Title: We Have to Talk

Author: fais2688/theeyedoesnotSEE

Pairing: Carol/Daryl

Rating: M (though really a light T, for those of you who have ever read my Ms before)

Summary: She wasn't the woman she used to be and she hated that he continued to treat her as if she hadn't changed along with the rest of the world. Carol/Daryl, light M.

Setting: A bit of an AU. Carol/Daryl, semi-established relationship.

Author's Note: So this is my second Carol/Daryl fanfic ever. I got such a nice response from the first that when I couldn't help but fangirl upon their little moment in the show, I just had to write more. Though I originally meant to write a piece based on that "Stay safe" line, that story ended up slipping away and this one took its place. I apologize for the horrible title, but I hope you like this story nonetheless.

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(She was sick of telling him she was okay.)

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"Daryl…" She gasped his name, her back arching up so her naked breasts pressed against his chest.

"What?" The word came out of his mouth a rough grunt, but she could see the concern in his eyes, felt the hesitant way he stilled himself inside her. She shut her eyes slowly, wishing she could yell at him. He always did this, always. Just because she moaned and cried out and, yes, sometimes shouted, didn't mean that he was hurting her. It meant the exact opposite, actually, and no one had made her feel so not hurt as him.

She was sick of telling him that he wasn't hurting her. She was sick of telling him she was okay. She was sick of his doubts; she hated them and how uncharacteristically weak they made him.

He had no reason to doubt himself, especially not now—not with her, and not while they were doing this.

"Carol?"

She sighed, opening her eyes. Her hands cupped his cheeks, her thumbs rubbing the sides of his nose. She stared up at him for a long moment, just blinking tiredly as she looked at him. She tried to remember if there had ever been one occurrence where they'd gotten through sex together without stopping.

She had loved his concern. Had. But that was weeks ago; months now. It had been endearing, cute, even—if the word 'cute' was allowed to be mentioned in the same sentence as the name Daryl Dixon—but now it was getting old. Not it was getting bothersome and annoying and completely, absolutely unnecessary.

She knew she was a victim of domestic violence. She'd known that for the last ten-plus years. And she knew he knew it. But her husband was dead, her daughter was dead, and it had been such a long time since she'd done anything 'domestic.' Cooking a rat on a stick over a campfire didn't count, and neither did any of her other chores these days—burning bodies, digging graves, or acting as assassin or surgeon's assistant depending on the day.

She wasn't the woman she used to be and she hated that he continued to treat her as if she hadn't changed along with the rest of the world.

"Are you okay?"

She took a calming breath so she wouldn't glare at him. "Fine," she answered in a clipped tone. She half-wished he wasn't still inside her. It made acting indifferent just that much harder.

"Fine?" He wondered aloud, smirking at the evaluation. No doubt his mind was where hers was, though instead of annoyed, he was amused. It made her—just for a moment—want to hit him.

"Yes, fine." The words snapped out of her mouth before she could stop them. She didn't know how to feel when she saw the shock flash through his eyes. She could see traces of confusion and hurt there, but right now, she just didn't care. He needed to stop acting like a baby. He needed to stop coddling her. She was a grown woman and she could take a man's fucking.

She reached down, using her palms to force herself up to a sitting position, causing him to awkwardly scramble back, his cock falling out of her in the process. She tried not to care about its absence, but she missed him already, even when she was angry with him.

"Wha's going on?" He wondered, confused, as they faced each other across the thin, dirty cot.

Carol tried not to roll her eyes. She wished she could call him out for acting stupid, but of course he wasn't acting. That was part of what bothered her, that he did everything so unintentionally. It wasn't his fault he cared for her. Again, she was reminded of how touched she'd been in the beginning.

"It's been months," she told him, as if he didn't know. "Months since we started… doing this." She sighed, reaching up and rubbing the side of her face tiredly. She wondered for a slow second if that was it—maybe she was just tired. She was, after all. They'd started later than usual tonight, and after such a long day… She shook her head. She needed to say it, tiredness be damned.

"You need to stop," she announced abruptly. She watched as he tilted his head to the side, opening his mouth to question what she was talking about, but she didn't give him a chance. "You need to stop worrying about me. Stop asking me if I'm okay every two seconds, stop moving so slowly, and stop stopping whenever I show just the smallest hint of enjoyment."

"I'm not—" He tried to protest, but she wouldn't allow it.

"Yes, you are," she told him, her voice turning sharp and authoritative. "You keep worrying about me; I see it in your eyes. You won't stop." She took a breath, lightly touching his wrist with her fingertips. "I get it," she told him quietly. "I do, okay? You want to protect me and take care of me, and that's okay, that's fine. I appreciate that." She looked him hard in the eyes. "But what I do not appreciate," she continued, her voice rising again as it quickened with anger, "what I do not appreciate is that you act like that even when we're having sex—even when it's just you and me—that you're hurting me."

"I—"

"You're not going to hurt me, okay?" Her anger had turned to pleading now; she was that desperate for him to just admit that he wasn't as horrible a person as he thought himself to be. "You don't hurt innocent people; that's not what you do." She blinked up at him slowly, trying to gauge his mood and how her next statement would be recieved. Eventually, she just said it. "You're not Merle." Even with just a fingertip or two touching his skin, she could feel him stiffen. She had never mentioned his brother's name since they started… doing whatever they were doing, and he hadn't invited conversation. It had been a taboo subject, Carol knew, but sometimes the elephant in the room grew too fat and cumbersome to ignore anymore.

