Chapter 4

When they'd gone back for her body, Daryl had taken Denise's bag with the soda and given it to Maggie, knowing how much Denise had wanted Tara to have it. But he kept the keychain with her brother's name on it for himself. Because he had been her brother, too.

After the brief service, people began trickling away from the grave. Daryl quickly grabbed a shovel, preparing to fill in the hole. As he paused to look over Denise's body a final time, Rick came up behind him, putting a caring hand on his shoulder. Daryl turned his head slightly to stare at the man's shoes, unable to meet his eyes. "I got this," he said, his voice low and raw with grief.

"Alright," said Rick, nodding with understanding. He gave Daryl's shoulder a firm squeeze before turning away, knowing him well enough to give him the space he needed without offering to stay and help. To Daryl, it was his fault Denise was lying in the ground; he needed to be the one to clean up the mess.

Only Carol lingered behind after everyone had left, watching him shovel dirt. Her presence grated on him. He just wanted to be left alone, but sending her away was something he could not bring himself to do. It was his cross to bear, and it made him feel weak knowing just how much he needed her.

"Where's your boyfriend?" he asked, pulling out a bottle of whiskey from his vest pocket. He needed something to take the edge off.

She frowned at the scornful tone in his voice, letting him know she disapproved. "Construction crew. Building the new guard tower."

Daryl scoffed, quickly downing the whiskey and then tossing the bottle into the hole before returning to his task.

"Besides, I'm here for you," she said.

"Ain't that grand," he spat bitterly.

"You cared about her," she said, ignoring his gruffness and picking up a shovel.

Shutting her out with his anger, he didn't answer. He just kept shoveling dirt into the grave, consumed by his thoughts. What did it fucking matter if he cared? Whenever he tried, someone ended up in the ground. How many more was he going to have to bury?

He kept seeing Denise's face as she had proudly ranted, wanting him to face his shit like she had faced hers. She had almost convinced him it'd be worth it. Almost. But like all things, he'd fucked it up for her, too. What was the point of trying? He didn't know anymore. Pausing again, he took out another bottle of whiskey, sucking the poison down as fast as he could.

Feeling Carol's eyes on him, he went back to work. She was quiet. Too quiet. Her silence was a thorn in his side.

Without a word, Carol started to dig alongside him. It irked him. Even though he was acting like an ass, she was still there trying to help. The woman was a goddamn saint. How could he even think he could be good enough for her?

He didn't want to think anymore. He didn't want to feel. He took out another bottle of liquor, numbing the pain.

"You're not alone," said Carol, cutting through the silence in attempt to console him. And it just made the pain that much sharper because he had never felt more alone. Like Beth had told him: he was going to be the last man standing. And it was all his fault.

Letting the heat from the whiskey burn through him, he tossed the empty bottle into the grave with the last dregs of his hope and kept shoveling. After a while, the liquor began to loosen his lips.

"I fucked it all up."

"Why would you say that?"

"'Cause it's true. Always too late and a dollar short. The story of my goddamn life."

"Daryl."

He dug at the dirt angrily with the shovel. "Shoulda done it in the burnt forest like I said. None of this woulda happened. But I… I fuckin' hesitated." He blew out a breath of disgust at himself as he tossed the loose dirt into the grave. "If it had been you—or Rick...you woulda got shit done right the first time."

She wrinkled her brow. "You wanted to help. That's why you didn't do it. You're a good man, Daryl."

"Pfft. Good man? Denise is dead because I let those fools live!"

"You don't know that."

"Yeah, I do."

"It could easily have been someone else."

Stopping abruptly, his eyes narrowed at her and hardened. "Yeah," he said with a sneer, "there's always someone else."

Her eyes turned choppy and gray as she stared off.

Daryl went back to shoveling the dirt, but she stayed motionless, lost in thought. There was something odd about her stillness that disturbed him. Her sorrow was like a thick vine coiled tightly around her slender frame. It would smother her eventually, until the last of her light was extinguished too. Watching her, his neck began to grow warm as the heat from the whiskey began to take effect. She was beautiful even when she was a miserable wreck. But it was her sadness that always undid him. Briefly pausing, he forgot the reason for his anger as he worried about her. He started speaking before he knew what he was saying.

"Are you okay, Carol? 'Cause you don' look it." His tongue felt thick as he slurred the words.

Pulled from her thoughts, she jolted. "Of course I'm not okay. Denise is dead, and I'm worried about you. That you think it's your fault for not killing someone."

He growled at the reminder. "Shoulda put a bolt in his eye." He frowned as he pictured Denise in mid-sentence as the bolt had come flying through.

