First I'd like to state how shocked I am at how great a reception this has gotten so far. The positivity is keeping me very motivated! With the holidays fast impending, I'm not going to be able to write as often or as much. The chapters may get shorter and/or less frequent, but I'm going to try my best to keep everything as regular as possible. Enjoy!

Life at the prison seemed to be returning to normal. Beth and Carl would play card games with slips of paper they'd drawn on with pen, Judith would scream and cry until someone finally fed her (and then she'd scream and cry some more until she fell asleep), Rick was constantly scrambling around trying to install new safety improvements, Daryl would take his crossbow out into the woods and catch dinner, and Carol would cook whatever Daryl brought back. Hershel rested most of the time, but his medical contributions were irreplaceable. Axel did whatever task Rick appointed to him. Merle drawled on and on about nonsense from his cell until it became nothing more than background noise.

Carol didn't look forward to her visits with him. He didn't like anyone at the prison, but he had some kind of particular abhorrence for Carol. Maybe it was because she was a woman holding authority over him. Maybe it was because he could sense her deep bond with Daryl. Whatever it was, Merle always seemed to have some hateful gleam in his eye when she delivered him his meals. It was almost like he was mocking her. And every time she would collect the cutlery and bowls afterwards, he would make some snide comment about her cooking. She brushed the remarks off easily, though, because he always finished every last bite.

Daryl was still bothered by the fact that Carol wouldn't speak to him. He was starting to worry he'd lost her for good. It was hard to try to accept, since she was right there in his sight. But it seemed she wanted nothing to do with him. He remembered being in the Woodbury arena, his hands bound firmly behind his back, enclosed by fifty people chanting for his death, recalling how he'd told Carol to stay safe and how ironic it was.

He remembered when he'd laid a Cherokee rose on her grave, no body beneath the dirt, reminded of when he went looking for Sophia in the woods and found a cluster of the snow-white flowers growing in a bush. He plucked one from its stem and placed it in a beer bottle, sheepishly gifting it to Carol in the RV. She looked so forlorn, sitting there and gazing out the window, wondering if her baby was starving or cold or terrified or… dead. The sadness was still heavy in her eyes and it would be a long time before it was lifted. He had been so sure he would find Sophia…so sure he'd pick up a fresh trail and follow it, only to find her hiding in the foliage, traumatized but alive, and he'd carry her back to her mama. But it never happened like that. And then Carol was missing too and he wondered why would the outcome be any different?

But he found her. He did. Against all odds, she was there, in the closet, drained completely of strength but still clinging to awareness. She was a fighter and she always had been. Hell, she'd been fighting to survive long before the apocalypse ever happened. After an abusive marriage that seemed more like a fifteen-year-long battle, putting a pickaxe through Ed's skull was her first victory. Not letting life's cruel games defeat her was the next. And struggling through cramped hallways reeking of rotten flesh and crawling with walkers armed with nothing but a little knife was her latest. But forgiving Daryl for bringing his foul-mouthed, vile-tempered brother back from Woodbury was proving to be one obstacle Carol Peletier couldn't trounce. At least, that's what Daryl thought.

It was a sunny day after a bout of grumbling skies and pouring rain, so Daryl figured he'd take Carl out and show him the basics of using a crossbow. He wasn't nearly old or strong enough, but he was really interested in it and Daryl figured it wouldn't hurt to spend a bit of time with the kid. His dad hadn't been doing so hot since Lori's death and the only person Carl really got to hang out with was Beth. Daryl figured the little squirt would appreciate the company of another guy instead of a hormone-ridden teenage girl.

"You see, kid, you gotta pull this string up an' lock it in place,"

Carl watched as Daryl demonstrated. Cicadas were buzzing in the treetops and little beads of sweat were forming on both of their temples. Carl could feel his insides slowly roasting. Daryl was used to ignoring the heat, but he couldn't ignore the lingering tension. Carl was completely silent as Daryl picked up one of the bolts and seated it.

"You listenin', kid, or am I jus' entertainin' myself?"

Carl shifted, peering up at Daryl from behind the wide brim of his daddy's hat.

"Why aren't you talkin' to Carol?" he asked.

Daryl stared at Carl, not knowing how to respond.

"She won' talk to me. Not the other way 'round." Daryl explained at last before going on about crossbow safety. But Carl wasn't so interested in learning about crossbows anymore. He was far more curious about other things. He pretended to pay attention before presenting Daryl with another inquiry.

"Is it 'cause of Merle?"

Daryl sighed, remembering why he normally kept his distance from children. Carl was truly like a little brother to Daryl, and he certainly didn't lack in annoyingness.

"Hey, why don' you go pester someone else? I got things to do."

Daryl promptly stood up, trying to convey the message that crossbow lessons were over. But Carl persisted, following him around like a shadow.

"'Cause Beth and I kind of have a bet goin' on, and I think I'm gonna win."

