have been long before.
Abortion. Those little pills that Lori had confided in her about, the ones she'd thrown up. Those might work. Or they might not. They might make her sick. Might kill her. If ending the pregnancy didn't kill her, the birth sure as hell might.
She had a choice to make. Take the pills, risk losing the baby but not passing all of the tissue, risk sepsis and death. She'd miscarried twice. She knew the risks of an incomplete miscarriage. Or there was acceptance. Accept that she was pregnant, live with it, and hope to God she didn't die giving birth.
It was grim all the way around. Say she did survive. Say the baby survived. What kind of life would they have alone on the road, never staying put for too long, running from walkers until they ran out of gas, until the walkers were too many, too strong, too much?
It was stupid. Selfish. And Daryl. God. To think of him made her chest ache. Made her long for his arms around her, his chin resting atop her head as she nestled into him.
She quickly bit back the sob that threatened to escape. Standing on shaky legs, she left the bathroom, wiping at her eyes, telling herself that it didn't matter, that it was time to move on, that she had to do this on her own.
She slung her pack over her shoulder, moving out into the kitchen area of the women's shelter. She'd been there so many times before. It had been her safe haven, but it hadn't been enough. She hadn't been strong enough then. Ed had called her weak, and she'd believed him, believed that her cards had been dealt, that Ed was it, and as bad as it was, it was all there was.
She'd hated herself. Every time she'd gone back, every time she'd come home with a shaking Sophia to find Ed waiting, belt in his hand, waiting to send Sophia to her room and punish Carol for daring to stay gone for so damned long.
She flinched, running her hand over her elbow, remembering the way he'd dislocated it that last time.
She shook her head, swallowing back the bile she tasted in her throat. No, it wasn't the time to let memories come in. She had to find food. She needed water. She needed to get back out to her car and keep going, putting as much distance between herself and the life she had to leave behind in the dust.
She moved through the kitchen, picking through the meager leftovers that hadn't been picked through already. Beans. Canned veggies. Canned meat that she'd never cared for but sounded better than nothing.
She left the kitchen, crossing over to the back door she'd come through the night before. It had been stupid, going to Atlanta. It had been reckless and stupid. But it had been the only place she'd known to go, and now that she was there, she felt, suddenly, alone and vulnerable.
She hoisted her bag over her shoulder, slowly opening the door, peeking out for any trace of the walkers that had followed her the night before. Finding the path clear, she took one last look over her shoulders, memories of Sophia crying, begging her not to go back home echoing through her head. She squeezed her eyes closed, willing the thoughts away, knowing that all of the wishing and praying in the world would never change the fact that she'd gone back to him, taken her daughter back to that house, back to that man, back to a life of living in fear of making too much noise or even speaking.
She'd always wanted to be a good mother, she couldn't protect her daughter. She couldn't save her. And here she was again, pregnant, facing a very short, painful life for both herself and this child, and all she could think was that maybe it was supposed to be this way. Maybe this was her burden to bear. Maybe this was her punishment for not being good enough, for not being a better mother. Maybe she was supposed to suffer. Maybe, in the end, she would understand the woman she once was, this stranger in her memories, so different from what she was now. Maybe someday she would understand why she wasn't strong then. She could be strong now. She had to be.