Author's Note: I wasn't on planning updating here again so soon, but I got a little stuck on This Is Now. Not blocked, (don't want to cause panic in the streets :)) I just have what I call a "knot" in one of the sections, and it was slowing me down so rather than giving myself a headache trying to get it smoothed out, I put it aside for a bit and picked this up instead. I figured it would help clear my thoughts, and it really did! So this backburner story, is no longer the sad, red headed stepchild of my TWD fic, it's finally got a purpose in life :)
This chapter is a little longer because if you've been reading my stuff, you know it's nearly impossible for me to write a 'snippet' of anything. But we've got some nice Caryl bits, and a little humor, so hopefully you'll all enjoy it :)
And there's an 'element' I added to Merle here, that I feel like was true, but I'm not hundred percent that it was. I'll explain at the end.
Picking up with them getting back to camp.
Grits, Snits, and Peppermints
Carol's nose started to wrinkle.
She'd just gotten a whiff of something. It sort of smelled like food, but . . . she tipped her head back and took another sniff . . . it wasn't all that appetizing.
"Smell's like Andrea's cookin' today."
Hearing Daryl's faint grunt of disapproval as they moved forward through the overgrown foliage, the corner of Carol's mouth quirked up. And seeing a possible bonding point there . . . given his demonstrated survival skills, if at all possible, Daryl seemed like the kind of person you'd want on your side out here . . . she hastened to quicken her steps.
He was starting to get a little ahead of her.
"Does it really taste as bad as it smells?" She asked softly.
And he turned to give her a look.
"Friday was her last turn. On that day's run, we brought back a shitload of those Chef Boyardee cans of spaghetti and meatballs," he shook his head, "all she had to do was heat 'em up. But she burned all of it. Then she got all snippy 'cuz everybody was pissed off we had to eat black spaghetti."
Christ, he wasn't no cook, but he'd been makin' canned spaghetti since he was SIX years old! So how's a GROWN woman not know how to make something HOT without settin' it on FIRE?!
How was that fuckin' possible?!
And looking over to see Carol shaking her head at what he'd said, he could tell she probably had some likeminded thoughts on that point. He started to look away, but then he eyeballed her again.
"How's your cookin'?" He asked, with a slightly suspicious tone.
"Um," Carol tipped her head, "pretty good actually. Ed's very particular with his meals, so uh," her eyes fell as she finished with a worried bite of her lip, "burnt spaghetti isn't going to go over well with him."
"Hmph," Daryl grunted, "well, don't know if you picked up any set chores yet but," he gave her a knowing look, "maybe you might wanna volunteer to help with dinner. Just to be sure the spaghetti don't get burnt again."
Though part of him wanted to say that husband of hers could go fuck himself if he wasn't happy with his campfire meals, Daryl knew from experience of livin' with his daddy, that it don't matter whose fault it was, the person who took hell for the bad food, was the one the asshole could get away with hittin.' In his house that had been his momma.
And then later it'd been him.
So he knew if Carol wanted to avoid an extra ruckus, it'd just be best if she could get out ahead of that kind of crap before Andrea's lousy cooking, caused her problems after hours. And he could see from the way Carol was givin' a slow nod, as she wrapped her arms up around herself, that she was likely of a similar mindset.
"Yeah," Carol murmured, "if you don't think anyone would get offended, maybe I could volunteer to regularly," her lips pursed, "pitch in with dinner."
"Offended, pfft," Daryl snorted, "trust me, ain't none of those ladies gonna be offended to get help on their cookin' nights. That's their least favorite thing to do. Well, next to laundry that is," he shot her a look, "I hear 'em bitchin' about that ALL the time."
Since he tended to be a person who didn't talk unless he had somethin' to say, people more often than not, would forget he was in the vicinity and say stuff they wouldn't otherwise in front of him.
It also helped that he had real good ears.
But he could see from how Carol's eyes had fallen down to the path, and her face had gotten a little pink, that she wasn't sure what to make of his comment about the other ladies bitchin'. Like maybe she thought he was just takin' a shot at them 'cuz they were ladies, and he could get away with it. So he raised his eyebrow.
"You wanna hear what the guys bitch about?"
Seeing her eyes slowly come back up to his, he continued with a grunt, "guard duty and supply runs." He kicked a rock out of the path, "everybody's got their shit to do, and nobody's happy about it." He sighed, "but that's just how it is."
The walkers were a bitch, but they really weren't the worst thing about all this. Mostly it was just how all their choices had been taken away. You didn't get to wake up in the mornin' and decide what you were gonna do that day. Your day was set by your skill level. And so far, for the people in their group, the skills had fallen along the old fashioned lines. These men knew weapons, and these women did not. And that was that. So the ladies, (all of 'em), were on the domestic chores, while the men were off on the huntin', and the gatherin', and the killin'.
Just like olden times.
But olden times had come back again. Once or twice in his life, while he was out in the forest stalking a buck or a wild boar, Daryl had maybe wished that he'd been born back in a different century. One where the 'living off the land' skills like his, were something that society valued, and not something to do look down on 'cuz people assumed you were just a redneck loser. Then one day he woke up, and he'd been dropped back into living a life he would've had a couple hundred years ago. Somehow his wish had come true.
And he'd give just about anything if the universe would take it back.
Realizing then . . . from Carol's silence . . . that he mighta gotten a bit too moody on this point, Daryl shot her another quick look.
"You still got that bellyache?"
And he saw her give a quick shake of her head, as a faint smile touched her lips.
"No," one of her hands dropped to touch her midsection, "it's better now. I guess the fennel helped."
