A/N - Hello everyone! I'm finally getting some writing done. And boy am I glad that all my WIPs for TWD are AU. I don't know if I could handle a canon story right now. I give all the fanfic writers who are writing Caryl in the Season 4 universe right now some major credit. You all rock!
Anyway, this story is quickly drawing to a close and a resolution... bear with me. And thank you for the reviews!
Life moves on because it has to, and Daryl stops looking for Carol around every bend in the road. It pains him to do it, to let it go, to force himself to forget, but he does it all the same. It helps having Merle back. Merle who scowls and tells him to "quite pussyin' 'round," when Daryl gets too quiet. Daryl is pretty sure Merle is still using, but he hasn't disappeared in over two weeks, and to Daryl, right now, that's enough.
It's late on a Saturday night, running up on closing time in fact, when Daryl slams a pretty redhead's back against the dive bar's bathroom wall, and he lets her kiss him, lets her push her body against his like it's the only thing he wants to do, like this is the only place he wants to be. It isn't, and his mind is only half there even as she undoes his belt and slides her body down his until she's on her knees on the dirty, sticky floor before him. Her eyes are wide, ocean blue, and they stare at him like he's the answer to her prayers.
He hates himself, hates doing it even as he does it, even as he goes through the motions because, frankly, he just doesn't want to look at the pain on her face if he pushes her away. Merle will be happy. Merle, who has been squawking all week about Daryl needing to "git some". Merle, who sent the little redhead over in Daryl's direction with a wink and a nod, before rubbing his nose and heading off to snort something. There's a pit of rawness in Daryl's stomach, and it churns and burns as he kisses the girl on her mouth afterward, as he swallows the bitter taste, the cigarette stench, and the cheap flowery perfume.
This ain't me.
But it doesn't matter. He looks himself square in the eye in the tar-stained bathroom mirror when they're done. He notes the hickey the girl placed on his neck and he resists the urge to vomit knowing that she's out in the barroom now, probably waiting on him to come out. He'll take her home probably. Because it's what he should do, and it's what Merle will expect.
She leaves early the next morning, and the burning in Daryl's chest dissipates slightly even as his urge to vomit is renewed. Merle razzes him, calls the girl a pretty piece of ass, and then heads off to take a shower. Daryl sinks down onto the couch, puts his head in his hands, and tries to remember how he did this for all those years before that one night. Before Carol.
He lays back on the couch, mimicking the way he would have looked that night. In the back of his mind he knows he shouldn't wallow, knows he shouldn't go there, but he ignores it. He needs five minutes, five minutes to remember. Five minutes to remember and a lifetime to forget.
"The fuck ya doin', Darylina?," Merle mumbles as he passes by the doorway to the living room into the kitchen. There's a toothbrush hanging out of Merle's mouth and a dark scowl of dissatisfaction that reaches all the way to his eyes.
Daryl doesn't respond, instead he turns slightly, slings one arm over his eyes and tries to ignore the footsteps as Merle walks into the room, settles down on the end of the couch.
"She ain't fuckin' worth it," Merle says softly and the words are almost more than Daryl can handle.
"The fuck you know about it," Daryl snaps, sitting up abruptly and glaring at his brother. "And don't say shit like that… ya know 'er, ya know Carol, ain't a thing that girl didn't do for yer worthless ass when we was kids."
Merle shakes his head, points the toothbrush in his hand at Daryl, and shakes it again. He uses the back of his other hand to wipe the toothpaste from the corner of his mouth. "Ya know that ain't what I meant." He pauses, shakes his head to himself again before continuing, "I love Carol, ya know tha', we got history, all of us. I don't love 'er like you do, clearly li'l brother, but yer lettin' this destroy ya, yer lettin' the thought of her, this woman tha' didn't even stick 'round, tha' up and left ya, yer lettin' her memory destroy ya. And tha'… well that ain't worth it." It's more words than Merle usually strings together in a sentence, and a part of it rings true. A part of it nags at Daryl's mind for just a moment before he shakes it off, before he dismisses it, the memory of Carol's lips on his replacing the bitterness of the knowledge that she'd left.
Daryl swings his legs around off the couch in answer, sits up and puts his head back in his hands so that he doesn't have to look at Merle.
"I left 'er first," he mutters quietly.
"Just talk to me, Daryl," she pleads, her voice soft and earnest. He bites deep into his sandwich so he doesn't have to answer, avoids her gaze across the table, and scowls even as he chews. He should just say it. He should just tell her. But he's a pussy, a coward, a backwards piece of shit who just can't make himself say the words.
"Daryl," Carol insists. She swallows and he can almost feel the moment happening before it happens. It's like he's outside of his body, hovering above the table watching it take place. "Is it too fast? Are we going too fast? Do you want to slow down? It's okay… really, it is… we can… we can slow it down." Her words are hesitant, bordering on shaky and bells go off in his head that this is his moment. He should say no, he should say nah, he should laugh it off. This is Carol… this is the girl he's been mooning over for years.
It's been only a couple weeks, hot and heavy but still more innocent than any other relationship he's even known. They're young, he's young, still practically kids… she invades him, she knows him, and he feels it in every fiber of himself with every kiss, every touch. Like she reaches down into his soul when she touches him, like she can see every bad choice, every stupid mistake, bared out in all its heinous glory. He's raw from it, tortured with the knowledge that he can't hide from her, that a part of him doesn't even want to hide. He's wanted this girl forever, and right now, right here she's his.
The chewed-up food in his mouth is a lump he struggles to swallow, but he forces it down, raises his gaze and meets her eyes. They're calm as ever, honest and sweet, and she's everything he wants and everything he fears all rolled up into one.
"Yea," he says slowly, hoarsely, "it's too fast."
Something passes across her eyes but it's so fast he barely catches it, dismisses it without even thinking, forces himself not to feel, not to think. She's steely-eyed, her gaze still and steady, and she nods. It's matter-of-fact; it's Carol.
"Well, alright then," she murmurs, "it's okay, Daryl. We can just… we can just be friends for now. See where it goes."
He nods, he agrees. There's a pit in his stomach, the food in his mouth is tasteless as he takes another bite and chews. He doesn't take it back. He tells her they'll be friends. He lies.
A week later as he ignores the buzzing of his phone when Carol's name comes up on the display for the skinny blonde on his lap, he tells himself that he's better off, that they're both better off. He lies.
A year later watching her sit at a picnic table with Ed, he thinks to himself that he's better off, that's she's better off, and he mutters threats about Ed as he takes another pull at his beer. He tells himself it doesn't matter. He lies.
He tells himself he doesn't need to find her. He tells himself it doesn't matter that she left; it doesn't matter where she went. And still he lies.