WARNING: Possible spoilers for 7x10 (but more speculation!)
REMEMBER
"Daryl?"
She felt her eyes blow wide and her breath catch in her chest, as she took in the so very familiar face of the man stood before her. Her initial shock was short-lived, however, as her brain caught up; her eyes raked over him, taking in his dishevelled state.
He looked more than tired; he looked like he hadn't slept in days, maybe weeks. He was cleaner than usual, freshly showered even. But his eyes were puffy and bruised, his lip slightly swollen, and his cheek grazed and scabbed over. He held his arm awkwardly to his chest, suspended in a makeshift sling. His shoulders were sagged, where they normally stood prominent and wide, and the gauntness in his cheeks told her that he'd lost weight. The unfamiliar clothes he wore, a dark grey zip-up hoody and black sweat pants, hung loosely from him.
"Daryl, what happened?"
When he remained silent, she forced herself to stop scanning him, and looked up to meet his eyes. In them, she found a mixture of exhaustion and despair; a dimness, a hopelessness that had seemingly switched off the lights inside.
"Hey, what happened?" she tried again, opening the door fully and stepping into his space, "Tell me."
His mouth fell open just barely, as if he was about to say something. She caught the way his lower lip trembled slightly, his jaw tensing and moving almost imperceptibly; it was a nervous tick of his that she'd come to know well. But then he said nothing as he released a frustrated sigh.
She lifted her hand to rest on his cheek, noticing his slight flinch, and realising it was the first time he'd had such a reaction to her touch since back at Hershel's farm. But she would not be deterred, and as her palm moulded into the curve of his cheek, it broke the dam.
Without warning, his face crumpled, and he let his head fall forward to her shoulder as he burrowed into her collar bone. She pulled him closer to her, one arm snaking around his torso and the other coming up around his neck, hand holding the back of his head as his shoulders heaved with his sobs.
She felt the tears welling in her own eyes, heartbroken as she was by the way he clutched at her back with his good arm. It was like a lifetime's worth of unshed tears, unshared pain, was pouring out of him right now, and she was at a loss to know what had triggered it.
As far as she knew, when she'd left Alexandria he had been alright, at least physically. She was determined to find out what she'd missed; to find out who'd hurt him. They'd already signed their death warrant.
He felt himself sag as his tears finally started to dry up. She'd held him in that doorway for God knew how long, her fingers tangling in his hair, softly hushing him as he'd completely broken down into a pile of whimpering mush.
He lifted his head from her shoulder, eyes puffy and unfocused, though he could still make out the wet patch that his tears had branded into her shirt.
"M'sorry," he mumbled, voice hoarse and quiet.
"Don't be," she whispered, her soft hands coming up to wipe the tear tracks from his cheeks with her thumbs, as her palms warmed his jawline.
Her eyes seemed to search his for a few seconds, and not for the first time, he found himself enraptured by their soft, azure glow.
"Come on," she muttered with a concerned frown.
He felt bereft for a moment when her hands slid down from his face, but he quickly got over it when he felt her smaller palm slide against his free hand, and her fingers intertwine themselves with his. He took her hand willingly, following as she turned to pull him into the house.
She led him to the kitchen table, pulling out a chair and gesturing for him to sit. He didn't argue; in fact, he was grateful as the exhaustion in his leg muscles threatened to drop him on his ass at any moment.
With a gentle squeeze of his hand, the coolness of her palm was once again retracted, and he found himself staring at his fingers where he rested his hand palm-upwards on the table top in front of him.
"Here," she said from beside him, and he looked up to see the proffered water bottle, "drink."
He did, finishing the entire container without stopping for breath, thanking her softly as she took the empty bottle away. He went back to staring at his hand, not realising she'd taken a seat beside him until the pale skin of hers appeared on top of his own again, her palm flat against his. He looked up to meet her concerned gaze.
"Nice place," he mumbled, trying to distract her from the questions he knew would come soon enough, as he gestured with his head at the room they sat in.
"It's ok," she agreed, and he could tell she was humouring him for the time being, sensing he wasn't ready to talk just yet; she'd always known how to react to him, so perceptive to his needs.
"You happy here?" he asked, not quite sure he wanted to know the answer.
She seemed to consider that for a second, her brow furrowing.
