A/N: You are all amazing. Thanks beyond words for the encouragement!
The Long Road Home
When Daryl next surfaced from the heavy pull of sleep, the late afternoon sun was busy casting long shadows across the office room. The first thing that he noticed, apart from the throbbing in his shoulder and the pounding in his head, was that Carol wasn't there. The chair she'd occupied earlier sat empty and removed far across the room. The memory of their earlier conversation came flooding back, and he saw as clearly as if she were standing before him that wounded look in her eyes. That scared, defeated lowering of her head that he had caused.
Of course he'd driven her away.
Footsteps crossing the next room caused his muscles to tense, and he relaxed only slightly when a young blonde caught his eye through the doorway.
"Hey." The girl took note of his blearily opened eyes. "You're awake."
Unsure exactly of his standing, Daryl grunted non-committally and scanned the room for any sign of Carol. There was none to be found. The chair where she'd tossed her coat the evening he came in stood bare in a dimly lit corner. He pushed away the panic rising up slowly from inside his gut.
"I'm Ali," the girl offered.
He spoke nothing in return, but the girl didn't budge.
"Carol just went to get you something more to eat. There's sort of a cafeteria across the way. She should be back soon." Ali studied him as she came closer, pausing to lean against the doorway. "We found you some clothes if you're up to changing." His eyes flickered to the table beside him. A shirt, pants, even clean socks lie folded neatly and waiting for him.
At Ali's expectant gaze, he offered a slight nod of comprehension.
"You need any help gettin' over to the bathroom? Got running water and everything," she tempted, taking a step forward.
"No." The abruptness stilled her feet.
"Okay, then." Despite the rebuke, she offered him a genuine smile. "If you need any help, just holler. Like I said, Carol's got food on the way. And I..." she rolled her eyes back toward the other clinic room, "I have instruments to clean." With that, the girl disappeared and Daryl was left in relative peace.
Of course, relative peace also made it easier to think. And the more Daryl thought, the more he remembered. And the more he remembered, the worse he felt. He'd hurt her - really hurt her. He'd come back to find her, and he'd hurt her. He was just so angry. He hadn't realized it at first. If she'd just waited. He'd thought she'd know. He'd find her. He'd always found her. That night at the farm when the herd had come, then later deep in the bowels of the prison. A hundred thousand other little times in between. He'd always come.
He'd thought she'd known. But she'd just taken off and he'd come to think she never realized that at all.
Frustrated, he scrubbed his hands over his face, wincing as he nudged the lump on his forehead. He eyed the clothes with vague disinterest. She'd want him gone as soon as he could go, but the kindness of the warm shirt and cargo pants were just like her. He sighed as he listened to the girl clinking around in the other room. Carol would return soon. His time here was ticking. No sense in putting off the inevitable.
Tossing back the quilt, he moved to swing his feet over the edge of the bed, realizing for the first time that Carol must have removed his boots. Wincing at the pain that came from the sudden movement after so many hours of lying still, he had to pause to gather himself before standing. His head spun in dizziness and his stomach tossed at the sudden change in elevation. He'd barely ate that morning, and the weeks before hadn't exactly been plentiful.
"Suck it up," he whispered to himself. She won't want your pussy ass around. Not after you gone and screamed at her. Gingerly, he stood, swallowing down the burning in his throat. He grabbed the pile of clothes and made his way through a narrow doorway and into a tiny bathroom. Once upon a time, it must have been the office's private bathroom, for it wasn't much more than a miniscule closet with a sink and a stool. Closing the door behind him, he noticed a mirror above the sink. Last night he'd been too exhausted, too overwhelmed to even register its existence when he'd slipped in just before collapsing onto the bed. Using it now to try to gain a better look at his wound, he peeled back Carol's carefully placed bandage. From the angle he was working with, it was tough to tell how it was healing.
Abandoning that idea, he took advantage of the running, albeit cold, water and one of the little towels waiting at the edge of the sink. Stripping off his shirt and pants, he cleaned himself up as best he could before filling the sink with water and dunking his hair. The cold shocked him even though he'd been expecting it. Drawing in a surprised breath, the air caught in his lungs and he had to fight to control the coughing fit that followed.
"You okay in there?" The girl's voice drifted in from uncomfortably close to the door.
He swallowed painfully. "Fine." He waited until he heard her retreating footsteps.
