Disclaimer: I own nothing from The Walking Dead.
I Can't Lose You, Too
They'd found one another again at The Kingdom. She'd been patched up and on the mend when a group of scavengers had come across the Alexandria group, broken and grieving the loss of a friend. Daryl had been the worst, pale in color but hot with fever, shaking and in and out of consciousness.
She had hardly recognized him, sliding a chair up next to his cot at the infirmary, noticing the shoulder wound that seemed to mirror hers. She'd sat with him for the longest time, holding his hand, attempting to remember that first winter when he'd taught her how to track, taught her how to hold a gun, taught her how to respect the shot and breathe into it without missing.
A day turned into four, and when his fever finally broke and the infection was gone from his wounds, he'd begun to come around. The first thing he'd seen when he'd opened his eyes had been her concerned face, mouth drawn in a grim line as she leaned over him. Those blue eyes were still the brightest he'd ever seen, and the second she squeezed his hand, he knew it was real.
They hadn't said much to one another. He hadn't asked her why she'd left, because he already knew. She hadn't asked him why he'd gone out so recklessly and ended up in Dwight's clutches, because she knew he'd done it for Denise.
At the end of the week, however, when most of the group had gone back to Alexandria or back to check in at the Hilltop, Carol's reluctance to speak on much more than the weather was starting to come to the forefront of Daryl's mind.
"You don't talk about it," he finally said, finding his footing when he stepped into what used to be a small class room that now contained a couple of cots and a box of supplies. Her old clothes were bundled on top of it with her gun and knife, as if at any moment she'd pick it all up and disappear again into the night, leaving without saying goodbye.
"It doesn't matter," she said quietly, despite the fact that he hadn't specified what exactly it was she wasn't talking about. But, considering there was a hell of a lot left unsaid these days, it could have been anything. Sophia, Lizzie and Mika, Karen and David, Sam, Tobin, the kill floor. She muted everything and made room for it in her head, letting it keep her awake most nights and tear at her soul.
"It matters," he said, coming in and letting the door shut firmly behind him.
"You shouldn't be up." She turned from the window, her face pale, her shoulders laid back as if she was putting on another mask, pretending for him.
"Stop. This ain't you."
"I don't even know who I am anymore," she said with a shrug. "I'm not that woman from the farm. From the prison. I don't remember her anymore." He narrowed his eyes at her. "I slept with Tobin." He'd have flinched if it had done any good. He really hadn't been paying attention, too wrapped up in his own shit, and yeah, he'd noticed she'd been different, that she'd poured herself into that role of den mother, that wolf in sheep's clothing, but Tobin? He hadn't thought about it.
"Why you tellin' me this?" He saw a sad smile pull at her lips before she shrugged.
"You're the one that wants me to talk," she said quietly.
"You love him?" He picked at a frayed edge of the bandage on his shoulder.
"I don't feel anything." She turned then, moving toward the cot in the corner, sitting down on the edge. Daryl moved, feet feeling heavy in these new boots. His old ones were filled with blood, still air drying out on the old playground.
"That ain't true. You left that note." He chewed his lip. "Rick told me. I was gone 'fore they found the note." Carol shook her head.
"I left because I thought I couldn't kill anymore. But I did kill again. And I'll always have to. It's just the way things are, and I don't know how to feel about that." Daryl paused for a moment before sitting down next to her on the cot, remembering the last time he'd sat with her like this, that night in Atlanta in the women's shelter. He remembered the hot, tight knot of guilt in his stomach that all he could think about was keeping an eye on her and never losing her again when they'd been there to look for Beth.
They'd come to look for the girl, but at some point, it had become less about the search and more about the journey. He'd been distracted, cursing himself for feeling things his father would have laughed at him for, that Merle would have called him a pussy for. But he'd lost her, and she'd found him. She'd saved him, and he'd come across her trying to leave the church that night, and everything in him had fought the anger and the desperation that came along with the feeling that tore at his gut and his heart. He needed her.