"I don't know," she answered honestly, and Daryl's eyes dropped away from hers as he readied himself to broach the subject he really wanted the details of.
"Why'd you leave?" he asked quietly, not meeting her eyes.
"Daryl," she said, almost sadly.
"Just tell me," he interrupted, gaze meeting hers fiercely. "Don't say I ain't gonna understand. Just try me."
"I had to," she said, sadly.
"Why?"
"Because I couldn't do it anymore," she explained, eyes haunted and defeated.
"Couldn't do what?" he frowned.
"Keep killing. So many people…" she trailed off, this time allowing her gaze to fall on their still-joined hands as she paused, before slowly continuing "I killed so many, Daryl. Karen and David. And Lizzie…"
"Stop," he shook his head, ready to argue that though she might feel like Lizzie's death was her fault, it couldn't be. But she interrupted him.
"I killed her Daryl," she said stoically, silencing his protestations, "I shot her in the back of the head."
Carol's free hand lifted, pointing to the back of her own skull. He took a moment to mull that over.
"If you did, then you did it 'cause you had to. You did it 'cause you had no other choice," he said with unwavering certainty.
"You don't even know why I did it," Carol challenged, though there was no confrontation in her tone, just defeat and sadness.
"But I know you," he answered without missing a beat, "You do everything you can to protect your family. You always have. If you killed her, it's 'cause you had to."
"But that's the problem," she said, shaking her head sadly, "I would do anything to protect you. And all of them. But I can't anymore. I can't fight anymore, Daryl. I can't keep ending lives to save others."
Daryl turned it over in his mind. He understood what she was saying, but he couldn't bring himself to agree. He knew he'd kill a thousand people without remorse to keep her safe.
"Then you don't have to," he tried, "I'd do it for you. You don't gotta kill nobody."
"You know that's not how it works," she countered, and damn it, he knew she was right.
They fell into a temporary, thoughtful silence. It hurt him, more than he cared to acknowledge, to know that she felt so lost right now; that she'd lost her way so badly, that she felt being away from those she loved was better than staying and risking the necessity of protecting them. But he also knew he held the key to changing her mind.
Somehow, he knew that to tell her about Negan, about the saviours, about…Glenn; if she just knew what had happened in her absence, she'd be down to the Sanctuary in a heartbeat. And she'd be dead on the cold, hard floor a minute later.
And she'd probably hate him too. Just like they all must do now…Rick, Maggie for certain. No, come on, now was not the time to continue that self-torture. There'd be enough of that from his family when he finally made it back to Alexandria. Could he even call them family anymore, after what he'd done? Carol would find out soon enough, too. He'd tell her himself, even, knowing that her disappointment in him would both destroy him, and be totally justified.
Maybe after all this was over, he'd have to leave them. He doubted they'd even want him in the same community; Maggie would never be able to look at him the same, that's for sure.
But that didn't matter right now. He'd make it back there, regardless of their hatred of him. He'd help overthrow Negan. He'd do his part to try and fix the hellhole they'd been thrown into…for Glenn. And then he'd disappear.
"Daryl, what happened to you? Why are you dressed like that?" she asked softly, breaking the silence that had befallen them.
He swallowed thickly, buying himself some time as his brain fabricated a lie. He had to think of something, to keep her here, where she was safe. She couldn't know the truth; not yet.
"Some guys, out on the road," he answered carefully, "Beat my ass and took my stuff."
"Was it Negan's group?" she asked, the concern showing clearly in her features, "How'd you end up here?"
"Naw, not Negan's group. Ain't heard nothin' from them in a while," he felt sick inside as he lied to her, but reminded himself that he was doing it for her, and found the will to continue, "Ezekiel's guys found me. Patched me up. Then I found Morgan at the Kingdom. Told me where to find you."
She didn't look wholly convinced, as she squinted at him with scrutiny. After a moment, she seemed to have made the decision to let it go, to give him the benefit of the doubt, and her gaze softened again.
"Are you going back to Alexandria?" she asked, clearly trying to keep emotion out of her tone.
He nodded reluctantly.
"Have to. They don't know where I am, they'll be looking for me," he lied again.
Her guard slipped momentarily, as her face visibly fell.
"Maybe I can stay for a while, though," he suggested, suddenly nervous, "Been a while since I had any good food."
