Author's Note: Seriously so overwhelmed by the response to this story! I appreciate everyone that takes the time to read it and I absolutely love hearing your thoughts so please leave a review! I definitely plan on continuing with this story so stay tuned! I hope you like this chapter!
Daryl Dixon couldn't remember ever being so shocked in his life, he never expected something like that to come out of a woman like Carol. Before he could get himself in check a small chuckle had escaped as his eyes finally settled on hers. His face was still a bit red but now held a smirk, "Alright, then I aint sorry."
Carol was surprised by the quiet laugh that he let slip, she looked up him and smiled before continuing on with her work. He seemed slightly more relaxed with her, his posture less rigid, his knuckles no longer gripping the edge of the counter so tightly. She glanced up at his face once more and was shocked to find him watching her intently before he quickly looked past her shoulder again, knowing he'd been caught. He had been studying her face, taking in the delicate bone structure and the soft blue of her eyes, he'd even chanced a peek at the constellation of freckles across her chest.
Taking advantage of his semi-relaxed state, Carol looked at him once more, "So, I've been wondering…"
Daryl prepared himself for her to ask about the scars covering his body, panic beginning to surge through his veins, he was ready to flee.
"Who's Norman?"
His eyes met hers again, she was looking up at him, patiently waiting for his response. He finally let out the breath he'd been holding, relief hitting him in waves. He was covered in dozens of scars, varying in shape and size, and she acted like she didn't even notice. She just wanted to know about the damn name over his heart. Relief was replaced with embarrassment as he shyly ducked his head, "My dog."
It was Carols turn to be shocked, she let out a loud giggle "Your dog?", she asked incredulously. This rugged, seemingly harsh man had his dog's name tattooed across his chest. He was certainly full of surprises.
For the second time that morning Daryl Dixon smirked, the corner of his mouth turning up, the faint threat of a smile, "Well ya don't gotta laugh", trying to feign agitation.
Carol's giggle quickly turned to a full on laugh at the indignant look forming on his face, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm not laughing at you", trying to control her laughter, "It's just that you seem like one of those survivalist, macho type that can kill a bear with a rock and a toothpick, not the type to have a tattoo of their dogs name. Must be some dog."
"I was drunk when I got it," he eyed her carefully, waiting for her reaction.
His response set off a whole new fit of giggles, this time he couldn't prevent the smile that formed as he felt the warmth that was spreading in his chest from the sound, a small bit of pride bubbling up knowing he had a hand in making her eyes light up and her nose scrunch with laughter. Her smiles made him feel brave, he offered up information without being asked, "Found him a few years ago, some asshole left him tied to a dumpster, he was just a pup, only a few months old. I didn't plan on keepin 'im but the little shit took to me I guess, followed me around like I was his mama."
Carol smiled warmly at the man in front of her, surprised at the story he freely gave up but not so surprised at the caring heart that was cautiously hidden beneath his dogs name. All the sutures were removed but she was still standing against his knee, willing the moment to continue but knowing it had to end. She stepped away, clearing her throat, "Well you're all set, try not to fall on any more arrows," she smiled wistfully.
Daryl was counting the tiles that lined the kitchen floor, not wanting to leave, which struck him as odd, normally he couldn't wait to get away from most people. He contemplated the strange feeling, refusing to look up. Then he remembered something she had mentioned on the phone yesterday, "Your car. Ya said there's somethin wrong with it, I could take a look. Don't know a lot bout cars, just the basics, but I might be able to tell ya what's wrong. Go to a shop and they just gonna rip ya off, sell ya all kinds a shit ya don't need", he looked at her cautiously.
Shock and relief flooded her system, she had assumed he would bolt the second the last stitch was cut free but he seemed almost reluctant to leave and then he offered to look at her car. Full of surprises, indeed.
"Uh, yeah ok, that would be great actually," she leaned against the counter top, watching him jump down and put the battered sleeveless button up back on.
She had washed the same plate at least six times, just so she had an excuse to be at the sink, looking out the window. She was chewing on her bottom lip, absently drying the plate, and watching the strange man bent under the hood of her old jeep. She put away the dishes and walked outside as he was slamming the hood down.
"Just some wiring was loose, should be fine now," he squinted into the sunlight, hands on his hips, "See there some fence that's startin to rot over there, that the wood for it?" he asked pointing to a pile of wood next to the garage.
She knew he felt indebted to her and was just trying to even up, "Daryl, you don't have to do this, you don't owe me anything. Really."
His jaw was squared as he continued looking at the pile of two by fours, Carol knew he wouldn't give in. "Fine... But I'm making you dinner."
His head whipped around, "Don't need you makin' me dinner."
Carol crossed her arms, hip popped out, "And I don't need you fixin' my fence."
Daryl 's eyes were narrowed, thinking over the proposition, sensing that she wouldn't budge on the issue, "Fine."
Carol smiled triumphantly as he stomped off towards the garage, mumbling to himself, "…stubborn ass woman…"
She was at the window again, watching as he meticulously replaced each board, she knew she should be ashamed of herself, watching him like that, but he made it difficult not to. His hair was sticking out every which way, the summer sun making him sweat, his strong arms swinging the hammer effortlessly. She grabbed a towel and two beers from the fridge and took them out to the patio table that was already set with the dinner she made. Daryl put the tools back in the garage and cautiously approached the patio, his nervousness returning, he'd never had dinner with a woman before, most of his meals were eaten alone in his kitchen, standing over the sink.
