AN: In which we finally meet our lovers in the present so beware the tense change ahead. Alas, we come to the end here. Thanks for your support. -jb
They rarely see walkers anymore, but Carol and Daryl both know that they were never the real threat. It was other people they needed to avoid. Heading south towards the Carolinas, they keep off the roads and away from the cities and suburbs, trudging across open fields and through the autumn woods, wary of the potential for danger. The changing leaves on the trees are a brilliant palette of colors that Daryl marvels at; there are the scarlet sumacs and flaming maples and oaks; the purpling dogwoods; the bright orange beeches and sweetgums; the buttery yellow of the gingko; the warm golden hickories and poplars; the evergreen of the pines and cedars; the colors mix and mingle like a patchwork quilt.
Days pass. The moon waxes. For a while, they do everything together because he's still half afraid she'll wander off without him. (He knows if she ever did, she'd hide her tracks so he could never find her.) They hunt together. Scavenge together. Only the night requires they take separate duties; so one sleeps while the other keeps watch. Their hard work has an old familiar rhythm to it, and they set up camp easily, sometimes without a word, but the fireside kisses they exchange, as brief as they have to be to keep them both focused, are new and exciting; something to look forward to at the end of a long day. When they find their first protected shelter, a rustic cabin in a copse of trees not far from the riverbank, they finally make love in the blue light cast by the full moon.
Once the door is secured, another instinct kicks in as both of them eye the creaky old bed in the corner, and then each other. Carol gives him a coy smile that sets him ablaze, and he feels a deep hunger, long-suppressed, awaken inside him. Blushing, they crash into each other's arms like two teenagers alone at last; their kisses, wet and eager as their boots and clothes are strewn all about the floor in a passionate flurry.
Daryl is so eager to find out what's underneath her cargo pants, that he doesn't focus on the fact that he's suddenly standing naked in front of her, scars and everything. It's just Carol after all, topless and beautiful in the moonlight, and seeing her bare breasts—feeling the soft flesh in his hands—wipes away his remaining self-consciousness along with his breath. And then she's naked too, and the heat from her skin pressing against his makes him so dizzy as the blood rushes away from his head that they clumsily fall into the bed.
Everything is a pleasurable whirl of sensation and movement, of friction and breathlessness; the chaos is so electric his skin prickles with excitement. Her hands—her extraordinary hands—are gentle as they wander across his chest, his arms, the scars on his back, and then so surprisingly strong as they tug him closer. He feels her milky skin pouring all around him; she's everywhere, and yet somehow she's not touching enough of him. His skin is burning so hot he can feel the perspiration pooling between them. Meanwhile, her tongue finds a spot on the back of his ear that makes him shiver. And then he's chasing her lips and catching them, seeking her tongue and finding it, and still he's craving more of her.
Rolling her onto her back, he grinds himself against the wet heat between her thighs. The sensation is just the more he's seeking. It almost overwhelms him how incredible it feels. Carol's moan mixes with his own, and the air is suddenly infused with the sweet musk of her arousal. It's intoxicating, and his head begins to swim. The ache in his groin grows more painful as he feels himself getting harder, his need for her becoming more irresistible. He's ready to launch himself into her and drown in her softness.
Suddenly, Daryl is nervous, wanting to get it right for her, knowing Carol deserves more from him than selfishness. So despite the urgency he feels in his blood, he pulls away, breathing raggedly. Their eyes meet, and he can see hers are heavy and dark with desire. It emboldens him. Slowly, his eyes drift to her luscious lips, swollen from his kisses. A deep flush has spread across her chest as his gaze wanders over the glistening curves of her body to the thatch of thick hair below. Moving down the expanse of her naked flesh, he takes his time exploring her freckled skin with his fingers and lips, listening for every one of her hitched breaths. Daryl tracks her every shudder until he learns all her secrets. Carol is sensitive, he discovers, ticklish even, and she becomes enraptured by his curiosity.
As he's parting the tender flesh between her thighs, Daryl pauses to seek out her eyes when he feels her trembling beneath his touch. Carol is biting at her lip uncertainly, but the pink glow on her cheeks only makes her more alluring. A brazen confidence fills his chest upon seeing his effect on her.
"You don't have to," she offers.
But he wants to, in fact, he's never been more certain of anything. He wants to please her. Feeling nearly drunk from the scent of her, Daryl gives her a roguish smile that makes his intentions clear and presses a gentle kiss to the inside of her thigh as he settles between her legs, desperate for a taste.
"Oh!" she says in surprise as his tongue finds her most sensitive spot. Her moan becomes protracted as she surrenders to his caresses. He takes his time, coaxing her pleasure, smirking against her succulent flesh as he feels her melting into the mattress. A deep sense of satisfaction fortifies him as Carol drawls his name in a sultry voice.
His patience is amply rewarded as she suddenly tenses, arching her back and bucking her hips, giving in to sensation with complete abandon. Watching her hit her peak is the most beautiful thing he's ever seen. To his utter amazement, he has her quaking with pleasure again before she begs for him to be inside her.
