Thank you so much for your kind reviews! I am trying my best to keep these two in character so please excuse the Dixon mouth in this chapter. I also apologize for short chapters but I try to place the breaks where they seem natural.
Carol walked across the courtyard with the pack across her back. She forced herself not to run, knowing she had to stay calm if she was going to avoid making the situation worse. She gave a silent look and nod up to Rick on the cat walk before continuing on to the tower. Daryl was still screaming, some of the phrases not even making sense, just filthy words strung together with threats.
Suddenly, one of the windows in the tower burst outward and the walker Glenn had worried about sailed out. The corpse landed about 10 feet to Carols right as she jumped and pressed herself to the tower door. Grabbing the handle, she looked down at the half dried sticky blood under her hand and sighed "Dammit Daryl..." Glenn had been right about that, Daryl had cut himself badly.
She made her way up the shadowed steps quickly, making as much noise as she could. Surprising him with her presence would be an even worse idea than usual right now. There was a metal folding chair tucked behind the open door to the guard room. She grabbed it as she slipped in, thankful that he had somehow missed it in his blind rage.
Unfolding the chair, she then sat, trying to find as nonthreatening position as possible. She settled on setting the bag in her lap with her elbows propped on it with her chin in her hands. Her heart broke as she watched him.
His back was to her as he assaulted the useless communication console, ripping metal from plastic from wire. The verbal assault on the Governor continued even though it was clear to Carol that he had stripped his voice to the point of hoarseness.
He whirled and started chucking the console pieces out the window he had shattered with the snipers body. As he let the last piece fly, Carol cleared her throat and quietly asked without moving, "You done?"
The look in his eyes as he turned would have had most people running for their lives. But she knew better, this wasn't Daryl. This was a little boy having a tantrum because he didn't know a better way to deal with his heartache. The only way he had ever been taught to deal with intense feelings, whether anger or deep sorrow, was to destroy anything in his path. Blood dripped from his clenched left fist to drop onto the cold concrete floor.
"WHY? WHAT THE HELL DO YOU CARE?"
She stood her ground as he stalked forward. Carol met his eyes with her own, intent on making him realize she wasn't afraid of him, could never be.
"You're hurt, please let me see..." as she reached out toward him, mentally forcing down the tremble that threatened her fingers.
Daryl closed the distance between them in a second, avoiding her outstretched hand. She dropped it back to her side as he brought himself just inches away from her face.
"GO TO HELL! HE'S DEAD! I HAD TO PUT MY KNIFE IN HIS FUCKING SKULL! THAT BASTARD GUT SHOT MY BROTHER AND LEFT HIM TO TURN!"
Carol kept her eyes locked with his, even when he slammed both fists into the cinderblock wall on either side of her head. She was determined she was not going to flinch like she had that night that seemed forever ago, at his camp on the farm. They were both different people now, free to become their true selves. She was not afraid and he would not hurt her. She couldn't, however, keep her stomach from rolling when she heard a bone crunch upon impact in his already damaged left hand.
"I'm not afraid of you. Please let me take care of your hand..."
"FUCK OFF! I DON'T NEED YOU! WHAT ABOUT I THROW YOUR SKINNY ASS OUT THAT WINDOW TOO!"
His voice was not much more than a croak now, his face close enough to hers that the breath of each word and stray droplets of saliva hit her cheeks.
"Like I said, I'm not afraid of you. You can rip apart this whole tower block by block if it makes you feel better. But if you don't let me look at your hand you're not gonna be able to snap a squirrels neck, much less the Governors. Please..."
With her last word she made her Hail Mary move. She placed her hand lightly on the center of his chest, knowing full well that physical contact could set him off again. But she prayed it was what he needed to shock himself back to reality. Her hand only shook once, almost imperceptibly, as she placed it on the grungy leather sleeved button up he wore under his vest.
It was enough. Carol didn't breathe, much less move, as he lowered his fists. The rage in his face broke, replaced by something she didn't immediately recognize because she had never seen it there. Oh, my God, he was crying!
A strangled sob broke out as he crumpled to the floor and Carol went with him. He pitched forward and she placed herself squarely between him and the wall, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. The only other choice would have been to let him take a header into the concrete.
He stayed curled up in a ball, halfway in her lap, sobbing. The strangled cries were were so foreign coming from him that it brought tears to her own eyes. She just held him and let him cry for several long minutes until she could no longer ignore the red spreading on her jeans leg where his left hand rested.
She hastily wiped her own eyes and started rummaging through her bag while keeping her legs and lap still under him.