"Somebody told you that you're wrong. First it was Rick. Then who? Morgan? Yeah, I seen the way you avoided him. He dotes on ya now, always checkin' to make sure you ain't in pain. Like he feels guilty."
"He saved my life," she murmured, flinching as the pain in her leg began to throb. The bullet had grazed the bone, and she was certain that pain might linger for years to come.
"He told you that you're wrong, didn't he?"
"It doesn't matter," she whispered. "It's over. It's the past."
"M'sorry," he murmured, as Carol turned to look at him.
"What are you apologizing for?"
"That night…the night after Rick killed Pete." He cleared his throat. "You said you had to figure out who you were supposed to be. And I thought you just needed space. That you needed to work through some stuff. And ya did need that, but I don't think ya worked anything out." Carol looked away. "Hey." She met his gaze again, and this time, her eyes were glistening.
"Tobin," she sniffled. "He was nice. He said things that, well, they could've made me feel better for a minute. And I thought, even if he didn't know me, I could just…feel something. Anything." She shook her head. "I felt empty. I didn't love him. I just needed something. And I couldn't hurt someone I loved." Her fingers tensed at her knees, and her gaze moved to his lips. He watched her, watched the way her chest rose with a deep breath, the way her shoulders trembled as she exhaled.
HIs heart beat a little faster in his chest, and he felt the knot in his stomach tighten. She was looking at him very differently, as if some wall had broken down between them, a wall he very easily could have built his own damned self with his hang ups and aversion to human contact. She'd been the only one he'd let touch him, let kiss his forehead, let joke around—even semi-seriously—about sexual things. But now, as they sat together on the bench, she was looking at him with something he'd felt for her for so long.
He swallowed hard, and Carol leaned in, hand brushing a wisp of hair from his forehead before she placed her lips against his in the softest, briefest kiss. She pulled back then, gaze ghosting over his, and then she was kissing him again.
I could just…feel something. Anything.
His hands moved to her shoulders, gently pushing her back, avoiding putting too much pressure on her still healing wound.
"You don't want to?"
"I don't wanna be…a warm body," he murmured, clasping her hand in his. "I don't want ya to do this 'cause ya wanna try to feel somethin'." He saw her draw away like she'd been burned.
"You think….you think that's what this is?" she asked, narrowing her eyes at him, blinking back tears. Daryl realized then that he had no fucking clue what he was doing. They'd known each other so well before.
"Carol, I'm sorry," he muttered, looking down. Ashamed. He moved to get up and leave, but Carol tugged on his hand, pulling him back down.
"The only time I feel anything good is when you look at me the way you do. You see me. You don't see the things I've done, the things people don't understand. You see me, and you always have, even if you didn't want to." She swallowed hard. "We've lost so much. I can't lose you, too."
Daryl let go of her hand, bringing his own trembling hand up to cup her cheek. She leaned into his touch, gasping softly at the feel of something real, something true. She turned her face into his palm, pressing a kiss there.
"I thought I was gonna die," he said hoarsely. "Thought I was done for, and all I could think about was how I just wanted to get home t'you. I watched my friend die. Watched his blood spill on the ground. All I could hear were people screamin' and cryin', and all I could think about was how I didn't want buryin' Denise to be the last moment I spent with ya." His heart began to race, and Carol blinked back the tears again. "I ain't never been good at this."
"Neither have I," she sniffled, wiping at her eyes.
"I'm done wastin' time." He licked his lips then, and he took the plunge. "I love ya. Have for a long time, and I didn't wanna walk outta this room without tellin' ya." She took a shuddering breath, and his heart ached. His fingers spread through her hair, gently rubbing down the back of her neck until she was wrapping her arms around his neck and pressing her mouth to his.
"I love you, too," she whispered against his mouth, kissing him until his arms moved to wrap around her waist. She smiled against his mouth, choking back a sob before she buried her face against his neck and relished the feeling of finally crossing that line, of finally letting herself feel something honest.