"You're not Merle and you're not Ed," she told him, ignoring how dark and unreadable his eyes and expression had become at the mention of those two men. "You don't hurt innocent people, good people, just because you can." She drew a breath slowly, and reached out her hand to cup his upper arm, feeling the hard muscle beneath his dirty yet soft flesh. "You're a good man," she told him quietly, "and unless you start to believe that, Daryl, then I don't know what we're going to do."

Daryl's neck snapped upwards at that, his wide eyes finding hers in less than a second. "What?" He managed, the word coming out sounding like something between a croak and a bark. "What are you talking about?"

"I'm saying," she answered patiently, "that unless you learn to respect yourself, and know what you are and aren't capable of…" She sighed, frowning sadly as she stared up at him. "Daryl, I…" She liked her lips, momentarily nervous "…I like you, but—unless you stop acting like you're some kind of monster, I can't keep being with you." She chewed on the inside of her lip. "It's stressful, alright? I can't keep watch of me and watch of you at the same time. I hate having to spend hours trying to puzzle out what you're thinking about or what you feel or what you fear. I want to know, but you aren't letting me know anything. You aren't letting me in.

"I get that you're a lonely guy. God, Daryl, I get that. More than most people, I really do. But this is extreme, okay? This is too much. And I'm trying to be honest with you because I want you to be honest with me. So here it is: I can't be with you if you keep acting like you expect yourself to hurt me one of these days. I can't be with you if you don't have any respect for yourself, or for me."

Carol finished her speech strongly, though not angrily, and after that the two simply coexisted in silence for a long while. Shafts of moonlight from the night sky shined in, illuminating the dirt and grime that covered the concrete floor and walls. Carol averted her eyes from his, since she didn't want to watch him make the decision to leave her. She knew it was partially her fault—she hadn't given him much of a choice—but if he hadn't been so damn stubborn and secretive and fucked up in the first place, they wouldn't be doing this tonight.

He surprised her by being the first to speak. "You're punishing me for wanting to take care of you."

Carol shook her head. "No," she replied, "I'm not. I'm—"

"Shut up," he cut in immediately, sounding practically bored. "You said your piece; time for me to say mine."

She pursed her lips, annoyed, but finally nodded. …As if he needed her permission to do anything.

"I don't mean to," he began quietly, so quiet that Carol wasn't even sure the words were directed at her. But when she looked up to meet his eyes, there they were, staring right at her. He continued without wasting a second. "I don't mean to worry about you, or smother you, or whatever the hell kind of pathetic girly shit you're accusing me of…" He shook his head, turning away to spit across the floor. "It just happens, alright? I don't mean to be some clingy little bitch; I don't mean to worry about you every second…" She watched with interest as his eyes fell closed. "I just can't help it," he murmured a moment later. "I just…" He sighed heavily, slowly opening his eyes and finding hers. "I worry about you, okay? More so than… than I've ever worried about anyone else before." He shrugged helplessly. "So I don't know what to do about it, okay? It isn't going to go away just because you find it annoying."

Carol tried to continue breathing normally, but it was quite difficult. He'd never once owned up to any sort of feelings for her. He'd never said 'I like you,' let alone 'I love you.' She knew she was being stupid and hopelessly romantic for thinking he was fishing for the latter, but part of her whispered that it might be what he was aiming at, albeit unconsciously. Maybe it was because those three words had been floating around in her mind these last few weeks themselves. She'd always held back from saying it because, well, he was Daryl and she was Carol. Love was not a thing that was discussed between the two of them. Ever.

"So?" He finally wondered, causing her to jerk in place. He eyed her strangely for her jumpiness, but she ignored it. She wouldn't let anything slip out. She couldn't risk it.

"So what?" She countered.

"So… Are we okay?" His eyes searched her face intensely. "Or are we done, like you said?"

She shook her head. "We aren't done." We can't be done. "We just…" She sighed. "Daryl, we have to talk about this."

"Yeah," he muttered. "I know."

She blinked over at him, her eyes tracing every line of his body, from his head to his heel. A small smile quirked on her lips when she saw the center of him hadn't quite calmed down yet. She felt her own core heat up a little bit, her frustration from before returning in full force. She reached over, trailing a hand along his bare thigh. She heard him start, saw the interest in his eyes when he turned his head reflexively towards her.

"We can talk later," she murmured, shifting towards him, "just so long as you promise to finish what you started now."

He smirked, laughing shortly as he rolled over on top of her. "I think I can do that," he replied, his body already pressing hers into the worn mattress.

"No stopping?" She clarified, reaching up to cup his cheeks in her hands, pushing his hair back and out of his face.

"No stopping," he murmured, bending down to kiss her, "unless you actually yell 'Stop.'"

She couldn't help but grin against his lips, assuring him that would never happen.

"We'll talk after," he murmured as they pulled each other closer, and from the way he said it, she knew it wasn't a simple appeasement to get himself laid. It was a promise.

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Author's Note: Reviews would be greatly appreciated. As I said above, this story really got away from me. This is not at all what I intended when I started writing it, but I was pleasantly pleased with the result. I hope you all were as well. Please be so kind as to leave me a review with your thoughts!