Disclaimer: I own absolutely nothing from The Walking Dead. The characters belong solely to the creators of the amazing show and comic books

See the Rain with You

One

She stood at the end of the bridge, bag in one hand, crinkled map in the other. Her short, dark auburn locks swept down into her flushed face as the wind took a turn. She cursed under her breath, held the map between her lips and unceremoniously swept her hand over her hair, pushing back the strands and maneuvering her sunglasses—clipped expertly in the cleavage of her shirt—upon her face and up the bridge of her nose.

Her rosy lips parted as she let out a sigh. She looked up at the sky again. Storm clouds were rolling in, and she'd hoped to have been halfway across the state already. Instead, here she stood, and she could already hear her daddy's voice in the back of her head. "Come on home now, Carol Ann. Things'll be better in the morning." But her daddy was long dead, and his voice was just a smoke-and-whisky memory.

She heard the rattle of the engine before she saw the old truck turn the corner. Thunder rumbled in the distance, and she gave a quick glance over her shoulder as she tucked her map into her back pocket. She could smell hot motor oil as the engine rattled under the hood, and she couldn't help but smirk when she saw who was behind the wheel.

"Carol Mason?"

"I used to be," she chuckled, stepping up to the rolled down passenger window. "Daryl Dixon."

"Yeah. That's still me," she said with a chuckle and a shy bob of his head. Some things never changed. "You need a ride?"

"You go around offering rides to strangers out of habit?" she asked, slipping her sunglasses down so her piercing blue eyes could pierce his through the smoky haze of the cab. "It's been four years since high school. I could be an ax murderer or something."

"Well, are ya?" he asked, reaching over to unlock the door. She grinned a little and shook her head.

"No," she smirked. She took a peek into the back of the truck to find a couple of dusty duffel bags and a crossbow. "You rob a bank or something?"

"Nope. Getting the hell out of this place."

"Sounds good," she said with a little nod, reaching for the door handle. Then Daryl slammed down on the lock again. "Hey!"

"You sure you wanna get in a truck with a stranger? Four years is a long time. I could be an ax murderer now."

"Are you?" she asked, smirking as she pushed her sunglasses back up her nose. "Nope," he chuckled.

"Then I'll take my chances," she replied with a shrug. Daryl unlocked the door again, and Carol tossed her bag into the back with his things.

"How far you wanna go?"

"I don't think anywhere is far enough from here," she replied, slipping her seatbelt on and toeing off her boots to rest near her feet.

"So who are you now?" Daryl asked, peeking over at the crimson-haired beauty he couldn't believe he'd had the good fortune to set his sights upon again.

"Hmm?"

"You said Carol Mason's who you used to be. Who are you these days?"

"Peletier," she said with a wince.

"Peletier? Sounds fancy."

"Stop," Carol snorted. "Ed Peletier is far from fancy. When I met him, I thought he was the moon and stars. Boy was I stupid." She rolled her eyes.

"So you're married?"

"Happily divorced."

"Damn shame," he said with a shake of his head.

"What? Twenty-two's too young to be divorced, I know. But if you'd put up with what I had to put up with…"

"Ain't what I meant," he said with a shrug.

"What'd you mean?" she asked, watching the pink fill his cheeks as he tightened his grip on the steering wheel and pressed down a little harder on the gas.

"Didn't mean nothin'," he replied, lips twitching as he fought back a shy grin. Though what he really wanted to say, if he could have found his balls and ignored the painful ache in his chest was that it was a damned shame that someone could let someone as lovely as Carol Mason get away. Whoever this Ed Peletier was, he surely didn't know heaven when he saw it, because a man could get lost looking on those baby blues.

Instead, Daryl reached for the pocket on his ripped, sleeveless button-up shirt, and he pulled a cigarette from the soft package to his lips. He lit up and took a long, slow pull. When he settled back against the seat, he turned briefly to see her staring.

"You smoke?" he asked, offering her a cigarette from the pack. She smiled cheekily and thought about saying no, but she couldn't resist the look of awe on his face when she reached and pulled the already lit cigarette from his lips and put it between her own.

"Thanks," she said, smirking, and she swore she saw him swallow a lump in his throat.