"Yeah," he let out a faint huff, "usually works pretty good. And if it's just the game meat, your body should get used to it within a week or so. But," he shook his head, "we ain't gettin' enough fruits and vegetables right now either, so that's probably not helping."
He heard Carol sigh at that. And then, "yeah, I think that spoonful of peas we got last night, was the first vegetable I've had all week. It's the kids I'm worried about though," she continued softly. "We adults can get by for awhile without balanced meals, but they're all still growing. I just wonder how long they can go on eating like this," her voice faded, "before they start getting sick."
Daryl bit his lip.
"Well," he shot her a glance, "if it helps, Lori's had bottles of kiddy vitamins and those supplement drinks, on the top of Glen's supply list since we all met up here. He just ain't had any luck yet finding 'em. And for today," he patted his bag, "I did get some wild berries. Wasn't a lot left on the bushel, but everybody should get two of three." Then he paused, before adding with a bit of a grumble. "You can have my share for your girl, if you want. She needs 'em more than I do."
It wasn't right at all, these little ones running around all day with rumblin' bellies. And Carol had a point, if they didn't start gettin' proper meals again soon, they were gonna start getting sick. Or just straight up breakin' bones when they fell down.
And breakin' a bone these days could be a death sentence.
Feeling a faint ache in her chest at that kind offer from a man who seemed so hard and gruff on the outside, Carol had to clear her throat before she spoke again.
"Thank you," she whispered back, "that's uh," she nodded, "thank you."
Though she wanted to say, "no, no, you keep that food for yourself," it was true, that little bit of extra Vitamin C would do Sophia more good than it did him.
It was clear though that Daryl didn't want to talk about that anymore, because all he did was grunt, and push another branch back out of their way. And not wanting to push the conversation . . . any conversation . . . more than that, Carol kept quiet the rest of the way down the path. But once they reached the edge of the woods . . . by her estimation, they seemed to be about thirty feet back from breaking through the tree line . . . Daryl stopped short.
So she did too.
"Okay," he pointed to the left, "you keep going down that way for about forty paces, then you go left and you'll come out over behind Lori's tent. Better for you poppin' out from down there," he gave her a look, "than people seein' you come out of here with me in the middle of camp."
"Oh," Carol's eyes widened, "right. Yes," she nodded, "thank you."
God, that's all she would've needed, was for Ed to see her coming out of the woods with another man.
He'd break her jaw for that.
So with a final thank you wave to Daryl, she continued on down the way that he told her to go. And when she got down to the area where she figured she was supposed to step out, she turned back to see that Daryl was still standing there watching her.
He raised his hand up and waved it to the left.
And taking that as confirmation that she'd be coming out in the right area, she continued forward, stumbling slightly over a root sticking up from the ground, before she popped out onto the grass. And there in front of her, just like Daryl said . . . was Lori's tent.
A quick peek around the corner, confirmed that there was nobody in there. But of course she'd left Sophia with Lori, over by Dale's camper. The kids were doing their school lessons and Lori had told Carol she could take a little break if she wanted.
She'd keep an eye on Sophia.
And really, near death experience notwithstanding . . . Carol let out a slow breath as she started circling around their small compound . . . it had been nice to have a break. God knew she loved her baby more than anything, but all these weeks now with the world crumbling apart, she'd barely let Sophia out of her sight for more than a few minutes at a time. And that was basically just back home to go to the bathroom. Then once they'd hit the road, she'd had that girl attached to her hip.
Except for today.
When she was out in the woods with Daryl, Carol hadn't had any worries about Sophia's safety, but now that she was back in camp, she couldn't deny how happy she was to see her daughter sitting there in the shade by the camper, with Lori and her little boy Carl. The kids were giggling about something as they scribbled in their notebooks. Carol let out a heavy sigh.
It was good to be back.
/*/*/*/
That night they ate dinner around six. Not that people kept that close an eye on the time anymore, but Daryl knew that habits like that died hard, and six was when they were supposed to eat, so somehow, no matter what else was goin' on, things always lined up that way. And when their little group gathered together, eatin' Andrea's version of a "soup" . . . navy beans, water, and canned carrots, that she'd boiled down to a HORRIFYIN' mush . . . alongside his two slightly over-roasted squirrels, Daryl couldn't help but to keep half an eye down the other end of their chow line. He was watchin' Carol's husband (the asshole) to see how was reactin' to their dinner.
He could see him gruntin' and makin' faces and comments as he pushed the food around his bowl. And off to the side, slowly picking away at her own pile of mush, he could see Carol shooting her husband more than a few worried glances, with each grunt and comment that he made. If it was already clear to Daryl, then he knew it had to be more than crystal clear to her . . . Ed did not like his dinner. But it wasn't like they were at a restaurant.
The chef wasn't takin' this one back.
So like it or not, Daryl saw that jackass keep shovelin' the food in, even while he bitched about it the whole time. Then when he was about half done, he threw his bowl down on one of the rocks by the fire pit, and whipped the fork and knife down on top of it.
It made a hell of a racket.
A loud enough one actually, that Daryl lowered his own bowl and tipped his head back, eyeing the woods, just to make sure that dumb fuck hadn't just run a different kind of dinner bell. And while he was doin' that, he heard Shane and Merle both, layin' in to Ed for stirring up the noise.
It was probably the first time, ever in his life, that Merle and a cop had agreed on anything!
But pretty much everyone was in agreement that Ed was a useless piece of shit, who was just there to suck on the group teet, without giving back nothin' in return. And he would've been well on his way to gettin' his ass kicked to the curb, if not for that pretty wife and little daughter of his.
