He thought he was dead.
He felt the life seeping from him as he slumped down on the road, blood draining from the wound in his shoulder. This is it, he told himself. His final memory would be of watching Glenn's head being stoved in by Negan's bat. There was no comfort to be had, only fear and horror and grief and the desperate cries of his friends.
Then he felt hands lifting him, but they were gentle this time, unlike the grasping, greedy hands of the Saviours. He was carried aboard a van, and then the voices he heard were soft and consoling.
He thought he was dead. But these weren't angels – angels didn't carry guns and knives. His mind flew back to Sunday school, where the lay preacher Mr…. why couldn't he remember his name? He was thin as a reedy scarecrow, and he used to quote scripture with spittle flying everywhere. One of his favourite texts was Paradise Lost, and Daryl could still recall the words, even if he wasn't sure of their meaning:
"Amaze, be sure, and terror, seized the rebel Host, when coming towards them so dread they saw the bottom of the mountains upward turned, till on those cursed engines' triple row they saw them whelmed, and all their confidence under the weight of mountains buried deep."
When he opened his eyes he saw faces above him, and then her – his angel Carol. Was she here too? Tears fell for the first time.
'Shh…' she whispered. 'You need to sleep now.'
'No.' He was afraid to close his eyes in case she disappeared, but he could not resist the enfolding darkness – the urge to rest. He slipped into the embrace of comforting slumber.
An overwhelming thirst and the nagging pain in his shoulder convinced him that he was alive. He awoke to the soft nattering of birds outside the window. The room was bright and airy but unfamiliar. A glass of water sat on the bedside dresser which he drank greedily.
His headache subsided but the pain from his wound intensified and with it the memories came flooding back. Negan, the Saviours, Glenn…
Daryl tried to set the tumbler back on the dresser but missed and the resulting crash of broken glass sent a girl in a white nurse's outfit running into the room.
'Oh, you're awake.' She ducked out and quickly returned with a plastic medicine cup and another glass of water. 'Take these.'
Daryl was in no fit state to fight, even if he wanted to. He figured that these people hadn't killed him yet, so they might be on his side. 'Where am I?'
'You're in the Kingdom, honey. Try not to talk – I'll send someone by to clean up that mess.'
She was gone before he could object. He sat back against the pillow, feeling an overwhelming sense of powerlessness. He hated this feeling, it reminded him too much of being a kid again – trapped in that broken-down shack with nobody to protect him from his father's rages. He had come so far since then, but not far enough that he didn't feel an enormous swell of grief inside.
He had watched his friend being pummelled to death in front of his eyes, and the worst thing was that he couldn't help him.
'Hey.'
His eyes snapped over to the door where he heard her sweet voice and there she was – Carol standing there with a look of unfathomable sadness on her face.
Daryl almost broke down and sobbed like a goddamn baby, right there in front of her, but he managed to hold it in. 'You're here too?'
She nodded, and then she was beside him, perched on the edge of the bed with her arms around him. 'They found me.'
Daryl didn't ask where they had found her or who they were – now was not the time for explanations. All that mattered now was being close to her. He felt her tears in his hair and then he knew that she knew.
'Glenn…' he grunted, his voice threatening to betray him with uncontrollable sobs.
'I know,' she whispered, placing a gentle kiss on his temple and stroking his hair.
Her presence here out of nowhere made him suddenly angry – she had left Alexandria and put herself in danger. He didn't say it out loud because he knew he had done exactly the same thing. He had gone out on a hot-headed mission and got Glenn killed. He would never forgive himself for that. Worse than that, he had ignored the very thing Denise was trying to tell him when she died. He had failed to sort his shit out. Instead he reverted back to type, thinking he could fix what was wrong while ignoring the real cause of his pain.
He cursed his stupidity, his unwillingness to speak the honest truth. So many times he had failed to say what he was feeling – hampered by his own silence, frightened by a woman – this woman.
'Carol… you gotta listen…'
'Shh,' she murmured. 'It's ok. We'll talk later.'
He couldn't look Rick in the face when he came to visit – he was too ashamed. When he finally left he told him to get some rest, but then stayed away for days on end. Daryl understood the pain the other man felt. After all, Glenn was the one of the first people he encountered after the world went to shit. Glenn had saved his life and brought him into the group. Losing him in such a violent way was almost unbearable, especially with Maggie expecting.
Carol came to see him every day, talking to him, sometimes sitting by his side or bringing books or magazines to flip through – even though his heart wasn't in it. Soon his shoulder was healed enough that he was able to walk around with minimal discomfort.
One night, around a week after their rescue, the group had their first formal meeting with Ezekiel. It was a strange experience given that the man's constant companion was a Bengal tiger, but before long they found a willing ally in him. He recognised Negan for the menace he was and agreed to form an alliance to take him out.
It was after dark when Carol found Daryl, sitting in the main square watching some of the townspeople burning leaves on a giant bonfire. His eyes followed the sparks that flew and danced from the flames, thinking about how fine a wire each one of them walked between surviving and being consumed. Few managed to do so without compromising some essential part of themselves. Of all of them, Glenn seemed to be the one with the fewest regrets. Daryl wondered if he would be able to say the same when he came to meet his maker.
