Title: An Expert at the Fall
Rating: T (language)
Spoilers: Season 6 Finale (making assumptions about Season 7 Premiere)
Disclaimer: All publicly recognisable characters and places are the property of Robert Kirkman and AMC. This piece of fan fiction was created for entertainment not monetary purposes and no infringement on copyrights or trademarks was intended. Previously unrecognised characters and places, and this story, are copyrighted to the author. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
Authors Notes: This is my first Walking Dead fic and has been sitting on my computer most of the summer. I'm not thrilled with it and think it's a little OOC, but I figured it may as well be out on the internet as sitting on my computer This is set sometime in the near future where Carol has been in the Kingdom and the three communities have come together to take down Negan.
The rustling leaves on the trees barely register with her as she lifts the end of the cigarette to her lips and inhales, feeling the smoke sail down her throat and into her lungs, the hit of nicotine trying to calm her raw nerves.
She knows her fingers are shaking and her appearance is something she should be concerned about, but can't find it in herself to care at that moment. The dark fall sky at night hides her from most prying eyes, unless they are looking for her. And she doubts anyone is looking for her.
It's her own fault, she knows that. She was the one who had left. She was the one who had pushed them all away, trying to save what little sanity she'd seemed to have left. She pushed and pushed and pushed and this was the price she paid.
It hurts when some of the others look at her like they don't know her anymore, like they don't trust her; although with Rick it feels more like a case of déjà vu. But it hurts so much more when Daryl looks at her and she can see the hardness shining back at her. His body visibly stiffening like she's the enemy.
She has done this. She has hurt him, left him, like everyone else he had cared about has. Only Morgan looks at her as if she is somewhat normal. The irony of that isn't lost on her.
After tonight, she decides, she'll leave for good. It's too painful and uncomfortable being in Alexandria. Ezekiel will welcome her back to the Kingdom she is sure. He only knows this Carol. None of the previous incarnations.
She had been integral to the planning of the final take-down of Negan and the Saviours. The alliance of Alexandria, Hilltop and the Kingdom had required planning and preparation, two things she is known for. Rick had agreed having Carol remain at the Kingdom was the best course of action. Daryl's appearance with Rick had been like a hammer blow to her heart. He'd held her so tight and tried so hard to get her to come back. He couldn't understand that she wasn't able to, that she'd rather not be there to watch them all die. So he'd grown angry and annoyed. He had ignored her and she had let him, too scared of what would happen if she approached him. And in time it appeared as if her fears had been well founded.
"If we do this, we do this properly," she'd told them all before they'd put their plan into action.
"No matter what happens tonight, Negan has to be taken out," Ezekiel had been adamant.
"Agreed," Rick went through their plan again, simple as it was.
She focused on what they were doing, ignoring the quiet man standing to her left, arms crossed and watching Rick intently. She was still working on not flinching every time he looked at her, the betrayal and anger staring back at her making her heart ache. Rosita had seemed to be an ever present figure at his side now too. That had stung but she chastised herself for it. She had no right to feel the whispers of betrayal at the sight. Still, the easy way Rosita had whispered something to him and he'd smirked back at her had been too much for Carol to glance in their direction again.
Their plan had gone as well as they could have hoped, with one glaring exception. Negan had disappeared into the surrounding woods along with a few of his followers, including Dwight. Carol had gone after them and she could hear some others racing in different directions, frantically trying to catch up to their quarry.
She knows it was sheer chance and luck that had put her in that clearing with a wounded Negan on his knees before her, his chest heaving and a wide grin on his face.
Every time her eyes close, she can hear his voice, see his cocksure smile and smell the copper in the air.
"You really think you can take me, sugar?"
He looked her up and down critically and hummed. "Y'know, I can think of something a lot more fucking fun we could do together."
He winked at her and she could feel her fist clench on her knife. She felt nothing for him, no remorse, no anguish, and no hesitation.
"There's only one thing I want to do with you," she could hear the ice in her voice, like an outsider looking on. She leaned towards him, moving her lips to the shell of his ear and whispering softly to him. "I'm going to cut you open and then I'm going to sit here and watch you die until you turn."
The grin had slowly faded from his face as she told him her plan for him.
"And after you turn, I'm going to do...nothing." She smiled at him and shrugged. "I'm going to leave you here as a walker. You can roam the earth as a walking corpse for all time as far as I'm concerned."
