Nox: Marol. The very first I bring you. Brazen Hussy fueled this fire. And I was so consumed. Thank her, thank her graciously. Although, I admit, I don't like making my Carol so…desperate, it was just right for the way this all came out. It's truly an emotional piece for me, and I hope I make you feel.

The Walking Dead belongs to Kirkman and AMC.

The Pieces

She couldn't feel anything. She hadn't for some time. It was like she was dead to the world. Some days, she wanted to be.

Nothing was the same. Everything was different. The wind on her face. The body between her legs. Her hands on his hips. She couldn't even stand to sit too close.

She hated it. Hated everything about it. She didn't want to go. But she couldn't stay either.

Even the rumble in her ears had changed beyond recognition.

Maybe it was the pain in her heart that made everything so disconnected. Made her want to shut everything off.

But who the hell cared what the reason was? Nothing would ever be the same. Because it was forever changed.

She hadn't moved. Not for hours. She wondered when someone was going to approach her about it. She hoped nobody would. Should have known it would be him.

"Gettin' the hell outta here," he rumbled to her, the broad expanse of his chest filling up the space next to her.

She didn't say anything, didn't do anything. Just sat, and watched. Watched as the birds flew by the window, and the sun peaked over the horizon. Morning was coming, and it was as if the world had never changed. As if the damn apocalypse had never happened, and the world was still just normal.

But it had changed. And she was dead inside.

"Can't sit round an' do nothin'," he said a little more forcefully. Maybe he was trying to be nice. Maybe he was trying to keep from getting angry at her. But she just didn't care.

"Then go." She felt the words leave her, like they didn't belong to her. Just an echo outside her body. Surreal, pained, empty. She laid her head over her knees, and knew there was nothing left in her. Nothing.

His boots clomped on the hardwood floor and she felt his hands grip her shoulders, pulling her up from her position on the window bench. She was like a marionette in his hands. Where he dragged her, she went. It didn't matter.

It didn't matter anymore.

"Ya gotta do somethin'!" He yelled at her, and she could see the pain in his eyes, the way his shoulders shook. She didn't feel sorry for him. She didn't feel sorry for him at all. Because it was all his fault. It was his goddamn fault.

But it didn't matter anymore.

"It doesn't matter anymore," she whispered, searching his blue eyes in vain and she felt the tears slide down her cheeks, unchecked, silent. Like they made the choice to fall free on their own.

His lip twitched, and his jaw clenched. And then he was pulling her out of the room by the wrist, gripping her hard enough to bruise, dragging her down the stairs. And she went with him, because it didn't matter.

It didn't even matter.

And she was here, on the back of the bike with him. Riding away to god knows where. But she didn't care. She didn't care how far they went, or where, or if they never went back. And she figured that was the purpose. To never go back.

But would it matter where they went? The pain was everywhere. She wanted to feel nothing. She wanted to be empty.

She couldn't look at the cars on the side of the road and not think of him moving silently behind each one, picking off walkers like he'd been bred to do it. She couldn't look at the expanse of trees to the right without thinking of him, moving through it like he'd been born for it. She couldn't look at the back in front of her without thinking it was him, and knowing it wasn't.

Everywhere she looked, he was there. The knife in her boot? He was there.

The blue sweater she was wearing? He was there.

The bandanna around her head? He was there.

The gun at her waist? He was there.

He never got her anything pretty, or fancy. Everything he'd gotten was for her survival. And she found that to be the most important thing about him. His actions spoke volumes to her. He wanted her to survive.

But what did that matter when he wasn't…

"Pull over." He glanced over his shoulder, eyes squinted against the morning sun.

"Pull over," she shouted, slamming her palm against his back. But he let it go. Couldn't believe she'd hit him, but he was beginning to toss the doubt out the window. Woman was losin' herself in the pain a her loss, an' she couldn't see nobody else's.

He'd seen that back at tha house. Why he had to git out. Why he had ta take her wit'im. Couldn't take it no more. Stuck in that grief, an' that pain. People were just bein' swallowed by it, lettin' it take'em over.

He couldn't say that he'd accepted it, or gotten over it neither. But hell, he didn't let it hold him like that. Didn't let it take him by the balls an' control him. He had ta be strong.

