Carol's never been much for celebrating her birthday, even before the world went to shit.
And now that they were holed up in a prison, caring for a motherless infant and praying that today was the day that their fearless leader would come back from the brink of insanity, it hardly felt like the right time to mention that she was about to turn forty-five.
It didn't matter anyway. Trivial things like birthdays are best forgotten when you're living in a world in which the only wish you could even hope to make is for no one else to die. It's bittersweet, if not downright heartbreaking, to be turning another year older when her baby girl, among so many others, weren't even granted that much.
Carol spends most of the morning tending to Judith. It's a quiet, simple sort of luxury, holding something so precious and innocent in your arms, especially now. She dotes on Judith, singing softly to her like she used to with Sophia. When Beth starts looming to the side of her, looking like she's itching to get her hands on the baby, Carol gives her a knowing smile and gently shifts the baby over to her. She decides to go and lie down not long after that, grinning fondly at Beth cooing over Judith before she heads to her cell.
She doesn't plan to fall asleep, but she's been up most nights lately with the baby and she's just bone tired. She wakes to a shuffling sound and blinks a few times before her eyes can focus enough to make out the figure of Daryl leaning over her bed, halfway to placing a bouquet of wildflowers down on the edge of the mattress.
"Uh, hey," he stammers, looking a little sheepish that he's been caught.
"Hey," she says, amused smile tugging up at the corners of her lips. "Whatcha got there?"
If Carol didn't know better, she'd swear Daryl was blushing.
"They're for you," he says quietly, handing them to her with a tight smile. "Meant to sneak 'em in while you were still sleepin' so you wouldn't know it was me. I'm not too good at givin' birthday gifts."
"Birthday?" Carol breathes out, wide-eyed. "How'd you know it was—"
Daryl chuckles. "Figured you was tryin' to keep it quiet. But I remembered you makin' a joke once about how your parents told ya if you'da been born one day earlier you woulda been a fool. So I remembered, 'April 2nd is Carol's birthday.'"
"Oh, Daryl, thank you. They're beautiful," she says, honestly marveling at them for a moment. They really were just run of the mill wildflowers, but it had been so long since she'd been given a bouquet that they might as well have been roses.
Daryl shifts awkwardly from one foot to another. "Aw, it ain't nothin'. Mostly picked 'em from the side of the road, an' a little from some peoples yards. Figured they wouldn't be havin' much need for 'em."
"Even still," Carol says, smiling up at him as she moves to perch on the edge of the bed. "They're lovely, and you're sweet for thinking of me."
"Like I said, it ain't nothin'," Daryl says, stuffing his hands into his pants pockets. He seems a little nervous, silent and fidgety for a few beats before he clears his throat. "And, well, there's somethin' else."
He pulls something out of his pocket, fist closed tight around it so that Carol can't tell what it is. He holds his hand out, as bashful as Carol's ever seen him, and waits until she's got her palm underneath it before he lets go.
It's a necklace. Handmade, by the looks of it. Wood shaped into a lopsided heart, strung onto a leather cord.
"Daryl," Carol says, stunned. Nobody's ever given her jewelry before, not even something simple like this. Ed hadn't even given her an engagement ring when he'd proposed. And then she's turning it over in her hands and examining it and she realizes there's angel wings carved into one side of it, like the ones on Daryl's vest. She blinks and looks up at him, almost disbelieving. "Did you- did you make this for me?"
Daryl's shuffling again, nervous and avoiding eye contact. "It's not much," he mumbles, "It's a little crooked and I didn't get the wings like how I wanted 'em. But I jus' thought you should have a present on your birthday."
Carol puts on the necklace, admiring it for another moment before letting it drop down against her chest. She stands, and that's really all the more it takes in the confined space to put her face to face with Daryl.
"Thank you," she says again, soft and genuine as she reaches out to give his arm a light squeeze.
Daryl smiles soft, shaking his head. "Wish I coulda done more," he says, and he's so close she can feel the words on her skin.
"You do more than enough," she says, a heavier meaning behind it that Daryl seems to catch, if his quiet huff means anything. She can't seem to lift her hand from him, fingers slowly trailing down his forearm.
"Only doin' what needs to be done," he says, low and hushed. His eyes are on her face, flitting around her features like he's looking for something. Maybe for the reason why she's still touching him. Even with the sudden rush of nerves, she doesn't take her hand away.
It's been building for a long time, whatever this is. Daryl's been attentive and compassionate in a way that she'd never thought anyone could be towards her, and it had been so hard to ignore the way that stirred her up inside. She'd told herself not to read into it. That they were allies, friends, but nothing more. That it was a dangerous world now and there were more pressing things than whether or not Daryl reciprocated her feelings.
But standing there with Daryl in front of her, wearing the necklace he'd made just for her, Carol can't find it in her to just keep letting it be.
She leans in slow enough that Daryl could pull back if he wants to, and when he doesn't she breathes out a warm sigh against his lips before meeting them with her own.
Daryl breathes in ragged and clutches her around the waist, pulls her tight against him and kisses back like he's been waiting for it forever.
Hazily, she realizes they might both have been.
Carol's never been much for celebrating her birthday. Not until the world went to shit.