Crawling atop her, he promptly obliges, pressing himself into the deepest part of her with reverent devotion. Again, they call out together as their bodies join; the moment is sacred in its stillness as they naturally find the other's gaze. Then, the sound of their syncopated breathing serenades them as they begin to rock together. Their rhythm is the way they've always been together—a slow crescendo, sweet and steady, each moment building on the last. But Daryl has anticipated this moment for so long, he is easily overwhelmed by her warmth, the ardent lustre of blue radiating from her eyes, the intensity of raw emotion for her that floods his chest, that he comes after a few more earnest thrusts, her name sputtering out of his lips in a rush of divine pleasure. Lucky for him, Carol doesn't even notice as she unravels beneath him for a third time, echoing her own bliss.
They make love all night and sleep in well past morning, draped across each other like silk sheets. It's only the grumbling of Carol's stomach that finally motivates him to even muster the notion of getting out of bed. He would have gladly perished in her arms.
When it starts to rain, they decide to weather the storm in the "love shack" as Carol affectionately begins to call it. Even after the sun returns, neither of them are in a hurry to leave the privacy and warmth the four walls provide. But one gray morning, Daryl wakes to find her gone from the bed and starts to panic. Throwing his clothes on as quickly as he can, he is stuffing his feet into his boots when she comes through the door with a dead rabbit in her hand and a less-than-satisfied smile on her face.
"You're dressed," she says, pouting. "I thought we could have breakfast in bed."
His fear is set aside when his lungs fill with the scent of her as she straddles him. He's already toeing off his boots when her lips meet his. His kisses are desperate and hungry, and breakfast is the last thing on his mind as he reclines on the bed with Carol securely wrapped in his arms.
But that night, he starts to have trouble sleeping. His dreams are filled with horrible images of flying bolts and sudden gunshots, of fences collapsing, of empty beds. He startles awake at the slightest movement when Carol shifts in her sleep beside him.
Weeks later, he's still worried about whether or not she'll stay, until one night after they've made love laying side by side, their legs still entwined, he loses himself so completely in the infinite blue depths of her eyes that the fear engulfs him. Clinging to her in frantic desperation, he throws himself at her mercy and cries into her neck.
"Please," he begs her, "don't ever leave me."
She holds him tenderly across her breast and shushes him, stroking his hair.
"Oh, Pookie, I'll never leave you," she promises. "I was wrong to think I ever could." Her fingers are as soothing as her words and gently lull him into a dreamless sleep.
She tells him every night after that. It takes some time, but eventually he starts to believe her. She keeps telling him anyway so he doesn't forget.
Another month goes by, and they stumble across a meadow filled with yellow wildflowers on one of their morning hunting trips. She blanches, collapsing to the earth like all the life had been sucked from her. It's only after he freaks out, going out of his mind with worry that she's sick, that she finally tells him the tragedy of Lizzie and Mika. It guts him what she had to do, and he grieves with her, holding her together while she cries and cries and cries.
"M'sorry," he whispers. "M'sorry you had to. Wasn't your fault, sweetheart. There was no way you could've known. You loved her. You loved 'em both, and they knew it." He presses his lips against her hairline, kissing her softly. "They're at peace."
Pulling her into his lap, he drapes himself around her like a blanket, rocking her gently. "It don't change a damn thing about who you are." He kisses her again. "You're still the woman I love."
It's dusk when all her tears are finally dried, and despite being cloaked in his warm arms, she feels cold and empty inside. Numb. Barren. The darkening sky is ablaze and bruising in livid scarlets and purples. She is still sniveling when she pushes him to the ground. "I need to feel alive," she says with cloudy red eyes, kissing him hard and unbuckling his jeans.
He lets her take whatever she needs from him to fill herself up. Never in his life has he given himself so freely to another, but he wants her to have every part of him—body and soul—until she's so full and complete she's overflowing with delight. She deserves nothing less.
Her passion is pure and wild, powerfully sublime as he watches her transcend her grief. His heart is full to aching with the rawness of her beauty, her indelible strength. She loves so fiercely, with the entirety of her being. To her very core, Carol is an irresistible force of nature that cannot be withstood. She rides him, transporting them to a painless world with no sense of separation, until they are both sated and sweating, and the stars begin to twinkle once again.
They stay in that haven for several months, letting Carol heal. They plant a garden in the open fields, thinking they might stay through the spring. The ocean could wait. Having her hands deep in the soil is therapeutic. Like it was for Rick. Daryl thinks it's when she looks the most at peace. Her face takes on a tranquil glow that makes her look years younger. Growing things is what she does best. He's proof of that. Carol made him stronger, he knows that for a fact with every fiber of his wretched being.
He wants to stay for her sake, but she's the one with the wanderlust and urges them on. The morning sun is beginning to crest over the eastern bank of the river when she tells him in an excited voice, eyes the clearest shade of blue he's ever seen, "I really want to see the look on your face when you see the ocean for the first time."
