AN: So here it goes, I'm going to give my Caryl feels a chance to make themselves known.

I own nothing from The Walking Dead. The artwork for the cover was posted by melissamcreedus on Tumblr.

I hope you enjoy, I hope to do it justice.

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It was always when she was alone that she thought about him the most, when things were quiet and her mind was left to wander. When she was doing laundry, or doing dishes, or cooking food for everyone. Her eyes would follow after him involuntarily almost as he headed off to watch duty or off to do whatever task it was that Rick had designated for him.

Almost any time she found her thoughts wandering, she found them settling on him. She'd seen him struggling to fit in the group, struggling to find a place. At first she hadn't been sure of him, when Merle had come with him to the group, stumbling upon their camp.

She'd originally thought of him as just another rough redneck, like his brother. Another man, probably like Ed, that would turn violent as soon as the hand was in his favor.

But slowly he'd changed her mind about him. He'd been so determined in his search for her daughter, so quiet with her, coming to visit, offering her the comfort of the Cherokee Rose, and it had brought her some comfort, while it could.

He'd been the one to save her that night, when they'd fled the farm. She had been running through the field of Walkers, waiting at any moment to meet her violent end, seeing taillights leaving, leaving her behind to her fate, and then he'd appeared. Her knight in shining armor.

Carol had never imagined her knight in shining armor would be a rough spoken redneck on a motorcycle, but that's who it had been. She'd ridden behind him after that night, hugged against him, feeling the warmth of his skin, and it had become a sensory memory that stayed with her. The feeling of his rippling back muscles, pressed against her, his chest muscles hard under her arms. She'd snuggled into him, holding to him on the ride, smelling the scent of his sweat and soap and dirt in contrast to all the death around her. There was something nice about the smell, it had smelled like life, like she could smell the life leaking out of his pores. He was alive, and he'd kept her alive.

She felt like Daryl was a good man, even if he did have his faults. He'd only once been so angry with her that she'd braced herself for the impact of his fist on her face, but the impact had never come. He'd yelled, but he'd backed away just at the moment when she'd prepared herself.

She had a suspicion that he didn't hit her because he wasn't that kind of man. He was angry, not so much with her, but with the fact that Sophia had gone missing. He blamed her for it, and she blamed herself, so they had something in common.

They had other things in common too, though, and she knew it. She'd seen, though he'd tried to hide them, the scars that he wore on his back. Apparently he'd been an abused child, and she could understand what constant and unprovoked abuse could do to an individual. She'd never provoked Ed, at least not to her knowledge, but she'd known what it had been like to spend so many years in constant fear of the next assault, never knowing quite when to expect it.

Life with Ed had been a nightmare, a long, recurring nightmare. There had been so many nights that she'd pray she'd just wake up and it wouldn't be her life, but it had continued. Even now he haunted her dreams, his voice, the feeling of his hands on her, the fear that he inspired in her which seemed to feed him. She woke up sometimes, in her cell, crying out against him.

She had loved Ed, at least in the beginning, but she wasn't sure that he'd ever loved her. She thought he had, but they'd barely been married a month when she burned dinner, and he had slapped her, surprising her. She'd forgiven him for the act, thinking it was an impulse that had somehow gotten away from him, but then it had happened again, a few days later when he'd had a bad day at work, and then again when he'd burned his mouth on the coffee at breakfast.

The angriest he had been with her was when he'd found out that she'd been expecting Sophia. The beating then had been far beyond any of the ones that she'd suffered before, and had left her fearing that she wouldn't make it to the point of delivering the child that had caused him so much anger, and sadly, she remembered wondering if she wanted to deliver it, if she wanted to bring a child into that household.

Sophia had been her pride and joy, though, and she had cherished the little girl. Whenever she thought of her, her heart still clenched and she found it difficult to breath. She'd worked so hard to protect her during her life, to shield her from Ed and all of the harm he threatened to inflict upon her. With Ed's death she'd actually thought that there might be hope for some kind of life for Sophia, that she might be stronger than Carol had been, but then she'd failed her, and she'd lost her.

Daryl seemed like he could understand the abuse that she'd suffered, could be able to understand that she was as ashamed of her own scars as he was of his, both the ones that the naked eye could see and those that were hidden from view but no less present.

Unfortunately, part of the effect that the abuse had on Daryl was that he felt himself alone, an outsider to everyone else. Lately he'd found some acceptance in the group, received some praise by Rick, who was becoming ever more unstable with the threat of the Governor looming in the background, and had attempted to become more of what Rick wanted, but he still remained somewhat outside, untouchable.

She wanted to touch him.

