A/N: Evening all. It's 3am! How did that happen! Writing literally leeches time, I swear!
Anyway, little (quite long) one-shot here!
Dedicated to Cathy, who wanted a jealous Daryl. Enjoy ;)
Warning: Some coarse language here!
Daryl had barely spoken since Grady. She'd heard him mutter a few words here and there, usually in response to a question, but other than that his lips remained closed, eyes downcast. The night after they'd buried Beth she'd found him a little way into the woods from their camp, laying his fists into a tree, letting out a guttural grunt with each punch. His crossbow lay at his feet where he'd thrown it down in anger.
She'd approached slowly for fear of startling him. He must have heard her footfalls from behind him, as he suddenly whipped around to face her, eyes wide and alert. He only took her in for a second before abruptly turning his back to her, but it was enough time for her to see the tear tracks down his cheeks and the redness of his eyes. He bowed his head slightly, his hand swiping up to his face, no doubt to wipe away the evidence of his grief.
He stood stock still as she considered how to proceed, knowing full well that any ill-considered move could startle him into running. Knowing he wasn't much for words at the best of time, never mind when he was battling with his emotions, she decided that she had two options: approach him slowly and hope he trusted her enough not to bolt, or turn her back, apologise, and leave him alone with his pain. Perhaps the latter might have been better for them both, but as she watched his back, shoulders drooped lower than she'd ever seen them and head hung forward dejectedly, she knew she could never walk away from him.
Taking slow footsteps, giving him time to leave if he didn't want to see her, she approached him. After the first few deliberately loud steps, she realised he wasn't going anywhere. Emboldened, she quickened her pace until she was within mere inches of him. She knew that he knew she was there, but still he showed no signs of leaving. She reached out a hand slowly, almost thinking better of it, before taking a deep breath and laying it flat upon his shoulder blade over the left angel wing.
He let out an almost inaudible whimper, followed by jumpy, stuttered exhalations, and it took her a moment to realise he was crying. Really, full on crying.
She gripped his shoulder, pulling him to face her. At first he resisted, but after a point he seemed just to break, and he turned easily, dropping his face straight to her shoulder and gripping her round the waist. She lifted her arms around his back and shoulders, pulling him into her as she felt his hot tears against her neck, feeling her own tears fall unbidden from her eyes. He tightened his hold on her, his hands fisting in the material of her jacket.
They cried in silence, the only sounds their staggered breaths and the rustle of Carol's hand stroking up and down the leather on his back in calming motions. Neither spoke, knowing they just needed this moment of weakness, vulnerability. Minutes passed, and she felt Daryl's breathing even out, and the tension she could feel coiled through his body seemed to loosen. At some point, the fingers of her right hand had threaded through the hair on the back of his head, rubbing his scalp gently.
With a sniffle, she felt him release his hold on her body as he stepped out of her embrace, his head staying focussed on the ground at his feet. He lifted his arm to wipe his face on the back of his forearm, as she lifted her own hands to wipe the wetness from beneath her eyes.
He refused to look at her, but showed no sign of moving away from her. She lifted her hands to cup his cheeks, pulling his gaze up to hers. The pain in his eyes as they connected with hers sent a stabbing feeling through her gut. She had never seen him this open, this raw. Had never even imagined that he could look such a way; he always looked so strong to her, carrying indifference like a badge of honour.
She was even more startled when he didn't look away. His eyes burned into hers as her thumbs moved across his cheeks in slow movements, collecting the lines of moisture he'd missed with his arm.
Her eyes widened as, without warning, his head drooped forward to rest his forehead against hers. She felt his breathing quicken, and her own followed suit. She almost gasped as his tongue darted out to wet his lips slightly. He wasn't planning on…? Surely not…
As the seconds ticked by, she felt his head start to tilt as his nose bumped against hers, and she felt her eyes closing of their own accord. She found herself licking her own lips in anticipation as the seconds stretched on and on. She lost all sense of where they were, and all she could feel were his hands gripping tightly at her waist, his quick breaths ghosting across her mouth, the wrinkles in his forehead pressed against hers as he frowned, waging some internal war.
More than anything she wanted to bridge that gap, but she knew he had to be the one to do it. It had to be on his terms.
His lips were so close now that they were breathing as one, and the heat of it was overwhelming. She could feel the scruff above his top lip tickling hers. He was so close. If she had to wait much longer she knew she'd give in and close that final hairs-breadth of distance between them.
