Disclaimer: I own nothing related to TWD or the characters contained herein.
Craaaaaack
The gunshot rang out, barely concealed in the clap of thunder. Lightning flashed illuminating the group standing in the streets of Alexandria under the pelt of rain. A body lay in their midst. Blood flowed, mixing with the streams of water pouring into the sewers, crimson tendrils weaving their way through the streets. The pistol lowered, the shooter turning and walking away, shoulders heaving and crumbling beneath the weight of the deed. It had to be done.
The door to the chapel banged open, the light of the outdoors briefly illuminating the figure in the darkness, sitting stiffly in the pew, staring straight ahead.
He approached soundlessly, as was his way, his presence a quiet, calming balm to the storm swirling inside her, a fitting match to the one raging outside.
"They're takin' care of the body. There's not going to be any kinda inquiry. There were 'nough witnesses to back your play."
She remained silent, hands clenched in her lap, gun at her side.
He looked up at the crucifix on the wall, reminded of another church not so long ago, the same woman sitting there tearfully pleading for her little girl. Prayers gone unanswered.
He moved forward slightly, trying to see her face, knowing if he could only look her in the eyes he would know if she was okay. His heart clenched at the tears falling in rivulets down her cheeks, mirroring the drops of rain streaming down the side of the building in which they were sitting.
"Carol-...,"
"I tried, Daryl. I tried. I kept trying. It didn't matter. It just keeps coming for me," her voice wavered and she took a deep breath trying to steady herself before continuing. "I tried at the prison. Tried to make up for failing to save Sophia. Tried to teach the kids how to protect themselves. I thought...I thought I could...I was different. I could be different with Mika and Lizzie. I was responsible for those girls and I failed. Again."
Daryl just stood there, staring at her, watching the emotions play out across her face. He saw the guilt, the regret, and the pain. It was the pain that stabbed him in the gut. He never wanted to see that look on her face again.
He saw the shutters coming back down, the walls being built back up and knew he couldn't just let her shut it down. She'd told him he needed to feel it. Well, she was wrong, she needed to feel it too.
He moved to sit beside her, placing his hand over hers in what he meant to be a comforting gesture. Her skin was cool, goosebumps raised over her damp flesh, and he rubbed his thumb absently over the back of her hand, clearing his throat before speaking.
"You said you can't let yourself feel it. You gotta. You gotta feel it. You gotta let it burn away, so you can come out the other side. We ain't ashes," he paused and looked over at her, hoping to make his point stick. "We keep changing, adapting, burnin' away, but we keep comin' out the other side. Feel it, Carol."
He heard her breath catch, felt her tense in his grasp, then she broke. The steel seeped from her spine and she buckled under her grief. He moved to wrap his arm around her back, to give her the support she needed, her tears no longer quiet.
"It was me," he heard her through the sobs. "It was me. It had to be me."
He continued to hold her against him, his left hand reaching across his body to offer her his red kerchief to wipe her eyes.
"I should have seen it but I didn't. And Mika paid for it."
He looked questioningly at her but she didn't see the glance, her head buried in her hands.
"Lizzie wasn't right. She thought walkers were people. She wanted to play with them. I thought I made her see. I thought she understood what she had to do. But I didn't and she killed Mika."
The dread that had been gripping his insides twisted into an even tighter knot, wrapping its way around his heart like a boa constrictor, squeezing the life right out of it. What nightmare had she lived through? What more was this cruel world going to hand her, how much more could she be kicked down and beaten? The living dead had taken the place of her ex-husband, inflicting upon her even greater scars, unseen ones.
"She wanted her to turn, so we could see. She was going to kill Judith next."
He stiffened at that. Fuck.
"She couldn't be around people," she paused and he braced himself knowing what was coming next. "It had to be me. I shot her." She looked at him for the first time, expecting to see judgement, condemnation, censure in his eyes, so what she saw instead surprised her.
Unshed tears shimmered in his eyes and she saw her pain mirrored there. He wrapped his other arm around her and pulled her to him. She buried her face in the crook of his neck and wept on his shoulder, the grief breaking over her in waves, battering her like the rain battered the walls surrounding them.
He simply held her, letting her lean on him for support, in whatever form she needed it. He heard her voice muffled against his vest and he leaned back for a moment to hear her speak.
"Karen, David, Lizzie, Pete...my hands are stained with so much blood, Daryl. I'll never be...clean of it. It's all I see. At night in my sleep, all I see is red. Blood. It's everywhere. Is that who I am? A murderer? That's the person I am?"
"Hey, hey, hey," he murmured against her hair in a soothing tone. "You ain't no murderer. You're a survivor. You ain't no den mother. You're a momma bear tryin' to protect her cubs. This is our family. You're doing what you gotta to look out for 'em. Ain't no wrong in doin' that."
His hands went to her shoulders and he gently nudged her back from him enough so he could look her in the eyes as he spoke.
"Every one of us got blood on our hands. Not a one of us is innocent. Rick tore a guy's throat out with his teeth in order to save Carl. I think it'd be a helluva lot worse not to do anything and watch your family die. What's worse? The people out there like the ones at Terminus? Or people that stand back and watch it happen and do nothin' about it?"
She swallowed audibly and let the sincerity in his voice wash over her. His understanding, his quiet unfailing acceptance of her, like absolution. She felt lighter than she had since before the sickness hit the prison.
"We all got burdens, but ya can't run around carryin' it by yourself," he implored softly. "Ya gotta let people help ya, let people in...let me in," he added in a voice barely above a whisper.
He folded her back into his arms, just holding her, occasionally brushing his fingertips against the flesh at the nape of her neck, and let her rest against his chest, sharing his warmth with her.
When the emotional torrent had ebbed away, she lifted her head and smiled a slight, watery smile at him. She knew she would still carry this with her, bear the scar on her soul forevermore, but it no longer felt hot and fresh, festering in her. She had lanced the wound, let the poison out and now the healing could begin.
She rose and held her hand out to Daryl, linking their fingers together. He followed her lead, and they made their way to the door, bracing themselves to face the storm outside.
They opened the doors but instead of a storm, they were greeted with the aftermath. The damage had been done. Tree branches scattered about the yards, leaves blown hither and yon, and lawn furniture tipped over. They made their way past the spot the body had fallen, but the rain had washed the blood away, no evidence to be seen.
The sun peeked out from behind the receding clouds, illuminating the sky, its rays beaming down upon the small community. It cast a brilliant rainbow across the sky, rich jewel-like colors spanning the horizon, leaving the two survivors with a thread of hope that hadn't been felt by either since they found the prison. A vow that the storm would always pass. A promise that even through the darkest of times, there was still beauty.
They still had each other. That was enough.