AN: so..I will continue. This will be short maybe five chapters at the most.

I do not own or profit from The Walking Dead

CHAPTER 2

His breath exhaled in a small pronounced huffs. The cold had seeped into Daryl's bones and there was no shaking it.

It was winter, he'd been on the road for a month, following a caravan that at times unknowingly gave him the slip.

He watched them. Watched them until his eyes burned, clear into his sockets. Memorizing routines, and faces. Trying to find his way in. Best he could tell, the women they took were seperated into two groups, first the worker bees. The ones that kept the camp going, food cooked, and all the other jobs these assholes didn't want to do.

The other group weren't so lucky. They were entertainment. He'd spent many nights, lying in bed in horror wondering if Carol was in that group. She would fight, she would scratch and be a wildcat. She wouldn't make it easy. He knew that. The likely hood that she was only still alive if she was in the workers group was strong.

She could make herself invisible, when she wanted. She'd shown that time and time again. These assholes had no idea what they were dealing with, and probably no idea of the body she hid under those clothes.

Daryl had seen her, once. After Terminus and Grady. The group had been worn down, near death really and he'd been lost in a sea of his own pain. Too stupid to see past himself, focusing on his failures, hiding from the truth. Carol was there, alive, and he was too scared to reach out and take what he wanted.

They stopped for the night, in off the road. A small clearing in the trees that provided some protection when you put up a makeshift fence. Camp set for the night, he'd casually mentioned to Rick that there was water nearby. Carol had gone earlier with Tyreese to fill up their bottles. He'd seen her return the pain visible to only him, as she struggled to lift the jugs.

She'd disappeared again when they settled for the night. His momentary panic was unsettling. He may be pushing her away so he wouldn't feel the pain if he lost her, but his mind rebelled at the fact that he didn't know where she was.

Instinct told him she was at the water, and he'd followed her there. She was sitting at the edge of the water, bare from the waist up, her shirt and jacket to the side, as well as length of fabric they must have used to wrap her ribs at Grady. Her knife at her side she looked like a warrior goddess tending to her wounds.

She was gingerly bathing her bruised ribs with a small cloth she was dipping in the cool water.

His heart clawed up in his throat. No one had remembered that only days ago she'd been hit by a car. Her ribs were a patchwork of black and blue. She must have been in agony, she hadn't complained once.

Gradually his mind had realized he was staring at her breasts and suddenly he couldn't think of anything else. They were perfect. She was perfect. Her upper body was firm and toned from life, and her breast though small were beyond a doubt, the most beautiful breast he'd ever seen. His breathing had quickened as he'd watched her, but then she stood and shed her pants and panties standing in the water up to her knees she'd quickly washed her lower half.

She was glorious, but he'd expected that. His breath exhaled in long puffs as he watched the water gliding over her skin. He'd memorized every curve, every line, every scar. Holding it with him. When she had her underwear and tank top on again, he stepped forward, making his presence known.

She'd turned, his little warrior. Knife firmly in her grasp, ready to take on the world, to fight to the death. The steel in her gaze softened when she saw it was him, and the slump of her shoulders was palpable in relief.

He'd picked up her rib wrapping and moved forward, she'd cocked her head to the side watching him. Always waiting, she never forced anything on him. He walked around her slowly motioning her arms up, gently wrapping her ribs. Unable to stop his thumbs from finding skin, from whispering a touch against her breast. She'd watched him the whole time, her eyes luminous in the moon. When he was done he realized she wouldn't be able to put her pants on with her ribs wrapped.

He knelt down in front of her, looked up at her. She was his world in that moment. His reason to continue on, personified. He was to scared of his own feelings to act any further, but he didn't know she was blown away by the look in his eyes.

Every inch of her beautiful skin was like a fire burning him. The best kind of fire. As he pulled her pants up slowly, his fingertips brushed the outside of her legs, until he was standing in front of her, buttoning her pants, one finger whispering under her waist band as he pressed his forehead to hers for a moment. But only a moment.

"Come'on" he's whispered. Shocked he could talk. He took her hand and lead her back to camp. Bedding down beside her, he watched her as she slept. Willing himself not to pull her close, doing it anyway when she shivered in her sleep. Then he could feel it, her silky hair tickling his neck, her sweet breath on his skin. Her scent, that scent that never faltered no matter what she was filthy with. He would know it anywhere, it a room with a strangers. She was his, a and he would always find her.

When they got to Alexandria, he'd seen the looks that the other men gave her. As soon as her back was turned those assholes got glares right back. He was selfish, he was too scared to grab what he wanted but dammit she was his, she was his reason. He loved her, he just didn't know how to do what he needed to do.

His mind was brought back to the present as a commotion in the raiders camp had him focusing on the scene.

Some asshole was clutching his chest, while the group started screaming, some laughing. Assholes was obviously taking a heart attack. The crowd cleared and he watched in amazement as a face he was longing to see stepped forward.

She was bruised, and one eye was swollen. She fell to her knees at the now silent man's side. He saw her taking his pulse and shook her head. They nodded and handed her a piece of pipe, unwilling to do so themselves. She was tired, he could tell, malnourished. She still did what needed to be done to stop him from changing.

His warrior, his fighter, Carol.