She moved quickly, the knife slipping easily into the soft flesh of his abdomen. She could remember her surprise at how easy it was. Surely, it should be more difficult? The resistance was negligible and her hands never wavered as she moved the blade across his belly. He grunted, falling forward against her. She could feel the warmth of his blood covering her hands and she shoved him back, making him fall against a tree, his head smacking against the rough bark. He looked down at his stomach, the blood seeping through his fingertips.
"You're one cruel fucking bitch," he commented, a hint of near admiration in his tone. She settled down across from him, watching, just as she'd promised. "Not even going to check with Rick if this is what you should do."
"No. Rick's not in charge of me. You don't deserve to live."
His laugh was wheezy and gravelly. "You're probably right, but still... who made you fucking God around here?"
"You did," Carol replied coolly, "you killed people I cared about. Good people; people loved and needed by others. You took Daryl and tortured him, treated him worse than an animal. You've caused nothing but misery and made others believe that was the only way to survive. If we let you live you'd just do it again. So, you'll die."
The others found her sometime later, whether it was hours of minutes, she couldn't tell. She wasn't even entirely sure who all was there. She was riveted by the scene in front of her. Negan's breathing had grown shallow until it had stopped completely. She waited, watching as after an infinite amount of time, the fingers lying dormant by his side had twitched, a guttural moan emanating from his slack jaw mouth.
"Carol!" Rick's voice had called her and out of the corner of her eye she saw Daryl raise his bow, and Michonne her sword.
"No!" she'd insisted angrily, turning to them. "He doesn't get to be put down."
She met Daryl's eyes, seeing the argument in them, but he remained motionless, bow still aimed and ready.
She turned back to him then, the great Negan, the man who had terrorised them, who had brought nothing but pain and misery to so many of her friends and family. He had made his way to his feet, and was slowly moving towards her, saliva running out the corner of his now crooked head. It would have been so easy to do it, to stick her knife in his eye and end it all. Instead she looked at him in disgust.
"You don't deserve it."
She doesn't regret her decision, even if she has been unable to stop the shaking since she'd seen the gates of Alexandria loom ahead of her.
They had automatically driven back here, apparently forgetting it's not where she lives anymore. She'd received a cut to her left forearm at some stage during the night but it was barely a scratch, only requiring a few stitches.
Her hands are still patched in dried, crusting blood, some of it walker, some of it saviour and most of it Negan's. She washed some of it off but hadn't been able to concentrate properly on what she was doing, just wanting to escape into the night air. She needed to escape the people and the high strung emotions that hung all around her, cloying and grasping at her.
She needed to leave behind the faces that looked at her with wariness and apprehension. She saw Rosita help Daryl to a cot, his attention diverted from her and onto his bleeding leg. The only person who may have noticed her in the middle of the maelstrom of commiseration, grief and confusion. So she had taken the opportunity when they were all distracted, snatching the lighter and cigarettes that had been carelessly left on the side table and crept out to her current spot.
She closes her eyes, trying to ignore her hitching breaths and racing thoughts. She didn't want to kill again but he'd deserved it, for everything he'd done to her family, to Daryl.
A broken sob wrenches itself from her throat but she allows no other to do so. She had truly messed up everything with her family. With Daryl.
They'd had their chance, she wasn't that person anymore. She can't be, not even for him. She'd always thought it would be his demons that would hamper them on their road to each other. She'd never thought that in the end it would be her. Haunted by her actions, her words and her fear of what she was turning into. Her fear of how she could hurt him and their group had been the final nail in that coffin. And if she is being replaced by a feistier, younger model then so be it. He deserves better than her. She wipes angrily at her face and looks off at the suburban surroundings of Alexandria, no less surreal than the first time she'd seen them.
"Thought you were runnin' off again."
The gruff voice causes her body to go rigid and she curses his ability to move seamlessly even with a bad leg.
"You should be resting."
"Since when do I listen to you?"
He sits down beside her, his shirt brushing her arm. He lifts the near empty box of cigarettes and takes one, lighting up.
"You're welcome by the way," he says gesturing to the box.
"You should be more careful where you leave them."
His only reply is a grunt and it hurts her heart in a way she can't explain. She can almost believe that they are back to the time before. Before Alexandria, before Atlanta, hell before the Governor, when they could just sit side by side without the ghosts that haunted them.
