A/N: Yes it is… it's another fanfic about Caryl! But it's so hard not to want those two to get together. They're two wounded people brought together by their scars and the show does a wonderful job of creating a beautiful friendship between the two. However, it's time for something more.

I decided to go with the idea given to me by none other than Daryl Dixon aka Norman Reedus! In an interview when he was asked if Daryl and Carol would get together, he said if they did he wanted it to be awkward and he wanted Carol to make the first move. So I'm trying to play off of that. I think their relationship is already on such deep emotional level that a romantic relationship is imminent.

This first chapter is mostly building the story. I'm going to write from both Carol and Daryl's perspectives but I'm not sure if I will keep both. It's much easier to write from Carol's vantage point because she's a less complex character than Daryl. It's easy to get lost in the redneck aspect of Daryl when I'm writing him and I don't want to ruin the integrity of his character, so let me know what you think! (That's also why Daryl's part is much shorter).

Anyway, this story will have a plot other than Carol and Daryl hopefully coming together in something more than friendship so it doesn't get boring and repetitive.

Hope you enjoy and thanks for reading! ;)

Carol

It's loud in here and I love it. How long has it been since the echoes of voices and laughter filled any place? I follow the sounds of happy people, people who, up until a month ago, had nothing. Their leader turned against them and abandoned them, though I suspect he was never truly on their side to begin with. Thanks to the kindness of Rick, they were spared the horrific lifetime of fighting every day for survival that so many of us have already experienced. Of course, there was some resistance initially. To take on so many people, especially ones who couldn't easily fend for themselves, was seen as a hindrance to our group's wellbeing. But over time we adjusted. I would be miserably wrong to say nobody has found a friend among our newest members.

Several smiling faces greet me when I finally reach the cellblock. We keep the two groups separate for the purpose of having enough space, although it's also a relief at the end of the day to return to the original family.

"Carol! There you are. I'm not getting any younger over here. Come help a sister out," an elderly woman calls from one of the bunks. I follow her voice.

"Good morning, Aurelia," I say, smiling. Aurelia is one of my favorite people in the prison. Her stubbornness and refusal to let the decline of the world ruin her day is almost painfully refreshing after all the suffering and loss that our group has been through. Each morning, I take her out for a walk. Beth does the same with a couple others, but not many are still mobile enough to get exercise. Of course, they have the children to keep them on their toes.

It's fitting that I ended up with the task of caretaker. No matter what, I'll always be a mother at heart. I'll always have those instincts that tell me to protect the vulnerable first and myself last. Aurelia's company lessens the aching pain from where Sophia's passing left a hole in my heart. I fill my lungs with the fresh Georgia air as we slowly walk through the prison doors. Aurelia hobbles along at a steady pace next to me, her arm linked through mine. I glance up at the guard tower where Daryl paces, watching for any walkers that look out of line. He holds his crossbow loosely at his side, the muscles in his arm slack, but I know him well enough not to call him relaxed. No matter how calm or laidback he acts, his mind is always running on full speed. Not everyone sees it, but I do. There's more to his thoughts than he lets on.

Daryl catches my eye and I wave. He inclines his head in my direction and then goes back to guard duty, but I know he's keeping me in his peripherals. I feel his gaze on my back every time I go outside the prison walls. And it's not unwelcome. In fact, it's so welcome I'm almost afraid of it. It's been so long since someone has had my back like that. I know the rest of the group does, of course. We're all looking out for each other, but some more than others. Glenn looks after Maggie and vice versa, Hershel keeps a keen eye on his daughters, and Rick won't go a day without reminding Carl and Judith that he loves them. He was afraid to tell Lori before she passed and every day he lives with that regret. I think he's afraid not to say it now.

"You're thinking awful hard about something," Aurelia comments, not moving her gaze from the field in front of us.

I sigh. "Do you have any regrets, Aurelia? Anything that just eats away at you day after day?"

She chuckles. "That's no way to live, honey. I've seen good and I've seen bad. I've done good and I've done bad. I know there are better directions my life could have gone, but I also know that there are worse. And I content myself with knowing that I didn't end up on those paths. You see, if we always wonder what could have been, we'll never notice what is being until it's passed us by."

I nod. "Live in the present."

"Don't you dare make my advice a cliché," Aurelia warns jokingly.

I smile. "I don't think that's possible. The amount of wisdom you have is unfair."

"Well, honey, when you get as old as me that's all you've got going for you. Besides my killer body and devastatingly good looks."

I squeeze her arm affectionately. "You mean your arthritis and wrinkles."

Aurelia pretends to look offended. "Are you calling me old?'

"You're the one who said you're not getting any younger."

"Better watch out. Once your hair turns grey, your mind is next to go."

I run my fingers through my cropped haircut. "It's not grey, it's silver."

Aurelia snorts. "Whatever you old hag. I've still got my youth." And with that she releases my arm and trots into the prison, ending our walk.

After lunch, I carry a basket through the cellblock, collecting the dirty clothes piled on each bunk. It's laundry day and it's my turn to do it. I trade off with Beth. I've become close to her and her sister over the past few weeks. We all realized the company of other women is needed when we're surrounded by men all day. Our knights in shining armor, we call them. I smile to myself as I reach Carl's bunk. He has one shirt laid out that I think started out a pale blue but has since turned brown with dirt and grime. I can't blame him for his less than sanitary habit of wearing the same underwear for weeks and only changing his clothes once they become glued to his body with sweat and muck. He's a teenage boy. I remember listening to Sophia's third grade teacher joke about the 'yucky years'. Carl is definitely going through that phase.