"Maybe," Carol said. "But when does it end?"

"When it ends," he said gruffly, shoveling more dirt.

She hesitated as if realizing something. "This is just gonna keep happening."

"Yep."

She finished tossing in the last bit of dirt and then rested her shovel against the fence with a pensive look on her face. She was a million miles away with worry in her eyes.

Daryl stood, leaning awkwardly against his shovel to watch her. Even in his anger he could see how the strain of her thoughts oppressed her. But seeing the walls spring up around her really infuriated him.

"I can't be here," she said quietly to herself, turning to leave.

"What?"

Letting the shovel fall from his hand onto the newly filled grave, his glare was unyielding, knowing damn well she was trying to run away from whatever was bothering her. "You got somewhere better you gotta be?"

Ignoring him, she tried to walk by, but he stepped in her way, his eyes darkening as they focused on her. He pulled out two more bottles and offered her one. "C'mon. Turn off those spinnin' wheels in your pretty little head."

She shook her head.

"You too good to drink with me now?"

She frowned.

"C'mon," he said, egging her on, "don't be such a prude."

She raised her eyebrow at him. "Reverting to peer pressure now?"

He shrugged. "If that's what it takes."

She pursed her lips into a look of disapproval, but then relented, reaching for the bottle.

"That's it," he encouraged her.

"You set a bad example."

"Yep."

She unscrewed the top and he tapped his bottle against hers.

"To Denise!" he toasted too loudly. "She had more balls than I do."

Carol frowned, but took a sip.

He laughed at her. "Ain't for sippin', Goody Two Shoes, you gotta toss it back. Like this." He put the bottle to his lips and showed her. "Try again."

Copying him, she tipped her head back, downing the rest of the bottle in a single gulp before making a face.

"Better." He took out two more bottles.

She shook her head. "I think the one was enough."

"No, it ain't. You're still thinkin'."

"You're drunk."

"Not yet. C'mon, catch up."

Reluctantly, Carol took the second bottle from his hand and unscrewed the top. Then she tapped his bottle with hers and tossed it back.

He watched her face flush with heat from the alcohol and nearly smiled. "Now, you're gettin' the hang of it." He finished his bottle and grabbed two more.

"No, I shouldn't."

"Yeah, you should," he insisted, thrusting one of the bottles towards her.

She didn't reach for it. "Daryl, don't do this." The worry on her face refused to leave. It frustrated him.

"What? I'm payin' my respects. Hell, who knows when shit will ever be settled 'round here. Might be our only chance to...feel it, right? That's what you tol' me." He opened a bottle and waved it in front of her.

"Feel it," he scoffed as the anger simmered inside him.

His head was beginning to swim as he took a swig, but there was no diluting his heartache. His eyes narrowed at her. "Oh, but I can't," he said, mocking her. "Can't feel it, can't get close. Right? Ain't that what you think? I'm the fuckin' Ice Queen! Can't feel nothin' 'less I'm gettin' laid!" He flung his anger towards her. "It's fuckin' bullshit! All of it!"

The hurt and regret pooling in Carol's eyes may as well have been the slap across his cheek he knew he deserved. Biting his lip too late, his face burned from the shame of his behavior. He knew he had gone too far.

The bottles slipped from his hands, falling to the ground as he relinquished his anger. She stepped by him, trying to flee, but he stopped her, gently reaching out to take her elbow, turning her towards him. He needed to face what he had done.

"Carol, wait," he pleaded.

Her eyes were brimming with unshed tears and he could feel the sting of remorse in his own. He couldn't let her leave this way.

"M'sorry. That was a dick move. And I'm a fuckin' asshole."

Selfish. That's what he'd been, trying to tear her walls away just to get her to look upon him without pretense and deception, without that stubborn veneer—the way she used to. Unguarded and open. His Carol. He had no right. None at all. She didn't belong to him. She never had.

"You're drunk."

"Ain't no excuse, and you know it."

She blinked and a single tear escaped, blazing a thin trail down her pale cheek. His chest tightened as he watched it fall; it was more than he could bear to see. Reaching out his thumb, he brushed it away.

"M'sorry as shit right now. M'sorry 'bout a lot of things," he began to grovel. "I really fucked things up for us didn't I?"

"No, Daryl. We're all gonna be fine."

He squinted at her, confused. Were they talking about the same thing?

He shook his head and it made him dizzy. "With you, I mean." He looked at his boots, too afraid to meet her eyes. Despite what he'd done, he was still afraid of her rejection.