"Why, Daryl Dixon, are you trying to tell me there's nobody at Alexandria cooks as well as I do?" she teased lightly, and he was grateful for the change in tone.
"Hell, you know it," he affirmed, allowing a slight smirk to cross his features.
She snorted, standing up abruptly and heading toward the kitchen countertop.
"Well, just so happens that I cooked up a killer rabbit stew yesterday, with enough left over to feed a family for a week," she told him, smiling at him over her shoulder.
The easiness of it had him returning her smile. They were both playing a game, right now, and they both knew it. But it was a welcome respite from the torment they'd clearly both been suffering, and Daryl could almost pretend they were back at the prison, when things had been so easy between them. Back before everything turned to shit.
They ate in comfortable silence, Carol watching Daryl out of the corner of her eye as he practically inhaled his stew.
She knew he was keeping something from her. His reaction when he'd arrived on her doorstep; the way he'd broken down, there was clearly more to his story than he'd let on. But she knew that he was a stubborn man, and if he didn't want to talk, he wasn't going to. To press the subject would be to push him away, and that's the last thing she wanted right now.
Truth was, she'd missed them all terribly. And none more than Daryl Dixon. Having him here, safe with her, almost made her regret her decision to leave. But then, the fierce protectiveness she felt at seeing him so beat up, was a confirmation that she'd done the right thing; if she ever came across the people who'd hurt him, they'd be skinned alive without a second thought, for laying a finger on him.
The thought of him going back to Alexandria sent daggers through her gut. And while part of her had decided it was the right thing for him to do, there was another part that was so glad he'd found her, because she knew that he'd keep coming back. And she wouldn't run. She couldn't. As much as she needed the distance between them, her sanity required the knowledge that he was alive and well.
When he'd drained the last drops of broth from his bowl, he looked up at her sheepishly, a redness spreading over his cheeks in response to her knowing smirk.
"That good, huh?" she asked.
"Better," he replied, that half smile making a welcome return.
Their eyes met, and they held each other's gaze, just for a moment.
"You're leaving," she spoke softly, sadly, as she watched the conflict dance across his face.
He nodded.
"S'getting dark," he replied, equally sadly, "Wanna get back while I still got the light."
She looked down at the table, swallowing back the sadness that threatened to pour over.
"Will you come back?" she asked, resenting the neediness that came across in her tone.
She watched a myriad of emotions flash in his eyes, so fast that she struggled to read them in time, before they were gone.
"Soon as I can," he promised, though it seemed empty to her, somehow.
She smiled gently, and he returned it, before wincing as he got to his feet, swaying slightly.
"Take my horse," Carol offered, standing up beside him, arms out as if ready to catch him should he topple over.
She could tell he wanted to decline, but he didn't argue with her; he really must have been as exhausted as he looked.
She led him outside to the back of the house, where the brown mare stood in the shed-like structure, munching lazily on a hay bale. They led her around to the front gates of the house, Daryl stroking her nose tenderly as Carol grappled with the lock on the main gates. As they swung open, she turned to her companion, finding him staring at her with an unreadable expression.
They stood in silence for a moment, neither wanting to speed up the inevitable parting.
"Stay safe," he muttered, emotion dripping in his voice.
"Nine lives, remember?" she whispered back, realising how long it'd been since they'd used that gentle exchange of words.
He nodded gently, chewing on his sore lip. He then surprised her, abruptly stepping forward into her, and wrapping his arm around her shoulders, pulling her in to his chest.
Her arms, of their own accord, wound their way around his waist, her eyes falling shut as she pressed her face into the side of his neck, her lips resting against the curve of his collar-bone. She could feel his heart beating against his chest, and knew hers was matching its rhythm. And the warmth he radiated through her made her never want to let go.
But eventually, she felt his arm fall away, sliding down her back and only breaking contact at the very last moment. She stepped back, looking down at the ground, unable to meet his eyes.
Until she felt his thumb on her chin, his index finger curled under, as he tilted her face up to look at him. He looked nervous, his lip doing its usual wobble, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed thickly.
And then he leaned forward, his lips coming to rest on her forehead, and her eyes drifted shut as she felt his breath fan over her hair. He lingered for a moment, and then he was gone, turning his back on her and throwing himself clumsily into the saddle. And then he was out the gates, without looking back.
She watched him go, unshed tears in her eyes, until he was out of sight.
