A/N: If you've happened to read my author bio, than you know I ship Caryl. Hard. So this is my first attempt at writing something for the ship I love so dearly. I hope you enjoy. Reviews are always appreciated!

Disclaimer: As always, no part of The Walking Dead belongs to me in any way.

Carol could remember the first day they'd met like she remembered the scars that littered the palm of her left hand.

Those scars took her back to one of the earliest memories of her childhood that she could recall – she'd been ten years old, a gangly thing of a girl that somehow always managed to find trouble, even when she wasn't looking for it. She hadn't grown into her long legs yet and was constantly getting picked on by the neighborhood boys for what they'd nicknamed her "chicken legs"; Carol had absolutely despised that name. So in order to prove that she wasn't the weak little thing they thought she was, Carol had decided to climb the largest tree she could find in her backyard. And she had done it too, quite successfully to the shock of those boys. It was the getting down part that she hadn't predicted would be so hard. Instead of simply navigating her feet down the tangle of branches, her grip had failed and she'd found herself lying on her back with the sun beating down on her face, a mess of scrapes, blood, and bruises. Luckily, the boys had gone home before her descent down the tree had begun…

Glancing down at the miniscule scars, Carol tapped her foot impatiently against the tile floor of the hospital waiting room. She hated hospitals. They reminded her of a past she yearned to forget. Unfortunately not all of her scars were caused by childhood mishaps. But no matter how much she hated those scars, she wore each and every one of them with pride. Carol's scars showed that while she had been through hell and back, she had somehow made it out alive – and not only had she escaped from the torment that she'd used to live in, she had thrived since then.

She had found something – someone else to live for.

Carol had met him on the side of the road at the end of September, right when the blazing heat of the summer turned into a cool autumn breeze. The engine of her beat-up station wagon had decided to fail. Again.

It was supposed to be a simple run to the grocery store for milk, eggs, and hamburger meat. She'd been informed at the last minute by telephone that Ed was having company over for dinner, some last minute business schmooze-fest with his new boss. So of course, Carol was tasked with playing the loving and dutiful wife who modestly prepared the meal, made sure everyone's wine glass was refilled before they had to ask, and who didn't secretly fantasize about smothering her abusive husband with a pillow in the middle of the night.

But as her car had started to sputter and crawl along the asphalt at a snail's pace, a groan had escaped from her lips and she'd pulled the dinosaur that was her car into the grass. She'd climbed out of the car and opened the hood, coughs racking her lungs as fumes of black smoke spewed from underneath the hood. Carol had inspected the engine for all of two minutes when she'd realized that she'd had no idea what she was doing. On the verge of breaking down and calling a tow truck to just take the damn thing but to the house – where Ed would surely tell her what he thought of that idea with his fists later- she'd stopped short at the sound of another car pulling up behind the station wagon.

Turning, Carol saw a man climb out of the large pick-up truck, slightly younger than her. He was built well with slightly wavy brown hair that fell into his eyes – the eyes that she hadn't been able to stop staring at since that day. His eyes were her favorite feature; they were a piercing blue that could steal the breath from her lungs in an instant. So it wasn't entirely surprising when she'd completely missed the first words he'd ever spoken to her, she was just so mesmerized by those eyes.

"Umm, mam?" he'd asked again. Carol quickly realized he'd been speaking to her and regained her composure. "Oh, sorry. What did you say?" she asked, a small smile coming to her lips as she stared at the stranger. "I was wonderin' if you needed help with your car?" he began. "I saw you standin' there and figured you could use a hand."

"Oh my gosh, that would be fantastic!" Carol exclaimed, relief flooding through her veins. He'd turned back to his pick-up, probably to retrieve his tool kit she'd guessed, when she'd called to him, "May I ask you your name?" The man turned back around and offered his hand to her, "Daryl. Daryl Dixon." She'd took his much larger hand in her own and immediately felt a strange warmth run through her body as she felt the callouses that lined his palms. "Carol," she'd replied. "Carol Peletier." She gave him another small smile before the man – Daryl – had awkwardly pulled his hand back. "I'll go get my tools," he'd grunted, heading back towards the bed of his truck.

If Carol guessed, she would say that's where their love affair had started. It might not have been as straight forward as a kiss, but she'd known since that day that Daryl had felt the warmth their hands together had created too. She was sure because that day he had given her the business card of the local auto repair shop he'd worked at, telling her to bring by the old station wagon another day when he could give it a proper tune-up. He'd told her a couple of months into their relationship that it had just been an excuse to see her again.

Pulled back to the hospital waiting room, Carol felt the tears she'd been fighting to hold back since she'd stepped foot into the building threatening to finally spill from her eyes. She wiped at the corners of her eyes furiously, refusing to let the tears fall. She'd made a promise to herself to continue to re-live these memories, no matter how painful it might be. She had to remember them – remember them for Daryl. Every detail that seemed insignificant at the time was now of the utmost importance.

Because there was a huge chance that Daryl would never actually be able to remember the memories himself.

A/N 2: This chapter is really the setup of the whole plot of the story. If you enjoyed this please review because the only way I'll continue this story is if I know there are some people who actually are interested to read more! Thanks! xx

Also, the title references the song "Dead in the Water" by Ellie Goulding and the beautiful piece that Stacey Tookey choreographed to it on SYTYCD, which in turn inspired this story. If you have a chance, I highly recommend a Youtube of it!