Author's Note: I know, I know. But this one is finished I swear! -jb

DISCLAIMER: I don't own The Walking Dead or any of its characters. But I sure love 'em to death. All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original plot is the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

If you don't bear the cross, then you can't wear the crown
Way beyond the blue —Traditional Spiritual

Chapter 1

On the dreary ride back to Alexandria, Daryl kept her close, pulled against his chest, locked in his embrace. The cold knot that had grown in his belly since earlier that morning kept turning. Something was wrong. Even with his arm wrapped protectively around her, Carol was still shaking as she leaned against him in the back seat with her head on his shoulder. After he'd followed her trail and found her with Maggie in the old slaughterhouse—pale as the dead and glassy-eyed from shock—he'd tried to get her to talk about it. There had been something ominous caught beyond the blue of her eyes as he lifted her chin, blocking out the light. But Carol could barely tell him that she wasn't alright, and there had been too much going on around them to press her for more details. He had to consider their safety. In addition, Rick had insisted that they go back to the Saviors' compound and complete a walk through to gather weapons and supplies. Cleaving to her, there had barely been time for Daryl to console Carol and keep her from unraveling. He'd taken her outside for some fresh air and made her drink from his canteen while Abe, Rosita, and Rick had made sure the building was secure and there had been no survivors.

Now there were too many others watching. Daryl knew he would have to get her alone for her to finally open up to him. He just needed to be patient.

But when they finally got back behind the wall, Daryl discovered there was yet another barrier between them. A crowd of townsfolk had gathered to greet them as they pulled inside and came to a stop. Carol quickly sat up, and Daryl followed her eyes to the tall man in the plaid shirt who was grinning from the back of the crowd. Her face twitched as she steeled her face into a mask, the corners of her lips turned up into an almost smile. A harrowing sadness was still muting her eyes, but she brightened, some color returning to her cheeks. It was the closest she appeared to looking happy these days.

His stomach convulsed and grew tighter. Getting out of the truck, he turned back towards her to offer his hand as she stepped down. "Thank you," she said sincerely, meeting his eyes with her troubled blue ones, her fake smile fading as quickly as it had risen. Briefly, he saw the pained look lingering on her face, the one that she wore when he'd found her—the one that haunted him—before she straightened her spine and donned the steel mask once again. Too soon, she let go of his hand and was pulling away from him. The hairs on his neck bristled as he felt a chill pass through his arm. Daryl stood at the truck, following her with his eyes as she walked to the back of the crowd and right up to the man in the plaid shirt. Tobin, Daryl recalled. The man pulled Carol into a tight embrace, burying his face in her neck, and Daryl felt his heart seize in his chest and make a hard drop to his feet as his breath was forcibly ripped from his lungs. When she pulled back, Tobin leaned forward to press his lips against hers.

She was kissing him.

Daryl grabbed the door of the truck to steady himself as the ground beneath him shifted, nearly knocking him to his knees as his entire reality imploded. Without air, the hollow space in his chest burned and constricted, strangling every last drop of hope from his withering frame. Growing dizzy, he leaned forward to try to breathe. It was worse than feeling trapped. Worse than the fear of dying. It was unthinkable, and it was happening.

Gasping for air, he watched as they walked away together holding hands, unable to stop himself, only dragging his eyes away when they ascended the porch steps of Tobin's house and disappeared inside. Daryl stood there stupefied, in utter disbelief, cursing his eyes for their deception.

His stomach kept turning and twisting with a vile bitterness that made him queasy as it rose in his throat. Beads of sweat gathered on his forehead and neck and slithered down his shirt, making his skin feel cool and clammy. He hadn't slept all night, but now his body trembled with this strange and uncomfortable energy. Absently leaning away, he spat the unpleasant taste on the ground. Too many thoughts, unwelcomed images crowded his mind making him dizzy. Shaking his head, he slammed the door shut and headed into the opened garage, half in a daze, angrily tossing his bag into a dusty corner before striding in front of the heavy bag hanging from the rafters. His fingers curled into his sweating palms until his knuckles grew rigid and white. Raising both fists, he jabbed one into the bag, hitting it hard. The bag responded with a jingle as the chains rattled. He hit the bag again and again. Jab, cross, jab. Jab, jab, hook. The rhythm of his punches carried him away from his fears. Jab, cross, hook. The punches themselves were satisfying something primitive that was heatedly twisting and devouring the space inside him. He focused on the force of the blows on his knuckles, the rattle of the chain, the breath that was coming more rapidly the harder he hit. Jab, jab, jab, cross, jab, hook, upper cut, cross, jab, jab, cross, jab, jab, jab, Jab, JAB.