There was no way the group was gonna vote to send them off.
And it was just as the hissed back and forth was dyin' down . . . Ed actually tried to defend himself for throwin' that "slop"(!) . . . when Daryl heard the sound he was hopin' not to hear.
The branches crackin.'
He knew Merle heard it too. Because he'd just finished throwin' a "fuck you, asshole!" over to Ed, and then he was droppin' his bowl, and grabbin' up his bow and quiver.
And he was making those moves just as fast as Daryl was.
Then the two of them were on their feet, and Daryl was yelling, "walkers!" to the group, as he and Merle started running towards the trees, trying to spot those fuckers before they broke through into the camp.
From behind him he could hear the sounds of their people scattering. The women would be grabbin' up the little ones to hide in the camper. The men would be pulling out their own weapons and rushin' to their stations, just in case there were more walkers than he and Merle could handle on their own.
Mostly though . . . the agreed plan was . . . if there were just a few strays, that the Dixon boys would handle 'em, alone. Because with their weapons, they could kill those fuckers quieter . . . he brought his bow up to aim . . . and faster, than anybody else. And that's what you what you wanted these days . . . he let loose the first bolt . . . a quiet kill. And so that's what he and Merle did.
They took care of business.
And they were doing well, knocking 'em out fast one after another . . . it was only maybe a half dozen or so coming through all clumped together, so it was a lot like carnival shooting . . . when they got down to the last. It was an old woman in her pink bathrobe, and matchin' slippers. Daryl hated those ones. The little old people who never had a chance, still shuffling around for eternity in their stained pajamas.
It made him sad.
Not that that was stopping him from raisin' up his bow again . . . but then Merle got her first.
So Daryl let out a breath, and stepped back, just watchin' the trees . . . and listenin'. He gave it a full minute, and then finally he nodded and turned to call back to the others.
"All clear!"
That's when the men brought their guns down, and the ladies and the little ones started to tumble back out of the trailer again.
Everybody was lookin' over at Ed. Everybody except Carol. She just had her head in her hands.
And she was cryin'.
Seeing her like that, made Daryl feel about as sad as the old lady in her pink bathrobe had. 'Cuz it wasn't Carol's fault her husband was an asshole. But he knew though, she had to have been thinking that this was gonna be the thing that got them kicked out.
And for close to a minute, everybody was just real quiet. Even the kids. And then Shane finally broke the silence by shovin' his Glock back into his holster.
"Come on now," he let out on a sigh as he started walking towards the walker pileup, while wavin' the other men forward, "need to get 'em cleaned up before sundown."
After he said that, he took maybe three more steps, then he spun around, and pointed straight back at Ed still standing there like a dumbass, with no shame whatsoever.
"You even think about walkin' away right now," he growled, "and your ass is on the road tonight."
Then Shane turned back and started walking again.
When he was going past Daryl, he caught his eye . . . and he gave him a tight, half nod. It was the most that cop could manage for a thanks, but as Daryl started pullin' his work gloves out from his pocket, he knew he didn't care about gettin' thanks from anyone, let alone the almighty Shane. 'Cuz when he killed those walkers, he was doin' it more for himself and his brother than anyone else in the group. It was pure selfishness on his part. He let out a slow breath as he walked over to grab up the first body.
That's all it was.
/*/*/*/
The next morning Daryl woke up to the smell of food cookin'.
Which was weird, 'cuz it was like five am and nobody else was ever up that early besides him, (occasionally Merle), and whoever was on the roof doin' guard duty. Right now Merle was still snorin' away, two feet away, and through the flap in the tent . . . while he was pullin' on his boots . . . Daryl could see the faint outline of T-Dog slumped back in the sand chair up on the camper roof.
That shoulda been it for folks out and about.
It wasn't though. Because after he'd grabbed up his weapons, and he'd stepped outside, stretchin', he looked across their small patch of grass and dirt that they called 'living space,' to see Carol already up, and leanin' over the fire. This time of day, the fire wasn't usually more than just hot coals waitin' to get stirred up again. But she already had those flames going at least knee high, and he could see she had the cast iron out.
She was stirring some kind of something around inside of it.
The whole scene was very curious. And not really needin' to be on his way quite yet . . . he did pretty much keep his own hours on the huntin' detail . . . as he tucked his pistol into his belt and his bow up over his shoulder, he decided to go check out what she was up to. But given how she wasn't looking in his direction, he opted to NOT scare the crap out of her by just sneaking on up to the fire pit.
So he scuffed his boots a bit so she'd hear him comin'.
And sure enough, two scuffs later, and her eyes darted up and over, to lock onto his. It was still almost pitch all around, but there was enough light coming off the flames to see pretty clearly. And to his surprise, he saw Carol break into a little smile when she saw him coming.
Almost like she'd been waitin' on him.
It was a silly idea, but still, he found his eyebrow inchin' up somewhat suspiciously.
"What the hell are you doin' up this early?"
The words came out in his usual gruff grumble tone . . . and he saw that sweet smile immediately fall away. And he kinda hated himself for causin' that to happen.
Because now she just seemed embarrassed.
"I um," she started to stammer, "I wanted to thank you for what you did yesterday," she tipped her head, "saving me in the woods and all, so I uh, well I," she swallowed as she turned her attention down to the contents of her pan, "made you breakfast." Then her eyes shifted back to his, "I just figured seeing as how you've been gone the last two mornings when the ladies have been doling out the oatmeal, that you don't usually get anything to eat before you go."