Carol didn't dare to put into words what she felt about Daryl. She'd teased him a few times about the possibility of a sexual encounter in an effort to gauge his reaction. He had shrugged off her teasing, seeing it probably as nothing more. She'd tried not to take it to heart, not to consider it a rejection. Daryl probably didn't look at her as something sexual. She doubted if he had any real sexual knowledge of women. He was insecure about his body, and she assumed that insecurity would probably make him shy away from intimacy.

But his scars wouldn't bother her. She would gladly run her fingers delicately over the ripples. If she had the chance she'd kiss each and every one of them and tell him that she understood, that she could sympathize, and that his scars weren't repulsive to her.

She'd give anything to be that close to him, as close as she was when she was pressed against him on the motorcycle, but in her imaginings it would be so much more. She was a little ashamed that she had thought of him, alone in her cell at night, touching herself and imagining him touching her. She'd conjured in her mind his smell, the feeling of her fingertips running over his muscles. The feeling of his lips against her skin. Sometimes she got so involved in her own fantasies that she was afraid that she blushed the next morning over breakfast, seeing him sitting there, gratefully accepting his breakfast.

Daryl tried to make everyone think that he didn't need anyone, but Carol felt like that was just some sort of performance he enacted, something he'd come up with to protect himself. If people felt like he didn't need them, then they would stay away from him. If he could convince himself that he didn't need anyone, even better. For Daryl, not needing anyone meant that no one could let him down, no one could hurt him.

Carol would never hurt him, not on purpose, but she had no real way of getting any closer to him than she already was. He'd saved her life twice, once that night at the farm, and then again when she'd been lost with T-Dog. She'd waited in the cell, sure that death was coming close, and once again Daryl had come for her, scooping her up and carrying her back to the others, bringing her water and food, and keeping watch over her.

She wanted to repay him. She wanted to show him that his kindness, all of it, had not gone unnoticed, but the words of thanks that she uttered seemed so empty to her. They weren't what she wanted to say. She wanted to thank him differently, she wanted to thank him in a way that would be fulfilling to them both.

They could be good for each other, she saw that. She could understand him, perhaps in a way that no one else could. She'd be willing to tolerate everything that he was hiding from everyone, everything that she could see right below the surface. Insecurity she understood, and she was no stranger to fear. The anger that she had seen boiling in him, she'd also experienced. Even if he lashed out at her, she wouldn't hold it against him. He wouldn't lash out at her for entertainment, as Ed had done so many times, laughing at his ability to hurt her. At least if Daryl lashed out at her, she would know that it was something that he really needed, and to bring him that relief, that comfort, she would tolerate whatever he had to offer her.

But Carol didn't know how to make Daryl understand that she saw him as a very good friend, of course, but she saw him as so much more than that. She wanted to give him anything and everything that he could want in life, no matter the cost.

He had never shown any sexual interest in her, but she couldn't help but feel that maybe he'd at least thought about it. She'd caught him gazing at her, more than once, when he thought she wasn't paying attention. Still, Daryl would never be the kind to make a move. She doubted that he'd ever made a move on a woman. In fact, she wondered if he might still be a virgin. If he was, she could see that being yet another obstacle that would keep him from attempting any kind of relationship with her. He would be embarrassed by the fact, though she wouldn't hold it against him. She'd only been with Ed, and that had left her essentially an emotional virgin, since most of her sexual encounters with Ed had been anything but tender, and many had been anything but consensual.

Still, despite all her musings, Carol wasn't sure how to approach the rough spoken redneck as anything more than a friend. She was as inexperienced in these things as she was, even if her desire sometimes tried to convince her that she wasn't.

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Carol brought Daryl's laundry to him. He was lying on his bunk, absentmindedly turning an arrow over and over in his hand.

"I brought you your clothes," Carol said, holding out the few garments that he'd put in the pile to be washed.

He sat up and took them from her. "Thanks," he mumbled.

Carol paused a moment, watching him toss the clothes to the side and flop back onto the bed, one muscular arm under his head, the other continuing the toying with the arrow.

"Do you need anything?" Carol asked.

"No, I don't need nothin'," Daryl said.

She stayed a moment longer, looking at him, and then finally gathered up her basket to go and deliver clean clothes to everyone else that was waiting for them, not wanting him to notice that she lingered too long.

Carol did for everyone in the prison. She'd accepted the role as a matriarch to the group, slowly taking over laundry and cooking as her responsibilities. They'd been responsibilities that she'd shared with Lori, Andrea, and Amy in the beginning, but each of them were gone now, and though Beth was sometimes helpful with things and stepped up when one pair of hands just couldn't manage the work, Carol primarily worked on her own.

