(Hello lovely readers! I've flicked this back down to T rating now. :) Feels better on this setting. Hope you guys are enjoying my fic, I'm enjoying the idea that you're enjoying it… Yes. Looking forwards to tomorrow's TWD episode, so I'm filling in my time writing this for you! Happy reading! Oh, one small thing, while flicking through the TWD wiki I remembered they made Dr Stevens a woman in the show but he's better as a man, like the Comics, so that's what he will be! Thanks!)

Chapter Four; Scream

It's like my patience is worse than the situation
So I keep a straight face and scream…

He paced around the cell block frantically, counting the time in seconds. She was somewhere out there, frightened, alone. He had followed a very abrupt trail of footprints, boot scuffs and blood to the gates, where a tiny hole had been cut and escaped through, just the right size for Carol to squeeze into and not attract any attention from the hordes she had fought to get past. Somehow she had weaved her way between the masses of undead and clipped her way out without killing any Walkers, though Daryl had to kill a few dozen before a path became clear to follow her. And now, as he paced, contemplating the scenario over and over in his busy mind, the other's words were dull echoes.

"We can't risk following her." That was the general gist of it. He couldn't believe what he was hearing, the sound of his feet pounding against the ground growing steadily louder as he became frantic in his laps of the same square foot of cellblock floor. The group continued to hurriedly chatter, cautiously watching him out of the corner of their eyes as though observing a tiger pacing the boundaries of its cage. He could smell his own sweat dripping like tears down his face, stinging in the cuts and scrapes of battle. He padded up and down, his eyes wide and his teeth grinding together. One by one, they would have to tackle him and fight him to the floor to stop him hunting for her, he had to find her. If only he could think of the right words.

'That's your little girl.'
'That's not my little girl. It's some other... thing. My Sophia was lost in the woods. All this time, I thought. But she didn't go hungry. She didn't cry herself to sleep. She didn't try to find her way back. Sophia died a long time ago.'

It stung him, as though something sharp and solid had been forced through his ribcage. It was the same thing. Only this time they had lost his little girl. My Carol is lost in the woods. His head span and the others could only fall into silence, watching his world collapse and his eyes flicker with hints of both pure rage and pure regret. If only he had the right words. He'd been to too many funerals, lost too much that he loved. What if, somewhere, she was lost. Hungry, alone. Crying herself to sleep. What if she'd hurt herself. His mind filled with a concoction of horrors, what if something terrible had happened to her?

'You're his henchman and I'm a burden. You deserve better.'

Of course, she had meant 'we deserve better'. The need was plain, simple. She wanted him to herself. His heart had screamed that he should follow her to the ends of the Earth, with or without Rick yet his brain had been focussed on survival for so long. He wanted something real with her, to build them a life. It was the first time he had been thinking straight, and he knew it had also been the wrong time. Their world was collapsing, everything was being torn apart and he was concerned with priorities. He had known she was entirely smitten; perhaps he had been buying time, waiting for the right moment to say it. To tell her how he felt and finally commit himself to her. If only he had the words.

"To love Carol felt like I was going crazy." The words were croaky, squeaky. The group fell into dormant silence and stared at him. Love? He blinked a few times and met their eyes, seriousness etched onto his face and a naive gaze of complete honesty and fear. They listened, attentive. "…Woman made me crazy. You know this winter, when the first snow started to fall and we took a scouting mission, just me and her... I watched her catch snowflakes on her nose and leave fresh footprints in the snow, like a kid. There's me, totally focussed and she's there playing. Every icy drop that fell from the sky she tried to catch on her tongue. She must've been freezing; galloping about in the snow and all I could do was watch, dumbstruck and eventually tell her she was being stupid yet it wounded me to stop her." He paused for a minute, unsure where he was going with his argument. Then he shook it off and continued, now past the point of no return. "In the beginning of Spring, when the world and it's Walkers started to thaw and everything went back to hell, I watched her exploring a field with Carl, ya remember? He was there, his face like rock, drifting around a field with a gun by his side while she picked the prettiest, pinkest flowers she could find because she knew how defeated everyone felt. Then she came home and wrapped one around the handlebars of my bike, pushed one into Lori's hair and decorated the cars inside. I brushed it off without even thinking, it wasn't survival, it wasn't useful but it was her way of keeping us all going. She was the washer of clothes, she cooked what I caught, she took care of the kids and none of it seems to matter to any of you. She watched her daughter slump out of a barn as a Walker, can you imagine how that must feel? But all you seemed to care about was tha' Shane was to blame. But she bounced back, all this time, she's been a burden? To you all? But she had a way of finding joy in every little thing. She was… MY joy."

