I thought I'd have a go at writing Daryl's thoughts as he finds Carol and carries her out of the cell at the end of Season 3 Episode 6. My first ever fic, hope you like it! Feedback appreciated.
When his eyes finally adjust to the darkness of the cell and he senses movement down by his feet, he sees her.
She looks at him and he'll be damned if she still doesn't look at him the way she always does. As if she didn't know he wasn't worth a dime. As if he hadn't shown her what an asshole he was when he'd yelled at her that night after Sophia's death. As if he was her goddamn hero. As if he'd actually been looking for her all this time, not written her off for dead and found her out of sheer dumb luck.
Her eyes are clear and still that beautiful shade of blue, and even as she closes them again, he's seen enough to know they're her own's and not that eerie mucky colour of a walker's gaze. The world both freezes and explodes. Barely daring to believe, he reaches with an unsteady hand for her face. She's warm. Soft. Alive. The touch snaps him out of his daze and he springs into action. Crouching by her, he slips his hands under her limp body, scoops her up into his arms and lifts her out of the cell. Out of this dank hellish maze, back to the sunlight, as fast as he can.
He'd thought he'd fucking lost her.
His heart is beating crazy as if he's just downed some pills from Merle's stash. He holds her carefully, like she was some injured little bird he'd found in the woods. She always looks so impossibly small next to him, so damn breakable. It always does his head in how someone so frail looking can be so bloody strong.
He'd thought she was gone.
He wasn't even surprised. Expected it. It was just like anything else he'd ever cared for in his shit of a life. He'd learnt not to hold on to things. He'd learnt not to care. Any time he forgot, life would slap him in the face and remind his pussy self that getting attached to anyone, anything was just asking for punishment.
Carol's alive. The words cycle in his head over and over, like a triumphant chant, beating to the rhythm of his march.
He strides forward, barely aware of the walker corpses he steps over. Waves of euphoria and relief wash over him. He keeps glancing at her as he walks. Carol. Alive. Gaunt and weary, impossibly frail in his arms, but warm. Soft. Alive. He feels the weight of her head on his chest. His hand wrapped around her back. He holds her tighter still.
He holds her as if she was his.
He wishes he could carry her forever.