Now feeling like a complete asshole for not bein' able to roust up a civil tone for the woman . . . he mighta just woke up, but he still coulda tried a bit harder to not be a dick . . . Daryl bit down on his lip.
"That was nice of ya," he answered in a much softer tone, "but," he shook his head, "it wasn't necessary. Lori usually gives me a napkin of something leftover from the day before, to take with me when I leave." He pulled the small white, paper clad, lump out of his pants pocket.
"Think this one's a biscuit from lunch," he muttered as he held it up.
Not like he and Lori hadn't had their run-ins on occasion . . . usually they spilled off her more regular run-ins with Merle . . . but mostly they got along okay enough. And she always made sure he didn't leave in the mornings with an empty belly. She mighta been a cop's wife, but her boy seemed to be comin' up okay, and at her core, Lori did seem to be a decent person. He'd give her that.
And that wasn't something he gave to most people.
"Well, uh," Carol cleared her throat, "I made spam and grits," she twisted her hands together, "if you'd like something hot."
"Spam and grits," he sputtered back, almost in shock as he shoved the napkin clad biscuit back into his pocket, "where in this HELL on earth, did you find spam and grits?!"
All right . . . he shot a quick look around . . . that came out a little too loud. But hot DAMN, he hadn't had fried spam in a month! Every time Glen went out, he'd been beggin' that Chinaman to find him a can. He'd even promised him his own squirrel for dinner if he could dig one up.
But for some reason that offered trade had not gone over as well as he'd hoped it would.
"Um," Carol gave Daryl back a shy smile, "I brought them from home. When we were leaving I threw all the food we had left, into a duffel bag. It wasn't much," she shrugged, "that's why we had to leave, we were running out of food. But I still had a box of Bisquick, a half bag each of flour and sugar, one box of apple cinnamon cheerios, a box of grits and a half case of spam. When we got here I offered up everything to Lori as a good will gesture to join the group, except for the grits, the cheerios and the spam." Her lips pressed together, "I wasn't sure how long you'd let us stay, and I didn't want to leave us with nothing if we had to go."
Though Daryl knew her words weren't really intended as an insult, he still found himself scowlin' back at them.
"We woulda never taken your food, and then sent you off to starve."
"Yeah, but," she gave him a soft, sad, smile, "I didn't know that then. And," she bit her lip, "I'm still a little worried that Shane's going to say something about us moving on."
If Ed kept up behaving the way he did last night, she didn't see how they'd possibly be able to stay. God, he'd had a temper tantrum and brought on a WALKER attack! People don't forgive that easily. Her lips pressed together.
Nor should they.
But then she saw Daryl let loose another scowl as he dropped down onto one of the chairs they kept near the fire pit.
"Shane ain't the boss here," he let out on grunt, "he just thinks he is. And besides that, Lori's got him wrapped around her finger, and that woman's got a will on her. So she's not gonna let anybody push you and your girl off."
Not that he was inclined to let that happen either, just on the principle of it bein' a shit thing to do, but that wasn't the type of comment he was likely to say out loud.
Certainly not to the woman in question.
Still though, he could see the way she was lookin' kinda curious at him over the fire, that she was maybe wonderin' what side of the issue he came down on, when it came to whether her family should stay or go.
Again though, that wasn't a point he wished to discuss.
So instead, to distract her, he waved his hand over towards the coffee pot sittin' there down by her leg. Even though it was still dark all around them, he could see the flames glintin' off the metal.
"Something in that thing?" He grunted, "Or you just puttin' out decorations?"
And Carol smothered over a faint chuckle as she reached down for the thick black handle on the small silver pot.
"No," her mouth quivered, "it's not just for decoration. I gave T-Dog a cup already."
And as she picked up one of the other mugs she had on the towel down by her feet, she shot him a quick look. "I assume you take it black?"
He tipped his head.
"I do." He answered softly, while watching her fill the cup, "not that there's much choice in the matter lately."
"Well," she pulled the pot away right before her gaze drifted over her shoulder, "there's a little sugar and some of that dry creamer stuff in the trailer." Her eyes shot back to his, "do you want me to get it?"
Starting to feel a might uncomfortable, Daryl's brow furrowed at her offer.
"If I want it I can get it." Then he shot her a pointed look. "You don't gotta wait on me. You do know that, right?"
"I uh," she swallowed and looked down, "I was just being nice." Then her eyes slowly came back up to his.
"But you already told me I need to stop that, didn't you?" Her lips pressed together as her voice faded, "guess I don't listen very well, but," she stood up to pass him the mug of coffee, "Ed always says that."
As Daryl reached over to take the cup, he let his index finger brush against her thumb. And when he saw her eyes widen, he added one more point.
"I said what I said," he murmured with a faint stroke of her finger, "so nobody'd take advantage of ya. And he said what he said, just to make you feel bad about yourself. So don't put those two thoughts together in your head," his jaw tightened, "'cuz they came from different places."
Watching the tears slowly fill Carol's eyes, Daryl felt a pang in his chest.
"I know your situation ain't my business," he continued softly, while slipping the cup from her fingers . . . she was gonna burn her wrist if she stood over the fire any longer, "I just wanna make sure you understand, your husband and me," his lips pursed as he watched her arm fold back to her chest, "we ain't the same."
For a second she just looked over at him, with those big blue eyes filled with shiny pools of tears reflectin' back from the fire light. Then one of those tears finally spilled over.
It started to slide down her cheek.
"I already knew you weren't the same," she whispered, "that's why I left him to get up to make you breakfast."
Daryl blinked, and looked down, because he did NOT know what to say to that. So for a few seconds there was just silence. Then finally he took a deep breath.