Snatching up another towel, he dried off quickly, already shivering. Carol was a good judge of size, and the new clothes fit well. Even so, he found that they felt almost foreign on his skin. Balling up his dirty vest and pants and wadding his filthy, hole-ridden socks inside the bundle, he rested his forehead on the closed door for a moment.
What would happen now? That girl said Carol was coming back with food. He'd acted like an angry fool earlier, yelling at her. He'd seen hurt flicker across her features when he did so, and all the while his own mind was begging him to stop. It was just all so much. She was gone and now she was here and he didn't know his place anymore. If he hurried now, he could slip out before she came back. But that thought came with a pang, and he couldn't bring himself to move.
Even as the thoughts swirled and ebbed in his mind, he heard the scrape of the outer clinic door. Two muffled voices joined in conversation before he distinctly heard Carol call to someone to have a good night. The door scraped again and Daryl could only assume the girl had left, leaving the two of them alone in the offices.
Gathering himself, he pushed away from the door and fumbled with his clothes and the knob. Emerging from the bathroom, he found Carol placing a plate of what looked like potatoes and a small amount of some sort of meat on the table by his bed.
She turned as he opened the bathroom door. "You're up," she smiled warmly, but he could see that there was caution present as well. Of course there was. He felt nothing but shame at that emotion from her. "Brought you something more to eat. And," she gestured to a chipped mug, "something for your cough."
"Thanks." Somehow he found it difficult to leave the doorway. Difficult to move toward her across the room. He fidgeted with the bundle of laundry in his hands.
"I'll wash those for you."
His eyes snapped up in confusion. "What?"
"Your clothes." Again, she smiled before taking a tentative step forward. "I'll wash them for you." She extended a hand.
Awkwardly, he relinquished the soiled garments. She removed them to a tote across the room as he chewed his thumb.
"You feel like eating at a table?"
Again, he looked up in surprise. Why was it that everything seemed to come at him so damn fast? Processing the question, he felt himself shrug, followed closely by the pull of the stitches. "Don't matter none." He'd stay for a meal. Take one last chance before she turned him out and on his way.
"Okay, then." She reclaimed the plate and he numbly followed her to the next room. Depositing the food on a desk, she slid over two chairs. "Here you go." She took her seat and he followed, dazed by everything that she said.
They began their meal in silence. A few bites in, she reached for a lamp. Soon a warm glow bathed the room. "Gets dark so early this time of year."
He found himself with no response.
It wasn't until he was nearly done with his plate when his mind settled enough to realize what he was eating. Turkey. He wondered how the hell that came to be in a place like this.
Almost as if she'd read his mind, she answered the unspoken question. "Had a little flock of turkeys wander in a while back. Strangest thing," she shook her head. "Every once in a while there's fresh meat." She shoved a mass on her plate. "And there's always plenty of potatoes. Must have planted thousands of them last spring." Her face screwed up in obvious displeasure. Despite the clenching guilt in his stomach, Daryl found himself fighting a grin.
He shoveled in a bite. "Beats owl."
She looked at him with a real smile this time, one that made him duck his head. "I miss some things about eating those owls," she mused before he found himself with no response for the second time and they fell silent once again.
When he'd finished his plate, he looked over in surprise to find her already done and waiting patiently for him to be through. Daryl cleared his throat. With the end of the food came the end of his options. He'd forgotten for a moment, with her sitting across from him. Suddenly uncomfortable, he stuttered for the words. "I, uh, I'll be on my way. Sleep in the camp tonight and head out tomorrow."
Her fingers fumbled and nearly dropped her water glass. It landed on the table with a shaking rattle. Stray droplets colored the wood. At the noise, his eyes jerked to Carol's to find her looking positively stricken. "Already?"
Pulling back from her shocked stare, he studied the table intently. "Figured you'd want me gone."
"Why would I want that?"
His fingers traced a gouge in the wood. "Earlier, I..." He scowled in frustration at his own inept words. "Shouldn't a yelled like I did."
She was quiet for a very long time. His fingers continued to trace the indent in the wood, dipping into the trench before climbing their way out again.
What seemed like minutes trickled past. Finally, she spoke. Her voice was only a whisper. "Daryl?"
He didn't look up.
"Look at me." Her voice was soft, but there was a command in the tone.
He swallowed, then peered at her from under his bangs.
"Do you want to leave?"
He couldn't hold her gaze. His fingers crawled in and out of the gouge. "Thought you'd want me to."
