They had found tents again two days ago, in an outdoor supplies store that had proved to be a veritable cornucopia for them – sleeping bags, cooking gear - including gas for the stoves, warm clothing - which they were certainly going to need as it kept getting colder, self-inflating airbeds. Fall had been just around the corner when the herd had ended their stay at Hershel's farm, and by now the leaves were turning and falling, and staying out in the open without shelter would have been out of the question.

Finding new gear had made them so much more flexible. If they found a safe play to stay the night, they took it. If they didn't, they set up a camp instead. Putting up the small one-person tent he'd chosen for himself always reminded him of how he'd set up their old one with Merle in the quarry, back before Rick had handcuffed him in Atlanta. And that in turn always had him wondering if Merle had made it out in the end, if he'd survived and was out there somewhere, safe.

If he'd ever see him again.

With a grunt, he pulled the last line taut and anchored it in the hard, stony soil before wiping his hands on his dirty pants and rising from his crouch. He looked around to check if anyone needed help setting up their stuff.

Rick had the Grimes tent covered with Carl's help. Lori was sitting in their car, looking queasy, with a hand covering her mouth. Even Daryl, who certainly wasn't one for staring at people, had noticed that she was losing instead of gaining weight big time. She seemed to be constantly sick and was eating like a bird. Not keeping down most of what she was eating didn't help matters. Nor did Rick's increasing coldness toward her. But these weren't issues that were any of his business, nor could he have done anything about them.

Hershel and Glenn were setting up a large tent for the Greene family, with the girls pitching in where they could – and where the men let them. The old man seemed to be of the opinion that this wasn't girls' work and answered nearly every offer of help that came from his daughters with a staunch "no". Apparently, allowing them to help would shame him in some way, so he insisted on doing it with only Glenn lending a hand.

Daryl wandered over to where T-Dog was busy with the finishing touches to the medium-sized tent for Glenn and himself. When T looked up at him and gave him an inviting smile, he gave one curt nod and set to work. Together, they had it finished in no time, and T looked very pleased with himself as he put up the camping stove and installed the gas canister. "Thanks for your help, man. With Glenn helping the Doc, it would've taken me that much longer to put it up on my own."

"'s nothin'", Daryl mumbled, instantly uncomfortable at being thanked. At the same time he noticed that he'd neglected to look out for the person he owed most to, apart from Hershel. After all, she always looked out for him – making sure he ate, prodding him to rest, taking care of what little clothing he had left. He looked around and spotted a small tent, the same size as his own, way out behind the large Grimes affair that Rick and Carl were still sweating over. Slowly, trying to look inconspicuous, he sauntered over and looked about himself.

The lines weren't taut as they had to be for the tent to stand up to the fierce gusts of wind that had started springing up over the past few days, announcing the onset of fall. The tent itself also looked a bit saggy. All in all, the thing all but screamed "I've been set up by one person on their own when it really takes two to do this properly".

Angry with himself – Hadn't she been riding behind him? Why hadn't he made sure her tent was set up properly first, before doing his own? – he looked around for her, but she was nowhere to be seen. Nor, he realized, was her small pack of clothes or her tote bag the contents of which he couldn't even begin to guess. Squinting into the gathering dusk, he turned around to face Rick who was busy pulling on one of the lines of his tent. "Ya seen Carol?"

Surprised at being addressed so abruptly, Rick looked up and slowly shook his head, trying to remember. "I think I saw her go into her tent after she'd set it up. Maybe she's taking in her stuff?" he suggested.

Daryl grunted his thanks and stepped up closer to Carol's tent. Clearing his throat so she'd be alerted to his presence and he wouldn't scare her shitless, he pulled down the zipper at the entrance and stuck his head into the tent.

They both froze in midmotion, she with her hands reaching out for a clean shirt while crouching on the inflated airbed, with not a single stitch of clothing on her body, him with his head sticking inside the tent like a disembodied ghost that was coming to haunt her. Neither of them moved for the longest time.

Carol saw a blush creeping up from his neck and up over his cheeks and all the way to his ears, and she was quite certain that she didn't look much different – well, apart from the obvious.

Daryl could feel his neck, face, ears heating up, but he was utterly unable to react to what was happening here. She looked so beautiful and delicate in the failing light, so frail and fragile, so … vulnerable. Like everone else, she had been losing weight, and he wanted nothing more than to hold her and protect her against all the evils of the world, and make sure she had clothes to keep her warm and food to keep her sated.

He had no name for the emotions that overwhelmed him at seeing her like this. Never in his life had he experienced anything even remotely like it, and he had no idea how to handle it. Sure, he'd seen naked women, his dad and Merle had taken care of that, but all of that, including the women he'd been with for one-night stands that Merle had forced him into, had been utterly meaningless compared to … this.

After what felt like a lifetime, his brain stuttered to life again, and he cleared his throat once more and managed to speak – sort of. "Your tent … your lines … wanted to … Jus' lemme know when I can …" Hell, he was so pathetic. She was still staring at him with those wide, blue doe's eyes, not even attempting to cover herself, and here he was, still taking in the sight in front of him like a damn creep.

He felt his insides tighten when he saw the marks on her body, similar to his own, and if Ed had been here right now he would have beaten him to a pulp with his bare hands for touching, marking, hurting her like that, for making her feel worthless and disgusting like that, for instilling terror and fear in her like that. He knew exactly – God, how well he knew! – what she had felt like, and it was killing him. What was worse, he knew that he couldn't help her. She would need someone to pick her up, instead of pull her down further, the way he surely would.

He was nothing.

She was … perfect.

Lowering his eyes to the ground, he mumbled something about waiting outside until she was done and was about to withdraw, again like a ghost, when he heard her whisper his name. "Daryl, it's so kind of you to help me. I'll be right there."

As always, her voice soothed his nerves the way nobody else could. Taking a deep breath past the huge lump in his throat, he managed to lift is head and raise his eyes. She was looking at him, SMILING at him, and his hammering heart was close to exploding when he realized that she wasn't angry with him for bursting in on her like this. He found it incredibly hard to read other peoples' expressions, but hers right now seemed to tell him that it was okay, that she was okay with him seeing her like this, and that she trusted him with what he'd seen. That she knew he would keep it safe.

Keep her safe.

Nodding quickly, he withdrew from her tent and waited for her to join him.