"Daryl! Carol! You out here?" Rick's voice echoed through the trees around them.
Carol's eyes snapped open, as the heat against her face was suddenly gone. Daryl stepped back from her, refusing to meet her eyes. She swallowed thickly as she heard Rick's footsteps approach from behind her. Daryl took another step back as the sheriff stepped into his sight, and the distance now between them could've been miles for the loss Carol felt at the contact.
"Oh, hey," Rick balked, sensing he'd interrupted something as Daryl's eyes remained downcast, "everything OK?"
Carol saw that Daryl wasn't going to answer.
"We're fine," Carol answered shortly, trying to keep the annoyance and disappointment from her tone.
Rick nodded at her as she met his eyes, forcing a smile.
"Sasha's cookin' up those cans of beans," he gestured a thumb over his shoulder awkwardly, aware of the tension hanging thick in the air.
"OK, we'll be there in a minute," Carol answered, silently begging Rick to leave them alone.
"I'm gonna go hunt," Daryl mumbled, still not making eye contact as he bent over to lift his crossbow from the leaf-littered floor.
"Daryl, you don't need to..." Carol started, but he waved her off, turning his back on them both and stomping off further into the trees.
"I'll be back in a few hours," they heard him grunt, and then he was gone.
Carol stared after his retreating form until he disappeared from sight. She was so lost in her thoughts that she didn't notice that Rick had approached until his hand fell upon her shoulder. She jumped slightly, wheeling round to face him.
"Hey, everything OK?" Rick asked softly.
Not trusting herself to talk, she nodded sharply before starting back towards camp, clenching her jaw against the onslaught of emotions he had left her with.
He'd returned several hours later, when most of the group had bedded down by the campfire. Carol had picked a spot further out beside a wide tree. She'd folded up her spare jacket and placed it over one of the large protruding roots; it was the closest thing to a pillow she could make, and the elevation took the strain off her injured shoulder.
He'd walked into camp quietly. If she'd been asleep, his footsteps wouldn't have woken her. She'd always found that amazing about him; how he was built so solid and heavy-set, but could move like a ghost.
She'd watched as his eyes sought her out, but upon finding her awake and watching, he'd quickly averted his gaze. He removed the two squirrels from where they hung across his shoulder and flopped down against a tree on the other side of the camp, refusing to look at her again.
She hoped he just needed some time alone. She hoped that he'd get over this quickly. She hoped that maybe tomorrow he'd come and find her, tell her he was sorry, and that'd be it. But something told her he was pulling away again. She didn't know why, or what had caused the sudden change in demeanour; after all, just hours ago they'd been holding each other so tight, right on the cusp of something new. But she had a sinking feeling that she was in for a rough ride.
Her suspicions were confirmed the next morning. She'd seen him across camp, sat on a fallen log and studying his fists. She could see the dried blood from his knuckle fight with the tree last night, and even from a distance she could see the blackish colour of his fingers where the bruises were spreading out.
Sighing, she dug into her backpack, pulling out the small med kit she'd been carrying around since she'd left the prison, hoping she'd never have cause to use any of it. He didn't acknowledge her approach until she crouched down before him, taking his hands in hers to inspect them.
Before she could do anything, he ripped his hands from her grasp and stood over her. She sighed, before standing up to face him head on. She was taken aback by the glare she received.
"Don't need your help," he almost spat, "quit yer fussin'."
Before she could respond he had turned on his heel, stepping over the fallen tree.
"Daryl, I know you're…" she started tiredly before he cut her off, swivelling back to face her.
"You don't know nothin'" he snarled, his eyes burning sharply into hers.
His tone awoke something in her. She was sick to the back teeth of being spoken to like that by men; she'd had nearly thirty years of being treated like trash, she'd come too far. She felt her patience snap.
"Fuck you," she sneered, throwing the med pack at his feet and turning on her heel.
She didn't turn around as she stomped off into the forest, so he didn't see the angry tears falling from her eyes, and she didn't see the absolute shame and resignation on his face.
Nearly two weeks had passed since then. Two weeks since she'd made any eye contact with Daryl Dixon, or uttered any words that weren't completely necessary for their continued survival. It had taken them another four days to reach Washington. They hadn't found anywhere safe that wasn't overrun by walkers, so they'd gone from house to house each night, never staying in one place. It reminded Carol of that winter before they found the prison. So much had changed since then, and yet they were back to that square one of having no home. No fences. No time to let your guard down.
