Daryl never thought that he'd be working with Negan.
He'd killed Glenn and Abraham.
He'd had him imprisoned.
But Negan had a plan, and it was the only one they'd got.
As soon as he was free, Daryl hopped onto his bike and headed for the Kingdom. Negan had wanted him to talk to the communities. He may as well start there.
He needed to see Carol. What they'd had was real, he'd felt it.
He couldn't let her run away. He knew her. She'd be guilty, she'd be scared. She'd run.
He needed to tell her that it was ok.
But she wasn't there to greet him at the gates.
Ezekiel was. The sight of him clenched Daryl's stomach.
"Good morning, Daryl." He bellowed in his phony English accent. "To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?"
Daryl parked his bike and tried to swallow his annoyance. How could Carol put up with this on a daily basis.
"Need to talk 'bout the Whisperers." He walked over to Ezekiel, and tried to hide the emotion in his voice as he asked, "Carol here?"
The King widened his eyes. "She is not. I was under the impression that she was with you?"
"She ain't." Daryl's heart pounded as panic rose inside him. "Left early this mornin'."
"Did she say where?"
Daryl tried to quiet his fears. Carol's strong. She can take care of herself.
He was pacing. "Thought she was goin' back to ya."
"And you did not see her en route?"
Daryl couldn't admit that he didn't know what en route meant. Anger mixed with panic as he snapped, "I wouldn't be askin' ya, would I?"
He ignored his bike, choosing to walk, instead, through the Kingdom's gates.
"Stay, Daryl. She will be here soon."
He didn't look back. "Ya dunno wha's out there."
Carol reached for her knife and gripped it, ready, as she searched the cottage. Though she tried to step lightly, the old floorboards were creaky. She heard a scuffle upstairs.
It was quick, quiet. That's no walker.
She reached for her pistol, aiming at the intruder.
Daryl squatted tracing the shape of a horse's hoof. It was the first sign he'd had of her.
He tracked the horse's movements. It appeared to be heading towards the Kingdom, and then went East. He recognized the area. It's where he'd tracked her before, two years ago.
The cottage.
Carol's hands were shaking as the intruder made his way down the stairs. She tried to keep them steady.
And then she saw his face.
It was Henry.
The boy was the reason she'd stayed in the Kingdom after the war. It was the first time she'd looked after a child of the apocalypse and been able to keep him alive.
He was now fourteen years old, and had matured not only into a competent warrior, but also a hormonal teenager who didn't want his "mom" telling him what to do.
"What are you doing?" Carol asked, her voice a little high pitches, as she holstered her weapon.
"None of your business." He glared, folding his arms. "Why are you here."
She ignored the question. "Does Ezekiel know where you are?"
"He doesn't need to. He's not my Dad."
The words stung. They'd tried their best to raise Henry. Ezekiel had taught him how to look after the Kingdom's animals and how to hold diplomatic meetings. Carol had taught him how to shoot, how to cook and helped him read. He may not have been blood, but they loved him like a son.
It didn't help that he looked just like Sophia, with his mousy hair and smattering of freckles. They could've been twins.
She buried the thought of her. She couldn't let herself grieve. Not now.
"We are responsible for you, Henry. We need to know you're ok."
"I'm not a kid," he pouted.
Before Carol could answer, she heard footsteps upstairs.
She raced up, reaching once again for her gun. Henry stood in the way.
"Don't."
"Who else is here?"
A pale, blonde girl stood at the top of the stairs. She looked around sixteen, and her looks and vulnerability reminded her of Beth.
Before Carol could comment on the face that two underage teenagers were alone together, a more prominent worry intruded her mind.
She'd never seen this girl before.
"Her name's Lydia," Henry stepped towards Carol, his arms motioning her to stop, to put her gun away.
But she couldn't. For as much as she didn't want to kill, for as much as she didn't want to kill a child, she'd done it before and she'd do it again, if it meant saving others.
She didn't know this girl, and she knew first hand how dangerous children could be. She couldn't risk her hurting Henry.
"Raise your arms," Carol ordered, "turn around."
Lydia looked shocked, but she obeyed. Carol could see a knife in her back pocket.
"Drop your weapon."
The girl complied, shaking as she did so. Carol felt guilt form in the pit of her stomach. But she had to be precautious. She had no idea where this child had come from, or who her allegiances were.
"Thank you," Carol put her pistol away. "I'm sorry. We need to be careful. I'm sure you understand."
Lydia nodded. She seemed so weak, so feeble. Carol wondered how she'd been able to survive on her own.
"It's ok," Carol coaxed, an unsettling feeling building. "you can come down. Let me help you."
She can't have been alone. So where was her group?
The deja vu was overwhelming as Daryl knocked on the cottage's door. He'd been so desperate to find her, to understand why she'd left Alexandria.
Now, he was desperate to find her, to understand why she'd left him.
He needed to know she was happy. And if that was with Ezekiel, fine. He'd respect that. He'd leave them alone, play the friend, as he always had.
But last night had shown him that his feelings for her were reciprocated. He knew Carol. There must be a reason why she was running from him, why she was running from love.
As she opened the door, the surprise on her face was still there, and her eyes once again filled with tears, but instead of crumpling into joy, her face sunk into sadness.
"Daryl," she whispered. She didn't embrace him. He didn't embrace her. "I'm so sorry."
He felt choked, but he tried to swallow it. He didn't want her to see his pain. He couldn't bear her to feel more guilt than she already did.
"I'm sorry, too," he muttered, staring down at his boots. "I shouldn' have-"
"Don't," Carol interrupted, opening the door wider. On the table where she'd served him dinner, Henry sat with a teenage girl he didn't know. "Not now."
"Ya want me t'leave?"
Carol tried to control her emotion. Daryl had come to find her.
She had never wanted to hurt him.
She owed it to him to explain.
"No," she swallowed, "stay." She motioned to the teenagers. "We'll talk later."