His eyes snapped back to hers.
"All right, well," he slowly exhaled, "like I said, you didn't have to make me nothin', but it is already made," he tipped his head, "and it does smell good."
Her lips curved then in a soft, watery, smile.
"Better than Andrea's?" She whispered back with a sniffle. And he gave a wry snort.
"Pfft, please. If Andrea was gonna make me breakfast, first, the world woulda had to end for a second time, and second," he slowly dropped back into his chair, "it'd probably be something she scraped off her shoe, and it'd still somehow be burnt to a crisp."
The joke was enough to drain the remaining tension from the moment. And so with Carol now scrubbing the tears from her face as she let out a faint giggle, he finally took a sip of the coffee she'd handed him a minute ago.
"Hmph," he grunted, while swallowing it down, "this is good. What'd you do?"
She blinked once, before giving him a confused shrug.
"I just cleaned the pot. Though," her nose wrinkled a bit as her hands fell back to her lap, "it did have kind of a thick layer of black on the inside. Maybe nobody else realized that wasn't supposed to be the color in there."
God did she hope that was the case, otherwise these people really were TERRIBLE cooks!
Either way, now that she and Daryl had moved back to their easier conversation, she picked up the heavy scrap of dark terry cloth, that the women used for a pot holder.
Then she moved the frying pan off from the coals where she'd had it warming, and over to the stump. And with the big wooden spoon, she started scooping out onto one of the three plates she had next to her, a hearty serving of grits, and three thick slices of the fried spam. Yes, they were trying to conserve food, but this was a 'Thank You for Very Directly Saving My Life,' breakfast. And this was her personally bought stash of food from her local Kroger's in the greater metro area.
She could dole it however she saw fit.
And though she'd noticed that Daryl seemed to prefer to eat with his fingers rather than any other type of utensil, she figured even he might prefer grits with a spoon. So once she'd picked up another plate, and scooped out a little of the grits for T-Dog, along with ONE slice of the spam . . . yes, that might have seemed stingy but he was ONLY getting some of Daryl's breakfast because she would have looked like a complete bitch for not giving him any good food at all(!) . . . she put the wooden spoon down on the first plate, and passed it over to Daryl.
"Mmm," he murmured, while he took it from her hands, "thanks."
The tone was the same as the usual grumble of disinterest that she'd previously heard from him when a plate was passed his way. But it was clear from how his eyes had lit up while he was making that grumble of disinterest, that he was VERY pleased with the meal that she'd just given him. So with her own eyes crinkling in amusement, she slowly pushed herself to her feet.
"Just gonna pass this one up to T-Dog," she said as she stepped back from the fire.
All she got back from that was a garbled grunt. That was because he already shoveling the grits into his mouth.
And yes . . . she gave him a good natured eye roll . . . of course he was using his fingers for a scoop.
So with him clearly having no interest in the spoon, she leaned over to snatch it back for T-Dog to use. She'd forgotten to bring him out a spoon anyway, so this worked out well enough for both of them.
And not wanting to wake anyone else up yet . . . it would be very bad if anyone saw her up having breakfast alone with Daryl and it got back to Ed . . . she was careful to be extra quiet on her walk back over to the camper.
It was about fifteen paces away.
When she got there, it was clear that T-Dog had been watching for her. Because he was already lying down on his belly and leaning over to snag the plate up, before she'd even put her arm out.
"Damn woman," he gave the food a deep sniff as he pulled it up to the roof, "remind me to do you a solid, 'cuz this is way better than the lumpy oatmeal we've been getting."
"Thanks," she whispered back, "but remember, this was a secret meal. So," she brought her finger up to her lips, "shhhh."
When she'd brought him over the coffee, and he'd asked what she was doing up so early, she'd explained then that she had gotten up to make Daryl breakfast. And when she got a bit of a look for that, she'd hastily explained (with flushed cheeks) that it wasn't anything like that. It was just that yesterday she'd done something stupid and almost gotten herself bit for it. But that Daryl had saved her, so she just wanted to do something to say thanks, without any kind of an audience around. T-Dog seemed to get where she was going with that . . . that she'd gotten up an hour before the sun so her husband wouldn't see her talking to another man . . . so he'd given her a knowing nod, and a "mum's the word," right before he zipped his lips.
Which is exactly what he did this time too.
Though this time, he also flashed her a quick grin right before the, "mum's the word." But either way, as long as he kept her little secret, that was all that mattered.
A split second later he was gone back over the top anyway.
So she brought her arms up, and wrapped them around herself. That early in the morning, that early in the season, there was a faint bite in the air. It wasn't noticeable near the fire of course, and the sun would burn it off almost immediately, but for now being out in the pre-dawn . . . she took a deep breath . . . it was almost chilly.
That's when she turned, her gaze shifting back across their patch of land, to see Daryl sitting on the other side of the fire. Though he was still eating like it was his last meal, he was also watching her as she started to walk back. And the intensity of that gaze was a little unnerving.
Enough that she felt a bit of a blush crawling up her cheeks.
And when she finally sat back down in her chair, she saw that he was still just staring over at her, even while he was now biting off pieces of his Spam. It was difficult, but she tried to ignore his attentions to instead focus on pouring herself a cup of coffee, before she snatched out the last piece of the fried spam that she'd left in the slowly cooling pan.
It wasn't until she went to take a bite of the meat though, that Daryl finally spoke.
"If you're gonna get up this early," he mumbled around his chewing, "you need to wear a sweater or you're gonna catch a chill."
She pulled the Spam away from her mouth with a huff.