They'd continued like that until it all changed two days ago, when they'd met Aaron. Within hours they'd gone from being homeless, isolated, to standing at the gates to Alexandria Safe Zone. Aaron, whose job it was to seek out new people for the community, had found them and convinced them to check the place out.
Suddenly they had houses, solar power, a perimeter fence, and people. Good people. Not sick cannibalistic assholes, but normal people, seemingly almost unaffected by the state of the world as they knew it now. It had seemed too good to be true, but here it was.
Carol had had her first really hot shower since the CDC, and the feel of the warm water had brought tears from her eyes. She didn't even know why, but she'd cried and cried until she felt empty, a strange mix of relief and something else much darker pumping through her.
They hadn't had much time to relax. They'd each had to meet with the leader of the town, a one Douglas Monroe. Carol had met with him second, straight after Rick, wanting to form her opinion of him before anyone could colour her impression of him. However, he had seemed to her like a genuine person; you could never be too careful these days, and she wouldn't be letting her guard down any time soon, but for now she would give him the benefit of the doubt. After all, it was better than being back out there again.
He'd talked about how everyone there had a job suited to his or her skills. He'd asked her what she was good at, and she hadn't known what to say. She told him how she'd always done the "housework" so to speak, not that they'd had a house in a long time, but she'd done the cooking, washing.
"Ah good, good, but I hear you're a good shot with a rifle," Douglas had smiled knowingly.
"Rick told you," she'd determined.
"He said you'd leave that part out," Douglas chuckled, "he thinks you underestimate yourself, Carol."
"People have a habit of doing that," she smirked.
"Haha," Douglas let out a loud chortle, "so you don't deny, you're a good shot?"
"I can shoot," she nodded.
"Excellent!" he'd clapped his hands together once, "If it suits you, I'd like you to help defend our walls from the guard tower. My son, Spencer, normally does that job for us, but he's no real skill with a weapon."
And so Carol was the new town sharpshooter. She'd received congratulations and claps on the back from her family members upon announcing it to them, and she'd accepted their sentiments with a grin. Until she caught Daryl's eyes on her, with an unreadable expression on his face, but she'd looked away swiftly.
She'd decided not to think too much on his reaction. Ever since their argument in the woods, she'd allowed herself to be stubborn, refusing to be the one to back down this time. Still, she missed him, and whenever she had a quiet moment, her thoughts always strayed to him. Knowing he was just across the camp, or just in the next room, and that she could go to him and apologise. But no, she wouldn't. She had pride enough for that.
She definitely wasn't scared. At least that's what she told herself; that his rejection, should he not reciprocate, wouldn't bother her. It was a damn shame that try as she might, she just couldn't convince herself of that. She was terrified.
They'd all spent their first night at the safe zone together in the same house, just in case. She'd slept curled up in the corner of the living room of the house Rick had been assigned for himself, Carl and Judith. Sleep had evaded her most of the night, but she'd tried her best to relax. Douglas had told them about his birthday party they'd planned the following night. He had insisted they all come. It could be a joint birthday/welcome party, he'd insisted. Rick had agreed that they should all go to make a good impression and get a feel for the community.
And so Carol found herself the next evening, stood in front of a full-length mirror in black jeans and a tight, long-sleeved, low-cut, V-neck top that she'd found in the wardrobe of the large house she, Noah, Daryl, Glenn and Maggie had been assigned. She even had make up on for the first time in almost three years, and had found some hoop earrings. She didn't even recognise the person in the mirror; she found it almost unnerving.
A knock on the door woke her from her reverie as Michonne entered without waiting for a reply. She and the samurai had become fairly close in the past few days, finding they had a lot more in common than either had realised before. Michonne's eyes widened when she saw Carol.
"Lookin' good," she winked, smiling when Carol seemed to blush slightly, "it's nice to be clean for once, isn't it?"
"Feels weird," Carol answered, turning back to look at her reflection again, "I never thought, never even hoped…" she tailed off.
"I know," Michonne answered, stepping fully into the room and standing beside Carol, hands on her shoulders comfortingly.
Carol arrived at the party in Douglas' house with her arm in Michonne's. The sheer number of people made her want to run and hide, but she stood tall and smiled. Ed had never let her attend parties; for that reason alone she was determined to enjoy herself.
She looked around the crowded room, spotting a clean-shaven Rick talking to Douglas and another man. He caught sight of them and beckoned them over.
