Nox: This is part of my companion set - The Last Time, and Blue Eyes, both of which you don't have to read. But they deal with Merle's death, and Daryl's loss. And now, I move to Carol and her wait for Daryl. This will have Caryl. If you can read to the end of the chapter.
The Walking Dead belongs to Kirkman and AMC.
Waiting
She wasn't sure what to do. She knew what she wanted to do. She wanted to wrap her arms around him, hold him close, tell him everything was going to be okay. But that wasn't how they did things.
She reached out, tentatively, and let her hand fall against his back at the place between his shoulders. She could feel him tense, and watched as he gripped the harsh metal fence tighter, his head resting against the links. Something like a low whimper escaped him, and her chest tightened at the sound.
"Daryl-" He turned on her, making the fence rattle, and the walkers look their way.
And in his eyes she saw the pain, and the guilt, and the sadness he must have been holding onto for so many years.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, and reached out, her fingers caressing his cheek.
"He's not back yet." She wasn't blaming the woman next to her, but as it would seem, no one else would give her any company. She was starting to wonder if they wanted to give her space.
Space for what, she wasn't sure yet.
"But he is coming back," she said confidently, pulling her knees tighter against her chest.
Because he was coming back. This time she knew he was coming back. He had too, no matter what happened to his brother. She had faith he would come back. The others could say what they wanted, or not say anything at all.
He wouldn't abandon them now. He wouldn't abandon her.
"Course he is," she murmured next to her. She turned to the woman next to her; to her solid shoulders, the sword lying between them, and the way she stared out at the world around them.
She was beginning to like Michonne. Even if she didn't believe her.
"You don't believe that," she said back, calmly, not really surprised. Michonne turned to look at her, shock hidden beneath that cool demeanor she always had.
Her lips quirked up, just a little, and Carol couldn't help the smile she returned.
"I don't think Merle is coming back," she said instead, brown eyes narrowing, watching the walkers lined up around the fence. Their echoing moans filled her ears, reminding her that they were never really alone.
"But whether Daryl can handle that?" she said softly, holding Carol's gaze steadily. "That's only something you know," she whispered, leaning back against the wall where they sat, and closed her eyes.
Carol dropped her chin to her knees, letting that small bit of information sink into her slowly.
And she could feel her heart start to flutter in her chest, frantically. She buried her face against her legs, and breathed.
She knew Daryl would come back. There was no doubt, no question as to his loyalty and his feelings for their family. But she also knew that Merle had gone off to do something that he would never come back from.
"Where is he?" She'd been wanting to ask the same question, but she decided to let the others handle it. Hershel, it seemed, was eager to know, and Rick had decided to give up his leadership so he stood off to the side, silent. She still wasn't sure how she felt about that.
"Which one?" she responded coolly, sheathing the sword at her waist, keeping her eyes cast down. Carol watched as everyone glanced at each other, unsure of what to ask, who to say.
She couldn't stand to watch them debate with each other, like they actually cared. She knew none of them cared about Merle.
"Both of them," she barked, louder than she had intended, drawing everyone's attention. She swallowed against the anxiety building in her, fearing what Michonne's answer might be. "I want to know where they both are." Michonne caught her eyes, and held them, and she knew she was sizing her up. There hadn't been much interaction between either of them before, just what she expected when you had a war breathing down your neck.
Michonne walked toward her, slow and deliberate, and started to speak with that low voice of hers. She never took her eyes from Carol's.
"Merle let me go," she started, her chin lifting defiantly like she was just asking for someone to comment. Carol felt herself take a step forward.
"And Daryl caught up with me while I was on my way back," she finished. Carol stepped closer again, feeling the cold metal of the gun at her back press against her spine.
"Then why aren't they with you?" Beth called, her voice interrupting the silence that had descended on everyone.
Michonne glanced to the people around her, and then she looked at Carol again, pursing her lips. "He went to make his last stand," she murmured, eyes narrowing, squeezing the hilt of her blade.
"And Daryl went after him."
Carol couldn't stand there any longer. She fled from the prison, before the walls started to cave in around her.
"Nobody wanted Merle around," she said from her legs, not bothering to see if Michonne was listening. It didn't really matter. "Especially me. After what I'd seen that he'd done to Maggie and Glenn…" she trailed off, feeling ashamed of her initial judgment. She of all people should have known better.
"I was angry. I was pissed. I was reminded of all the things that my husband used to do to me. So I made the asinine assumption that he was just like Ed," she said in a rush, letting the accusation slip from her tongue, feeling the weight of her shame slip from her shoulders.
She should have been a better person. Should have done right by Daryl. Should have done right by Merle.
And then she remembered watching him around the prison, watching him watch Daryl. And it had dawned on her then.
"But the more he stuck around, the more of an ass he was…the more I realized that he really did love Daryl." She breathed deep, letting the truth of her words settle between them. Because she believed them, believed the enormity of them. And knew what that meant for Daryl now. "Even if it wasn't the same way we all show it," she breathed out, finding the strength to understand.
She looked down at her hands, and remembered the feel of the scars beneath her fingers. Remembered the way she had felt when she had seen them, touched them, had grazed her fingertips gently over each and every one.
She was staring. She couldn't help it. She should have had someone else take care of him, like Hershel. He would have been better suited to this task.