"Is that why you were staring at me? You thought I looked cold?"
He swallowed, and then shrugged.
"I didn't think you look cold," he stated matter of factly, "you were cold. You popped out in goosebumps three steps from the fire. And don't say I can't see goosebumps in this kind of light," he shot her look, "I got good eyes."
Feeling a faint spark of genuine humor, Carol shot him a wry smile.
"They are a very pretty color," she said, just before she tore off a piece of the spam with her fingertips, and popped it into her mouth. And she could see from the way that Daryl was looking back at her, that though he was amused by her remark, he was NOT going to reward her with a smile for it.
He looked away instead.
Still though, she saw the corner of his mouth twitching, so she still considered that a win for her. Because honestly, outside of one conversation she saw him have with Carl just before dinner . . . the boy was asking him to bring him back a little snake he could keep for a pet and Daryl was explaining how his momma, (Lori) would tan both their hides if he did that . . . she hadn't seen Daryl laugh or smile, at anyone or anything, since she'd arrived. Not that there was really anything funny left about the world, but Carol still had her Sophia. And as long as her baby girl was with her, then Carol would always have a reason to smile.
It would just be nice if everyone had something (or someone) to keep them going.
To that end though, it did seem that she and Daryl managed to have themselves a nice little breakfast. And it was clear how much he loved the spam and grits.
He actually licked his plate.
It was funny, because he started to do it, then he stopped with the plate about an inch from his mouth, like he'd just thought better of it. Or at least better than to do it in front of her. But seeing how shy he suddenly looked, just made Carol's expression soften.
"Hey," she called over quietly, with a little shrug, "if you can find anything left on there, have at it."
For a second he just looked back at her with a faintly suspicious glance . . . like he was waiting on her to add on a nasty comment or something . . . but then he let out a faint grunt.
And he went to TOWN on that thing!
Then when he was done with the plate, he licked his fingers one by one . . . she tried not to stare at that . . . and finally drained the last of the coffee out of his cup.
Once all that was done, he leaned over and reached around the fire, to neatly place the mismatched plate and cup down, one on top of the other, next to her sneaker clad foot. Carol's eyes crinkled a bit at that.
Because basically it was the campfire equivalent of putting your dishes in the sink.
Then her gaze shifted up from the dishes (and "sink"), and over to Daryl reaching down to pick up his weapons, before he slowly came to his feet.
"I'm gonna say again," murmured while slipping the bow and quiver up over his shoulder, "you didn't need to do that, but," he gave her an appreciative nod, "it was real good." He tipped his head.
"Thanks."
The "thanks" was just barely audible, but it still warmed something in Carol to hear it. Because she knew that basic pleasantries like that, weren't something he exchanged in much. Not that she thought he was rude . . . unlike some others . . . it was just that his "pleases" and "thank yous" were more likely to come out in the form of an unintelligible grunt. Today though, she'd actually gotten the full syllabled word.
It kind of made her feel special.
Then he put his hand up in sort of a two fingered half wave, and turned to start walking away from the fire.
"Be careful," she called out softly, half on impulse, half something else. And that's when his arm came back up in another wave.
Though that one was over his shoulder.
So with dawn just breaking its purpley light down over them, Daryl cut his path across the dirt and grass and over to the woods. Carol watched him go until he'd disappeared through the tree line. Then she let out a soft sigh . . . and went about cleaning up their breakfast dishes.
/*/*/*/
It was about three o'clock later that afternoon, while Carol was sitting in a lawn chair around the back half of Dale's camper, hunched over in the blazing sun trying to sew a button onto one of Dale's shirts . . . nobody had enough clothes to let any of them go to pot, and it was easier to sew in the bright light than the shade . . . when a shadow suddenly fell over her lap. And when she tipped her head back, and brought her needle hand up to her eyes, she saw Daryl standing there, backlit by that bright ball in the sky.
He was digging in his satchel.
"Got something for ya," he murmured, not even looking in her direction.
And before she could respond to that beyond an, "uh, okay" . . . they were clearly skipping the more standard greetings like, "hello" . . . his eyes had snapped over to hers, and he was jerking his chin back.
"Put your hands together."
The words were clearly meant to be more an instruction than an order . . . tone made all the difference, and his tone was soft . . . so without a word on her part, she brought her arm down, slipped the needle through the thin fabric so she wouldn't lose it, and cupped her palms together side by side.
That's when Daryl dropped two small bundles of herbs down into them.
"Peppermint and lemongrass," he muttered by way of explanation, while brushing his hands together to get the bits of pollen off of them, "give a sniff and you can tell which is which. But the first is good for your bellyache, and the second," he shrugged, "figured maybe you could cook with it. Speaking of, I found a pond today, got a couple ducks," he tapped his hip, and she looked down to see that yes indeed, he did have three ducks hanging off his belt . . . somehow she'd missed them.
When she looked back up, he tipped his head.
"I'll pluck the feathers and clean 'em out, and leave 'em on the stump by the fire pit." His eyebrow inched up, "you are cooking tonight, right? 'Cuz I had to wade out balls deep in some freezing cold water to pluck these bitches outta that pond, so I don't want anybody fuckin' 'em up now."
Feeling her mouth start to quiver at the balls deep story . . . the man could definitely paint a picture . . . Carol quickly nodded her head.
"Yep, I'm cooking tonight. I figured we were having squirrel so I was going to make some biscuits out of that Bisquick, but," her lip quirked up as she looked back down to the birds dangling off his hip, "duck sounds so much better." Her eyes snapped back up to his, "if you help me setup a spit I'll roast them, and then I'll use the lemongrass to flavor up the last of the rice." Her eyebrow inched up, "is that okay?"