As they crossed the room, Carol's eyes fell upon Glenn talking to a young man Carol guessed to be around twenty. Daryl stood beside him looking incredibly uncomfortable. She supposed it was a mixture of the social situation, and the fact that he was wearing a blue shirt with actual sleeves, that drew such a reaction from him. He had a glass of what looked like whiskey in his hand, and he was staring into it rather than making idle conversation.
Her eyes lingered on him a second too long, as his eyes suddenly lifted to hers. They seemed to almost widen as they raked down over her, back up and focussed on her eyes just for a second, before he quickly looked away.
Carol had no time to think on it before Douglas was taking her hand, lifting it to his lips and kissing it, much to her well-hidden distaste.
"Carol, you look beautiful," he smiled jovially, "This is my son, Spencer," he gestured to the man beside him.
"Nice to meet you," Spencer said, holding his hand out for her to shake, "I've heard all about you, and your skills with a gun."
Carol tried to keep the blush from her cheeks as she took his hand. His eyes were a deep brown, like chocolate she thought, and somehow piercing. His hair was short, but thick, and dark. He gave the impression of being young and mature all at the same time, but if she had to guess at his age, she thought he was maybe in his late thirties. The dark stubble on his chin and top lip framed his mouth, and Carol couldn't deny that he was a good-looking man.
Her hand lingered in his for a moment too long as she found herself caught in his gaze, before she realised she hadn't answered him.
"Oh, uhm, I don't know about that," she smiled nervously.
"Carol's got the best shot I've seen in a long time," Rick reassured honestly.
"I'm sure of it," Spencer grinned, "I'm sure you can teach me a thing or two."
"I bet she could," Douglas clamoured, clapping his hand on his son's shoulder, "you'll find out tomorrow. I want you both in the armoury at 9am sharp tomorrow morning and we'll see about getting you a gun."
Carol nodded, smiling as Spencer's eyes remained on hers.
As the evening went on, Carol found herself loosening up, even enjoying herself as she introduced herself to her new neighbours, though she suspected the alcohol pumping through her veins was helping. As the party drew to a close, she realised she had been sat talking to Spencer for the best part of two hours. She had said very little about herself, but he had plenty of stories to tell her. He'd travelled a lot in the years before the Turn, and he was full of tales about romantic islands he'd visited, and Carol found herself completely in awe. She had always wished she could travel the world, but she'd married Ed straight out of high school, and he'd put an end to those dreams.
As the last few people disappeared, Spencer offered to walk her back to her house. As they stood at her front door, she turned to shake his hand and thank him for his company, but found he'd leaned in to place a kiss to her cheek. She smiled awkwardly, whispering a "goodnight" before quickly entering the house and closing the door behind her.
She couldn't deny that she liked the attention he was giving her; he was a good-looking man. But it didn't sit right with her somehow. She knew deep down that the reason was Daryl, but she refused to acknowledge that, choosing instead to go straight to bed. She had to be up early, after all.
She got to the armoury early the next morning, keen to get started; part of her worried that if she relaxed too much, she'd let her guard down, and she couldn't risk that.
Spencer was already there, and he met her with a warm smile.
"Good morning," he said. Damn, his voice was soft, she thought.
"Morning," she smiled back, pulling herself together.
Within an hour she had chosen a gun, and Spencer had shown her the guard tower, the entrance to which was outside the perimeter gates. Carol agreed to train Spencer up with a rifle, meaning they'd share shifts for a while. As soon as he was confident, one would take the day shift, the other covering the nights.
A week passed, and Carol had spent almost every waking hour in the watchtower, heading straight to bed when she returned at nightfall. She'd barely seen anyone other than Spencer, and she found herself missing her family. She'd spotted Daryl heading out to hunt a couple of times, and found herself staring at his retreating form until he was out of sight. She was always on edge until he returned, usually with a string of squirrels over his shoulder.
She wanted to talk to him, to see him. But he was clearly avoiding her, and she could never find him in the time she was back within the perimeter gates. There was a permanent gnawing sensation in her gut; she missed him more than anyone.
At the end of that first week, Spencer asked Carol to join him for a drink. The man had been dropping hints all week, barely hiding the fact he had taken a shine to her. She was flattered, but as handsome and kind as he was, she couldn't shake Daryl from her thoughts. Even if the stubborn ass never spoke to her again, she knew she would never move on.
