Daryl needed space. He sat on the porch outside the Sanctuary, nursing a bottle of whiskey as he gazed up at the stars. He hated being trapped inside, trying to lead a group of violent people.
Carol wanted to hold court like Ezekiel, to listen to the people and try and diffuse the tension that way. Daryl wasn't sure it would work. The only thing the Saviors wanted was Negan, and permission to return to their old, brutal ways.
We should've killed 'em all.
The whiskey was drunk. He opened his pack of cigarettes, trying to forget. The Saviors had cornered them, trapped them like feral animals, allowed Negan to bash the life out of Abraham and Glenn.
Hershel would never know his father.
But tha's my fault.
Daryl was on his third cigarette when he heard footsteps behind him.
He didn't need to turn around to know who they belonged to. He'd follow the sound of them anywhere. Daryl reached out his hand and offered her the cigarette. Carol took it and dropped it on the floor, crushing it with her boot. It's like she knows it's m'third, Daryl thought.
"Those things'll kill you." Carol cautioned.
She sat on the deck, right beside him. He could smell her shampoo: mint and something else, something sweet, comforting.
Daryl couldn't look at her. "Why ain't y'in bed?"
"Why aren't you?" Carol stopped looking at the stars and turned to look at him. He could sense her movement. He didn't dare meet her gaze.
"We don't sleep." Carol sighed. "Ezekiel, on the other hand, sleeps like a baby."
At the mention of his name, Daryl ground his teeth together.
"It's annoying." Carol continued.
Does 'e annoy her? Daryl could hold his tongue no longer. "Yeah, does 'e snore fancy too?"
He snuck a glance at her then. She was smiling, a wide, beautiful smile that showed off the dimples in her cheeks.
"Stop it." She joked, turning to him, and he couldn't help it. He met her eyes, then immediately stared down at his legs. If he allowed himself to look at her, truly look at her, he might say something stupid.
"He's a'ight." Daryl forced himself to grumble. It wasn't a lie. Ezekiel had looked after Carol when he, himself, couldn't. "He's a bit corny, but-" Daryl shrugged, unable to finish the sentence.
Carol, as if sensing his discomfort, smiled and said: "Glad I have Pookie's approval."
He stopped staring at his legs and looked into the distance. The two were silent for a moment.
"After what I went through with Ed," Carol continued, "corny is really, really nice."
Daryl nodded, ignoring the green fire raging inside of him. She loves 'him. She deserves t'be happy.
He turned, forcing himself to look at her. "I'm happy fer you." He nodded as if forcing himself to say those words to her. "If any'ne deserves t'be happy, it's you."
She looked away from him. Daryl found himself grinding his teeth.
"He wants to get married," Carol's voice was quiet, "he had this ring..."
Daryl scratched at the skin around his thumb. He felt sick. Rick and Michonne weren't even married, and they'd been together far longer.
"I couldn't answer," her voice cracked.
Carol rested her head against his shoulder. Daryl found himself unable to respond or even look at her as felt her body lean into his.
He'd tried whiskey, he'd tried cigarettes, he'd tried the stars, but none were as powerful as her body close to his.
Ever so slightly, Daryl leaned his head towards hers, and allowed himself to forget.
Morning soon came, and Carol and Daryl organised a team to take to HQ. A bridge had collapsed on a nearby highway, and all of the communities were working together to repair it.
"We should take the more troublesome ones," Carol suggested as they looked over Rick's plans, "so we can keep an eye on them."
"M'kay," Daryl grunted, looking down as he fiddled with his bowie knife.
Carol couldn't help noticing how exhausted he looked. Huge bags hung under his eyes, along with fresh lines, making him look far older than a man in his early forties. Despite the installation of natural baths, Daryl appeared to have not washed in weeks, and his brown hair hung by his face like lank, greasy tendrils.
Carol felt pangs of guilt. The war had changed everyone, but for the better. Maggie was a confident leader and fantastic mother. Rosita had turned down her sass and led security at the Hilltop. Enid had blossomed into a fearsome young woman and chose to help Aaron recruit for the communities.
But Daryl had decayed. He'd become an angry, sad shell of the man he once was. What had happened to her man of honor?
She'd been so caught up in her own pain when she'd fled to the Kingdom. How could she fail to see that he was struggling with his own demons?
"Are you okay?"
He stopped fiddling but didn't look at her. She wished he would tell her what was going on. She reached out and took the hand that held his knife.
"You don't have to be," she whispered, trying to meet his eyes. He turned to look at her.
There was a knock at the door.
Carol got up, annoyed at the interruption. It was Eugene.
"I must inform you that there's been a development," he looked harried, "you both ought to come and observe."
They followed him outside the building, where on the Sanctuary sign, someone had graffitied: FINAL WARNING.
They set off after sunset, and met the other communities close to the bridge. Carol and Daryl had arranged to share a tent.
They'd brought with them five of Negan's supporters. They could see Aaron and Enid from Oceanside, and Rosita and Jesus from Hilltop along with others from their communities. The Kingdom and Alexandria had not yet arrived.
They pitched their tents in the nearby woodland, silent as they filled it with their knapsacks. Carol felt strangely awkward. The last time she'd slept by Daryl was before they moved to Alexandria.
She found herself remembering the refuge they'd stayed at while searching for Beth. Before they'd heard walkers, Carol and Daryl had lay side by side.
They'd both been silent, but the atmosphere had felt charged. Since she'd found at Terminus, Daryl had acted differently around her.
In that moment, as they lay on the bunk bed, Carol had considered kissing him. She'd flirted with him before, back at the prison, but she'd been joking. Until she realized, shortly afterwards, that perhaps part of her hadn't been. As they'd adjusted to life in the cells, Carol had noticed his defined muscles and dimpled smile. She hadn't felt desire like it.
She'd thought he wasn't interested in her. He was younger and attractive, but she felt old and unappealing. However, as they'd lay on the bunk beds, Carol found herself wondering if he'd been flirting with her by the car. Perhaps things had changed. Perhaps he'd felt the same way.
But then they'd heard the walkers, they'd lost Beth, they'd found Alexandria and everything had changed.
Carol drifted back to the present.
"Gonna go hunt us somethin' t'eat," Daryl mumbled, avoiding eye contact.
As she watched him leave, Carol felt a wave of melancholy.
If she'd kissed him that day, if she was with Daryl, she wouldn't have hesitated over his proposal.
She would've said yes.
