I wrote this at the request of SexyRickGrimes, who was trying to help me overcome my complete void of inspiration and threw about six different ideas at me at once. I took three or four of them and rolled with it, and this is what was born of it.
I'm absolutely terrified to publish this story. I know many of you will hate it, and I'm sorry for that, but I hope some of you will enjoy it as well, even though this short story represents some of the darkest material I've written to date. So for better or worse, here it is.
Carol was cryin'.
She had her back turned an' she was tryin' valiantly to keep them tears to herself, but he could tell. He stared somberly at her; he hated seeing her crying' again. Too emotional, that one. Weren't cut out for this world, no matter how much she'd stepped up. She'd cried over T-Dog an' Dale. Hell, she'd even cried for Andrea an' they hadn't even known if she was dead or not. She'd cried a lot when the girl went missin', more when they'd discovered her in Hershel's barn with all them other walkers. That'd ripped at him too, especially after all that time he'd put in tryin ta find her. He figured she'd probably spent enough time cryin' when her husband was alive too, cuz she sure hadn't shed too many tears when he died. He s'posed she was probably justified- that asshole had treated her, and the kid, like shit. Not that he'd paid that much attention at the time. But he noticed.
He remembered his own mama, just tryin' to make it through the day without cryin'- at least, before she'd given up on him. On them. He hadn't understood then- he'd been too young to know any more 'an Mama was gone, an' Merle an' Daddy yelled at each other an' knocked each other around a lot. There was times he thought they was fit to kill each other. There was times, he thought, that he might not a' minded so much if they did. He'd figured out pretty quick that Daddy wasn't no picnic, and there was a reason Mama'd always been cryin'. He couldn't even hold it against her she'd taken off. He'd just wished she'd taken him with her. He hadn't known then what years of abuse can do to a person, how it changed 'em. How it shaped 'em.
He'd seen that in Carol straight away even though he took care not ta get close ta anybody at camp. He could tell her husband beat on her, even though he'd never seen the marks. It was etched on the lines of her face, always tryin' ta be stoic for the little girl. It was there in the set of her shoulders, the way she slumped her back- as if she was instinctively tryin' to make herself as small as possible. Smaller target is harder ta hit- ya learned that pretty quick. And besides, the bastard'd never bothered to make nice in front a' the rest a' the group anyways. They all knew, though no one ever talked about it- he could see it in their faces, the way they acted extra nice when Shithead wasn't around, but wouldn't meet her gaze when he was. Seemed pretty shitty back then that she had ta continue ta die on the inside even as this fucked up world they was forced to live in was tryin ta kill 'em all on the outside. And the kid, well, Daryl felt bad for her. Never had a chance at a functional life. Least he'd been able ta leave when he was old enough, live life his way. Privately he thought what had happened to her had been...not a blessing, but maybe...not so bad after all. She'd been even less prepared to deal with this existence than Carol.
Carol turned around then, swipin' a hand under her eye but not before Daryl caught her doin' it.
"Does it hurt... badly?" she asked quietly, breaking the silence in the cell. He could hear the low tone of Rick's voice down in the lower level, probably telling everybody what was what.
He tried to ease hisself into an upright position, rather than half-laying, half-sitting. He hissed and winced reflexively, before gritting his teeth and lifting his weight up.
"Don't feel good, thas' fer damn sure," he bit off a little more abruptly than he meant ta. Apparently, facing your own mortality made ya a bit tetchy. She shuddered a bit and went pale when she saw all the blood soaked into the side of his shirt, saw it staining the dirty mattress. She instinctively reached for the first cloth item she could see which was a rumpled up bedsheet on the floor, concern all over her face.
"Daryl, you have to let me try to stop the-"
"Whas' the point?" he interrupted bluntly. "We both know how this ends," he said levelly, looking her in the eye.
At his bald statement she crumpled, sitting heavily on the cot next to him and crying into the filthy blanket.
Every quiet sob wrenched his gut a little bit more until finally, bracing himself against the pain in his side, he slid closer and put an arm tentatively around her shoulder. She responded immediately, crying harder and burrowing her head into the crook of his shoulder as one hand came to rest on his chest. He stiffened instinctively, hating it even as he did it. He'd been pushing people away for so long, he couldn't help it.
Slowly, gingerly, he lowered his head a fraction and nudged hers with his cheek.
Her short hair tickled a bit; he closed his eyes, slightly overcome by the smell of her, the heat of her. He felt a tightness in his chest an' a burning in his eyes as he sat there an' let her cry. Let her mourn.
She cried like that for a few more minutes an' he just held her, helplessness- a feeling completely foreign to him- threatening to overwhelm him. He remembered how she'd felt the last time she'd cried in his arms. It'd been hard then. This was worse,
When her sobs came fewer an' farther between, punctuated by soft whimpering sounds, he laid his free hand on her cheek, willing her to look up at him. She tensed, as if the contact had broken her out of a trance an' her watery, bloodshot blue eyes met his stony ones.