The group fell silent. The guy who scarcely spoke a word. It was as though his whole frustrated, pent up mind had spilled out of his mouth. Beth's eye held a single, sorry tear. He stopped, his breathing heavy, watching the group like a rabbit caught in headlights, entirely uncertain what the reaction to the outpouring of his heart would bring. He'd done the same, once, to Merle and his brother had sneered for days. He was so afraid of his feelings, of the group taking him for a fool that it had blinded his fondness for everyone he held dear. It only occurred to him then how painful life had been for him and how important Carol was, not only in every way he had already said but also the way he felt completely unembarrassed when he poured his heart out to her.

'What do you want?'
'A man of honor.'

The words hit him like a bullet in his gut. It was decided.

"Well, she matters to me." He continued, when the group fell silent. "I feel for you, all of you, who have lost your loved ones. How often in this world do we get the chance to find them? Wouldn' you do anything to get that chance?" He paused, allowing the words to soak in. "But y'know. I'll do it alone."

He turned away abruptly, there was nothing further to say. He stopped only for an instant on the perch to find his bow and knife, bundling them up into trembling hands. His brow crumpled and sopping with sweat, he headed for the exit, but found himself stopped.

"Daryl." Glenn. "I'll come. I'd go through any level of hell if it was Maggie."

"Daryl." Rick. "I'll come too. I've been through worse for my wife and son."

"Daryl." Carl. "Can I come?"

"No." Rick.

'Daryl.' Carol's voice. Not real. Fictitious. Imaginary. Hearing voices. 'Save me, please.' He shut his eyes and prayed he could find her, hear her voice again. For real.

She screamed. It was a long, low pitched scream which he hadn't meant to let her make. People on the streets of Woodbury stopped, their faces turned to the upper story windows of the hospital. They began to talk. She screamed again. Most rushed onwards, their heads down. What they didn't know wouldn't hurt them. But one stopped, dropped her bag and her mouth moulded into a tight 'o' of surprise.

Andrea could have sworn that was Carol's voice.

The screaming stopped completely. Yet there she remained, stricken with fear. Was she insane? Often the screams coming from that building were of strangers they found on the roads outside, she didn't know what their complaint was but she knew something wrong was happening in there. Usually, she remained amongst the crowds with their heads down, scuttling along out of fear or negligence or complacency. Why would Carol be there?

Doc. Stevens struggled to shut the windows as he tried to block the sound spilling onto the street below. The tiny, wriggling woman in front of him was staring into his eyes with malice, her teeth clenched and grinding furiously. It wouldn't be a shock if she had been bitten and turned, each feature was uncharacteristically feral.

"Now, Carol. Be quiet. I need to make sure you're in a good state of health." He exhaled gently as she growled. He hated this job. She looked a lot like a woman he used to know, he'd had a crush on her, thought she was beautiful. She went down with Woodbury long before the Governor. He patted Carol's head lightly, trying to convey the amount of grief he felt for her. "I don't like doing this." He muttered, pulling her head back and staring into her eyes. The blue appeared greyer somehow, giving her the impression it was fading from her eyes. She looked exhausted to say the least. "I can give you food, are you hungry?" He persisted, receiving a deathly look in response. "I'll take that as a no. Now, let me have a look at this."

The wound was red, inflamed, angry. Merle had cut into her breast with the sharp, foreboding claw-hand, just enough to draw blood and through negligence allow an infection to set in. She screamed again, quieter this time when he touched it, hardly able to formulate words. She was in hell.

"St…" She began. "Stevens." She looked at him, her eyes full of sorrow. "Let me go home to my daughter, and Daryl?"

He sighed and touched a hand to her forehead. She was feverish and delirious. That was good, the Woodbury goons would have to leave her alone, or she risked some serious illness. At least she wasn't dead. He'd heard stories that the Governor had gone so far and become so enthusiastic with the mistreatments that in his frustration that he'd slaughtered several individuals by accident. That was one of the things stopping him from fleeing, actually. He'd hunt him down and kill him.

"Carol." He muttered gently. The knock on the door broke him from his sentence and he whirled around rapidly. The bedside curtain was pulled around her swiftly, hiding her from view. She closed her eyes and listened. Another knock, more frantic this time. Then a voice. It felt as though that voice had been there forever, like a song from childhood which guides you to sleep, the fondest of memories. A wave of relief, she was saved at last, they could leave this hell hole.

Andrea.