"Rosita know you're out here?" she narrowly avoids wincing at the hard, clipped edge to her voice.
"Stop," he growls at her, "y'know she's earned her place round here. Might be screwin' that Spencer douche but she's the closest thing to a medic we got round here now. Doesn't run off and abandon her family either. Fuckin' admirable qualities if you ask me."
Carol can feel her jaw clench, heat filling her face; with what she's not sure anymore. Anger, shame, embarrassment, indignation, they're all mixed and jumbled so much in her head she sometimes can't tell the difference anymore.
She can feel his eyes on her face and when she chances a glance she can see him studying her, even in the limited light provided by the moon. She looks away quickly at the ground, at the houses around them, anything to avoid that probing, questioning stare.
"Thought you were done killin'. Ain't that why you left?" his mocking, derisive tone sends a bolt of queasiness down her spine.
"Yeah, well," she casts him a brief look, "there are exceptions to every rule and he didn't deserve to live."
Daryl takes a drag of the cigarette and tips the end at the ground.
"Did you find him?" she asks, suddenly curiously, "Dwight, the man from the burnt forest?"
"Took him out," he tells her, voice hard and cold then shakes his head. "Put him down though. Shoulda done what you did. Fucker didn't deserve a quick end."
"That's who you are," Carol softly replies. "Negan died for everything he did to our people, for the lives he took, the damage he's caused. He's not at peace because..." she sighed, looking down at her bloodied hand and clenching a fist tightly. "What he did to you and others, it's unforgivable. And if there is a God?" she meets his eyes. "He'll forgive him. I can't let that happen and I can live with that."
Daryl stares at her and she can see the cracks in his eyes, the softening and the hurt shining through the fractured, hard shell. She diverts her attention to her own cigarette quickly, nearly burned down to the end. She tenses, realizing she is waiting for the questions he must want answered. But they never come because that isn't Daryl. He'd never push her; just wait, silently, until she is ready to speak.
That realisation is too much for her, a coil of emotion she's tried so hard to bury, loosening and bubbling up to the surface. She lets out a shaky breath, taking a hard, final drag of her cigarette before she stubs it out.
She shifts, finally intending to get up and leave, but he reaches for her taking hold of her bicep and stopping her with his gentle grip. She turns large, pleading eyes towards him and his cigarette forgotten, stubbed out by his side.
"Don't look at me like that," she pleads with him quietly.
He looks unsure and says nothing.
"I hurt you," she whispers brokenly. "Even when I try to do the right thing...I hurt you."
He moves his hand down towards hers, his eyes following its trail until it covers her smaller hand.
"'S okay."
"No," she insists, frustrated, "it's not! I hurt you by pushing you away. I hurt you by leaving and I hurt you by coming back here. That's not what I want."
His eyes snap up to hers, narrowing knowingly, "You're runnin' again."
She shakes her head, "Not running. I'm returning to the Kingdom. I don't belong here anymore, Daryl."
"Bullshit," he snorts at her, "you're leavin' cause you're scared."
"You're right," she admits, the tips of the fingers on her right hand idly playing with the dirt beside her. "If I can't kill then I'm going to hesitate and someday someone I love is going to die because of me, and I can't live with that."
"Then let me do it."
She shakes her head, tears burning at the corners of her eyes. "You can't do that; it could never be that simple. And I can't risk it."
He squeezes her hand gently, demanding her attention, her focus and she can't do anything but answer his silent request.
"Stay."
She 's lost in his attentive gaze, teeth chewing at his bottom lip, his self consciousness causing such a wave of affection for him she has to take a deep, resonating breath. His feelings for her shine back at her, hopeful, terrified, forgiving, and desperate. He takes her breath away.
"I love you," she tells him, "but I'm not good for you." She closes her eyes and turns her head away. "I thought, once, that I could be but...that seems too far away now. So long ago."
He shifts beside her, "First time someone ever said they weren't good enough for a Dixon."
A watery smirk graced her lips. "Stop."
He's not smiling though, not even close. He's angry and frustrated with her. "Seems like ya already thought this all through. Seems like I don't get a say in anything."
"Daryl."
"No," he finally explodes and she flinches. Not because she's scared of him but because she hates she's caused this reaction in him. "Y'ain't the boss of me, Carol. You don't just get to decide what is and ain't right for me. I get to decide that. Me." He points at his chest, his hands trembling with emotion. "Not you, not Merle, not Rick."