Then there was Judith. Rick fathered the little girl as much as he could, given the circumstances and given the fact that he was dealing with a lot of issues surrounding Lori's tragic death. Carol kept Judith's crib in her room, a crib that Rick, Carl, and Michonne had brought back for her from a trip back to Rick's home town. Most nights, though not every night, Rick would accept the little girl from Carol after she'd had a bottle and would spend some time rocking her, nuzzling her, and when she'd fallen asleep he would put her in her crib.

Sometimes he talked to Carol while he was doing this, other times he didn't. She'd learned not to push him. Even if she was in bed, quietly waiting for him to put the child down, she wouldn't speak to him unless he started the conversation.

She knew he had a lot on his mind, like everyone there, and she didn't want him to feel that he had to talk about it until he was ready to.

Regardless, however, of Rick's spurts of fathering, there still remained the fact that Judith needed more parenting than one brief interval before bed, and it had fallen mostly on her shoulders to provide that parenting. Others, from time to time, fed the girl when she requested a little assistance, but she had taken on the main part of the work. Beth had offered to help with the girl, and she did help a good bit, but Carol felt that Beth was too young to feel herself saddled with a child that wasn't hers. Carol had experience with babies, and she had practice with filling her nights with getting up with a baby.

It was Daryl, though, that Carol was most interested in doing for in the prison. She tried to do anything that she could for him, provide him with any extra kindness or effort that she could think to provide.

Daryl was always so grateful for things. Whatever she did, no matter how simple, he always seemed pleased with. When she chatted with him, which he allowed and even seemed to enjoy from time to time, she would offer him compliments on his abilities and on his judgment about situations. He always pretended to brush off her compliments, like they meant nothing to him, but she could tell that each one did.

His grateful nature touched her more than anything else. It was clear to her that he ached for kindness, for reassurance, for validation. She wanted to give him all those things, and so much more. She wished that he would trust her enough to tell her what he wanted, what he needed, what he ached to have. She'd give him any and everything she had to offer as a person, if only she felt there were any indication that he wanted anything more from her than what he already got, which was only slightly more than what she offered to even the new people that had come to the prison since the Governor's attack.

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Carol was getting ready for bed, Rick had already put Judith down and was retiring. Daryl sauntered past her cell, on his way to night watch, no doubt, and paused a minute outside her door.

"Do you need something, Daryl?" Carol asked.

"No," Daryl said after a moment. "I was just headin' out to watch," he finished.

"Have a good watch, then," Carol said.

"You goin' to sleep?" Daryl asked.

"I was getting ready to," she said, aware that it was dark enough in her cell that he couldn't see nearly as much of her as she could see of him in the hallway.

"Lil' Asskicker sleepin'?" He asked.

"Yes, Daryl, she's been down for at least half an hour," Carol said.

Daryl lingered there a moment longer, and then without saying anything he headed off in the direction of watch.

"Goodnight Daryl," Carol whispered, more to herself than to anyone else, sure that it wasn't loud enough for anyone to hear.

She sighed and pulled her blanket up, trying to sleep, hoping that her daydreaming about Daryl before she drifted off would ward off any unwelcome memories of Ed that might try to haunt her dreams.

One day she'd rake up enough courage to approach Daryl. One day she'd come to him like some kind of woman that she'd seen on television or read about in Harlequin novels. She'd summon all her courage and she'd let him know what she'd been thinking about, let him know that she'd been thinking about him, but she wasn't there yet. She hadn't found that person inside herself, if that person even existed.

Sometimes Carol thought about Daryl and tried to define her own feelings about him. On the one hand she knew that some of her feelings were physical. She longed to feel him next to her, to feel him touching her, but on the other hand she thought they might be deeper. She dared to think, at times, that the affections that she felt for him might be love, but she wasn't sure anymore if she could feel love. She thought she had loved Ed, but then she'd come to hate him. She knew she'd loved Sophia, but her heart felt shattered from the loss of her angel. Now she didn't quite know what to make of the feelings she had for Daryl. They felt like love sometimes, but she didn't quite know if she had the heart left to love.

It always made her think of something that she had read once. It had said that when someone loses a limb, they could still feel that limb. They could feel the aches, itches, or whatever that they would have felt if it was still there. The article had called it phantom limbs.

Sometimes that's what she thought it was when she felt like she loved Daryl. She thought that maybe she'd had the heart to love once, but it had been so broken, so lost to her, that now she only thought she felt what it was feeling. Like maybe she loved the broken, rough spoken redneck, not with her heart which had ceased to exist so long ago, but with a phantom heart that was only an echo of what hand once been there.

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AN: What do you think? I know it's a little rough around the edges, but I'm still working on my Caryl muse.