When Carol sat down on the grass next to him, he felt an unusual tension between them. He was unsure if it was because Glenn's death had dominated so much of their interactions since his arrival or because her escape from Alexandria and her silent pain were the 800-pound gorilla in the room. Either way, his jaw was clenched tight as he waited for her to speak.
'I like it here, don't you?' Carol eventually asked.
'Yeah. They got it pretty sweet.'
They sat in silence for another while, their faces bathed in the comforting heat of the fire.
'I've spoken to Ezekiel,' she said. 'He says I can stay for a while, if I want. Take some time away from Alexandria.'
Daryl let out a breath that he had been holding. Part of him broke knowing that she didn't want to be a part of the group anymore, but a larger part felt relieved that she was safe here and not out on the road where he couldn't watch out for her. They both had to figure out their shit separately.
'I keep thinking about Glenn and Maggie.' Drunk on the fire's drowsy warmth, Daryl felt his inhibitions melt away. He had a sudden impulse to tell Carol everything – damn the consequences. 'I used to think it was dumb,' he continued. 'Pairing up like that the way the world is now. Truth is I was jealous. I saw the way it made them stronger – gave them something to fight for, to live for.'
He felt Carol's steely gaze on him, though he did not dare to meet her eyes, not yet.
'You've fought plenty,' she said gently. 'You fought for the group, for me and Sophia…'
'It ain't enough – not anymore,' he interrupted.
'What more do you want?'
He looked straight at her, feeling his stomach church with trepidation. 'You.'
In his imagination, their first kiss was always preceded by fraught emotions and dramatic outbursts, the passionate culmination of some life-threatening event. He never expected it to be soft and easy, her fingers stroking his cheeks, tongue gently brushing his.
By the time they pulled apart, they were both dazed and out of breath. Carol's expression was one of infinite compassion and tenderness – he was ready to cry right then and there. She rose and tugged his sleeve, leading him from the prying eyes of the world to the cool refuge of her room.
Daryl Dixon was not a man of great ambition. When he was a kid his father regularly told him that he was a worthless, no-account little shit that wouldn't ever amount to anything. The world did little to convince him otherwise. He never thought he was due much happiness and the little he managed to find was accidental – alone in the woods with nothing but the buffeting trees and birdsong to interrupt his thoughts, or when the sun slanted off the water in just the right way, a fat buck in his sights…
None of that compared to the sheer joy he felt as they unwrapped each other, baring their secrets and accumulated fears. When she finally came with his fingers buried inside her – shaking in the aftermath – he was sure it was the most wonderful thing that had ever happened to him. He had been given an amazing gift, more than he ever dreamed or deserved – a kingdom.
He didn't sleep a wink that night but didn't regret a moment, despite the exhaustion he felt in the morning. He wanted to spend the whole day in bed, doing it all again or just holding each other – whatever she wanted.
The world would not allow them time to indulge in their happiness. Carol found him in the courtyard right after breakfast, readying the trucks for the big onslaught against Negan.
He was shy again, but now he was leery of her gaze after everything they had shared. Knowing what he had to do, he could not afford to lose himself in her again.
'Heading out?'
He was instantly grateful to her for breaking the silence. He nodded, grunting in the affirmative.
'Killing Negan won't bring you peace, Daryl. Every life we take brings us closer to being like him.'
Daryl felt her unwillingness to kill Negan like a needle piercing his side. In the aftermath of Glenn's murder, he felt a wad of pain and guilt balled up inside him as well as a burning desire to punish the man responsible. He quickly realised that he couldn't begrudge her these feelings. She wasn't there after all – she hadn't seen what he'd seen.
No, that was unfair – she had seen plenty. After everything she had lost – everything she had done for the group – she had earned the right to her opinion.
'It ain't about peace,' he admitted, finally turning to look at her. Her hair was still mussed from bed and he felt a sentimental tug at his heart. 'Never believed much in the Almighty, but when you found us after Terminus, it felt like some kind of miracle. I knew right then that we could never lose each other again.'
He spotted Rick and Michonne loading up the last provisions and signalling that it was time to leave.
'The group – us – that's what this is all about, Carol. It's not just about survivin', it's about us doing for each other, taking care of each other. That's why I gotta do this, for Glenn and Maggie. For all of us.'
Her expression was tight and inscrutable. He knew that he could not fully penetrate the pain she felt surrounding the group and violence she had been forced to commit for its sake. But for now, he had to make sure he understood.
Eventually Carol gave a small, sad smile, like a surrender to the inevitable. She couldn't keep him here – she couldn't keep him safe. She had to let him go.
She allowed herself to be pulled into his embrace. 'I hope you find what you're looking for,' she murmured.
'You too,' he whispered into her hair. 'You gonna be here when I get back?'
'You gonna come back?'
He didn't answer. For all he wanted to, he couldn't make promises, neither could he ask anything from her. She had already given him more than he had ever dreamed.
As the trucks rolled out of the compound he watched her until she disappeared from sight. All they had was the memory of the night before, and the hope of the kingdom to come.