Author's Note: I took the title for this story from the KT Tunstall song of the same name. Some of the lyrics seemed quite appropriate. As for Sophia's hair tie...I can't take credit for that. Melissa McBride stated on Twitter that the only thing Carol had left of Sophia was a hair tie, and that she carried it with her everywhere. I can, however, take credit for the color and garish plastic flower. :)
Disclaimer: I own nothing, all characters are the property of someone else. ;)
Sounds of life ricocheted around her, filling the tombs with warmth and energy. But here in her cell, in her head, it was quiet.
Carol hadn't had time to stop – to think – in days, it seemed. And now that she could, her thoughts threatened to drown her.
The newcomers to the Prison had forced a shift in their living situations. No longer did they each have the "luxury" of a cell to themselves. C Block, as the only portion of the Prison still secure and habitable, was now full to overflowing with people, with life.
Their small group had paired off – Maggie and Glenn, Hershel and Beth, Rick and Carl – although there was obvious tension between father and son, Rick insisted they share a cell – and little Judith went with her father and brother. Finally, it was down to Carol, Daryl and Michonne. Before anyone could say anything, Michonne walked off to claim her cell – alone. Carol's heart began thumping in her chest, but she brushed it off and asked Daryl, "Top bunk or bottom?"
Rick and Hershel had overseen dispersing the Woodbury refugees, grouping them together in family units if possible, using their judgment to pair off the rest where needed. Carol and Beth were tasked with distributing the meager amenities they had to these people who had fled safety and comfort with little more than the clothes on their backs.
A blanket, a pillow, a bar of soap, all were more than welcome, and Carol was glad to be in the position of giving them what comfort she could. The children of Woodbury, more children than Carol had seen in one place since Before, laughed and smiled despite the dire circumstances of their short lives. A skinny little girl ran past them, sandy hair streaming behind her. Carol's breath caught in her throat. Sophia.
She didn't often let herself dwell on…things. She couldn't, not if she was going to keep going. So she had taken a deep breath, smiled at Beth, and moved on to the next cell.
But now, curled under her thin blanket in the dark, with the cacophony outside her cell fading as night fell on the Prison, her thoughts engulfed her. Her fingers gently worried at the purple hair tie on her wrist. It was the only thing she had left of her baby girl. Their swift exodus from the Greene's farm had ensured that no trace of Sophia remained to haunt her, something she'd initially welcomed. It was easier to keep going, to not think, if she wasn't constantly faced with the reminder that she wasn't whole anymore.
One winter afternoon, however, she'd found it – a small, purple, stretchy band nestled at the bottom of one of the few bags they'd salvaged from the farm. At first she dismissed it as belonging to Lori, or maybe Andrea, but then she saw the plastic flower attached to it. A memory stirred of her hands using it to secure Sophia's blonde strands in a stubby ponytail.
Carol had tucked the hair tie into her pocket, and it became a kind of talisman for her. She no longer had her necklace to worry when she was out of sorts – she'd thrown it away in a fit of rage at God for taking her baby. So now she rubbed the hair tie instead, silently talking to her daughter instead of her God.
The plastic flower had long since fallen off, and the band barely had any elasticity left, but it remained as precious to her as anything in this life.
Carol didn't have much left that she could truly call "hers." Personal possessions were few – clothes scavenged. She'd found what truly mattered were the people in her life. Daryl, Rick, Asskicker. Andrea.
Her throat tightened as she thought of her friend, gone now, gone forever. Rick and Daryl hadn't said much when they returned, but then again, Rick had been preoccupied with the newcomers and Daryl…well, Daryl never said much at all. But she knew that Andrea had gone out on her own terms, and of that she was glad. She hadn't turned.
Michonne seemed devastated by Andrea's death, and hardly left her cell; a self-imposed confinement. Carol wanted to reach out to her, but it didn't feel right. Not yet. After all, they barely knew each other.
It was funny how this rotten world had brought all these people together. Before….well, she was a different woman Before. But Carol doubted she would have ever made such friends as these…as Lori…and Andrea.
Her throat clenched again and she let out a shuddering sob.
"You all right?"
Her shoulders stiffened. She must have been so lost in her thoughts that she hadn't even heard him come in from his turn on watch. She heard the soft thump of him kicking off his shoes, and heard him gently lay down his crossbow.