"Do you want to leave?"
He felt like he was breaking. He knew he'd just fuck it up if he opened his mouth.
"Daryl?"
Still staring at the blurring table, he shook his head.
Carol sat back in her chair. "Good," she stated simply.
Boldened by the word, he chanced a look.
She offered him a watery smile. "Because I'd like you to stay."
Again, he traced the rut in the table and offered only another slight nod. He wished he could tell her. Explain to her what had happened after she'd gone. Tell her that the thought of leaving after finding her would have surely killed him. Ask her to forgive him for what had gone through his head that last day inside the prison walls. But he couldn't. He couldn't say any of those things, at least not to her. So he settled for that nod and hoped that somehow she'd come to understand.
Carol inhaled a shaky breath. She smiled in that certain way she had. "I should change those bandages." She was up and clearing the plates away before he could utter another word or even process the resolution they had reached. He was grateful, though, that she hadn't dwelled on what had passed. "You're getting quite a bruise there above your eye, too. Go on and have a seat on the desk. I'll be ready in a minute."
While she busied herself finding supplies, he returned somewhat numbly to the table he'd occupied the night before. Eventually, she joined him. Pulling off enough of the cloth to reveal his wound, she hummed to herself. "Little hard to tell, but I think it's healing up okay." She caught his eye. "Keep drinking your tea for that cough."
He huffed a little at the comment. At the first sip with his meal, the vile liquid hadn't been to his pleasure, but he had to admit that the soothing burn it left in his throat calmed the aching in his chest. She leaned over to hand him the mug. "Will if ya tell me what's in it."
She cut a new strip of gauze and replaced her scissors. "Now that," she raised an eyebrow, "is a trade secret."
He scoffed. "Probably tryin' ta poison me."
She smiled at the comment, and for a minute it was two years in the past. Just another day. Another run. Another teasing conversation wedged in between the hunting and cooking and the killing and the endless battle for their very survival. She finished her work on his shoulder, straightened his shirt, and the moment was broken.
"There. I'll take a look at it again tomorrow. Mean time, you best get yourself back in bed."
He slid from the desk. "All I done all day is sleep."
"That's because you need it." She studied him somewhat critically. Already, he looked better than he had the previous night. Granted, some of the dirt had been washed away, but the circles under his eyes were lighter. His cheeks were still too hollow, but she was pleased to see that some color had returned. He felt heat rising in his neck as her gaze turned thoughtful. "How long were you out there alone?"
He didn't answer at first. Alone. His mind flashed back to that terrible day. To Rick's words on the prison catwalk and to the rumbling, awful arrival of the Governor's tank. That day was seared into his consciousness for all eternity, but how long since that? How long since he'd found and lost the rest? He'd kissed Judith on the head and let Carl wrap his arms around him in a hug neither one of them had the strength to avoid. Two years since he'd lost everything that mattered. How long since then?
"Been a while." Seeing that his answer didn't placate her, he elaborated in a half truth. "Year and half...maybe more."
"Why'd you leave?" Her hip came to rest against the desk he leaned on, her eyes unfailingly blue in the lamplight.
He fought the urge to bring his hand to his mouth. Shrugging, he mumbled as much of the truth as he could. "Had to. Ya..." He studied his boots. "There weren't no reason left to stay."
Her expression crumpled into worry and something like regret, but she must have sensed that it was all he could say. His face burned red in the silence that stretched between them. Finally, she nodded slightly. "I'm glad you're here, Daryl. And I really do want you to stay."
Braving a look at Carol, he found her watching him with watery eyes. Gaze retreating back to his boots, the words fell from his lips. "Me, too."
A moment later, she inhaled and ran a hand through her hair. "Let's get you back into bed." With the gentlest of a nudge, she indicated he move before her. Despite his earlier protests, Daryl felt the weight of exhaustion pulling at him again.
"You ain't gonna sleep in the chair again, are ya?" he groused as he climbed back into bed. "Two other damn beds in this room. Don't see why ya couldn't use one of them."
A smile played at the corners of Carol's lips. He liked to see it there. "They're for patients."
"You're gonna be one if ya spend another night in a chair."
The smile broadened. "We'll see."
He closed his eyes, picturing that little smile and surrendering to the rapidly piling weight of sleep. In the distance, he could hear Carol's footsteps and the clink of dishes being scrubbed.
That was the last he heard until morning.
