Taillights and Dirty Wings
By BulletTimeScully
A/N: To all my SSHG/Harry Potter followers, sorry! I've added another love to my very small list of fandoms, and I just wanted to try this out. I haven't abandoned my SSHG stories, not by a long-shot (FotF will hopefully be updated within the next month or so), but I couldn't resist the lure of these two intriguing characters.
That said, this is my first Caryl fic… and while I've been writing in another fandom for over three years now (see above), this if my first foray into these characters. This was written in about an hour, has had no Beta-read, and was influenced by one glass of wine too many. So forgive me, I know not what I do. This is told from a third person POV, which I love to do. I might continue this, but I'd be crazy to try and commit to it right now!
Disclaimer: All characters belong to their respective owners. No infringement is intended. I make no money from this. I do it purely for my own enjoyment and hopefully that of others.
As the sun starts it rapid descent in the west, I look up ahead… to the ever-present taillights weaving in and out of the slowly encroaching fog. Their presence is like a beacon… always leading the group onward… towards something better, something brighter… something safer.
The nights are getting colder lately, the days shorter. I know we're headin' into the coldest part of the year, and we've yet to find a place to hole up for a month or two, or at least until the worst weather passes us by.
He knows it too… Daryl that is.
He's always lookin', searchin'… patrollin' the woods for a safe haven… an Avalon, if you would, for our downtrodden knights and weary maidens. I laugh to myself; I can't categorize us like that… knights… maidens. There're no innocents here anymore, save the unborn child in my wife's womb. It alone is still pure. The rest of us lost our purity a long time ago.
This thought turns my attention back to the motorcycle. For the longest time, the old Triumph had held one rider; Daryl was a loner of the highest order… stubborn, proud, headstrong, and quick to fight… except with her.
Carol.
With her… I don't know what you would call it. I had seen them interacting on the farm, and while I never thought there was anythin' goin' on, so to speak… there was… somethin' there. It didn't seem to be harming either of them, so I let it be… but I kept my eye out. Had to look out for the group, didn't I? Couldn't have their… whatever it was… going south and making a mess of things.
Anyway, back to my point. Something had changed between them in the six months since we had left the Greene homestead. True to character, neither one was ever overly demonstrative, but since I had made it a priority to keep my eye on them for a while now, I noticed things. Like the way Daryl would set up his tent near hers, sleep there before his watch, but never go back to it afterwards. Or the way Carol left her own tent door unzipped just enough for him to squeeze inside without disturbing anyone else in camp.
The fact that they were both always up before the others said volumes as well… at least to me.
There were other things too… like the way he touched her when he thought no one was looking. I'd known Daryl for a while now, and I knew that he was not one to touch casually. Everything he did, he did with a purpose. So when his hand would ghost over her hip, fingers slipping just beneath the hem of her shirt to rub against bare skin… or he would brush his fingers against hers, mingling them for the briefest of moments before pulling away… I couldn't help but wish them well.
That no one else saw – or pretended not to see – was probably a blessing. It gave the two of them space… it gave them time to figure out what they were to each other. From the very beginning, they had gravitated towards one another, through pasts filled with abuse and neglect, and what was once based around mutual respect and understanding had become… more.
I watched as the brake lights of the Triumph flared to life, illuminating the pair of tattered angels' wings that Carol now wore on her back. The jacket and vest had been a part of Daryl for as long as any of us could remember. Some of us had even joked that it was fitting, calling him our resident guardian angel. Of course, he'd just roll his eyes and go about his business as usual.
No one had joked, however, the morning the two of them had come down to the fire together, and Carol had the thing thrown over her shoulders… with Daryl's hand at the small of her back. For them, it was pretty much an open declaration to the group: they were, for all intents and purposes, together… and didn't give two shits what anyone else had to say about it.
Funny thing was… no one said anything.
Not one damn word.
Just carried on like normal.
I smiled… 'cause that's what we're fightin' for, ain't it?
~ FIN
