Chapter 4

AN- Thanks so much for all the reviews, follows and favorites, I am feeling the love! Hope you enjoy, much more to come!

It was over quicker than I wanted. The loss of her heat on me, however brief, was painful.

She pulled away. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have." She spoke, eyes down cast, face flushed. She stood quickly and paused a moment. "Let's sweep the house. Look for things we could use."

Unsure what to do, it took me a minute to stand and follow her. She had gone upstairs and was picking through the medicine cabinet in the master bathroom.

"Lots of band aids, antibiotic cream, ace bandages, hydrogen peroxide, iodine, the works."

She listed them out in a strange voice, like she wasn't happy they were there. I approached her slowly, offering a bag to store the supplies in. She tossed them in and we went to the next room, master bedroom.

I start goin' through drawers, find some girly mags and some booze. Whoever lived here was a pig. Carol goes through the other nightstand slowly, spending a lot of time looking over things.

We've done this so many times, all through Lori's pregnancy it was goin' house to house, clearin' them, gettin' what we could get and then high tailin' it when the herd showed up. We'd found some interesting shit.

"Anything good in there?" I ask but she just makes a little noise.

I don't know why but my gut told me to get her talking. Since she went upstairs I could feel her withdrawing, and it didn't set right with me.

"Who do you think lived here?" It was a game we used to play sometime. Crass, I know but usually made for good conversation.

"Not sure." She said. "Who do you think lived here?"

"Hmm. Lemme think on that. Let's see…one family home, two bedrooms. Married couple with a kid or two. Dad seems like a wank."

"What kind of woman do you think lived here?"

He voice still sounded funny. Anything to keep her talkin'. I went to the closet and looked in. The wife's clothes were plain, covered up.

Something about this house kinda reminded me of my own growin' up. Maybe that's why it called to me. It's got those walls with patches in them. The corners where someone missed a few flecks of blood. The lingering stench of liquor, spilled and seeped into the hardwood. I flinch as I realize someone was beat in this house. Often and over years. Like I was.

"I think she was a survivor."

She didn't react, she just stood and went to the next room.

"I think that's all we're going to get out of there."

"You don't want to take any clothes? They look about your size."

"No."

We went into the kids room. We used to skip these sometimes for a few reasons. One, they're depressing as hell, but more importantly they usually don't have anything of much use to us. But we got kids at the prison now, maybe a toy or somethin' would be worth bringing back.

But Carol wasn't looking through the room, she was just looking at it. So I did too. It was painted a bright shade of purple. A couple of butterflies decorated the walls.

She looks so sad. Man, this is why we usually skip these rooms. I start diggin' through drawers, looking for anything.

"Don't bother. You won't find anything." She says too calmly. An' the pieces start fittin' together. And it hits me.

"This was Sophia's room. This was your house."

Waves of pain crash over me as my eyes are drawn to a teddy bear on the bed. It ain't fucking fair. She should still be here, she should still be in this room. Not bein' able to save that lil' girl was a crushing blow. I dealt with it, now well, but I dealt with it. I was harsh with Carol, I beat the piss out of Randall, but I dealt with it. Not Carol. She just tucked that pain away and has been walking on top of it ever since.

It's all I can do to turn and look at her. Her eyes are stone. My mind is goin' crazy, tryin' to process where I am right now, and how to get the woman I love to finally face her daughter's death. I want to scream. I want to shake her. But I know that would never reach to the core of her and that's all I want to do right now. But I don't know how to do it. My frustration gets the better of me.

"Bet there's sometin' here we could use. How about this?"

I take a photograph album from a book shelf and throw it at her feet. It's all I can do.

I run down to the basement and spend much more time than I need to sweepin' it. Finally I go back upstairs. Already I can hear her cryin', I take it as a good sign.

I walk into Sophia's old room. Her momma's curled up on her bed, clutchin' the photograph book I threw at her feet and lookin' at one particular photo.

An' I'm relieved, she's started to feel it. And ready as always to help her in whatever way I can.

I approach her slowly. Take the book from her and put it back on the shelf. I sit on the bed and wordlessly let her lean into me. I kiss her forehead

"I'm sorry." I look at the picture she's holdin'. It's the two of them, not so long ago.

"This is the last picture of her. The very last. My little angel,,,"

"You were a good Mom." I tell her. "Sophia, she was a good kid. If none of this nonsense went down, she would have grown up to be one clever beauty, just like her momma. It's not your fault." I say firmly.

"It doesn't matter why or how or when. My baby's gone."

"I know. And I know you miss her. But we got other babies back at the prison that need you. What you did, the other's will have to understand that was for the group." I shake my head. "Worst come to worst it'll just be us on our own. Might even be easier that way, just the two of us."

I don't know why I say it. It just comes out in a whisper.

"All I know is I ain't leavin' you alone."

We sit like that for a while. Then she say's "I'm tired. There's a pull out couch downstairs. Probably some blankets left in the closet, I'll go see. I'm not sleeping in that bed." Can't say I blame her.

She goes downstairs and I take a moment to look through the album. I almost wish I hadn't. Seein' Sophia again through those photographs was killin' me.

Could only imagine the kind of pain it brought on her. I follow her downstairs. She's in full housewife mode, probably filling out an action she'd done many times before, fitt'n sheets on the guest bed.

Normally I wouldn't, but I just lay down on the bed she set. "Mmm…better than those prison beds.

She lies down on the other side. But I have a feeling for what's going to happen, for what always happens.

It starts off with us layin' apart. We always did this when we had to sleep outside on the road, we'd sleep close together for safety. Then one of us would kinda like, drift towards the other.

One night back when we were out there, we had a close call and lost a bag of blankets. Since then she's woken up every morning with either my poncho or vest on her. I can't stand the thought of her cold.

Sure enough by mornin' time, we're curled up together, her slender back along my stomach, my arms wrapped across her body, holdin' her tight.

You just can't fight nature sometimes. And suddenly it pulls at me. I haved loved this woman for almost a year, but I have never told her. I've cared for her, I protected her, saved her life a dozen times, all of that seems easy compared to telling her what she should know.

I feel her body against me, feel the rhymic cycles of her inhales and exhales. She's got to be asleep.

I practice whispering quietly, "I love you, Carol."

The words feel smooth and warm in my mouth. One day…

AN-I've written for a few other ships, and Caryl is the hardest so far. They are so awkward but awesome and I'm trying to keep them canon. I sincerely hope you enjoy my efforts. I live for reviews!