She looks down at his chest, shame burning her face.
"I didn't mean it like that."
"Yeah? Then how did ya mean it?" He's demanding and she doesn't know how to answer him, not really.
Everything swirls in her mind, her thoughts a cloud of faces, names, snapshots of everything that's happened to each of them.
"You, me and Carl," she says slowly, "we're the only ones left from the quarry. Everything seemed to happen so quickly after Rick arrived. We've lost," she pauses, feeling Sophia standing between them, "so many people. I tried Daryl. I tried so hard to do the right thing. I didn't want those children at the prison to be like Sophia."
She feels his body stiffen, knowing her daughter is a source of anguish for him, a perceived failure. She feels the need to reach a comforting hand out to him but restrains herself.
"When I found Tyrese, the girls, I thought we could make it on our own, the five of us. I didn't dare hope I'd ever see you again or that you'd want to see me after what I did. I opened myself to those girls, when I knew I shouldn't have. I knew there was something wrong with Lizzie and I still left her with Mika and Judith."
Her mouth opens but nothing comes out, like she is frozen in a moment in a grove with a blonde girl who's hands dripped blood, like her own had only hours before.
Daryl grasps her hand, giving it an encouraging squeeze. "It's okay, you don't gotta."
She shakes her head, "No, you should know. I promised Tyrese I'd never talk about it but he's gone now so..."
She looks away, gathering her thoughts, her strength, her courage, knowing instinctively he'll forgive her but still fearing he'll push her away and look at her in disgust.
"We got back one day and Lizzie had killed Mika. She was waiting for her to turn to prove to us walkers were still people. She was going to do the same to Judith. She couldn't be around people, around Judith. We discussed it and knew what had to be done."
She looks back at him, searching his face for his reaction.
"I shot her. I shot her in the back of the head while she looked at the flowers, and we buried them beside each other."
He meets her gaze without judgement, without recrimination, with nothing but acceptance and understanding.
"We bury the ones we love," he reminds her.
She chokes and nods. "There's so few left Daryl. Loving others is the most dangerous thing to do in this world. I know I love you, I love everyone here, but I don't have anything left. I've nothing to give anymore."
"All I want," he touches her cheek, "is to stay with you. Don't care if it's here, in the Kingdom or out on the road. Can't live in this world without ya. Won't be able to. Rather have ya beside me than worryin' and wonderin' if you're safe, if you're ok. Don't even have to talk to me if ya don't wanna." She laughs a little and it is so foreign, so long forgotten, she doesn't recognise it as first.
A small smile quirks his lips as he gazes down at her. "Just want to be there."
She feels the tears running down her face, his calloused fingers wiping them away.
"You deserve better than that."
"We gonna go through this again?" he frowns at her.
She huffs, touching the hand at her face with trembling fingers and drawing it down to her lap.
"I can't stay here."
"Then we'll go," he tells her decisively with a nod of his head. "Wherever you want."
She grins at him. "Anywhere, huh?" she can hear the shakiness in her voice but pushes on, wanting to show him she's trying. "I hear Paris is nice this time of year."
"Nah. Springtime's better."
She smiles warmly at him. "I'm going to the Kingdom. I've a place there, I guess. Away from most of the others, on the edges."
"Sounds good." He tells her.
"You're going to miss it here," she whispers, teeth biting her lower lip.
"Not as much as I'd miss you."
"When did you turn into such a sap?"
"Dunno. Guess the apocalypse can do strange things to a man."
He studies her seriously, that self consciousness back again. "I ain't askin' you to marry me I'm just askin' ya to start over again. Properly this time, the two of us. I know you're scared of lettin' me in. But I'm strong Carol," he insists. "I love ya and I can help you. If you'll let me."
"I believe you." She replies earnestly, wishing she could just fall into his arms and run away with him, but knows she has to be honest with him and hope it's enough. "I can't promise anything, Daryl, except that I'll try. I want to. With you."
The smile that spreads across his face is enough to melt her heart and warm her insides. He lowers his forehead to hers and leans forward, kissing the tip of her nose, making her laugh.
"Guess it's settled then. You an' me, right?"
"Right," she agrees, leaning up to look him in the eye, a hand brushing down his cheek. "You and me."