Stolen Moments

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Disclaimer: I'm in no way affiliated with AMC, The Walking Dead, nor any characters created by them.
I just like to play with them, free of charge.

{This is meant to be little off screen private moments between Carol Peletier and Daryl Dixon,
starting around the first episode of the fourth season, possibly a few days/weeks before, and leading up to the
inevitable shit storm that was the mid season finale. Just little bits and pieces of what people don't usually
see of them, especially since Daryl rarely opens up to anyone but Carol. Enjoy, and review :D}

1

Carol was finished with her part of the dinner kitchenn duties, for the moment, and was carrying a plate for
Daryl, as usual. Only she couldn't seem to find him. She was betting he'd decided to hide out from his new fan club.
He always had preferred solitude to crowds, given the choice. On a whim, she checked the cell they now shared as bunk mates.
As she rounded the corner of their doorway, she saw his booted feet crossed and hanging off the end of the bottom bunk.
With a knowing smirk, she positioned herself in the doorway, leaning against the wall, before speaking.

"Couldn't take all those adoring looks and compliments for another minute, huh?"

He snorted with a grin, and she sat on the stool across from the bed, while he sat up and faced her before accepting the
plate of food.

"Dunno what all the fuss is about, " he drawled nonchalantly. "I ain't nothin' special. Just good for one thing."

Carol clasped her hands together, and leaned forward, elbows on her knees, so she could look him in the eye.

"You are very talented, Pookie, " she said with a wink. "Before the outbreak, and fall of civilization, being a skilled
woodsman wasn't more than a hobby. Now it's a means of survival. You're very talented at it. Those people are not used
to that, they're still a little city-soft from living in Woodbury. And you are definitely good at more than just shooting.
You need to learn to take compliments, and accept them."

Daryl chewed his lip, and aimed his eyes at his biscuits and gravy. "Psh, whatever."
She gave him a while to move past his insecure moment, and finish his meal. Then she watched as he licked the grease off
each of his fingers. A part of her always thought how dirty and disgusting it was when he did that...but another, darker part
allowed it to make her breath catch and her heart beat a bit faster. She loved his hands. Rough-hewn and calloused as they
were, they were as nimble as they appeared. In another life, they could have belonged to a sculptor.

She knew he appreciated when she could just sit with him in comfortable silence. Being a man of few words, and often unsure
of the ones he did let fly, the quiet made him feel safe. After he had set his plate on the floor, and folded his hands between
his knees contentedly, she decided it was time to speak.
"Daryl. Can I talk to you about something that may make you...uncomfortable?" He frowned, but tilted his head to one side,
quizzically. "Say your piece," he grunted.

She let out an audible breath she hadnt realized she'd been holding. "OK, here goes.
I realize I could be completely off on my assumptions, but I'm pretty sure I have some idea what your upbringing
was like." He cast his eyes to a newly fascinating crack in the wall to his right. "I know your parents and Merle done you
very wrong. I also know that a lot of folks in our part of the country tend to teach boys never to show emotion other than
apathy or anger. That they're taught it shows weakness. And that other boys raised that way can be cruel to any who slip
up and, say, cry." Daryl finally looked her in the eye, but he couldn't keep his hands or knees still. She leaned a tiny
bit closer to him. "Honey, you need to know. You are worthy of being complimented. You are something- someone special.
And, much as it terrifies you, I know...you are worthy of love." He dropped his gaze to his hands again. Carol silently,
tentatively placed her small, pale, chore-worn hands on top of his. Almost immediately, he rolled his hands palm up,
cradling hers there, and gently rubbing his thumbs across her wrist bones. This much touching and the fact that he was
quite relaxed about it, amazed her. She had to train her breathing, keep herself calm, so as not to spook him into
clamming up.

"Sometimes, " he rasped. "When it's just me 'n you...It feels like this is the only life either of us ever lived." His
voice was soft, low, just a touch of the rumble that made Carol's hair stand on end and her toes curl in her combat boots.
"Like the people that done broke us, and tore us down before, never even existed." He lifted his head, but angled it so only
one blue-green eye peered at her.

"Can-" Carol started to speak, but her voice came out a croak, and she had to clear her throat before starting again.
"Can I...touch your face? Would that be ok?" His answer came out as a fast, breathy whisper, almost a growl, his eyes
closing quickly. "Yes."

Not wanting to lose his hands, she kept her right one between his and raised her left, even more gently and carefully than
before, to his cheek. She cupped the side of his face, and he sucked in air through his mouth, and pushed it hard out of
his nose. Then he leaned into her hand.
They stayed that way for a long while, and carol was afraid the usual hustle and bustle of the now-populated prison would
steal this moment from them. Daryl opened his eyes, and brought his left hand up, almost closed, to stop a few inches from
her cheek. She could see him struggling within himself, so she slid her fingertips up his wrist to the heel of his hand,
pausing for him to relax and finish outstretching his fingers, then put her face into his palm herself. For a moment, she
felt her eyes roll back into her skull. It had been a very long time since anyone had touched her this way. Her daughter
had probably been the last.

She opened her eyes and gazed into his for a moment or two.

And then a cell door creaked and slammed somewhere down the hall, and the spell was broken. Daryl was instantly on his feet
facing out the door, stretching his arms behind his head, muttering something about checking fences, and then he was gone.

She was left with her face and heart feeling warm.

"I love you, Daryl, " she whispered into the air.

Carol knew this hadn't drastically changed the whole dynamic of their friendship. It would take him a lot longer to
be able to touch more than they had, or even touch that same way again anytime soon. Sometimes Daryl was more like a wild
hors than an average man, and it was futile to try to force him to accept more than he felt safe with.
Carol felt like that tiny broken barrier was intimate enough to last her years. She could wait. It was so worth it.