"Here, I brought you a towel if you wanted to…" but he had already started to wipe his hands on the front of his jeans, "…or not," she finished silently.
She sat, gestured for him to do the same, "I hope beer is ok."
He nodded, "S'fine," taking a long pull from the bottle. She started eating so he figured he should as well.
She sat across from him, in awe, watching him shovel the food into his mouth at an alarming rate, arm curved around the plate like someone would try to take it from him. She knew he was nervous but he had yet to look at her since he started eating, and then he was done with his plate before she was even half way through hers. He finished off the beer, stared at the bottle, fiddling with the label, and then finally looked up at her sheepishly.
The air had cooled significantly, the sky streaked pink and orange from the setting sun was glowing behind her, she gave him a small, sweet smile, "Did you like it?"
"Yeah it was real good," he ducked his head again and went back to playing with the beer bottle.
She finished a few minutes later and began clearing the plates, he jumped up to help, "Sit, I got it. I'm just putting them in the sink, I'll wash them in the morning. Do you want another beer?"
"Sure," he opened the door for her and then sat back at the small wrought iron table.
The sound of the sliding glass door alerted him to her presence, he turned to see her approach, two beers in hand. She passed one to him and sat, looking out at the yard and her newly repaired fence.
"Never woulda guessed you were a beer drinker," he knew you were supposed to talk in these types of settings.
She gave a breathy chuckle, "I never used to. Never used to do a lot of things." She frowned, remembering her old life, "My husband used to beat the hell out of me, never let me do anything. So when he died, I decided that I wasn't going to be afraid of anything anymore, I was gonna do whatever I wanted."
Daryl knew shock was written all over his face but he couldn't help it. That's why she seemed unfazed by his scars, didn't ask about them, she probably had just as many. A sudden swell of rage rose up, hatred for a man he would never meet, it made his legs tense and hands shake. How could someone ever hurt this woman? How could a man that was supposed to protect and care for her ever lay a hand on her? He knew what kind of man her husband had been, he was raised by one just like him, the thought made him sick.
Carol could see every emotion written on his face, his mind racing, maybe she shouldn't have mentioned Ed. She was growing concerned by the faraway look in his eyes and they way his hands gripped the arm rests of the chair, "Hey, it's alright. He's been dead a long time, all my pain and fears buried with him. I hardly ever think about the bastard anymore," she smiled, trying to lighten the mood.
The sound of her voice brought him back to the moment, he took a long swig of beer, "Well then good fuckin' riddance to 'im."
The rest of the evening had been filled with comfortable silences and the exchange of a few words before he stood suddenly, stating that he should go home. She knew the dinner and conversation had been somewhat difficult for him but she had appreciated the effort. She stood at the gate, waving goodbye as he drove away in his beat up old pickup. Later that night she lay in bed with a bit of sadness in her heart knowing she would probably never see him again. Sleep did not come easy for her.
Daryl Dixon found sleep elusive, lying on threadbare sheets, his mind replaying every moment spent with Carol. Making her laugh, the dinner, her husband, her daughter. He thought back to everything she said and all the things he said in return. And all the things he hadn't said.
Carol shot upright in bed, woken by a pounding on her front door. She pulled a pale blue cardigan over the tank top and cotton shorts she slept in and looked at the clock, it read 5:56am. She snatched up the baseball bat that was kept in her bedroom closet and ran down the stairs as the pounding continued, looking through the peep hole she was shocked to find Daryl pacing her front porch, his hands running through his unruly hair. She set the bat down, unbolting the door before pulling it open, "Daryl? What are you doing here? It's six in the morning!"
He stopped his pacing and looked up, Christ, she was beautiful. And he was an idiot. He didn't know what the hell he was thinking coming here, she didn't wanna see him again.
"Daryl, is everything alright?"
He was chewing on his thumb, eyes on her bare feet, "I uh..I never said thank you. Fer takin out the stitches. And fer dinner…so…thank you." His eyes hesitantly rose to meet hers. He watched a smile bloom across her delicate features.
"Oh…well, you're welcome," she said from the doorway.
He gave a quick nod, "Ok," and turned toward his truck.
She frowned, confusion marring her face, "Well wait…do you wanna come in? I can make coffee."
"No," he continued walking toward his truck, realizing he probably sounded rude, he added, "I gotta go ta work."
"Oh…ok," she couldn't help but feel disappointed and then she was struck with a thought, "Hey! I got a leaky faucet that needs fixin tonight, if you're interested, that is?"
She stepped out onto the porch and chewed her lip nervously, pulling the cardigan tighter, waiting for his reply.
Daryl stopped halfway between the porch and his truck, his back to her, he paused for a minute, not sure how to respond. Without turning to face her he called out, "Yeah, I could probably do that," and continued on to his truck. He drove down the street lined with tall trees, on his way to work, not bothering to fight the grin forming.
He was having dinner with Carol again.