Before she could turn Spencer down, she spotted movement through the sight in her rifle trained on the woods in the distance.
"What is it?" Spencer asked when she went quiet.
"I'm not sure," she said quietly, "Walkers. Just a few, I think…"
She tailed off in horror as the "few" walkers turned into more, and more, and more stumbling out of the woods straight for the safe zone.
"Shit!" she cursed loudly as Spencer lifted his rifle to his eye to see what she was talking about.
"Oh my god," he whispered as Carol ran back to the door, shouting down to the men at the gates.
Having raised the alarm, she returned to her post beside Spencer in time to see that the herd had grown even bigger. There were hundreds already.
"Shit, shit, shit," she whispered frantically, "there's too many, we have nowhere near enough ammo!"
"We need to go back," Spencer said, she could see the fear in his eyes.
"No, there's no time," she shook her head, "by the time they get the gates open for us we'll be surrounded. We can't risk it. We're just gonna have to sit tight."
They watched in horror as the herd moved in, surrounding the guard tower, pushing against the walls. They heard the panicked screaming from inside as they pushed desperately against the flow of walkers. And then they watched as one of the walls gave way, and the walkers started piling in.
"Shit! We have to do something!" Carol cried, pulling at her hair.
"They're thinning out underneath the tower," Spencer said slowly, "we could just go."
Carol spun round to face him.
"What? Go where?" she asked exasperatedly.
"We could just go…leave," he implored, grabbing her hands, "we can't save them, but we can survive."
"There's kids in there! Your father…" she tailed off in disbelief.
Spencer stared at her, unflinching, unemotional.
"Screw you," she snarled, turning away and lifting her rifle, taking down the walkers entering the breach.
There were already dozens inside, but if she could slow them down she figured maybe it'd give them some time.
It was hours later, but finally the movement stopped. She couldn't see exactly what had happened inside the gates, but the last remaining walker outside hit the ground with a thud as she pushed her knife through its skull, making her way to the gates.
As she reached them, she could see the bodies of walkers strewn all over the streets, but there were living people walking around, and she sighed in relief, calling out to them.
When they let her in, she rushed down the streets, dodging the fallen corpses as she ran.
She caught sight of Glenn outside their house.
"Is everyone OK?" she asked desperately, coming to a stop and accepting his proffered hug gratefully.
"We're all OK," he answered sombrely, "some of the other residents didn't make it, but our guys are fine."
She let out a sigh of relief, stepping back out of his arms as Michonne rushed out of the house, Tyreese and Sasha hot on her tails. She pulled the samurai into a hug as Daryl stepped out of the door. He seemed to almost sigh in relief as he saw her, but she had no time to think on it when she heard her voice being called from down the street.
Spencer.
She turned around to face him as he approached.
"Carol, what I said before," he started, holding his hands up and breathing heavily from the running.
"Just don't," Carol shook her head.
"No, but…" he said, stepping forward and grabbing her arms.
"Take your hands off me," she said angrily.
"Please, just…" he continued, reaching out again only to find himself being pulled back by the collar of his jacket.
"She said hands off, asshole," Daryl growled in his ear, as Spencer whipped round to face Daryl, shrugging himself out of the hunter's grip.
"Who the hell are you?" Spencer asked, irritated.
As the walker attack drew to a close, Daryl felt physically sick. He knew Carol was out in the watchtower when they'd attacked. He'd tried fighting his way through to get there, but the walkers came thick and fast in the streets, and they struggled not to be overwhelmed. He just prayed she didn't do something stupid. He couldn't lose her. Not now. Not when he'd been such an ass.
After Beth died, he'd been so angry with himself. Another person he cared for ripped from him, and it was all his fault yet again. It was just too much. Carol had come to find him, knowing he needed her; she always knew. She had held him while he cried, and he had held her, and he'd never felt so safe and cared for.
He'd gotten lost in the moment; lost in her. He'd wanted so badly to kiss her, to overcome those fears he'd been fighting for so long. And they'd been so close, too. If Rick hadn't interrupted… But that was all it took, and as quick as his desire to fight his fears had risen, the instinct to give in to them took over again.
He'd fled. He'd lashed out. He'd been terrified, and because of that, he'd hurt her. And finally, he'd come to the conclusion that she was better off without him. So he'd pushed her further away. He'd resign himself to misery as long as it kept her safe and happy.