He didn't speak right away, just held her gaze.
Finally, "Hush up, now," he said gruffly, the way he knew he spoke when he was embarrassed. "I'm not worth all yer cryin'." He was chewing nervously on his bottom lip an' his jaw was so tense it ached, almost like he was waitin' for her to agree or contradict him, or even say anythin'.
His statement put fresh tears in her eyes an' he realized he was holdin' his breath. She ducked into his shoulder again, wipin' at her face as she did.
"We need you, Daryl," she said, clutching him as tight as she thought he would allow, hoping, praying she could somehow prevent this just by holding on.
He exhaled heavily, feelings of loss an' regret washing over him even as he rationalized 'em away. Told himself this was just the way things was an' there was no use tryin' to fight it. Still, didn't mean he had ta like it. Things mighta' been kinda shitty in the last few years, but hell, his life'd always been. At least now he had a couple people around who cared whether he lived or died.
"Ain't nothing I can do that's gonna fix this, Carol. You're strong, I know ya are. Ya'll'l be jus' fine."
"You don't understand," she said as she looked up at him, her face all swollen from crying. "I need you. I don't want to live in this world without you," she whispered brokenly. "I love you."
All at once it felt like the air had been sucked out of the room an' there was an elephant standing on his goddamn chest. An' he looked at her, lookin' at him, an' all he could think of was that he was lettin' her down like always. Like he had with Sophia. Like he had when he'd decided to go with Merle instead of going back to the prison. An' now here he was, dyin' on her. Wasn't fair that it took a fuckin' zombie apocalypse to find a woman worth dyin' for. Wasn't right. He closed his eyes against the overwhelming feeling of it all.
After taking a steadying breath, he opened them again ta find her looking down, toward the floor almost as if in a trance. The cryin' had all but stopped. She musta sensed him lookin' at her cuz she glanced up, real slow though, like she was afraid to make eye contact. Women. Hell. They tell ya somethin' like that, then they're afraid to look at ya. He'd never understand 'em.
His side didn't hurt so much anymore. He could feel his blood coursin' through his veins, throbbin' almost, especially where he was touchin' Carol. He was startin' ta feel a little lightheaded, probably from blood loss. He knew he wasn't gonna get another chance with her, so he had ta make this one count. Hell, he didn't know how ta woo no woman an' he sure as hell didn't know how ta say them words back.
Frustrated, he brought his free hand up ta her jaw an' gently turned her face up, forcing her ta look at him. He lowered his forehead until it touched hers an' they were eye ta eye. He could see a few more tears leak out. Her lip was trembling.
He expelled a short sigh.
"I'm sorry ta have ta leave ya, woman. Ya know this is isn't what I wanted," he said. "An' I'm sorry I couldn't find Sophia for ya."
"No, Daryl, no," Carol moaned. "It can't be like this-"
"It is like this," he interrupted. "Now, listen."
That brought a torrent of fresh tears to her eyes. It sounded like he was saying goodbye. Panic rose in her chest.
"Take care of Little Asskicker for me. She's gonna need ya, Just remember that. Can you do that for me?"
She nodded reactively, not really even comprehending what he was saying. He used his thumb ta wipe some of the tears away from her eyes an' slowly brought his lips down ta meet hers in a soft, perfect kiss. She closed her eyes and brought one hand up to his head, even as she openly sobbed now.
He ended it far too soon for her liking and drew back, a more serious look on his face than she had ever seen before, almost beseeching. And she knew, though she would never hear the words from his lips, that she was finally, truly loved.
They sat there for a while longer, holding one another in silence, until finally, with an effort, Daryl pulled himself up. He stumbled slightly, extremely dizzy now. She jumped up behind him, steadying him, and willing herself not to throw up.
He walked toward the doorway of the cell and she made to follow him, but he motioned for her to stay.
"Can you do that for me?" he asked again, his voice gravelly.
She nodded mutely, afraid that if she started to cry again she'd never be able to let him go. He nodded in return, in that terse way of his, and walked out of the door and out of her life.
She heard him make his way down the stairs and exchange words with Rick and a few of the others. Other than that, all was silent below; not even the baby made a sound. No one had any words to say. There was the slamming of the cell block door and more silence. And then a single gunshot, echoing throughout the prison.
So if you've made it this far, THANK YOU. I sincerely hope it is not your wish to kill ME.
There is obvious story development left out; I was so overcome with the need to free this mess from my mind that I opted to gloss over it rather than try to come up with something and drag it out over weeks of writing and editing. Trust me, just the few evenings I've spent with this story have shredded me and left feeling wrung out. I don't currently have any plans to add to this, but never say never, I suppose.
I hope you'll see fit to leave a review. Frankly, I'm a little bit scared to wake up tomorrow morning and check my email- I mean, I fucking killed Daryl Dixon. But I do love hearing from my readers, so feel free. I'm sure I deserve whatever I have coming. Now I know how Glen Mazzara felt over Christmas.