In the months since she'd arrived in Alexandria, Carol has allowed herself to be more than cookies and casseroles.
She hasn't entirely shed her disguise. The jeans she wears are comfortable and she's got hiking boots on her feet, but the collared shirt she wears is buttoned properly and tucked in, the cardigan overtop frilly and prim, but also there to keep her warm against the autumn chill. Practical items while still acknowledging the carefully curated image she's worked on. It's a compromise of the old world and the new, and in a way it feels more comfortable to Carol than anything else does, these days. She knows she isn't the woman she'd been before the turn, but she isn't any of the ones she'd thought herself to be since. Wife, Victim, Mother, all titles she's shed along with caretaker, protector, den mother.
Truthfully, Carol isn't sure who she is without some sort of role to play, not anymore.
That's the best part of things since Rick and Deanna came to their agreement: Carol can figure out who she is on a day to day basis. Some days she's every bit the stepford wife she'd claimed, spending time helping Olivia organize the pantry and delivering baked goods to Jessie and her boys. Others, she stretches out in the tower with Sasha or catalogues their ammo.
Rick and Deanna may be in charge of Alexandria, but it's common knowledge that Carol knows a little bit about everything.
Jack of all trades is a role too.
Adaptability was the first survival skill she learned, really, and while she sometimes longs for the easier days at the prison, Carol is grateful for the freedom she's cultivated.
Today, she had woken to the crispness of autumn on the air, clouds that covered but did not threaten rain; and Carol hadn't wanted to do anything for anyone else. There's a selfishness in it, one she would never have indulged at the prison, or before, but loss has a way of compartmentalizing a heart until the smaller parts seem louder than they used to.
With her gun and her knife, and a small pack that only held necessities for an emergency, Carol had nodded to Morgan as he signed her out and opened the gate. She'd be back before dark, she told him and he'd only nodded, observing her quietly but without judgment. No suggestions that she shouldn't go alone, no concerns that she wouldn't know how to take care of herself. Morgan may not have seen her in action first hand in the time he'd been in Alexandria, but he didn't doubt for a moment that she was capable.
There was a time when confidence from men had meant so much to Carol, it makes her smile slightly to think of how little she cares about that now.
She doesn't go far from the walls, is never more than a half hour's hike back to safety and the chilly gray day provides a nice muffler to the thoughts she can never keep far enough away. Out here she has to focus, can't get lost in introspection or regret and the danger of it is precisely the sort of grounding she had been looking for.
There's still a couple of hours until dusk when the sound of crunching leaves gives Carol pause. Not directly behind her, but enough that she turns slowly to investigate the noise. Aaron stands several paces away, raising his hand in a wave once he's sure she'd recognized he isn't a threat. It's a careful way to approach someone, and she knows at once that the crunch of the leaves had not been accidental, had been his signal for her attention as the days of shouting hello to an acquaintance were long gone.
Carol doesn't return his wave, but she does smile a greeting as he approaches, not speaking until he's close enough that she doesn't need to raise her voice above a comfortable tone. "Good afternoon."
"Likewise," Now that she knows it to be genuine, Carol can't help but note how welcoming his smile is. She hasn't spent much time with Aaron, and none of it alone, but she knows he is a man who thinks he holds his cards closer to his chest than he does. His eyes give him away most of the time, and there's a rueful note to him that she appreciates.
She isn't looking for company, but Aaron's arrival doesn't bring the sting of irritation with it and Carol is grateful.
"I didn't know you were out here," he says, as though they've run into each other at the grocery store and she feels her smile take a few more steps towards genuine.
"I wasn't, when you left." She'd seen his name on the pages that logged the comings and goings, heading out a little while before she did. "It seemed like a nice day for a walk."
Aaron laughs, raising his eyebrows and indicating the mostly gloomy day. "You've been off the road too long if you think this is a nice day."
"A nice day for a walk and a nice day are not the same thing." Without any discussion they fall into step together, winding through the woods. I don't want to forget about danger."
"That's smart." There's a note of admiration to his tone and it warms her a bit.
Aaron is easy to talk to, and she finds herself chatting amicably as they circle closer, as neither of them have the intention to get caught outside after dark. He tells her of the work he did before, of the places he's seen and the people he's tried to help. In turn, she shares stories from the prison; tales of the community they'd forged behind that chain link fence.
"I'm pretty sure Carl never opened another door without knocking, calling out and then covering his eyes just in case," she finishes, laughing as she recalls the expression on the poor boy's face when he'd hightailed it through the dining area to escape the sight.