She swallowed quickly, hoping to stave off the tears that had threatened just moments ago. "Yeah. Just thinking."
His shadow near the end of the bed was still. She could see him, silhouetted against the fading light outside the cramped cell, one hand on the ladder to the top bunk. The silence was deafening.
Daryl was always quiet, but this wasn't their normal, comfortable silence. There were words hanging in the air between them, palpable.
Carol sat up in bed, scooting until her back was pressed against the narrow headboard. She tried to focus her eyes in the blackness of the cell, tried to see his face. He'd been distracted lately, more distant than normal, which was to be expected, all things considered. She'd tried to give him space, but maybe that wasn't what he wanted. Maybe that wasn't what he needed.
She broke the silence. "Are you okay?"
His hand dropped from the ladder. She couldn't tell, but she'd bet he was gnawing on his thumbnail. But the only noise he made was the sound of shifting from one foot to the other.
"You wanna talk about it?" She sat up even further, tucking her knees towards her chest. She patted the thin mattress, inviting him to sit. She realized belatedly that he probably couldn't see her gesture, but then again, his eyes were more used to the dark than hers.
He didn't reply, but his shadow moved, and his weight sank into the mattress next to her, at the foot of the bed. His hand came to rest on the blanket, right on top of her feet. It was an accident, of course, but he made no effort to move. Her heart hammered in her ears, and her body tensed. Carol was sure he noticed, but she didn't say anything.
Touch had become more common, more casual between them, but she'd always tried to keep it light-hearted. Daryl still shied away from any prolonged physical contact, and she'd found that a well-timed quip could break any tension. But now wasn't the time for teasing.
She took a breath to steady herself, and focused on the man in front of her.
He was quiet for another moment or two, before clearing his throat.
"What did it feel like after…after Sophia?" His voice cracked as he said her daughter's name.
Oh. Merle. Her thoughts had been so consumed with Andrea...she'd assumed his were, too.
It had been several days since Daryl had put down his big brother. He'd told her what happened, but she supposed that with time, without the constant danger pressing him forward, he'd begun to fully process it.
She chose her words carefully.
"It…it felt like a part of me was missing. Still does. It hurt, for a long time. And I was so angry. Angry at Rick, angry at you, angry at God."
The anger had consumed her like wildfire. She'd cut herself off from everybody, then lashed out when they tried to reach her. She'd been bitter, and resentful.
Carol paused, swallowing the catch in her throat, before quietly saying, "But after a while, I realized I was just angry at myself. Angry for hoping, and for losing."
She still remembered the sting of the cuts on her arms after she'd ripped out every Cherokee Rose she found. The pain had been dull compared to the ache she felt daily. Sophia had left a jagged, bleeding hole in her heart, but eventually, her wounds began to heal. The ache subsided, and she'd found her way back to herself, to her friends. To Daryl.
She could hear his breathing, ragged and shallow. She continued, more forcefully.
"It wasn't right to be angry at myself. I didn't do anything, no more than you, Rick, or God had anything to do with it. It just is. But that doesn't mean it doesn't hurt anymore."
Daryl didn't say anything. She shifted, pulling her feet out from under his palm, and slid down the bed until she was beside him. The warmth of his skin radiated in the cold cell, and she leaned her shoulder into his, purposely bridging the gap between them.
"Is that how it feels with Merle?" She spoke softly, tentatively. This was new ground for them, and she needed to tread carefully.
Daryl let out a long, shuddering breath. "Yeah."
In the dark she found his hand, and wound her fingers through his. "And that's okay, you know. It's okay to hurt. It means you loved him. And I know he loved you."
His hand squeezed hers tightly, and his chest heaved in the dark.
She didn't say anything, but pulled him towards her. She surprised herself with her boldness - she wasn't sure where this sudden instinct had come from. She only knew that she needed, that he needed, human contact right now.
Guiding him gently, she lay down on the threadbare mattress, and after half a second's hesitation he followed, curling behind her. Carol brought his arm around her body, and wrapped his hand in both of hers.
She brushed her lips against his knuckles, and whispered, "It's okay. He loved you, and he wanted to protect you."
Daryl was silent, but she felt him tremble behind her, and she felt the dampness of his tears on her neck.
The darkness and the quiet surrounded them, but for once, they weren't alone.