And God help him, he wants to give that to her more than he wants to actually see it, just to keep that flourishing sparkle lit in her eyes. So, he yields to her, giving her a "hell yeah" that matches her enthusiasm, and packs up their meagre belongings for the long trek.
The place is special to them, so they both vow to return…
Some days he wakes up next to her, aching from their daily toil, (and sometimes from their lovemaking, especially after those nights when she comes to him with tears in her eyes and a desperate thirst for him that only the violence of their union can quench), wishing they were both younger. Wishing he could give Carol a child he knew her broken heart longed for. He thinks he might have been a good father. Better than his old man, that's for damn sure. But he knows it's probably better this way in this harsh world they live in, because he could never subject her to that kind of loss again.
So he tries his best to help her forget the harshness by focusing instead on the beauty in the life surrounding them. While they laze in bed together, they watch the geese flocking south, listening to their calls as they fly above them. Contemplating the clouds passing overhead, the two of them tell stories about the shapes they see, and he swears it's more entertaining than anything they could have been watching on tv back in the old days. On their walks, he picks wildflowers and sticks them behind her ear, or when he's being flirty, in the hollow between her breasts, waiting for that burst of radiance from her smile that still renders him breathless. At night, he wraps his arm around her, molding her to his side while they watch the sky transform into a magical painted canvas as the sun sets, grateful for each one he has with her. Sometimes they linger under the the band of milky light stretching across the midnight sky, marvelling at the hundred billion stars spiraling above them. It puts everything into perspective. And when dawn breaks through the darkness, and he wakes beside her in the warm comfort provided by their nest of blankets, he starts the rituals over again and tells her how beautiful she is—every last naked inch of her—feeling his heart quicken when she kisses him in return. Her emotional storms become less frequent and she grows increasingly luminous, her eyes more colorful and lively; that's how he knows he's finally getting it right.
Daryl didn't think it was possible, but he loves her more with each passing day.
He still thinks about the old man, not his biological one, but Hershel. And Rick. Hears them in his head, like some internal moral compass, reminding him of the family he's left behind to some unknown fate. Sometimes, he thinks about going back to help, knowing it's probably the right thing to do, but he would never leave Carol. It's the most selfish thing he's ever done, staying with her. He needs her. What they have is far too special to even consider letting go. She's more than he ever asked for. Or thought he deserved. But certainly, she's the best thing he's ever fought for, and he's had to fight for everything his whole life. Honestly, Daryl can't imagine himself any place that isn't by her side. And Carol made it clear she's never going back. She's tired of taking care of people. Of losing them. Of losing herself. He doesn't blame her. So, they stay away and only get lost in each other.
It's enough, he thinks when he's lying in her arms, his cheek pressed against the bare skin of her breast. It's more than enough.
Carol is...everything.
The air grows warmer the farther south they get. It's mid-spring when they finally reach the coast. Daryl can smell the ocean before they see it. The salty air makes Carol's hair curl at the ends. It's long now, hanging nearly to her shoulders with soft, silver tendrils that frame her face. He likes to play with them and wrap them around his finger when they're lying together in whatever makeshift bed they've built out of cut grass. Now they dance against her freckled cheeks in the easterly wind.
The roaring sound of the surf rolling in begins to grow louder the closer they get. In his excitement, Daryl picks up the pace until he's nearly sprinting.
And finally, they make it. Their amazement stops them in their tracks.
At the crest of the hill, he gets his first view. It's vast. An endless blue so profound it reminds him of the love he's seen shimmering in Carol's eyes. He squeezes her hand to let her know: she's his horizon. Partners for life.
His eyes are as big as saucers as they stand there under the azure sky. Carol watches as he takes it all in with an awestruck, boyish grin. "Race you?" she teases, and they both fling themselves down the embankment, shedding their gear as they go.
Freed from their burden, they are weightless, soaring across the golden sand, rosy-cheeked from the cool breeze. Their lips lift naturally towards the bright sun until they are both smiling and shouting with joy at the waves crashing ashore. They stumble gracelessly on the beach. Unacquainted with running in the sand, he falls to hands and knees, laughing uncontrollably at the absurd levity of it all. He feels so young. She stops beside him to pull him to his feet again, and holding hands, they bound towards the waves together, stopping at the water's edge to stare at the great blue beyond.
They breathe in the open view, feeling it expand within them, breaking up the hardened residue of grief, clearing away their doubts, making space for something new. And for the first time for both of them, it feels like anything is truly possible.
"Bet there's a lot o' fish out there," he finally says when his breath returns.
"You gonna catch them all?" she inquires teasingly, her chest heaving as she starts to undress.
Letting out a low growl, he follows her lead, pulling off his boots. "Maybe jus' the one," he says, chasing her into the water.
She splashes water at him as she runs, the tide folding over them playfully. Catching her, he pulls her tight against him and nibbles on her neck as she shrieks with laughter. His lips linger against her warm skin where her pulse beats out a zesty rhythm he savors. She tastes of salty seawater. And life.