Had to be fer her.

He could see it. The way she let the pain swallow her. She didn't eat, didn't sleep, didn't do nothin'. They'd only been as close as she'd wanted, an' he didn't mind at tha time. But now?

Woman needed someone. An' he sure as hell could see that nobody else knew what the fuck ta do. They tiptoed round her like she was some goddamn leper, an' talked ta her like she were a child. She weren't crazy. She'd just lost a man.

But she didn't notice coz she weren't there. She'd left the building. Gone into some kind a coma. She let her pain take hold a her.

But he couldn't blame her. All he wanted ta do was walk out the door an' into the woods an' never look back.

Out there, he could find'im. Out there, it was just them.

But every time he looked at her, he saw him, an' he couldn't go. Couldn't leave'er alone.

He loved his brother, an' he knew what he'd sacrificed his life fer.

Before the bike was even stopped she was jumping off and walking away fast. She couldn't breathe when she covered by him. She pulled the bandanna off her head, tossing it to the ground. She kicked her boots off, fumbling on her feet, the knife tumbling out. She pulled her sweater over her head, pulling the gun out and tossing it to the ground before she even had her other arm out of the sweater.

She couldn't breathe. It was suffocating her, pulling her under, holding her down.

She stood there in her tank top and cargo pants, her socks getting dirty, and she didn't care if a walker came up at that moment and tore her apart.

The world was spinning, and she wanted a hole to open up and swallow her.

"Hell ya think yer doin?" She turned to him, tried to focus on him and couldn't.

"I can't do it," she said breathlessly, teetering on her feet. He took a step toward her, and she took two back.

"I can't breathe when he's everywhere around me!" The walls were closing in, the sky was falling, the earth was shaking.

"Don't do this!" All she could see were the wings. Those beautiful white wings that she always knew were his. He glanced over his shoulder, his lips turned up in a smirk. He didn't say anything.

"Daryl!" The smirk faltered, but he kept going. He never stopped. She threw her fists at the arm holding her back, but flinched at the pain that tore through her hands as she connected with metal.

"Let me go dammit!" She struggled against him, against the strength that he had to watch the only person they both loved in the whole world walk away.

"Don't leave me!" she cried out, as she was carried away from the gunfire and the fighting.

But they didn't get away fast enough for her to avoid seeing those white wings fall to the ground, stained red and not get back up.

"It doesn't change," she moaned, starting to pace. "I see him, everywhere I go, everywhere I look." She stopped to look at him, at those same blue eyes that kept haunting her. Why did he have to have the same blue eyes?

"You should have let me go!" She hated the way he just kept staring at her, at the way his face never showed her any emotion. He should have been angrier than this. He should have been upset. He should be the jackass that everyone thought he was.

"I wanted to go to him!" I want to go to him now. She wanted to stop feeling like everything was dead. She wanted to be the woman who was strong. She wanted to be that woman who had grown so much, who had become someone people could depend on. He'd helped her grow into that, had helped her mold herself.

Who was she, now that he was-

"He did it fer you!" She blanched, rocking back on her heels.

"No, no…" He walked towards her quickly, caught her arm before she could back away. If she weren't gonna face the shit, then he'd turn on the fan.

"He would a wanted ya to git away. Would a wanted ya ta live." She gripped his arms back, searching out his eyes. She started shakin' her head like she didn't wanna hear it no more.

"But it hurts-" He shook her hard, not meanin' to, but goddammit if she didn't piss him off. Damn her for not lookin' at what his brother had done fer her. He'd a never a done it fer nobody else. She think that was easy fer him to watch? She think she was the only one who was fuckin' hurtin'?

"Course it fuckin' hurts!" he screamed, spit flying, eyes wild. "Ya think I don't know that?" His fingers were digging into her arm, nails piercing her skin.

"Think I didn't want ta run back there an' trade places wit'im?" He'd a traded the fuckin' world to be in his brothers place. He'd a given his other hand, his life, just to make sure that neither a them had to suffer no more.

He'd a made sure that his brother were here instead, so he wouldn't have to look in this woman's goddamn eyes one more time, an' see all the pain an' heartache that he was feelin' inside.

