AN: I do not own TWD, the show, the characters, or any of the perks associated with the TV Show. No copyright infringement intended. All things Disclaimed.
They were tired, hungry, and cold. Plain flat out bone-weary, down to their marrow. It went beyond just lack of sleep, though that was a huge factor. They were tired in their very souls. Day after day the same thing, running from sunup to sundown, fighting off hordes of undead, lucky if they could find some structure sturdy enough to sleep in, out of the cold. Colder each and every night, they shivered, huddling up against the young ones and pregnant Lori, trying to keep some body heat amongst them.
Tonight their desperate prayers had been answered as they came upon an abandoned convenience store. Bars on the windows and doors made it a fairly safe refuge, at least for the night.
Rick, Daryl, Glenn, and T-Dog cleared the building, one lonely store clerk the only walker, trapped in the storeroom in the back. They shuffled in, grateful just to have a roof over their heads and thick walls insulating them from the bite of the night air. It wasn't perfect by any means. The stench from the storeroom of death and of spoiled food permeated the air. Moldy, musty produce, bread, rotten milk, the byproducts left from what looters hadn't taken in the beginning, lined the shelves and now dark coolers in the back of the store.
There were a few food items that appeared safe to eat: some jerky and peanut butter. The peanut butter was automatically handed off to Lori and Carl, who needed the protein and fat the most. A few cans of energy drinks lay scattered on the floor, and they found some old bottles of water unopened behind the cash register. It was a good haul for them considering what they had been living on up until now.
Daryl and T-Dog took first watch, one by the back door, one by the front door. Carol was inspecting the manager's office, looking for anything that might be useful, maybe a sweatshirt or jacket for Lori. Opening a filing cabinet she found a half empty bottle of Jack Daniels. She stared at it for a minute before clutching it up out of the drawer and continuing her search. She came upon a flashlight, although it had no batteries, a couple of lighters, a half empty bottle of acetaminophen, and finally, a light jacket. Gathering her spoils she went to the others, handing the jacket to Lori, and putting the rest of it in her pack. Except the whiskey.
She held it in her hands, contemplating it, drifting off to another place and time. Memories flooded her, but at least when she was awake she could try to control their direction. During the day she could remember her in the happier times: imagine her sweet freckles, clear blue eyes, and soft brown hair. It was when she was asleep that her memories drifted to that day at the farm, seeing that thing stumble from the barn, looking so much like her little girl, and yet not; a monster in her daughter's clothes. She always dragged herself awake on those mornings with a fresh ache in her mind and body.
She shook her head, tearing herself from her reverie to ball up her pack and hunker down for the night. She lay awake for a while, unable to rest, unable to calm her thoughts, until she heard his footsteps coming towards her. She heard the thunk of his crossbow as he sat on the ground propped against the wall. Turning her head to look at him, she caught him glancing over at her.
"Why ain't you sleeping?" Daryl huffed out the question in a gruff attempt at a whisper.
"Can't sleep. I can't seem to quiet my mind."
He nodded towards the bottle of Jack, "That what that's for?"
"No. Just found that in the office. Never know what we might need it for."
She shivered a little, rubbing her hands on her arms, the cold concrete beneath her leaching her body heat, replacing it with a chill.
Of course he noticed.
"Ya know, a few shots of that'll warm you right up," he snickered.
"Well, why do I need whiskey when I have you to do that for me, " she cheekily responded. She was doing her best to take her mind off her troublesome thoughts. Her teasing caused a flush up Daryl's neck and he snorted.
"Pffft. Stop." He looked over at her from the corner of his eye and nodded towards the bottle. "Go ahead. I'll keep an eye out. One or two ain't gonna hurt ya. Might help ya sleep."
She thought about it for a second before deciding. Why shouldn't she? There were safe for the night. If it would help her sleep, her body could sure use the rest, why not? She sat up, reached over and opened the bottle. Daryl was eyeing her, a little quirk in the corner of his lips, almost as if daring her to do it. Like he didn't think she really would.
Her little streak of rebelliousness rose up in indignation and she inhaled quickly, holding her breath, tipped the bottle up and took a gulp. She let it roll right down her throat, hoping not to taste as much of it. Moving the bottle down, swiping at her mouth, she finally breathed and it felt like she had swallowed flames. It burned from her tongue to her stomach. She gagged, coughing a little, and her eyes watered.
She heard a muffled snort that sounded vaguely like laughter and she tried to glare at Daryl through her watery eyes.
"Well, whatcha think?"
"I think it feels like I could breathe fire," Carol managed to say between breaths as she inhaled air through her mouth, trying to get rid of the nasty, burning taste on her tongue. She heard him snort again and she shot him a look that said it was anything but funny.
"It'll go away in a minute. Won't be so bad. Second one's always easier," he promised as he picked up his water bottle. "Want something to wash it down?"
"No. That's yours. You keep it. I'll be fine."
He was right. It was starting to fade away and she started to feel the warmth blooming in her belly. That was quick. Probably because it had been so long since she'd had any alcohol and she didn't have much food in her stomach. It was spreading to her limbs, leaving her feeling like she had been wrapped in a fuzzy, furry blanket. In fact, even her head felt a little fuzzy.
"It's working. I think I need to lie down," she mumbled as she closed the bottle and scooted towards Daryl.
"Lightweight," he teased as she was situating herself.
"At least I'd be a cheap date."
"Nah, ain't nothing cheap about you," he said softly, almost too low for her to hear.
She looked up at him, caught a brief flicker of warmth in his eyes before he lowered his head and patted the ground next to him.
She tucked her pack up next to the wall, turned her back to his leg, and slid down as close to him as she dared, trusting him to watch her back while she slept.
"G'night, Daryl," she whispered before closing her eyes.
"Night, Carol," he murmured quietly. "Sleep tight."
And sleep she did. She slept through the night, never hearing the changing of watch, the snoring of Hershel, or the crying of Beth. She didn't notice when Daryl scooted down to lay next to her, nor did she feel it when he slid his poncho over her to ensure her warmth through her slumber.
She woke in the morning, with Daryl curled up against her back all snug and cozy, his warm breath tickling the hairs on the back of her neck, and for the first morning in a while she didn't feel tired.