"Yeah, an' what bet would that be?"

Daryl plopped down on the ground, pulling the red rag out of his pocket and wiping his face with it. Carl sat down next to him. They watched a few walkers ambling around beyond the fence.

"I think you two aren't talking 'cause of Merle. 'Cause he doesn't want you to be friends with anybody but him." Carl explained. Daryl couldn't decide if he found what Carl had told him to be ridiculous and far-fetched or scarily accurate. "And Beth…she thinks it's 'cause you two are in love."

Daryl stared, stunned, at Carl, who didn't seem to notice. He was using a stick to draw lines in the sandy gravel. He seemed oblivious to what he'd just said. No, not oblivious—casual. Like the thought of Carol and Daryl being in love with each other was no big deal. Like love was no big deal.

"Yeah? An' how does she figure that?"

Carl kept his eyes on the swirls he was tracing. "'Cause when people are in love, they act funny around each other. That's what Beth says, anyway."

Daryl stood up promptly. Carl jumped up with him, but decided not to follow him. Instead he stood there and watched as Daryl stomped off as if he had very important things to tend to.

"Where are you going?" Carl called, craning his neck and standing on his toes to see if anyone was waiting for Daryl at the side door of the prison. Maybe someone had yelled for him. But as far as Carl could see, that wasn't the case. He wondered if it was something he said. Maybe Daryl didn't like talking about love.

"I dunno know." Daryl replied over his shoulder. But it was a lie. Daryl knew exactly where he was going.

.:|:.

Carol hummed softly to herself as she sorted through the contents of the supply closet. She'd forgotten the name of the song and the lyrics too but remembered the melody. Carol couldn't believe how many pairs of blue jumpsuits could fit in such a small space. She removed them, placing them in a pile by the door. They were in desperate need of new clothing, but she didn't plan on using them for that. They already felt enough like inmates without wearing the garments too. But she could still repurpose them. She had needles, thread, and a pair of rusty fabric scissors. Maybe she could cut them into squares and fashion a blanket.

Carol was so entangled in her own thoughts that she didn't even hear Daryl's footfalls or notice when they stopped. She had no idea he was even inside the prison until she closed the closet door and jumped when she discovered him standing there, arms crossed, looking very demanding. She gasped, surprised, and clutched her chest in relief.

"I didn't see you there." She remarked softly as she bent to grab a handful of jumpsuits.

"You speakin' to me again, or are you jus' teasin'?"

Daryl's tone of voice took Carol by surprise. Over the past seven months, he'd been so gentle with her. Even the way he spoke to her was tender and caring. But for the first time in a long while, his tone of voice towards her was harsh and patronizing. Carol knew him well enough to know that that meant he was hurt. Carol also knew she'd helped inflict that hurt. But what could she do? She wasn't ignoring him to hurt him. She was doing it to protect him.

"This got somethin' to do with Merle?" Daryl asked sharply. Carol's eyes moved up his body and then over at Merle's cell. She decided it was far enough away to where she could temporarily drop her guard.

"I realized somethin', Daryl, and I want to tell you, believe me I do, but Merle's watchin' me. He's always watchin' me. And I know if he finds out, he'll give you hell." She explained, wavering on many words, struggling to piece together a coherent sentence. Daryl's eyes softened a bit and he unfolded his arms, dipping his hands into his pockets.

"Well, Merle ain't gonna find out, now is he?" Daryl said. His voice had warmed a good deal, but when Carol still looked unsure, Daryl found himself becoming anxious. He rocked on his heels.

"Come on, Carol! I…I thought we were friends!"

Daryl's words panged Carol's heart. He sounded so upset. In fact, Carol wasn't sure she'd ever seen Daryl Dixon so distressed. Maybe back at the rock quarry after Rick cuffed Merle to the rooftop in Atlanta and they returned without him, when he was constantly storming around with mist in his eyes and a huff in his breath. The fact that she was the only other person that could draw out Daryl Dixon's true emotions made her feel incredibly guilty and sadistically satisfied because it meant he cared about her more than she ever thought.

"Maybe that's a part of it, Daryl—what if I don't want to be 'just friends'?! What if…what if…" Carol felt more tears spring to her eyes, partly out of frustration at herself for not being able to squeeze out three little words. But she would not grant those tears release. "What if…what if I love you?"

Daryl's breath caught in his throat as Carol stared at him. Her eyes reminded him of the ocean: wide, deep, glossy and blue. He didn't know what to say. His mouth just kind of hung open, his lips quivering but no sound coming out. Carol gathered more jumpsuits. With a mountain of fraying fabric in her arms, she turned to leave.

"Wait! Carol!" he stuttered, and to his surprise Carol didn't hesitate a bit before she spun to face him. She walked back towards him, a proud sway in the way she held her hips. "I-" was the only thing he had time to say before she silenced him with a small, gentle kiss. This time, he didn't even flinch. And that was Carol's fourth victory.