She raised her eyebrows, showing her bewilderment. "Me? But I thought—"

"Took you for granted," he finally admitted, blowing the air out of his lungs as he did so. He met her eyes so she would know he meant what he said. Damn, she was so beautiful. "Always"—he felt his knees buckling and canted slightly as he righted himself—"thought there would be more time. But there never is."

He scratched behind his ear. The pressure to keep speaking wouldn't let up, so he continued. "Been too scared to lose what we have. But really, it's you I don't wanna lose, Carol." He needed her to understand the truth of his words. He was ready for things to change.

"If bein' with him is what you really want... Ain't gonna screw that up for you. You deserve to be happy. Want you to be.

"Are you happy?" he asked her again, his tone notably serious. He needed the truth, whatever it was.

Their eyes were locked on each other. Hers were as wide as morning glories as she took in what he said. He stood there, breathless from his speech, from baring his soul, feeling vulnerable and unsteady as he waited for her response, trying to read her.

Her eyes darted back and forth almost fearfully as they searched his. "He makes me feel loved," she blurted out.

"How?" The question burst through his lips, hot and panicked like his breath. He wasn't sure he wanted to know, but he needed her to tell him what she needed.

"He hasn't pushed me away when I needed to be close. When I needed...comfort. For a long time, I just needed something...more." She looked away. "I know that sounds incredibly selfish."

"Nah, it don't." His tongue felt thick, almost numb. "I jus'—I didn't know that's how you felt."

"You think I didn't try to tell you?" The incredulity in her voice held a hint of sorrow. "Because I did. Like a hundred times. Or at least I think I tried."

He thought back to all the teasing and flirting she did with him at the prison that suddenly had taken on another meaning. "Yeah," he agreed, blinking rapidly as the truth in her words finally penetrated him. "You prob'ly did. Guess I'm jus' thick-headed."

"Well, at least we can agree on that." She winked at him and pursed her lips into a sad sort of smirk, taking some of the sting out of the blow.

He tried to smile at her even though it hurt to. Shit, Denise was right. He'd been a fucking coward. The guilt hardened in his chest as he realized how he had let Carol down. It pressed on him, giving him a sinking feeling.

"Jus' didn't think you were bein' serious is all. Didn't understand—Hell, didn't believe it. M'sorry."

She shook her head, kindly refusing his apology. It was just like her to take him off the hook for all his social gaffes. His inadequacies. He didn't deserve her. His stomach knotted, his dread growing as he realized he'd blown his opportunity. She had moved on, but he still couldn't let go.

Carol smiled sadly, and her eyes grew distant again. It set Daryl off, drew him in closer.

"Gimme a chance?" God, that was pathetic. Might as well have dropped to his knees. Then again, he reflected, maybe he ought to. All his muscles grew taut and rigid as he froze in his uncertainty, barely breathing as he gazed into her eyes.

She blinked once. Then again before replying. "I—I don't know if I can."

The words fell down into the hollow pit in his chest. Chewing on the inside of his lip, he nodded at her, only half-accepting them. Regret was burning in his eyes, threatening to spill. She didn't really mean that, did she? He stopped breathing and shifted his feet, shoving his hands into his pockets, unsure why he was still standing there, begging like the sad dog he was. But he was stranded, caught in the murky blue of her eyes, feeling like he was drowning as the pressure in his chest grew. Maybe it was his defiance that kept him rooted to the spot, but something in him refused to walk away. His fingers brushed against the toy soldier, and in that moment he knew he had to fight back. He had to make things right between them again.

Compelled by a hopeless fear, he rushed forward, obliterating the space between them. With her face in both hands, he pulled her closer, crushing his lips against hers, pouring out his pent-up soul, flooding her with his desperation; he kissed her with a wild urgency that sent him careening heart-first into oblivion.

He fought for her with everything he had, laying his pride on the battlefield, surrendering himself to his desire. As his fingers brushed across her cheeks, he felt her lean into his lips, and a powerful surge of heat and electricity ignited inside him. The tangible intensity of it shocked him into sobriety.

When he pulled back to search her eyes, desperate for some look of approval, all he saw was her confusion. Her fingers absently went to her swollen lips as he waited breathlessly for a signal. His heart hammered in his ears, but his hands were still cupping her face, his thumbs gently caressing the soft skin of her cheeks. It felt like hours that he waited in limbo, his body tense and aching with anticipation, gripping her with the fiercest need for affirmation that he'd ever felt. He was unable to let her go.

"I didn't...I don't…" Carol stumbled to find the words. "I can't." Pulling away from him, she stepped back, out of his grasp. "I'm sorry." Turning away, she slipped into the shadows and ran off into the coming night.