He thought he could live like that, until they'd found the safe zone. That night, at the party, he'd been going to apologise. He'd planned it all in his head. And then she'd walked in the room with those jeans, her eyes all smoky with eye shadow and whatever else, and he'd lost his nerve. He'd hoped the drink in his hand would help him pluck up the courage, but then he had been there.
The leader's son, whose name he hadn't known, nor had he wanted to find out. The way he'd looked at Carol, and the way she'd looked back. He hadn't stopped thinking about it for days. He'd never seen her look at anyone like that before, and he'd felt his heart drop. He'd watched her all night as the alcohol pinkened her cheeks, and she flitted from person to person, the epitome of a social butterfly; charming, talkative. Everything he wasn't.
She'd ended up back talking to that guy, laughing at his jokes and smiling more than he'd seen her smile in recent memory. He'd glared and glared at the guy, but it was like he was invisible. Before the night was over, he'd skulked out. Not ready to go to bed, he'd sat down on a bench just a way down from his house, watching the stars.
He heard voices and watched as Carol and the guy walked up to the front door of the house. They hadn't seen him in the dark, but he could see them perfectly. He couldn't make out the words they exchanged, but he watched as the guy leaned in to kiss Carol on the cheek.
It had taken every ounce of self-control he had not to walk straight up, rip the guy down the porch steps and kick his teeth in. But he'd stayed still, watching as Carol retreated into the house, closing the door. His hands formed fists as he watched the guy walk away with a smirk on his face.
Daryl watched him until he was out of sight, before following Carol into the house. He heard her bedroom door close, and found himself walking up the stairs and standing outside. His hand was raised in a fist, poised to knock, but he couldn't get it to move. He wrestled with himself. Just knock. He'd begged of himself.
But once again, his fears won out. He'd retreated, cursing himself under his breath.
The next day, and every day after that, he'd watched from his window as she headed for the watchtower. Throughout the day, he'd throw glances up there, and though it was too high for him to see anything from the ground, he imagined her there, gun raised and watching the horizon vigilantly. When she'd told them she was to be the new sharpshooter, he'd been so proud. He'd almost smiled, until he realised the danger of it. For a second, her eyes had met his. He was going to smile, he really was, but she looked away too soon. Just another missed opportunity, he thought.
Every night he'd slept fitfully, her face a permanent fixture at the back of his eyes. He didn't understand what was wrong with him. He'd never felt this way before; it was stifling, suffocating. Every waking thought he had came back to Carol. She was in every dream, every nightmare. Sometimes he dreamed they were together, but those were few and far between. Most nights he was plagued by images of her dying, and others he saw her happy, in the arms of another man, and he'd wake each time in a pool of his own sweat. He felt so trapped.
Every time he saw her she was with him. Smiling, laughing, touching his arm. It made him feel sick. He'd thought her happiness would be enough for him. He hadn't bargained for the sensation of a knife twisting deeper into his gut every time she looked like that with him.
And then the wall had collapsed, and all he could do was fight. And he knew somehow he was fighting for her. She'd become the reason for everything, and he cursed himself for being such a pussy. Wave after wave of walkers had entered the streets, and they'd fought and fought, and he'd wondered so many times if it would be too much. He'd narrowly missed a bite on the back of the neck, when Michonne had swooped in with her katana in the nick of time. In that moment, he'd wondered if Carol would miss him if he died.
Carol again. Every single thought was Carol.
And then the fight was over, and she was there, in Michonne's arms. And Daryl had never felt so relieved. She looked unhurt, and he felt himself moving towards her.
And then, the guy's voice was calling for her, and Daryl turned to see him running down the street.
He was too late, wasn't he; the way the guy was running to her, she'd found someone. And it wasn't him.
And then she'd acted angry with the guy.
He had grabbed her arms and she had snarled at him, and Daryl felt her anger channel into him as he grabbed the guy's shirt, hauling him back.
"Who the hell are you?" he'd shouted in Daryl's face.
Daryl said nothing, grabbing the guy by the front of his jacket, sneering.
"Take your hands off me, or…" the guy started.
"Or fuckin' what?" Daryl snarled, pulling the guy's face closer.
"You'll fucking see what, you redneck piece of shit," the guy spat.
Seeing red, Daryl threw the guy to the ground, pressing a knee to his chest and reeling his fist back to punch, before hands closed around his chest, pulling him back and off the guy.
"Let go!" Daryl struggled against the arms holding him back.
