Disclaimer: I don't own The Walking Dead or any of the characters
Carol knew that Daryl cared for her. She truly did. She was as certain of his feelings for her as she was of her feelings for him. There was no doubt in her mind that he loved her. He had never said anything that made her so sure, most of the time he didn't even do anything that made her sure—it was just him. It was everything about him and who he was that made her positive that he loved her just as she loved him.
It had been months since the first time he came to her bunk. It was the night after he had found her—after he saved her from the tombs. She lay awake in her bunk, facing the wall and surprisingly awake for the ordeal she had gone through. She heard footsteps, which was not unusual as change of shift was soon. But the footsteps stopped just outside her cell. She waited to see if the owner of the footsteps would continue on. A few moments passed and the feet remained just outside her cell. She turned to see who the feet belonged to and there stood Daryl blocking a small sliver of moonlight that usually provided some light to her small cell.
"Daryl?" Carol called, confused, "What's wrong?"
"Jus'... uh..." he couldn't seem to come up with an acceptable explanation for what exactly he was doing.
"Checkin' up on me?" Carol asked with small smile, as she sat up in her bed.
Daryl shrugged, looking uncomfortable and avoiding eye contact. "What are you still doin' up?" he asked.
"Couldn't sleep. I'm not that tired."
"Ya need yer rest," he insisted softly.
She just nodded in reply; she was surprised that he didn't leave. He didn't stalk off like he usually did. He just stood, leaning against the bars of the cell. As though he was waiting for the last possible moment he had left before he would have to leave for watch duty.
"I'm glad yer okay," he said in a quiet gruff voice that was barely above a whisper and slightly muffled as he was looking intently at the ground
"Thanks to you," she said in her warm, kind voice. He shifted from one foot to another, unsure of how to respond to her appreciation. "Thanks for lookin' out for me."
He just nodded his head. "I got watch," he muttered, and with that he left quickly—like a startled animal.
That was not the last time that he came to her in the middle of the night. Each time her came he came closer to her than he was the time before. Each night he came closer to where she laid in her bunk. It was part of the slow dance that Carol had come to expect from Daryl Dixon. He was quiet and not very affectionate, but his feelings were obvious to anyone that knew him. She appreciated the unhurried, measured nature to Daryl's unique brand of courting. After everything they had been through it was nice to have one thing that wasn't being rushed.
The slow pace Daryl set was the complete opposite of what she had experienced with anyone. With Daryl, every touch he gave her was meticulous and slightly hesitant. He treated her like something precious, the way he would gently touch her cheek, fearing anything but the most tender and loving touch would hurt her in some way. After spending so long with Ed, Carol couldn't stop the tears that would well up in her eyes on occasion when she would think about the surprisingly gentle man that had stolen her heart.
Carol had tried to remain calm when Daryl went with Rick and Michonne after The Governor, but she couldn't help the knots that her stomach had tied itself in. As the evening rolled into night her mind unconsciously replayed her last moments alone with Daryl. He came to her the night before and sat on the edge of her mattress. They just watched each other for a long time. They had been through so much together, but still not nearly enough. The amount of happy memories that they had together was greatly outweighed by the number of sad ones. Carol refused to give up hope that there were more happy memories for them to make. She smiled at him affectionately when he raised his hand and brushed her cheek with the back of his fingers. She loved the feeling of his hands on her skin. They were rough and often dirty, but they were his. The way his touch felt was so much more intimate than anything Carol could ever remember feeling; it was as if he was touching a part of her that no one had ever touched before. She placed her hand over his, keeping him in place.
"Lay down with me," she whispered. He looked at her for a moment before toeing off his boots and slipping carefully between the sheets of her small bed. The bed was not meant for two grown adults, which was made obvious by the way their bodies pressed up against each other. But Carol couldn't find it in herself to want more space. She needed him close now. She didn't know what the next day would bring.
"What are ya thinkin' 'bout?" Daryl asked quietly, as one of his hand rested on her neck as the other supported his head.
"I'm worried," she told him honestly.
He didn't say anything. There was no use in telling her that there was nothing to worry about. She had every reason to worry. It was wise of her to worry. For all they knew, they may never get another night like this again.
"Me too," he confessed quietly.
And that was all they said for the rest of the night. They lay, tangled in limbs with their eyes studying the way they were when no one else could see them. Memorizing the private and intensely personal moment, preparing to store that moment in a part of their mind they could pull from in case the worse happened. Slowly Daryl leaned forward and softly kissed the corner of Carol's mouth, lingering a beat longer than she would have expected. It was chaste and so very "Daryl", but she knew that that kiss would be enough to keep her hope alive. They slowly fell asleep, still desperately trying to catalog every aspect of the moment until sleep overtook them. At some point during the night, they started to cling to each other—which was how they remained when Daryl woke up in the morning.
Their intimate moments before sleep followed Carol like a ghost until the she heard the familiar rumble of his motorcycle the next morning. She ran out to the yard with the others and saw Daryl pulling up with a school bus tailing closely behind him. She literally felt lighter. They had made it through the night.
Later that afternoon she found Daryl in her cell sitting on the edge of the bed, with what little belongings he had at his feet.
"Hey," Carol said, leaning against the bars of the prison cell, just as he had many months ago, blocking out the sunlight.
"Rick said we're gonna need ta start doublin' up," he looked shy as he tried to sound authoritative; Carol smiled slightly at the juxtaposition. "Ya mind if we share?"
"I don't mind at all," she told him warmly.
That night everyone seemed to be asleep in their cells when Daryl came in from watch duty. He woke Glenn for his shift and walked quietly to his cell and was not surprised to find Carol still awake. "Thought I'd wait up for you," she said, putting down a book that she had found in the prison library.
"Ya didn't need ta do that," he said as he kicked off his boots and leaned his crossbow against the wall by the bed.
"I don't mind," Carol told him, as she scooted back against the wall, hoping that he would lie with her again rather than in the top bunk.
He looked down at her. He had a complicated look on his face that she could not interpret. Before she could give the look much more thought, he looked down and slowly lifted up the blanket and slid in next to her. They laid quietly in the dark, facing each other, bodies pressed close like they had been only a few nights earlier. There was so much unsaid between them, but for the moment they were content to just study each other's face, memorizing the way their bodies touched just as they had the last time the laid in that bed together. This time was different though. They weren't storing these memories to draw on in case the worse were to happen. They studied each other with amazement that they were both there and able to lie together. They had tonight. They had another night.
"Hey," Carol called to him quietly.
"Hey," Daryl replied.
"I'm glad you're okay," she told him earnestly.
"Thanks ta you," he whispered, echoing her words from months prior.
Carol smiled as her emotions began to overwhelm her. She reached up and stroked his cheek, enjoying the feel of his whiskers under her hand. She knew that she had never loved him more than in that moment. She leaned forward and kissed him innocently, just as he had kissed her nights before. When they separated he rested his forehead against hers.
"I love ya," he murmured, "Ya know that, right?"
She closed her eyes tightly, refusing to let herself cry. She nodded her head. She never needed to hear him say the words, but hearing them as he lay with her in that small bunk, with his hand resting on her waist and hers on his face, with the feel of his stubble under her hand—it was all she could ever want from him.
"I know," she told him, "I love you too."
"I know," he said before his lips met hers in a kiss that was markedly less chaste than their previous ones had been.