Anything recognizable is the property of the appropriate owners. I do not make any claim to ownership, nor do I make any money from this.
Note: I have not seen past Season 4, Episode 9: After.
Carol took her turn on the wall without complaint despite the nasty weather. She knew the cost of a place in the compound and dutifully squared her shoulders inside her thick jacket against the cutting wind. Watch was usually boring at all get-out, but it was better than staring at the wall in her tiny cabin. At least the air was fresh and she could imagine life elsewhere, outside the compound made out of an old boy scout camp. The steely haired woman imagined she heard the throaty rumble of a motorcycle, and Daryl would ride through the sparse trees outside the walls. Rick and the others would amble by in her mind's eye, living their lives, surviving. It was all just a dream, but one she wanted with all her heart. She missed the hunter and would give anything to see him again, yet didn't hold her breath. Miracles didn't happen any more.
She couldn't help indulging in her guilty pleasure of imagining Daryl riding up to the gate through the rapidly accumulating snow despite the unreality of it. Yet for a glorious moment she could have sworn she heard an engine in the distance. The wind shifted again and she shook her head to clear it, sure that she really was imagining things. Then she swept her eyes through the trees once more and her heart stopped. Not believing her eyes, Carol rubbed them before looking again. It couldn't be Daryl, but there was definitely someone on a tan motorcycle, slipping slightly in the rapidly drifting snow but clearly approaching the gate. Their face was obscured by several hoods, goggles, and a balaclava and their hands were gloved, so she couldn't identify them.
Someone inside the wall heard the engine and called attention to the gate and everyone gathered to watch as newcomers were rare in winter. Carol got down from the watch post mechanically, never taking her eyes off what she thought was safe to assume was a man astride a dirty tan motorcycle, quite unlike the chopper that the Dixon brothers rode. But something about the way he moved made her think of the hunter, even though the layers of filthy clothes made it impossible to tell. Then as he passed through the wall into the courtyard and turned off the bike, she saw it.
"He's mine!" Carol shouted over the din of muttering voices and everyone went silent. "I claim him." She put her hand on the butt of her rifle if anyone thought to challenge her.
No one spoke up and some turned away back to their duties. She ignored the rest and strode up to the rider with a crossbow across his back. "Just tell me it's you."
He raised his hands to remove the goggles protecting his eyes from the weather and Carol let out the breath she had been holding when she recognized his squinty blues. But she resisted reaching out to him, knowing there were too many eyes in the courtyard. "Come with me. The bike'll be fine over there."
Daryl quickly parked the bike and followed the bundled up woman, managing to hold his tongue until they were away from the others in the courtyard. "What's that claiming shit? I just stopped fer shelter from tha storm."
"It's not like the prison here. Only the strong survive. If I hadn't claimed you, you would have had to fight in the pit to stay." Carol shrugged over her shoulder, still not believing that he was really there.
"You fight fer yer place?" The hunter's voice was slightly muffled by the balaclava.
"I saved the chief on a bad run." She was grateful she hadn't had to prove herself in the pit, having seen how brutal people could be when it came down to fighting for something they wanted. "Here, I'll start a fire and you can warm up."
They entered the tiny cabin and Carol immediately went to her knees by the hearth. "How'd you end up here? The others?" She almost didn't want to know, but she knew she had to find out.
"We lost tha prison tha day after ya left an' I got separated from tha others meybe three months ago, but last I saw they were gonna make it." Daryl fiddled with his face covering, finally lowering it enough to speak clearly, but left his gloves on.
When Carol turned around to see him standing there awkwardly just inside the door, she couldn't help the fond smile that split her face and she threw her arms around him. "I can't believe you're here."
The bowman wound his arms around her in return, burying his face against her neck, letting the warmth of her sink in before they slowly separated. "Lets get you out of those wet clothes. I can get you some hot water to wash up with."
"I can't stay." He made sure to state so there wouldn't be any confusion later.
"Then we'll go." Carol grinned again, her cheeks already hurting after what seemed like a century of having nothing to smile about. She shed her thick coat and hung it over the back of a rickety chair. "I missed you." Of course, she didn't expect Daryl to confess any similar feelings, but her face fell at his next words.
"We hav'ta talk first."
Immediately she knew he was going to ask about the unfortunate circumstance surrounding her leaving the prison and she turned away to put the pot of soup she had made earlier back on the fire. "I don't think we need to."
"It's not about Karen an' David." Daryl shook his head and loosened the fingers of his gloves before baring his hands. "I know why ya had ta do whatcha did."
