Chapter 1: Crossbow Teddy Bear

Carol couldn't sleep unless Daryl was on watch.

The first problem was the smell. Since they left the farm, the whole world had a faint smell of rot, like something drifting up from a garbage disposal. Except this, she couldn't just vanquish with a lemon and a little fresh water. It meant she could never forget the way things were now.

The scent got stronger at night, when the walkers were on the move. She could hear them out there, too. Shuffling, sometimes the spike of screams in the distance when they found prey. Eventually, exhaustion would drag her down, but she'd twitch back awake at the slightest sound. Because the second problem was that there were no walls or fences, nothing between her and the thousands of hungry mouths with their dull, bloody teeth.

It was somehow worse when Rick stood watch. He'd pace, with tension and anxiety pouring off him, his fear all wrapped up into black anger. He reminded her of Ed in the middle of a binge and she didn't understand how he hadn't hit anyone yet. It was only a matter of time until he lashed out. Sometimes she'd curl close to Lori at night, as if being there when he snapped was some kind of sisterhood, as if it might help.

Carol glanced around as she unrolled her single, stolen blanket by that night's fire, her bones rattled from so many hours of the motorcycle engine's vibration. Not to mention the two fights today with walkers, huddling back to back with Lori as the other woman's pistol fired again and again and the men and Maggie hacked down bloodthirsty corpses.

"What watch did you take?" Carol asked Daryl.

"Second."

The first few times she'd asked, Daryl'd reared back, looked at her like it was a trick or she was trying to start an argument. Now, he just answered.

He threw down his pack. On the dark side, leaving her between him and the fire. Everyone else huddled as close in to the heat as they could, but he didn't seem to need it. Instead, he slept with his back toward her and his face to all the horrors of the forest, coming instantly awake every time a walker came too close. She knew, because she was awake for all of it.

It had been hard enough to sleep in quarry camp, with only thin nylon between her and the raking fingers of the night. But there were more walkers now, swarming over everything like insects.

Her peripheral vision followed Daryl as he slung his crossbow off his back. Checked the string, the release, set it down. Her eyelids drooped a little at the familiar one, two, three beat of his habit.

He kicked out his blanket, rolled down onto his back and laced his fingers behind his head. Glanced at her once, then closed his eyes.

She wasn't sure what he was checking her for. Couldn't imagine he was satisfied by anything he saw, unless he was just checking if she had been bitten yet.

His foot jerked and she flinched.

Danger.

But he was falling asleep, not waking in response to some sound he'd picked up that she hadn't. There were hundreds of things a day that focused his attention like that. She'd started watching him instead of the forest, because she missed so much.

She sighed and wriggled, trying to find a way to lie that didn't leave her hipbone digging into some lump or pebble. The ground always looked flat until you were trying to sleep on it.

Her stomach rumbled. They barely had any rations right now, so Rick had said they'd save what they had for morning. She didn't know why. They were fighting off walkers once or twice every night. What was the sense in dying with canned food still in their packs?

She could remember the savor of a fresh ham: the heat of it in her mouth and the way it mixed with creamy mashed potatoes. Her teeth ground together as she wished she'd have eaten more at breakfast this morning. Instead, she'd pretended to be full and passed her can of green beans to Daryl to finish. He never took enough to begin with. Not enough to feed a child, much less his big body for all the ranging through the forest he did. And yet, he never seemed to run out of energy when it came to stabbing walkers. He never got caught in their grappling arms like she did, because he was always stronger than them. Stronger than everybody left in the world, it seemed like on most days.

How could he sleep like that, with his stomach dead empty and the whole world around them full of nightmares?

She glanced across the campfire. Rick was on watch, his fingers snapping and unsnapping his holster. He was getting twitchier, just like Shane once had.

She rolled her back to Daryl so she could keep an eye on Rick, the heat of the fire drying her skin until it felt scaly. When she'd said they weren't safe, Daryl had snapped at her, and she hadn't dared bring it up again. Later, she'd been embarrassed that she'd said "we," assuming so easily that he'd want to take her with him if he left. He was too good to be Rick's henchman, but as for her…nothing could erase the weight of the moment when she was cowering against the shed and Andrea had to leap from the safety of a car to come get her.

