Sequel to "Dress You Up in My Love." You don't have to go back and read it first, but you'll appreciate this one more if you do.
Female bonding & Caryl-what more can you ask for?
Inspired by all of the lovely interactions in S5:10 "Them" & EW behind the scenes pics of Daryl's new S5 motorcycle and new jacket.
Like a Virgin
I made it through the wilderness
Somehow I made it through
didn't know how lost I was
until I found you
I was beat
Incomplete
I'd been had, I was sad and blue
But you made me feel
Yeah, you made me feel
Shiny and new
-Madonna:Like a Virgin
It wasn't as neat a job as she had done on the first one, back at the prison.
She'd been forced out, unwittingly abandoning her carefully hoarded sewing kit with scissors, leather punch, awl, heavy duty thread and sturdy needles. All she'd had with her had been the bare necessities, enough for a quick supply run, the day Rick sentenced her, judge and lone juror, to exile; telling her she would make it, she could start over someplace else, as if she wasn't leaving her life, her heart behind.
Like her, the rest had been unprepared for their final exit from the prison. Only Glenn, left behind by a quirk of fate, spared the horrific death that those who thought they were escaping to safety on the bus had met, had time to grab a few precious things to stuff in that orange backpack that somehow came out of Terminus along with them and continued to be used on the road to the Alexandria Safe Zone. He'd gathered Hershel's watch, Daryl's poncho, food for Judith; signs and symbols of his hope and belief that he would be reunited with his family uppermost in his mind in his choices.
The young woman who had helped Carol find the materials she needed for her project had been another valued find Glenn had scavenged from behind the fallen fences in West Georgia.
Tara smiled at her as she tugged the zippered sleeves up and down one last time, double checking their sliding ease. She'd been put to work in the warehouse sorting the goods that the work groups brought back from their runs gleaning the surrounding towns. When she found the leather motorcycle jacket she'd stuffed it inside a sleeping bag, rolled it up and brought it to Carol, who was on a late lunch break from her duties at the Med Center, alone in the small kitchen of the Clinic.
"Got something for you to give to Daryl." She'd said with a sly grin, thrusting the bundle at Carol. Tara and Glenn had been subtly and sometimes not so subtly trying their hands at match-making lately. It looked like she was their latest victim.
"I think he already has one of these..." Carol frowned and gave the girl a puzzled look.
Daryl was bunking in the basement, with Eugene, Gabriel and Noah. She was staying in the attic with Tara, Michonne and Sasha, while Rick and the children and the couples, Abe and Rosita, and Maggie and Glenn had rooms to themselves. It was a tight fit in the three bedroom house, but they wouldn't allow the Council to separate them.
"Open it!" Tara said, practically bouncing up and down in anticipation of Carol's reaction.
The jacket was in perfect condition—fancy oval stitching around the second layer of leather at the elbows, zippers and snaps all in working order—but was missing its original quilted lining.
"I just thought—well, he has the new bike and you always worry about him—and they're going on that big run tomorrow?" Tara said all in a rush.
It was an important run, the first time Daryl would be away from the ASZ for more than a day. The first time they'd be apart since they'd left Atlanta. She'd let herself get used to the idea that he'd be there at the breakfast table every morning. Even when he was going out early before dawn on a hunt or she had an early shift at work, they always found themselves in the house communal kitchen at the same time every day.
"It was very nice of you to think of him, Tara." Carol smiled, running her hand over the supple black leather, but then frowned when she lifted it up, holding it out to see if it would actually fit him, as she felt the weight of it, the bulk of the body of the thing.
"What? What's wrong? Shit! You have a fuckin' 'but' face." Tara asked anxiously.
Carol chuckled at the turn of phrase—Tara's vocabulary had granted her honorary Dixon status by Daryl himself when the two of them had gotten into an argument over some ridiculous thing and matched each other's 'shitheads and for fuckin' As' for a good half hour.
"It's a beautiful jacket, Tara...but I don't think he'll wear it." Carol said regretfully, folding it over and setting it down on the kitchen table.
"What? Wrong color?" Tara asked sarcastically. "Doesn't match his eyes? Not into leather? He wears that stanky vest twenty-four seven so I don't-oh." Tara sat down in a kitchen chair in defeat. "Well fuck."
They'd both come to the same conclusion: that his beloved winged vest wouldn't fit over top of the bulky jacket.
"This sucks—he needs more protection than just that ratty thing—and now that the weather's turned, you know he needs a warmer coat!" Tara said, picking at one of the zipper pulls, looking depressed, slouching back in her chair.
The déjà vu made Carol shiver.
"Tara?" Carol asked, pulling her trench knife out of its sheath at her waist.
"What?" Tara asked, sitting up, eyebrows rising, leaning back as the older woman approached her with the lethal looking blade.
"Can you sew?"
Back at work that afternoon, Tara scrounged up a black and gray shadow plaid flannel thermal lined coat with heavy duty silver snaps. It was much thinner than the original body of the jacket, but would be just as warm. She snuck it upstairs to the attic before dinner, where she and Carol planned to work on it all night if they had to, to be able to give it to Daryl in the morning.
After removing the sleeves from the leather jacket, Carol used an ice pick (which would be returned to its status a reserve walker weapon when they were done) carefully punching small holes in the top of the sleeves to make an easier path for the thin leather cording they used to attach them to the flannel. They were strapped for time so they had to use what they could find on a quick search so there were two different colors of cording, black and red, but as Tara said, they were the colors of blood and walker guts, so she doubted if he would notice. Carol showed her Daryl's black jeans she had just patched, including a prominent black and red flannel piece of cloth over one knee and joked about color coordinating him for the run.