All he could do was watch. She didn't talk to him, she didn't talk to no one. So he watched. Made sure she were safe, made sure she had what she needed. What his brother would a wanted. What his brother would a done.

But he couldn't look at her face anymore. Couldn't look her in the eyes.

All he could see were the pain an' hurt that he felt, every damn minute a the day. Every time he found another arrow stashed 'way somewhere. Every time he found another blade hidden in another pocket. Every time he saw the damn woman.

It fuckin' hurt.

She swallowed hard, tried to pull away from him. She didn't want to admit, didn't want him to see that she had wanted that as well.

Her heart was thundering in her chest, and she couldn't stop her hands from shaking. She'd wanted the same thing, but she'd never wanted to admit it. She was ashamed of those feelings. He was his brother. How could she have wished for one, instead of the other?

It was cruel. It was so cruel that he'd been taken from both of them.

She could feel her arms starting to bruise as she watched the veins on his neck pulse. "I ain't worth half as much as he was to nobody!"

"What the hell are we supposed to do now?" Everyone was screaming. Everyone was crying. Everyone was angry.

And nobody knew what to do. She could see him, standing in the corner, arms crossed, eyes watching the group. She stood there, unable to move, unable to think.

"He made a choice," Rick said, connecting with those that were left. "We have to accept that." Accept it. Like they had a choice.

"Ain't like it was any a ya who lost a brother," he growled out of the corner, eyes suddenly darker than they had been before. They turned on him, angry, pissed. Each one looked like they wanted to kill him.

"You think any of us wanted it to be him?" Glenn shouted, raising the gun in his hands. "We would gladly trade your life for his!" And she didn't miss the way his eyes lowered, or the way his shoulders hunched.

But she couldn't feel anything.

The shame struck her hard, and she wanted to take her feelings back. But she couldn't. She couldn't take back how she felt. She didn't want this man who was standing before her, who only reminded her of him.

Because she wanted him. She wanted to tell him everything that she would never be able to. She wanted to touch him. Wanted to see that smile that was reserved only for her.

"I can't do this without him," she whispered, as her vision started to fade, and her knees went weak.

"Yes ya can," he ground out. He'd been livin' without his brother fer a long time. He knew what it was like to think you'd lost the only person you loved in the whole world. He lived it, survived it. He'd made his peace long ago, coz even he had his sins.

An' that were the problem weren't it? He were the monster. He were the one who deserved to die. His brother should a never had to face that. He'd spent his whole life protectin' him, tryin' to keep him from ever havin' to make that decision, an' here he'd gone an' failed.

Fuckin' failed. His ol' man were sure to be laughin'.

"Never wanted ta leave ya, brother." He stood there, starin' out the door. How many times had he left'im? How many times had he abandoned his brother? How many times had he failed him as a brother? An' here he was, at his side. Givin' him one last chance to make shit right. How many chances were he gonna git?

"Didn't know how ta be better'n him," he admitted softly, eyes cast to the sky. He'd never said that to anyone. Never let himself think it fer too long neither. Coz once he admitted it, it was like he was tellin' the whole damn world that he was exactly what he were born from.

A monster.

An' he never wanted to be that.

His brother sighed, an' set the arrow down, lookin' up too. It was a long time 'fore he said anything. But his words were enough.

"I know."

But he were the one here now. Couldn't change that, couldn't take nothin' back. An' that was all she had.

"All ya got left is to live," he said tightly.

She stumbled back from his grasp, felt the dizziness take hold of her.

"But I don't want too," she breathed, just barely conscious now. And she didn't care what happened anymore. Didn't care what happened to her, or him, or anyone. The whole world could die, and it would be a blessing.

She felt herself tip backwards and all she saw was the blue sky as she collapsed to the ground.

"Sophia and I used to camp out in the backyard when Ed would be out late," she said in the darkness as the fire crackled between them. She had thought she would miss the safety of the prison walls, but once the Governor had come, pushed them out, it wasn't safe anymore. Nothing was safe. She found she liked the openness of the trees and the sky anyway.

He grunted as he continued to whittle down another arrow for the crossbow. She knew he was listening, but it didn't matter if he really wasn't.

"She'd make a game out of it, you know?" She reached forward to toss a few more stray sticks onto it. She knew not to make it too big, but she didn't want the warmth to die out either.