"I think I'm going to take up that habit," Aaron admits, his deep chuckle warm and comforting. "At least whenever I'm visiting Glenn and Maggie's place." He shakes his head, another chuckle rumbling through his chest. "God, I don't know that I'll ever be able to look either of them in the eye."
Her laughter surprises her; Carol realizes it might be the first genuine laugh she's had since Georgia. Aaron's still smiling when she shakes it off, but she catches a pensive note to his brow, a hint of consideration to his eyes. "Has anyone ever told you that you've got very expressive eyes?"
To his credit, he just shrugs "It makes me a horrible poker player."
"Remind me to get dealt in next time there's a game." She pauses, but he seems to need prompting. "You've got a thought you want to share, I can tell."
"You talk about the prison the way other people talk about their lives before the outbreak." There's a note of something she can't quite detect. "You were happy there. In a way you aren't, here."
"I was," Carol admits, unsure why her nerves suddenly feel a little bit on edge. "It's not that anything's wrong with Alexandria," she broaches carefully, not wanting to offend him. "I'm just a different person now."
Aaron nods, no trace of hurt in his features as they continue towards the gates. He's silent for a little while, longer than she's really known him to be in the small amount of time she's spent in his company, but Carol doesn't mind. She hasn't talked about the prison like that, hasn't reminisced with any of them about the place they'd called home. Grief is heavy in the back of her throat but there's enough safety in those memories to keep it at bay.
The sound of Aaron clearing his throat draws her eyes, and yet again Carol gets the sense that there's something he wants to say. She just raises her eyebrows, enjoying that they'd fallen so easily into this sort of communication.
"He talks about the prison that way too," Aaron finally says, and there's no question of who he means. "Not very much, of course, but every once in a while he shares something. He was happy there, too."
Something clenches inside her chest but she doesn't dwell on it, merely nods and replies more casually than she'd hoped. "We all worked hard to build that community."
"I know," Aaron cuts her off gently. "The thing is, you and Daryl are the only ones who talk about it like it was the best home you ever knew."
"That's the thing about the world going to hell," Carol feels her throat tighten, just a bit. "The trip was shorter for some of us."
"What happened?"
The question is unexpected, and Carol frowns at him. "You know what happened. The Gov-"
Aaron shakes his head "No, not that. What happened with you and Daryl?"
Nothing.
"Excuse me?" Her voice sounds tight and she can't help but think about the fact that Aaron has replaced her, in a way. He's the one Daryl spends time with, he's the one that hears his stories...
"I know it's none of my business, and we can talk about something else if you want to, but I get the sense from his stories, and from yours, that the two of you were... closer, back then."
Closer.
She wants to laugh at that, but she knows if she tries it's just as likely to be tears that slip out. Instead, Carol only swallows and shrugs, her tone neutral "We were friends, we are friends. I talked to him last night." She tells herself that the defensive edge is only confusion, that there's no difference in her closeness with Daryl now than... Her shoulders sag and when she looks to Aaron he's patiently waiting for her to speak further.
"We were closer," she acknowledges, finally. "We were..." she searches, but there's no word for it. She and Daryl had been friends, family, lovers in all but act, partners in a world fallen apart. "That's not who we are anymore," she finally settles on. "A lot has happened."
Aaron makes a non-committal sound, but doesn't press the issue further. There's a hint of anger in his eyes now and Carol remembers the things Eric said about him, that night before they arrived in Alexandria. Aaron may be friendly and he may have his awkward moments, but he is loyal to those he cares about.
Daryl is among that number, now.
"I'm glad he has you," she finds herself saying. "He hasn't had a lot of people in his life who've considered his feelings."
"Is that what you're doing? Considering his feelings?" There's a bit of bite, but he sighs immediately and reaches out to touch her arm, bringing them to a stop as she turns to face him. "Listen. I'm not here to judge you or tell you what to do, and I don't pretend to know what you've been through. I just know that it isn't really the prison Daryl talks about like that. It's you."
She swallows, and tears threaten to fall as she asks herself how this has happened. How did they end up so far apart? How did Daryl's promises of starting over end up with them doing so without each other? How did she let herself close off from the only person she wanted to let in?
Aaron's hand is warm on her arm, even through her shirt and cardigan and all she manages to say is "I can't be that person anymore."
"So don't," he releases her arm, scrubbing his hand down his face before continuing. "He doesn't want to play pretend, he just wants you. In whatever form you're prepared to give him."
It sounds so easy, put like that.