She glanced down at her hands, realized they were trembling and she clasped them together to get them to stop.
He grunted, glancing back at her briefly. "Ya gonna take care a it or what?" She swallowed hard, barely hearing his words.
This was the first time she'd seen him without his shirt on; the first time he'd actually sat before her, close enough for her touch, to just lean forward and press her forehead against him. She wished she could erase what every mark had been done to him.
The first one she focused on was at his waist; a single, thick rope of scar tissue raised against his skin. It was the color of gray ash, and it didn't belong.
The second one she noticed was on his shoulder, crisscrossed like X's, next to the tattoo's she had never seen before. They were jagged, as if whoever had dealt them had unsteady hands or just didn't care what they were doing.
Her hand hovered over that one, shaking, and she bit her lip to keep the tears from falling.
And then she saw a third one; crawling over his shoulder, from the base of his neck. And she couldn't stop herself from touching it; her fingers just grazing over it. He jerked at her touch, but didn't move away.
His shoulders tensed as she followed the scar from the base of his neck, down across his shoulder, and to the top of his spine. She watched a shiver work through him.
And she couldn't help the tears that slipped down her cheeks as she reached up to her own shoulder; fingers touching the raised, bumpy skin at her neck where her blood pulsed.
The one time Ed had made a permanent mark on her. The one time he'd proven to be just what she always knew he was. Useless. Inhuman. A monster.
She carried so many scars on her heart; it was enough to make her wonder if the muscle still looked like it was supposed to. What Daryl was on the out, she was on the inside. What she felt on the inside, she knew he did as well. And the pain of that realization made the tears well up in her eyes and her chest constrict.
And she couldn't stop herself from resting her forehead against his back, her hand placed gently against his side. Couldn't stop the tears from falling down her nose, and onto his back. Couldn't stop the ache in her chest from consuming her whole, until she shuddered out a breath.
"Didn't ever think somebody would cry," he muttered under his breath, shoulders still tense. She could hear that he was nervous. She could feel her heart beating fast against her chest, the muscle working harder than it had in a long time.
"Why not?" She murmured, raising her head up. He glanced back at her, eyes distant.
"Nobody ever cared," he whispered.
She felt the tears slide down her cheeks, the memory more than she could bear. She reached up, her fingers finding the scar at her neck.
She didn't believe that nobody ever cared. Not now. Not after being around Merle for the short time he'd been there. Not after the way he'd taken things into his own hands, and still let Michonne go.
She knew sacrifice. Knew what kind of men did that.
"He may have done some things wrong," she whispered, the tears making her throat thick, "but in the end he still did them for Daryl." She watched the sun peak over the trees, blinding her.
"What if he comes back and he's different?" She felt Michonne's hand fall over her shoulder, squeeze tight. "What if he comes back and he's not Daryl?" She looked at the woman sitting next to her and into her steady gaze. She wanted to feel as strong as Michonne looked right then. Wanted to look at the world around her and know she could take its head off with a single swing of her blade.
"Then you'll be there to bring him back, won't you," Michonne said evenly, never taking her eyes away.
She swallowed hard, and chewed her bottom lip.
If this woman who barely knew them, who'd only seen them do the desperate things of a broken people, could see in her that strength – then certainly she could find it in herself. Certainly she could fight back her own self-doubt and realize what Michonne had all this time.
Daryl would come back. And she would be waiting for him.
Like she always would be.
She reached up and grasped Michonne's hand in hers, laughing through her tears. And Michonne smiled in return, squeezing her fingers back before pulling her hand away.
"Carol! Michonne!" They both looked up to Carl's voice, and saw him pointing to the front gate.
Carol scanned the fence, noticed the walkers herding in one direction. And when her eyes found the front gate, she felt her breath catch in her throat.
And then she was running, running like her life depended on it.
In a sense it did.
Because Daryl stood there, waiting by the gate, the crossbow hanging uselessly at his side, his shoulders hunched. And he didn't say a thing.
Didn't say anything, didn't do anything, didn't attempt to defend himself as the walkers drew closer to him. He just leaned against the fence, waiting for something.
When his eyes met hers, he reached up to grab the fence between, and he waited. He waited for her to come to him. He just waited there, looking like he'd lost everything but trying to hide that from the world.
She slammed into the gate, her fingers clamping over his, the metal shaking around them. The sound echoed, combining with the moans of the walkers. She would have shivered at the sound had she not been so focused on Daryl. On his red-rimmed eyes, or his bloodied hands. On the defeated set of his shoulders, or the look of grief that consumed him. She curled her fingers around his tightly, never taking her eyes from his. He still didn't say anything, but she saw the way his jaw clenched, and his eyes welled up. She watched him bite the inside of his cheek.
He was holding onto threads, holding onto the pieces that were still lingering, and he was losing them.
"I'm here," she whispered, her other hand closing around the chain-links closest to his face. He leaned forward until his head was resting against the metal, and he shuddered out a breath.
She just barely heard the gate slam open, and Michonne's voice calling out to him. His eyes closed as her fingers extended out, just barely grazing across his cheekbone.
"I'm here."
A/N: So my Caryl feels went a little overboard there at the end. But ya know. I need me some Caryl. This is a two-part thing, but I don't think I'll have the next chapter out before the season finale. So I'll see you after tonight!
Your reviews would truly mean the world to me.