"Hey," raised his hand up, "whatever you think works. I just don't want anybody touchin' the birds, except you, okay?"
Feeling a spark of warmth in her eyes . . . it was the first time in years she'd felt like anybody valued her contribution to anything, even if it was something simple like making a proper meal . . . Carol's expression softened.
"Okay," she whispered, "I promise I won't let anybody else touch them."
"Good," he grunted back. And then he turned, and sauntered off in that vaguely pissed off way that she found oddly attractive, even though he wasn't really doing anything except walking.
It must be something in the hips, she decided after a second of watching him.
It was just then though that she caught sight of Ed coming up around the corner of one of the cars, and God knew she didn't want him to know that she was talking to Daryl, let alone watching his HIPS while he walked away! So seeing her husband turn to start heading in her direction, Carol quickly, and discreetly, folded over the edges of Dale's shirt, so she could hide the herbs inside.
"What in the fuck are you doing over here?" Her husband was spitting out as he stomped up, "I've been looking for you for an hour!"
That was a blatant lie, Carol knew that. Because she could tell from the sleep creases on his face and that nasty, fetid breath of his blowing in her face, that he'd just woken up. Yes, since they'd arrived, he'd spent most of his time lounging in the tent while the other men went on supply runs and did whatever else they could to help fortify the camp.
Her husband was a bully, and a lazy, shiftless, fool.
And even though it had barely been three days since their arrival, she knew that everybody else already knew that too.
But still, she played along, pretending like she didn't know what he'd been up to, while she'd been out and working. And somehow she got through that part of the conversation . . . the part where she explained how she'd been doing the camp's mending, right there by the camper, for the last forty plus minutes . . . without getting a smack from him. But she was still waiting for it though. Because she hadn't had one yet today.
Which meant she was overdue.
Unfortunately for Ed though, he couldn't find anything specific to criticize in her response . . . he knew one of them had to help out with the group stuff, and by his estimate, better her than him . . . so for a second there was just a pregnant silence.
But she could feel the tension building.
Finally he barked out, "well, where's Sophia?!" And she flinched at the tone, because that was exactly his intention in using that tone. He wanted her off kilter and uneasy. It meant that he was building up now.
Looking for her to give him the reason.
"She's here," she answered quietly with a gesture over her shoulder, "inside. Lori's doing math lessons with the kids."
And of course Ed rolled his eyes at that, because A) he hated Lori's guts ("that bitch doesn't know her place") and B) he thought the women continuing to give the children school lessons was a, quote, "waste of fucking time." Because of course there was no POINT in the next generation of humans responsible for helping to rebuild some semblance of civilization and society, still knowing how to read and count!
Yes, her husband was an idiot.
His idiocy though fell far down the list of Ed's worst traits. A list too long for Carol to ever be able to repeat it to anyone . . . if she would ever even dare to do such a thing.
It had suddenly become clear to her though, that Ed had just seen something in her expression that he didn't like . . . probably the Veiled Contempt hiding behind the Abject Terror . . . because he started to bring his hand up, while he hissed out, "you rolling your eyes at me, woman?" And she immediately shrunk back, preparing herself for the smack . . . but that's when she heard a voice from directly overhead.
"Hey there, Ed. Shane's been looking for you down at the quarry."
Dale.
God . . . her head tipped back and her gaze shot skyward . . . she'd completely forgotten that he was up there! And she could feel her face starting to burn bright red, at the realization that he'd just heard everything Ed had said to her.
That was so embarrassing!
But . . . she bit her lip . . . Dale had also saved her too. Because that distraction of his was just enough for Ed to lose focus.
His arm dropped down to his side.
Then he let out a grunt, and turned to stomp off in the direction of the quarry. Because after his screw-up last night with the walkers, he knew he was close to getting them evicted from the camp. And if they got evicted, he was actually going to have to get off his ass and put himself in harm's way . . . like the others did now . . . to provide food and shelter for himself and his family.
And God knew he didn't want to have to do that.
So for the second time in barely ten minutes, Carol found herself watching a man walk away. The last one she would have liked to have stayed a little longer.
This one couldn't have been gone soon enough.
Not to mention, there was no elegance in this one's gait. Daryl moved like a panther . . . Ed moved more like a gorilla.
One who could barely keep his knuckles off the ground.
And even though Carol knew that smack was still coming later . . . he'd find a reason, even if she didn't give him one . . . she still felt a wave of relief that at least he was gone for now.
Then once again she heard words come floating down from over her head.
"You know, lemongrass in the rice sounds good."
And her eyes shot back up to see Dale giving her a little smile. Then he winked . . . and disappeared over the top.
For a moment she just stared up into that empty space and on into the blue sky. Then her eyes crinkled a bit, and she looked back down to the thin white shirt in her lap. Slowly, she unfolded the edges, and pulled out the herbs that Daryl had brought her back from the woods.
She gently pulled the two bundles apart.
The lemongrass, okay, that probably was just something he figured she could use for cooking. But the peppermint . . . she slowly brought the smaller bundle up to her nose . . . he brought that one back just for her. To help with the bellyache, he'd said. Her expression softened.
That was probably the sweetest thing anybody had done for her years.
And even though she'd been hearing Andrea from day one, complaining about "the Dixon brothers," by Carol's own observations so far, that bad reputation really just came mostly from Merle's behavior. Because yes, the older brother was openly, (and proudly), racist, sexist, crude and disgusting.
Basically he was Ed, if Ed had a brain, some skills, and a halfway decent work ethic.