Daryl could leave whenever he wanted, with whoever he wanted, because he'd be a valuable member of any group. She'd always be a burden in this world, no matter how many shirts she washed.

Her fingers curled against a fold of her blanket, her knuckles digging into the dirt.

She hadn't even thought about it—it had just come out. We aren't safe here. When the group had been split up, she thought it was going to be only the two of them from then on, with just the roar of the motorcycle and the crackle of the flames fading into the night. And that felt like the truth.

Why had she thought he would want her to come with him?

She tried to swallow, remembering the words he'd thrown at her, back at the farm. You're just afraid because you're all alone! You got no husband. No daughter. You don't know what to do with yourself. But you ain't my problem.

He was right.

He was often right. But it was only when he was angry that his honesty turned cruel.

Her half-numb toes curled inside her boots, the dampness from the ground seeping into her poorly-fitted jeans. He'd been letting her ride on the back of his motorcycle. But he could stop, anytime he felt like it.

She turned a little, because she needed to see with her own eyes that he was still beside her. Once, this group had felt like hers, but now she wasn't so sure. They'd changed, all of them. It would be so easy to scatter right now. The only one she really felt connected to was Daryl.

He was still asleep, but he'd rolled onto his side facing out toward the night, the blanket stuffed up to his chin and his feet pulling in closer to himself.

He always went to sleep all sprawled out, his big body claiming all the space it wanted, the way men did. But the longer he was out, the tighter he curled into himself, like he was waiting for a kick.

Daryl was alone, too. His family was dead. They said Merle was still alive, that he'd stolen their van in Atlanta. But he hadn't come back to the quarry in the two days they waited before leaving. And the more times Daryl had glanced up the empty highway, the harder he swung that pick at the corpses.

Leaves rustled underneath him as his knees pulled in a little more, protecting his belly. His blanket had gotten twisted, exposing a line of bare, dirt-streaked skin below the back of his leather vest.

Carol scooted a little closer, spreading the blanket so it covered his feet, then smoothing it down over his back.

He rolled to face her, fast enough her hand got caught beneath his ribs. He wasn't breathing, his eyes focused hard on her face.

She blinked, because he never stared at her that directly. Little glances, sidelong looks. The only thing he looked at with that kind of unveiled intensity was the sight of his crossbow.

"What's wrong?" he asked, his voice a bare rumble that wouldn't even have carried across the fire. "You hear somethin'?"

She pulled her hand free and shook her head, something shifting deep in her knotted belly. He thought she was waking him because she was afraid. And he was right there, laser-focused as he searched her face. He was right there for her.

She kept looking at him long after one of them should have broken the moment, because it felt like a single tiny thread to hang onto in a whole world that was falling away.

After a minute, he grunted and punched his backpack, lying back down on it. She could tell from the tension in his body that he listened for a while, though, before he let himself drift back into sleep. His blanket was all out of place again. She itched to tuck it back around him, but she didn't want to disturb him again.

As soon as his breaths evened out, her ears sharpened again, straining at every sound.

Carol nearly groaned. She was so tired it hurt down into her kidneys, her eyes itchy with fatigue. She just wanted to sleep.

She shifted against the hard ground and caught sight of Daryl's crossbow, right above his head. Reaching up, she let her fingers trail over the curved part that cupped against his shoulder. It was worn smooth from use, battered into the exact shape of the muscle in his shoulder. She curled her fingers over it.

And slowly, her lids drooped shut.

She dozed on and off, waking again when he pulled the crossbow out from under her hand for his turn at watch. But then all the sounds of the forest faded behind his footsteps as he quietly paced around the fire, checking every avenue of attack. And for those few hours, she fell deeply, softly asleep.

#

Carol found him crouched by his motorcycle the next morning. She took a breath. "Daryl?"

