Disclaimer: I own nothing from The Walking Dead. All characters belong to the creators of the graphic novel and/or television series.
I Should Have Told You
She wakes in the night covered in sweat and breathing like she's been running. Her hands shake as she throws the covers back and lets the cool air settle over her skin. Her heart is hammering against her ribs. She smells oil. Gasoline. She hears those horrific screams. She feels a hand clasped over her mouth as gravel digs into her stomach and elbows.
She has this dream almost nightly. She remembers as if it were yesterday, though it feels like two lifetimes ago. She was someone else. She was someone she didn't even recognize anymore.
"Sophia," she whispers, saying her name for the first time in over a year. It hurts. It pulls the scab away to reveal a fresh wound. It'll never heal.
Her legs shake as she pulls herself from the unfamiliar bed and reaches for the pack of Morleys on her nightstand. For a moment, she forgets where she is, and as she stands to leave the room, she trips over the leg of a chair. Remember that she's no longer in her little house or her even smaller room at the Kingdom, she shuffles out into the hall where soft snores and quiet coughs echo through the old Barrington House halls.
She shoots a fleeting glance to the room across from hers. The gap under the door is black, no longer flickering with candlelight as it was when she'd gone to bed a few short hours ago. She slinks down the stairs and flashes her pack of cigarettes at one of the Hilltop guards dozing in a chair by the front door. He gives her a nod, and she slips outside into the cool darkness where only the smattering of stars provides light. The trailers are dark and only the wind can be heard for miles.
She lights a cigarette and welcomes what has become a familiar burn in her lungs. She chokes it back and lets the stream of smoke swirl up into the darkness. She thinks about the cold, about how she's felt so cold for so long. The only time she's felt much of anything in the past year was the moment she'd opened up her door to find Daryl standing there. He's been her anchor for so long. Her constant. She thinks about how hard she worked to distance herself from everyone. From him. Looking into his eyes was like looking into a reflection of her own soul. He knows her. He's always known her, maybe even before he knew he did. She can't hide from him, and she thinks maybe that's why she's been trying so hard.
She knows she went away to give herself some peace, to quiet the pain in her heart, the ache for things she can't have and can't allow herself to have. But it's all past now. From the second he was on her doorstep, it was all past.
She hasn't seen him much since he arrived to deliver the blow about Carl. He's been tending to Judith, keeping close to her. She's seen him watching her from a distance, but when she looks at him, she hears the despair in his voice. She remembers that little boy trying to protect her daughter. She remembers the pain that little boy felt after he had to do the unthinkable and kill his own mother. She remembers how cold he'd once been, how he'd pushed his own mother away, how he'd dealt with his parents' problems in the only way he could. But it all changed after Lori. He'd become a big brother, a protector, almost grown in how he'd worked alongside his father.
Now he's gone. Sophia's gone. Lizzie. Mica. Sam. She knows it's only a matter of time for Henry, and the idea makes her heart heavy. And she doesn't want to think of it. Doesn't want to speak of it. Except she does. With him. She knows he'll take her burdens and make them his own, and she doesn't want that for him. So she stays quiet. Still, when he looks at her, when she sees that he sees her, she knows he feels her pain.
She shudders as the porch creaks behind her, and she spins in the darkness to see Enid stepping out, hair disheveled, eyes damp from what she can see in the dull candle light emanating from the girl's palm.
"You should be sleeping," Carol murmurs, tossing the cigarette onto the ground and sliding the toe of her boot across it for good measure.
"I can't," Enid whispers. Her voice is low and hoarse, and Carol hears the crinkle of paper in the girl's other hand. Her gaze snaps down to see the letter from Carl. The girl had done nothing but read that over and over for the past two days.
"Saviors could be here soon," Carol offers. "You need rest."
"And you don't?" Enid asks. Carol watches the girl for a moment before she steps past her and reaches for the door. "He wrote 'I love you.'"
"What?" Carol turns back to the girl.
"He wrote 'I love you.' He never told me. I never heard him say it." The girl's voice shakes as she nears another breaking point. "It's bullshit. I should have told him. Maybe he didn't know."
"You can't think about that." Carol softens. "He knew."
"I should have told him," Enid chokes out again. "It's too late." She bites back a sob and turns to head off to a watch post. Carol understands that need for solitude, that need to feel useful at the same time. She watches the girl go and swallows back a lump in her throat.
She moves back into the house and slips back up the stairs, pausing with her hand on the banister to look toward his room. There's a faint glow there now, and she steps up to turn toward her room. But she pauses again, Enid's words weighing heavily on her mind. She takes a shaking breath and closes her eyes, swallowing back every uncertainty and painful possibility. She steps toward the door and gently places her hand above it. She taps lightly, barely audibly. She closes her eyes and listens to the bed springs. He's sat up. He's listening. He doesn't speak.
She trembles then, considers turning back, but then her hand is on the knob, and she's pushing her way into his room.
He blinks at her from where he's sitting, a book folded over his lap. Clearly, he can't sleep either. He looks at her, a mix of surprise and relief in his eyes. She turns then, closing the door, lingering with her back to him for a brief moment.
"You ok?" he asks, as her hand shakes. She turns the lock. "Hey. Carol." She turns then. Her name sounds unfamiliar on his lips. He throws his blanket back and steps up. She notices his feet are bare against the cool wood. She's not sure why, but it makes her smile. "What's wrong? Somethin' happen?" She takes a few steps toward him, unable to look at him. She shakes her head. "You ok?" She shakes her head again. "C'mere." She goes to him then, and his arms pull her close, and she sighs. It's what she was afraid of. She feels home here. In this moment. She knows she needs him. But needing and loving someone always comes at great cost.
His calloused hands soothe her back, and one brushes against the back of her neck. She sighs, burying her face against his shoulder. He's warm and smells like fresh linens, and she feels his heart racing in his chest.
"You wanna talk about it?" he asks. His voice catches in his throat. She nods.
"I do," she whispers. "But I can't."
"Ok." He understands. "I'm here."
"I know." Her hands move up his chest, and she tilts her head up. She looks at him in the pale candle light, and she searches his questioning eyes.
"Carol?" It's the second time he's said her name, and warmth spreads through her chest.
"I love you," she whispers. She watches his chest hitch with a staggered breath. Her hands move to his neck then, and then one is stroking the back of his neck. She leans in then, pressing her lips gently against his. An experiment. She feels him tense for a moment, but then his hands betray his nerves and move down her back and over her waist, gently resting on her hips. She pulls back, and he leans forward, resting his forehead against hers. "I should have told you." She blinks against the sting in her eyes. She sniffles, and Daryl leans in to press his lips against hers. She breaks then, crumbling. She doesn't fall, because he has her strong and steady in his arms. He scoops her up and carries her to his bed. He doesn't push. He breaks the kiss and settles down with her in his arms. She is wrapped around him, crying softly against his chest, and he kisses the top of her head.
"I love you, too," he murmurs, before he blows out the candle and lets the comfort of the dark wash over them both.