"We'd take our blankets out and lay under the stars, and she'd make up stories for each of them. Gave'em names, lives. Some of them even loved each other." She sighed, leaning her head back to look up at those stars.

"Don't know how she got it in her head, all them stars finding love. Never giving up on each other. Never hurting each other. Maybe…" she sighed again, wrapping her arms around herself. The steady sound of his knife stopped.

"Maybe she could only find hope in the stars," she murmured, shivering.

She felt something warm fall over her, and she looked down as he laid the poncho over her chest, covering her arms.

"She had hope," he said softly, eyes never wavering from hers. He reached up to tuck the poncho across her shoulder, averting his gaze from hers as his hand lingered. And then he resumed making his arrows, leaning back against the tree as the fire kept them warm, and the hope of the stars gave them light.

When she woke up, she was resting against someone's chest. Broad, muscled, stiff beneath her. And she could smell the sweat and leather, and earth that had become his. And for a moment her heart jumped into her throat, and a smile crept over her lips for the first time in a long time. She put her hand over his heart, gently, and closed her eyes.

She was home.

Everything was right again.

And then she remembered. She drew back sharply, eyes flying open and looked up, into the same blue eyes, but a different face. Not him.

This time, she couldn't stop the sob as it broke through her, tearing everything wide open again. And she broke into pieces, her heart shattering, as she buried her face in her hands, shaking. She was so ashamed. She'd been holding on for so long, been so strong, for him. And now she had to go and lose it. Let herself be fooled by something so stupid.

It wasn't him. He was never coming back.

Because he was dead.

"He's dead," she sobbed through her hands, through the tears. He was dead, gone, not coming back. He was never going to look at her with that look they shared, never give her that timid smile, never share that laughter with her. He was gone.

He didn't know what to do, didn't know how ta take care a no woman when she cried. He always left'im when they did. But this one had to be different. He had to make this one different. Coz she were, weren't she? This one was his brother's. This one had meant something to his brother.

Why else would he a died fer her?

She felt an arm come up around her shoulders, a grunt from above her.

"He's dead and he's never coming back!" She jerked from his embrace and stood up, looking down at him. His face was twisted in pain, blue eyes shining. She hated those eyes. Hated everything about them. She had to look at them every day now, and it wasn't fair.

She could see him coming toward her; face determined, blue eyes set. She knew he wanted to talk, probably about his brother. But she couldn't. She just couldn't talk to him. Couldn't look him in the face, stare into those eyes, and talk about the man they had lost.

Because if she looked into those blue eyes, she knew she would lose control of the tiny thread she was holding onto. And she couldn't face that.

"Carol," he called, as she turned her back on him. It was the first time she'd ever heard him call her name. She almost turned as the sound of the pain in his voice caught at her heart.

But she couldn't face it. She couldn't do it.

He stood up with her, standing before her. Knew where this goin'. Could see it in the way she looked at him. She was angry, an' she was pissed, an' she was hurtin'.

An' what could he do but let her take that out on him, coz he was the one who'd held her back. He was one who'd taken that choice away from'er.

"And it's all your fault!" And she slammed her hands against his chest, not even budging him. "I hate you!" She hit him again, and still he did nothing. She hated that. Hated how much he reminded her of him. Hated how much they were each other, and she never even noticed until now.

"I hate you Merle Dixon!" And she hit him again, falling against his chest, the pain too much to bear. She couldn't stop choking, couldn't stop shaking, couldn't stop herself from falling to the ground. Because while he was here, Daryl wasn't.

Daryl was gone, forever. Daryl was dead.

And it was that truth she could never face. The one thing she'd been running from for all this time.

But then she felt his arm come up around her waist, pulling her tight against him, holding her up.

"It's my fault," he whispered gruffly against her ear, holding her neck tight. The metal against her back pinched into her skin, but that small pain was enough to pull her back into herself, was enough to bring it all crashing down on her.

She was a fool.

While she had lost the only man she had ever loved in this godforsaken world, Merle had lost the only man he had ever loved in his entire life. He had lost his brother. She wasn't the only one who had lost someone, wasn't the only one suffering this pain.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered hoarsely against his chest. He chuckled. Just like a woman to cry, git pissed, hit ya like ya a goddamn punchin' bag an' then apologize fer it. No wonder Daryl had liked this one.