He stiffened, like he was surprised to hear her say his name. They spent a lot of time together. On the bike, by the fire at night. But they did all that silently. No need to talk when you did the same thing every day.

He looked up, his face utterly closed. "You riding in one of the trucks today?"

He chucked his blanket in the saddlebag of the bike, the leather creaking with the force of it.

"No. Why—" But she broke off, because it didn't matter.

He'd probably assume that if she was going to speak up about something, it would be about safety. And he'd warned her the bike wasn't safe. But to Carol, the bike felt a thousand times more secure than the cars, because Daryl knew exactly where to put it.

She squared her shoulders. This time, she wasn't here to talk about playing it safe.

"I want to do my part around camp," she said. "I want you to teach me to kill walkers."

He stood, frowning. "You do your part. Hell, you just about never stop movin' till Lori sits on ya."

"Doesn't matter. At quarry camp, I thought I was doing my part. But when the walkers overran us, it's not like they skipped my tent because they knew it was the laundry, not the armory." She crossed her arms. "And you know what happened at the farm." Maybe someday she'd be able to say Andrea's name out loud. She should. It was the least you could do for someone who gave their life for you.

She swallowed. If she learned to defend herself, that would have to serve as her tribute to Andrea. After all, Andrea came into camp knowing no more about weapons than Carol, and she'd learned.

Daryl flipped over the motorcycle key in his hands, squinted at her with his chin lowered. "This about Rick again? 'Cause you don't trust him to protect us?"

"Nobody can protect anybody anymore. They try, but then…" She threw out a hand. So many names she didn't want to say.

He spit off to the side and continued to pack up. "Yeah, wouldn't hurt to learn a thing or two. But I got my eye on you."

He said it so plain that she could tell it was like one of his old bluffs. Trying to pretend it didn't mean anything to him so nobody would think to take it away.

"I know you do." She touched his shoulder, but when it tightened under her touch, she let her hand drop. "Except if you're always watching my back, who's watching yours?"

"Rick," he said, staring at her for a mutinous second.

Something about that warmed her from the inside out. He didn't think much of most people's common sense, but once you impressed him, no one could ever say Daryl Dixon wasn't loyal.

She kept her voice soft, trying to make him understand that she wasn't arguing with him, however many reservations she still had about their leader. "Rick's watching Lori's back and Carl's and Beth and Maggie and T-dog and Hershel and Glenn. When he gets overrun, he calls for you."

Daryl started gnawing at the inside of his lips, looking annoyed that he couldn't dispute that.

"You're the one he worries about last," she said. "And rightfully so, but it's not going to do you any favors the day you finally need him."

"Some argument you got there," he scoffed. "You don't need to learn to fight to watch my back, woman. Harder to kill a Dixon than all that. Hell, I got shot with an arrow, a gun and throwed off a horse all in one day. Still dragged myself all the way back and didn't need no help to do it, neither."

She looked him dead in the eyes. "Maybe I want to save my own ass."

He scratched the back of his neck, rocked his weight into his heels. Considered her. "All right. Why not Rick, though? He's the lawman. Him and Shane were certified to teach people to shoot the right way and all."

"I don't want to learn to fight the right way. I want to fight dirty. I want to win."

The corner of his mouth pulled up, and he looked at her a little different than he had before.

For a second, she thought he might chuckle, but then engines fired as the rest of the people in the camp started to prepare to leave. Daryl swung a leg over the motorcycle, starting it and stomping down on the throttle so it growled hungrily.

When he looked back over his shoulder, his smile had grown, just a little. He jerked his chin, and she hopped on behind him, gripping his waist more firmly than she'd dared before, because today she didn't feel like a guest.

As Daryl pulled out to lead the convey, the motor roared and throbbed its vibration through the thick pad of the seat. Instead of keeping a careful inch between then, Carol let her thighs rest against the backs of his. For the warmth, and because it felt right.

Maybe she could be the kind of woman who rode motorcycles.

Author's Note: Stick around, folks. I've got lots more planned for this story! Next up, Carol learns to knife fight, and Daryl does something unexpected.