"Fuck!" When he'd had enough, he gave the bag a final side kick before moving to the spot in the corner where he'd tossed his pack, digging around in one of the pockets until he pulled out his canteen. He took several swigs before collapsing into a seated position against the wall. His breath was heavy and deep.

"I feel sorry for the bag."

Daryl looked up to see Denise lingering in the open doorway, hands in her pockets. He grunted his reply.

"That bad, huh?" She moved slowly towards him when he didn't respond. "You didn't wrap them. Let me look," she indicated towards his bruised hands.

Sullenly, he turned his hands towards her, knuckles facing out, to show her. The skin had cracked and they were slightly bloody. He drew back his other fingers towards his palm until only his middle fingers remained raised defiantly.

Denise scowled at him. "I think you'll live." Then more gently as she sat across from him, "Wanna talk about it?" She raised her eyebrow in hopeful expectation.

He glared at her, his face stern and forbidding as it flashed in warning, gradually softening at the edges as he recognized from her demeanor that she was just trying to help. It was hopeless though; he knew nothing could help. There was nothing he could do. Not now. Biting his lip, he refused to divulge his weakness, so he looked away.

They sat in silence for a moment as Denise waited for him to respond. When she realized he wasn't going to share his thoughts, she moved on. "Did Tara and Heath…?"

He nodded, letting her know they had made it out safely so she wouldn't worry about Tara. The two of them had practically been joined at the hip since his group had arrived in Alexandria a few months ago.

"That's good," she said, sighing with relief. She pulled at the loose thread on her jeans as she contemplated her thoughts. "Did everything go alright?"

It went as well as slaughtering people could go, he thought. That is, until Carol and Maggie got kidnapped. He shrugged, trying not to think about it. They were alive, but something had happened to them. As his worries about Carol returned, he grew restless again, scratching at the spot behind his ear in attempt to expel them.

"I was waiting for you when you got back. You know, in case anyone was hurt or... I—" Denise cleared her throat. "I saw Carol... That's rough," she consoled him. "How come you haven't said anything? To her, I mean. About how you feel."

Daryl scowled at her prying, wondering how she knew.

"Tara," Denise explained, easily reading him. "But it's also kind of obvious."

He scoffed in disbelief.

"Well, okay, maybe not to her. Which brings me back to my question, by the way. Why haven't you told her?"

Daryl looked down at his hands and shrugged as his feelings of inadequacy encroached and perched stiffly in his spine.

"It's hard, I know. Believe me," she said, lifting the fingers of her hand from her lap like she was swearing an oath. "But what's stopping you?"

He picked at the loose skin on his knuckles wondering how could he respond to such a loaded question.

"So, you can be brave when it comes to killing people, but telling them how you really feel…?" She frowned as he turned away. "Why are you so scared? You know it's not too late, don't you?"

He looked up at her with doubt in his eyes.

"It's not," Denise insisted.

When he didn't respond, she patted him on the arm. "Good talk."

It's not too late. Her words lingered after she left and stayed with him through the night as he tossed and turned in his bed. He wanted them to be true.

Last week, when Abraham had asked him if he had been thinking of settling down, he blew the question off. Nothing in Daryl's life had ever been stable. Things always had a way of falling apart. Even now, their situation was uncertain. Who knew how long the walls would hold before someone else would come barrelling through them in another tank to take what they had? Hell, that semi-trailer almost did.

But even if shit wasn't settled, Carol had always been his touchstone; his constant. She was the one true thing he ever had in his life that he could rely on. It was only recently that she had decided to be with someone else. Maybe Denise was right, maybe Carol didn't know how he felt. After all, he'd never given her the slightest indication that he was ready for anything else.

It was only just recently that Daryl had begun to realize how much he had wanted to be with Carol. Their separation after the prison had taught him that much. At one time, maybe he had a shot, there had been plenty of chances, but he'd done what Dixons did best and squandered every one being a dumbass. He was too damn scared he'd get burned if he'd pulled that trigger. Too afraid to change what they had. But things had changed anyway, leaving Daryl as uncertain as ever.