When I arrive at Daryl's cell, I find him taking apart an arrow on his mattress.

"It's not enough to appreciate the arrow's outer beauty, you have to undress it too?" I smile.

Daryl looks up at me, squinting in the sunlight streaming in through the windows across the way. "Huh?"

I shake my head. "Never mind." It's easy to forget that jokes are lost on Daryl. "I'm here to collect." I hold up the laundry basket.

He looks around the cell. There's a pair of grungy looking jeans on the floor. "Those are gettin' pretty smelly." He nods to them. Always ready to impress the ladies, I see. I peel the jeans off the floor and toss them in the basket. "Is that all?"

He nods and goes back to his arrow. "Thank ya, ma'am."

"'Ma'am'? Oh Daryl stop it," I tease as I turn away. I can feel his confused expression follow me out of the cell.

That's one of my favorite parts about Daryl. No matter how rough and tough he is, underneath he's still just a man who gets flustered by women. There's something incredibly redeeming about that innocence. I never thought I would pair that word with Daryl, but the longer I'm around him the truer it seems.

I begin scrubbing the dirt stains out of a pair of cargo pants. Glenn found some heavy-duty bar soap on one of his runs that we use for laundry because it's too harsh to bathe with. The first few times I used it, my hands were scrubbed raw. But now I've built up some calluses and it's no longer a problem. Carl and Maggie thought it was funny for some reason that that's where my calluses came from. I walked around with the nickname Tough-Titties Washerwoman, courtesy of Daryl for some time afterward. He has a habit of nicknaming things. For instance, Judith was dubbed Lil' Asskicker before she even had a real name. I think it's his way of laying claim to the people he cares about.

"Need any help?"

I turn to find Maggie behind me, brushing dust off her pants. I smile, "Sure. If you can stand to lower yourself to the task of washing clothes."

"Don't you go talkin' like that, Carol. Your jobs are just as important as beatin' those walkers with a pipe. We'd all stink to high heavens without you."

I shrug. "We all stink to high heavens anyway."

Maggie nudges my arm. "Just you, Tough-Titties."

I laugh and so does she. I suppose with adversity comes unexpected friendships, and I'm incredibly thankful for ours.

Daryl

This is some real bullshit. I get that Rick is being a good leader and preserving humanity, but damn if I don't wake up eighty times a night to some kid crying because they pissed themselves. The other day I had to help this old lady cross the prison yard because the sunlight wasn't right for her to knit in. Where the hell did she even find knitting sticks? I told Rick we should put her with Glenn to go into town and get stuff since she obviously knows where the goods are. He ain't takin' me seriously though.

I walk through the cellblock, our cellblock. We cleared out the one 'cross the way for all the old people and babies. Carol's made herself a nice hobby takin' care of them. And Beth. I don't get how they can be around helplessness for that long. The only tiny person I give a damn about is Lil' Asskicker. That's Rick's baby, though, so she's got somethin' special in her.

I sit down next to Carl. He's the only other person here. Glenn and Maggie are on guard duty, which means they're havin' sex like rabbits and ain't nobody gonna be saved from their watchful eyes, and Hershel and Rick took one of the Woodbury soldiers out to get supplies.

Carl's a weird kid. Ever since his momma died he's turned into a man. I keep expecting to see a beard bust out of his chin. The problem is I think he ain't growing up right. I mean who can with all this shit going on? But ever since Carl shot that boy who was surrendering in the face, he ain't been right. Kid left his compassion to die with Lori.

"Hey, Daryl? Will you take me hunting? I want to catch a squirrel and eat it."

"You think your daddy'll want you to have a reason to be out pissin' around in the woods? It still ain't safe out there."

Carl gets all huffy and stands up. "Fine I'll go ask his permission." He says 'permission' like it's a dirty word. Well excuse me for tryin' to do right by Rick. He's been a good man and I respect him. Sometimes Carl can be a real shit 'bout it though and that gets under my skin. In fact, I'm not in such a good mood anymore and I stomp out of the cellblock.

I find Glenn and Maggie actually doing what they're supposed to, which ain't each other. Imagine my surprise.

"Get goin', it's my turn to take watch." I take their place in the guard tower.

It's gettin' dark by the time Carol finds me. She's got a cup of somethin' that smells like soup that just ain't right.

"What is it?" I ask, takin' the cup from her.

"Carl wanted to make dinner." She watches me sniff the stuff and then take a sip. I cough and spit over the railin'. "Tastes like ass," I say, givin' the cup back to her.

"And how would you know that?" Carol's got this look on her face like I'm bein' simple and missin' somethin' funny. She does that a lot, tells jokes. They're bad ones and half the time, I don't get 'em, but at least she's tryin'. Ain't enough of that left.

She dumps the ass soup over the railin' and comes to stand by me. That's cool. It's cool when me and Carol get to hang out. She ain't pushy or whiny or stupid. I know sometimes the things that come out of my mouth are the dumbest shit anybody's ever heard, but not Carol. She don't say stupid things. Tonight she ain't sayin' anything. And it's real peaceful. We stand there for a time, not talkin', just watchin'. Then she gives my arm a squeeze and says goodnight. Her hand is rough and I remember why. "Night, Tough-Titties."

"That's the second time today," I hear her say as she leaves. And like most times, I'm wonderin' what she's talkin' about. That's a nice thing though. She keeps ya guessin'.