But Daryl on the other hand . . . Carol bit her lip . . . he was quiet, and capable, and though his overall temperament might be a little gruff (and that did take some getting used to), he'd actually been very kind to her. And really, next to Lori, he was the one who had done the most to make her feel welcome, and a part of their group.
Basically he was almost the complete opposite of everything that Andrea had been muttering about him behind his back.
Truth be told though, not that she had anyone to speak the truth to, Carol was sort of the opinion that Andrea was just a little bit stuck up. And with Daryl clearly not having the education or advantages that she'd had, Andrea had just immediately dismissed him as an ignorant redneck.
And that was about as deep as she'd looked.
It was easy though, to peg people as one thing, when they were really all just so much more complicated than that. So Carol was (mostly) trying to keep an open mind about all these new folks.
Even Merle.
Because God willing, these people would let her and her family stay in this camp with them indefinitely. Which was why she was very much hoping to be able to at least get along with everyone. And if she was lucky, maybe she could find a few friends here too. And if she was really lucky . . . she took a deep inhale of the peppermint . . . maybe she could find something she'd been missing for a lot of years now.
Just someone to be nice to her.
So for a few seconds she sat there with her eyes closed, and the scent of the peppermint washing over her olfactory senses. But then finally she brought the little bundle away from her face, and tucked it down into her pocket instead. That's when she let out a slow breath . . . and blinked away the faint bit of moisture in her eyes. Then she cleared her throat.
And she went back to Dale's button.
A/N 2: Fair warning, long note here because I was in kind of a rambling/ranty mood :)
But yes, I am growing to love having this to work on in between the bigger story. The chapters are half the size, which means I can bang a draft out in just a few hours. And the setting and relationships are so completely different that I have to really expand out my imagination to fold all of the canon settings and character faces into my mind, separately from the other story. Which might sound like it would be a real pain, but it's actually more like everything explodes and becomes much more vivid. Sometimes the challenge helps clear your head :)
I really think Daryl probably was a big Spam guy. It's cheap and it's bad for you and it's totally white trash, and it does taste DELICIOUS when it is fried up for breakfast :) Which is why I had to buy myself a can yesterday after I finished writing that part of the draft! Ha, ha!
And also here I think canon Daryl pre-Merle getting left behind, would have been less impulsive and angry. Right now it's just him living their day to day and the basic monotony to it. We met him in basically panic/fury mode about his last family member being left for dead, which is nobody's best day. So I think at this stage he would have just been mostly quiet, and keeping to himself. Then he starts making this connection with Carol.
So to Merle, the thing I couldn't verify to my satisfaction, was whether or not he also carried a bow. I feel like he would have had one too because he clearly was as much a woods guy as Daryl. But we never saw him living in the group, we only saw him in the city, and then all the stuff that happened later. So I don't think we really know what he distinctly owned besides the bike and a bag of pills. But for purposes here (and in my other story) I'm also making him a bow and bolts guy. For this tiny bit of "screen time" anyway :)
FYI, I am not an Andrea 'hater', and I did grow to like her moving later through season 2, but there was a lot about her that did rub me the wrong way up until that point. Like clearly, she was a snob with her little remark about Daryl knowing big words. Anybody you hear do that, it's just, 'oh screw you, lady.' And then later with her blaming Dale for saving her life, that was just annoying and stupid. He wasn't being a dick, he was just trying to get her not to make an irreversible, grief driven, decision. But she lays this whole "F you, you're not my dad,' guilt trip on him. Okay, A) you wouldn't have had his death on your conscience. You both would have been dead. The End! That's like the ONE good thing about being dead, you don't have to feel badly about shit anymore. Which was sort of the whole point in her WANTING to kill herself, so *hands thrown in the air*! And then B) it's the apocalypse, if you can't find a quick way to still off yourself outside of the one stupid handgun that's been taken away from you, you're just not trying! So yes, I did have some issues with her irrational behavior, which I blame pretty much entirely on the all male writing staff :) Because odds are, and I'm not joking here, but if you are a female and notice that a new female character is being completely irrational or a total bitch (like the slant given to Lori), odds are if you check the credits, that's an all penis writing room! It usually takes them more time (and a good actress' portrayal) to see us as 'people' and not their stereotype of 'women.' I don't know why that continues, but if you look for it, you'll see it. It's frustrating. But TWD did have some great casting and without those actresses, those female characters would not have evolved into the layered, complicated, badasses they became. So, go, ladies! It takes a village :)
But anyway, if these early chapters come off with the anti-Andrea slant it is partly that, but also because we're seeing her from Daryl's POV, and also Carol having her sympathies more aligned with him, so she would also be less neutral in her thoughts, if not her words.
Lastly for "plot" here, pulling two threads from early canon, 1) that Andrea and Daryl CLEARLY did not care for one another in the beginning, through to her later (accidentally) shooting him in the head :) and then 2) that Carol is always, through the years, the one making sure that Daryl eats. So we can figure one of their earliest ways of bonding could have been her getting up to make him breakfast before he went off hunting, and then him dropping off his 'finds' at the end of the day. I thought that was actually a fairly logical way for them to have gotten used to each other before Ed was killed and she was free to then openly 'associate,' with anyone she wanted to. But she and Daryl will be 'associating' with one another more freely, even before that ;)
So, now that I've rambled as much in my notes here, as I did in the chapter itself :) you can see that we have a bigger viewing picture now on where this story will be going, and the subtext I'm building into the Caryl relationship. And for those of you that got all the way down to this last sentence, I hope you folks are enjoying yourselves :)