The short haired woman let some of the tension out of her shoulders. She was prepared for her past to catch up with her no matter where she went, but since he didn't want to talk about what happened at the prison, she started coming up with worse scenarios. Maybe he found a woman while they were apart and this was an opportunity to put away anything they might have had before she was banished by Rick.
"Daryl, I- What happened!" Carol caught sight of his bare hands, the skin a sickly almost greenish shade even in the firelight, but the worst part was the darkened tips of his fingers under his nails. Frostbite came to mind, but there was no swelling, and he flexed his hands easily.
"That's what I gotta tell ya." He turned his palms upwards, frowning slightly at the unsightly coloring. "I got separated from the rest by a herd."
A slick of dread settled in the short haired woman's belly. The bowman had said he was separated three months ago, but herds practically always meant death and the only reason he wouldn't seek out the others and catch up would be if he had been hurt. She shook her head in denial, hands creeping up to cover her mouth in horror. But he was still standing right in front of her and he looked like he had all of his limbs, but if she were honest, she would realize his face was too pale, the wrong shade of unhealthy like his hands.
"I-" He paused, uncertain how to continue. "They saw me go down and had ta leave, had ta get Judy an tha rest away."
"But you're right here." Nothing made any sense but she knew that he couldn't be here if he had been infected.
"Something happened." Daryl still struggled to understand it himself. "I got scratched, but then I was hit by lightning. I woke up an' all tha walkers were dead."
She warred with herself. Walker bites and scratches were always fatal, but Daryl was standing right in front of her, saying he had been infected three months ago. He didn't look feverish, and other than the sickly corpse like cast to his skin, he seemed the same as when she had left. "It doesn't make sense."
The hunter shrugged his shoulders, not disagreeing that it defied logic. All he knew was he had felt the burn when the walker had gotten a lucky swipe at his undefended side, then all of his nerves were lit up with an electric fire that blinded and deafened him. When he had eventually woken up, the herd was scattered unmoving around him, some of their clothes still smoking despite the rain accompanying the lightning. "I don't know what I am now."
"Show me." Carol crossed her arms firmly across her chest.
Daryl nodded without argument and pushed back his hood to pull off the balaclava, revealing more discolored skin around his throat. He unslung the crossbow and stripped mechanically, tossing his damp jacket over Carol's before removing each layer until he stood bare chested in the tiny room for her inspection. Whatever she had expected, she wasn't ready for the reality. His chest looked like it was covered by one big bruise, all yellow and greens, with patches of dark purple scattered randomly between where it looked like blood had settled around his joints. It looked painful and she realized the bowman didn't even try to look her in the eye.
She knew he was expecting her disgust, but even as she couldn't really sort through everything she was feeling, disgust wasn't a part of it. Carol was afraid for him, that even though it had been months, she would still lose him again, and it looked painful. The short haired woman hesitantly reached out, ready to pull back if he flinched, but he just watched her hand approach the scratches standing out shockingly red on his ribs, higher than and opposite the scar he had gotten from his own bolt while out looking for her daughter. His skin was cool to the touch, with no hint of the fever that heralded infection.
The hunter turned for her to look at his back, and she couldn't help the tiny sob that left her lips. His spine was marked by a black circle over each vertebrae and veins stood out like dark rivers through the yellow-green mess interspersed with brighter reds. She could see where the bruise continued under the edge of his pants but he seemed otherwise normal and safe and Carol told herself that the scratches were from anything else but a walker. Finally, she turned him back again and carefully laid her hand on his chest over his heart, carefully watching for any sign of pain.
"You're still you, though?" She finally confirmed.
"Yeah, I think so." Daryl dared to look her in the face and was nearly overcome by the concern she showed. She should be running away, trying to put him down, anything but gazing back at him like he was all the answers to her prayers.
"Okay then. Soup, or wash first?" Carol let her hand slip from his pectoral and turned back to the fire, the matter effectively settled.
Daryl smiled shyly, grateful for the surviving the ordeal in the herd and more than thankful for finding the short haired woman again and her acceptance of whatever he was now. When he saw her climbing down from the wall upon his arrival, he wasn't sure how she would take the news. He mentally kicked himself for assuming that this would be any different than when she found his scars or learned about his abusive past. They were a team, partners, separated for a while, but always picking up where they left off and he would never doubt her again.
Author's Commentary: I was inspired to write this piece by the cover image, which I understand is not of an actual lightning strike victim, but what if Daryl isn't either? I have some ideas for a sequel, but we'll have to wait to see.