He stroked the back of her neck with his thumb. "Musta loved ma brother like hell," he said roughly, still not letting go. He wouldn't admit it ta her, but the feel a her, against him, put him at ease. The pain they shared, made'im feel like he weren't the only one left in the whole damn world. Didn't make him feel so lonely.

And then the tears fell on his chest, an' she nodded. Her head fell against him, forehead to his heart. He didn't like the way he suddenly knew how fast it was beatin', how nervous he suddenly was. He'd not held a woman like this, ever.

She couldn't say it out loud now, because what did it matter?

He would never hear those words from her. He would never know just how much she had loved him.

"I ain't goin' back," Merle said suddenly. She pushed back from his chest, looking up.

"He stayed with them coz a you." He looked back at the bike, and she'd never seen such a look cross his face before. Like something was dead inside him. "I stayed coz he did." He looked back at her, eyes determined.

"He may a never said it, but I know he cared bout ya. May a even loved ya. Don't know fer certain, coz Dixons, we don't love easy," he admitted, rubbing the back of his head. Love never came easy ta them neither. But he'd seen the way his brother had looked at her, seen the way he'd taken care a her. It was different than the way he looked after tha others. Boy had cared somethin' special fer this one.

"But I know he cared. And what's Daryl's, is mine." Her eyes widened, and she took a step back. Hell, he hadn't meant it like that. She weren't some damn hand-me down, sloppy second.

His brother had made her kin.

"Mean to say is that I'll take care a ya. You did right by my brother, an' I'll never let nothin' happen to ya just like he did. But I can't go back there." She couldn't breathe.

She could see by his face that he was being real. He would take care of her. If she wanted to go with him, he would look out for her. No strings attached, no complaints about her being weak. All because of Daryl.

Her chest constricted, and she felt her eyes well up at the thought.

Could she go with him? Just earlier she said she didn't care where she went, or if she went back. There were too many memories with the group, too many things that reminded her of him. But would it be any different with Merle? No matter how different he was from Daryl, at the core, she could feel it.

They were the same. Damaged souls. Broken hearts. Unable to accept the love that people wanted to give. Perhaps Merle had more bite.

But perhaps, it was just a matter of finding the man he had hidden so deep inside himself. She'd done it with one Dixon. Maybe, her heart could handle another.

"Ya gonna come or not?" She looked down at her scattered clothes, the weapons Daryl had given her. The weapons he had given to help her survive. He had wanted her to live.

"Yes," she whispered, fighting back the tears that threatened to spill over her eyes again. Merle nodded, and walked away, to the bike that had been his first, then Daryl's, and was now Merle's again. She gathered her clothes, and put them back on, feeling the weight of them.

But they no longer suffocated her. This time, she could breathe.

Merle sat on the bike, waiting. She'd never seen him so patient before, but in that moment, she was reminded of Daryl.

She walked to the saddlebags and dug through hers, searching for the one thing she still had that had been his. When her hands found it, she pulled it out. The leather was soft against her hands. And when she put it to her face, it smelled like him.

Her heart clenched.

She pulled her arms through, settling it over her shoulders, breathing him in. And it was like he was there with her, standing behind her, protecting her.

It was a piece of him.

She threw her leg over the bike, behind Merle, and this time she wrapped her hands firmly to his waist.

"Let's go," she murmured. The bike roared to life as she rested her head against his back, and the rumble brought up the image of him in her mind.

There were pieces of Daryl everywhere. No matter where she looked. No matter where she went. In the bike she rode, in the gun she fired. Pieces of him ran through the forest, and lingered in the jacket she wore. She'd never be able to carry the knife without thinking of him, or hold the crossbow in her hands and know it would never touch his fingers again.

She saw pieces of him in Merle, and she carried pieces of him in her heart.

And she would have to steel herself, because she knew that she would have to pick up those pieces as she went.

Because she would never let him go.

But sometimes that can slip away as fast as any fingers through your hands.
So you let time forgive the past and go and make some other plans.

And you are not alone, laying in the light.
Put out the fire in your head, and lay with me tonight.