When Michonne and Sasha came upstairs and saw what the other two were doing, Michonne got a gleam in her eye and asked if she could have the left-overs: the leather jacket body and the flannel sleeves. Tara's shipper spidey sense tingled as the other two women worked to make a second coat, thinking she could guess who it was for...a certain former Sheriff, perhaps?
It was almost dawn when Carol tied the last knot and trimmed the cording away. Tara was out, lying on her bed, Michonne and Sasha as well. Carol stood and stretched, raising her arms over her head, pulling her thin sleep shirt tight over the swell of her breasts, the hem slipping up over her thighs as she rose up onto her toes, feeling the muted snaps of her spine as she twisted slightly from side to side, trying to work out the soreness in her lower back.
"You sure it's the slow as molasses emo possibly virginal redneck you want?" Tara's soft voice drawled sleepily, wistfully from behind her. "Cause y'know someone as fine as you needs to be appreciated like she deserves..."
Carol smiled and with a shy blush turned back to the younger woman, who smiled back and winked at her in a half-teasing half-serious seductive way. Carol's expressive eyes gave her a look in response that somehow made Tara understand how flattered she was without saying a word.
"Never mind—I don't think I want to get an arrow in my ass." Tara grumbled, sitting up and rubbing at her eyes. She looked at the two jackets hanging up on the attic rafters.
"Done." Carol said, but then frowned, "You know, Tara, this was your idea—you should be the one to give it to him."
"No...You don't get it. I wanted to give you something, Carol." Tara said quietly, deep sincerity in her voice, "For everything you've done for us."
"None of us would be here if it wasn't for you." Michonne said in her low dulcet tones.
"If it wasn't for you I...I wouldn't have had those last few precious days with Bob and Ty." Sasha said tightly, her voice breaking slightly, her anger still just below the surface, but she was trying.
Carol hadn't realized they were awake. Her mouth trembled and she brushed back the tears that came unbidden.
"Now hurry up and get dressed so you can go catch that man before he goes." Tara said, the double meaning of her words making Carol snort and the others grin.
Daryl was standing at the sink, looking through the window, making sure it was light enough to open the shutters and black out curtains, extra precautions each house had been outfitted with and used every night in case of a breach in the walls. Light, noise, and human activity all attracted walkers and raiders. If they could make the house look uninhabited they might get passed by.
He was twitchy at the thought of leaving the Zone overnight. Everything he had was inside these walls now—something he thought he'd lost in Atlanta—his hope—was in this place. Everyone he loved was in this house.
"Yer up early—even for you." Daryl murmured without turning around when he heard the kitchen door open. He knew it was Carol come to see him off, had actually been waiting on her, hoping she made it down before any of the others and of course she hadn't disappointed him.
"Morning." Was all Carol said, and so softly he turned around to look at her with concern.
"You okay?" he asked, but instead of answering she gave him a determined smile and came forward holding a black bundle out to him.
"To go with the new bike." She said simply as he took it from her.
He held it up and a big grin broke over his face. Carol was smiling at him, fighting back her tears, but then she grabbed his forearm, stopping him as he moved to try it on.
"Your vest!" she admonished him for forgetting that it had to come off first and he looked abashed and blushed, dropping the coat onto the counter. Without really stopping to think she moved closer and started unsnapping the thing with angel wings that had been a part of him since the day they'd left Atlanta, him on Merle's chopper, glaring at her and Sophia as he zoomed by.
Daryl froze. As comfortable as he'd gotten with her, with her touch, this was Carol—his Carol—undressing him. His breath caught and he closed his eyes, lowering his face so he could smell her hair; fuck, he was no poet, but he swore to God it smelled like flowers...
She continued to undo the fastenings one after another, concentrating on her hands' work, but when she felt him tense up she frowned and looked up at him, worried this was making him uncomfortable. His eyes were closed, scrunched up tight and she made a small sound of distress and tried to turn away, to take a step backwards, but his hands shot out and grasped her upper arms to stop her.
"Carol." he whispered her name, eyes snapping open, vivid blue staring straight into her.
Maybe she was punchy from staying up all night and maybe she was afraid because he was leaving again or maybe she was just tired of the dance they'd been doing around each other since the Farm, but she took his rare saying of her name as her cue. She slowly rose up on her toes and lifted her hands to his face, angling it slightly to the side, continuing to keep eye contact, but then he abruptly lowered his head and her kiss ended up on the side of his nose.
"Shit." He muttered, mortified and let go of her arms and tried to pull back, but she held his face in place.
"Keep still." Carol ordered him and this time more quickly found his lips with her own slightly parted ones. Finally they both closed their eyes and gave in to the kiss.
His lips were chapped, hers were too, a little less, but the soft and tender way she used her mouth made them seem like rose petals to him. He'd never been kissed like this before. It was a balm to his soul, her total acceptance of him. Everything she did told him how much she cared about him, every action, every word and now this kind of new closeness; this was the final step on the road they'd begun together at the start of the Turn.
Daryl's arms went around her and then they were too lost in each other to realize that they had an audience peeking in through the half open kitchen door. Noah, who was also going on the run and who was wearing the new coat that Michonne and Sasha had just given him, high fived Tara, who excitedly held hands with Glenn while a very sleepy pregnant Maggie tsked at them all for being such damn peeping Toms.
Thanks for reading! I sat and wrote this in one long marathon tonight-it was one of those ones that had to come out or else, LOL!