"Calm down," Tyreese spoke in his ear, refusing to loosen his hold.
Daryl watched as the guy stood up, glaring daggers.
"Just go," Carol growled at the guy.
"Fine," the guy sneered, before turning on his heel and storming off.
Suddenly, Carol was in his face looking furious.
"What the hell do you think you're playing at?" she shouted in his face as Tyreese released him.
"I'd ask you the same thing," Daryl growled, "'cept I can already see what, or should I say who, you been playin' at."
He regretted it the second the words were out of his mouth, and the sound of Carol's hand connecting with his cheek echoed around them in the street.
His eyes remained on the ground to the side as he realised what had just happened. He whipped his head up as she turned her back on him, storming into their house and slamming the door.
Fighting to catch his breath, he looked around at the stunned faces of his family.
"You want a fuckin' photograph?" he growled, rubbing his cheek.
"Actually, yeah," Michonne snorted.
He flipped her the bird before storming past her determinedly, ripping the front door of the house open and following Carol in.
He found her in the kitchen of the empty house, leaning forward over the counter, hands gripping it tightly either side of her body.
"Just go away, Daryl," she spoke dejectedly as she heard him enter the kitchen behind her.
"I'm sorry," he said after a few seconds, chewing on his lip.
"What do you want from me?" she asked, turning to look at him. He was surprised to see tears in her eyes.
"Nothin', I just…" he started, not knowing what he wanted to say.
"I'm tired, Daryl," she whispered when he wouldn't continue, and he hated the sadness that crept into her voice.
She just watched him as the tears threatened to spill over in her eyes. He tried forming words in his head. He knew it was now or never, but he couldn't think.
"I…I ain't good at this shit," he mumbled, looking down at the floor.
They stood in silence, he not knowing how to break it and she seemingly reluctant. He tried so many phrases in his head but nothing sounded right. How could he possibly convey how he felt right now, when he didn't even know? Only one string of words made sense in his head right now, so he uttered them before he could back out.
"I miss you," he said, just above a whisper. He didn't meet her eyes, terrified of what he'd see there.
He heard her footsteps approaching, and he looked up to meet her gaze as she stood in front of him.
"Daryl," she whispered, "you keep pushing me away."
"I know," he answered quickly, "I'm sorry. I just…I don't…" he let out an exasperated sigh as he tailed off, not finding the words, his eyes falling to the tiled floor again.
Her hand came into view, gripping his chin and lifting his face to level with hers.
"I miss you too," she whispered, as a single tear rolled out of her left eye, "I can't keep doing this. I love you, Daryl…"
His eyes widened in shock.
"…But I can't live like this. You can't almost kiss me one minute, then push me away the next. I've lived my whole adult life being controlled by a man's emotions. I won't let it be like that again, I can't," she told him, tears falling from both eyes now.
"I'd never hurt you," he replied, frowning.
"Not physically," she whispered, continuing when he closed his eyes and swallowed hard, "I don't need you to be good with words. I don't need you to be romantic. Just don't hide from me. I trust you with everything, but you need to trust me, too."
"I do," he whispered back, "I'm sorry. I guess I was…I was scared," he admitted quietly.
"Of what?" she asked gently.
"Losin' you," he stared at her dead on.
She sniffed as more tears fell, dropping her eyes to the floor. It was his hand on her chin this time, lifting her eyes up to meet his. She blinked up at him, and all he wanted to do was just take that pain from her. He found his thumb absentmindedly stroking across her cheek as his fingers curled under her chin. He caught one of her tears, swiping it away as his other hand came to rest upon her waist, pulling her closer to him.
For the second time in his life, his forehead fell forward to meet hers. He was still scared, terrified even. But he wouldn't run this time. The knowledge of just how much he'd hurt her had shaken him hard. Hell, she'd even compared him to Ed. He was nothing like that son of a bitch, and he would prove it.
As his lips finally met hers tentatively, and her hands wound around his neck, he sighed softly against her mouth, and he felt her tears mixed with her smile against his lips.
He pulled back slowly, not releasing her from his hold.
"What about that other guy?" Daryl asked, voice husky.
"Who? Spencer?" she asked, and he could sense the amusement in his voice.
"Pfft, stupid name," he snorted.
"Stupid guy," she whispered, smiling up at him before pulling him back to her.
He met her lips willingly, pouring everything he had into the kiss, as his fears, reservations and countless inhibitions melted away into the tiling under their feet.