AN: Here we are, another chapter here.

I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!

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Carol stood in front of the shelf and ran her finger along the spines of the books as she read the titles. Every now and again, she selected a possible book of interest, flipped it over, and read the back cover to see what it might hold.

The bookshelves were so eclectic, and the books were so well-worn, that Carol assumed they had been the result of something like a work book-swap where readers exchanged books they'd finished for books that they might want to read in the future. There were more than a few of the typical trashy bodice-rippers, so someone must have been a fan of them in what felt like a long-forgotten world.

Carol had been a fan of them, too. They were entirely unrealistic and often quite poorly written, but they gave her exactly what she wanted—a complete and total escape from her reality.

She was just settling on one of the titles when she heard Lori behind her.

"I thought I'd come in for something to read, too," Lori said, interrupting the almost complete silence of the room. Carol jumped a little at the unexpected sound and Sophia whined and threatened to fuss in her wrap—a response to Carol's change from calm to jumpy. Carol shushed her daughter and rocked her body to rock the baby.

"There's a lot of choice," Carol said. "Everything from mysteries to...well—to romance novels."

Carol held up the book in Lori's direction and Lori laughed to herself.

"Romance?" Lori asked. "Carol that's more like—porn."

Carol laughed to herself and shrugged her shoulders. The cover art of the over-muscled man cavorting on the rocky cliff with the barely-dressed, large-breasted woman made it pretty clear what kind of reading material Carol had plucked from the shelf. There was no need to pretend that she'd selected a classic to sit and entertain herself with for the evening. This was nothing so sophisticated.

"It'll be a nice bedtime story," Carol offered. "But—there are plenty of choices here, if you're looking for something else."

"Are you—all set for bedtime?" Lori asked.

Carol laughed to herself.

"I think Sophia's going to sleep wonderfully after that bath. She's already zoned out. She's been humming to herself since I dried her off. Once I get her stomach full, I'm pretty sure she's going to be out for most of the night. Then I have some wine, a good book, and—for the first time in forever—I'm going to go to sleep just knowing we're absolutely safe."

Lori smiled at her.

"It's a good feeling," Lori said.

Carol nodded her head.

"It is," she said. "Are you all set?"

"I've got some wine, too," Lori said. "And Carl has some comic books, but it'll be lights out for him before long. I think I'll sleep fine. But—that wasn't really what I was talking about."

Carol furrowed her brow at Lori.

"What else is there?" She asked.

Lori laughed, but it didn't sound genuine. She looked around at some knickknacks on a shelf near her, but Carol was fully aware that she was simply using the action of running her finger over the objects to distract herself.

"I was talking about—do you feel safe, you know? If you want, Carol, I'm sure we can move people around. You don't have to stay in that room if you feel like you'd be...more comfortable elsewhere."

Carol's stomach twisted unexpectedly. She felt the cold rush of realization. She did her best, though, not to let onto it.

"I'm fine in my room," Carol said. "Everything's all set up. I don't know why I wouldn't feel comfortable there."

"I know it's a lot different in a vehicle than it is in a room," Lori said. "And I know how some men can be..."

"Especially men like Daryl?" Carol asked.

Lori looked at Carol like she'd splashed her in the face with iced water.

"I only meant that...it might be uncomfortable being in a room with a man who isn't...in any sort of relationship with you. That's all. I thought you might be more comfortable with someone else," Lori said.

"You asked Andrea the same thing?" Carol asked. "Because—I noticed she's rooming with Dale."

"I didn't," Lori said. "I mean—it's Dale."

"And Daryl is the—he's the greatest gentleman that I've ever known," Carol offered in response. Lori looked genuinely surprised and Carol was shocked to realize that her throat ached just to see Lori's expression. It was clear that, without any reason at all, Lori had judged Daryl. She had assumed him capable, or even likely, of behaving a certain way based on some very limited information and a great deal of assumption.

"I didn't mean..." Lori said.

"I know you didn't," Carol said quickly. "But—I just thought I'd let you know. What you think you see isn't always reality."

"I didn't mean..." Lori stammered again.

"I know you didn't," Carol repeated. "I know. But you should know that Daryl? He's not what you believe him to be. He's not his brother, either. And—I'm very comfortable in my room, so you don't need to...worry about me. Or talk about me with anybody else that might be worried. Nobody was very worried when I was in a tent with my husband."

"Carol..." Lori tried to interrupt.

Carol shook her head.

"I'm not angry," she said, cutting Lori off. "I never expected anything from anyone. The kindness you've all shown me is more than I expected. I'm not angry. And I don't hold any kind of grudge. I only say that to say that—nobody worried because Ed was my husband and, as my husband, he was my problem. Nobody who didn't worry then needs to worry now. I know, for a fact, that I'm safer with Daryl than I ever was with Ed."

Lori looked a little nauseous and Carol assumed that she should feel bad for making the woman feel uncomfortable. In fact, maybe there was somewhere, deep down inside her, where she did feel bad. Maybe it was the wine, though, or maybe it was something else entirely, but she also felt bold enough that she discovered the feeling was too faint to make her truly feel bad about what she'd said.

She was safer with Daryl than she'd ever been with Ed. Tonight she would sleep well and, unlike the others, it wouldn't be because she was only safe from the flesh-eating monsters outside. This would be the first night that she could sleep entirely free from all the monsters that had invaded her life.

Though he may not appear to be so at first glance, and though he may not even be aware of it, Daryl was certainly what Carol would consider a gentleman. He may not be the stereotypical gentleman that society showed as a representation of what every young girl should expect from a Prince Charming, but he was certainly a good man with a strong moral code by which he seemed determined to try to live—even though life didn't exactly seem to make it easy on him.

And, even though she wouldn't have dared to say it out loud, she didn't feel that Daryl would have to force his way onto her if he had any desire to be with her.

But he wasn't interested in her like that, and she wouldn't dare embarrass him by letting such a thought get back to him. Daryl, more than likely, had a very specific type. And Carol was almost certain that she wasn't that type. She was, and she knew it, barely anyone's type. That was one of the reasons that she'd ended up with Ed.

"I'm sorry," were the only words that escaped Lori's mouth in response. She did, indeed, look sorry. Carol didn't know if she was sorry for what Carol had experienced, sorry that nobody stepped in to help her with Ed, sorry that she'd somewhat accused Daryl of being a certain kind of person, sorry that she might have offended Carol, or simply sorry that she'd spoken at all. She didn't offer any clarification surrounding her apology and Carol didn't seek any.

Sophia started to fuss again. She was getting tired and this was about the time she began to fight her desire to sleep. She'd need to be soothed with milk and the promise that sleep—which she seemed to love and hate in equal parts—wasn't as terrible as she sometimes thought it would be. Carol rocked her body, again, in an effort to soothe her daughter before she disturbed the entire place with her cries.

"It's fine," Carol said. "I promise. I just—wanted you to know that nobody has to worry about me." Lori nodded her head.

"Am I interrupting something?" Shane asked, walking into the room. Carol might pretend that she believed the man was there to select a puzzle or a book with which to pass a few hours, but she wasn't stupid. Lori and Shane thought that nobody knew about their ongoing affair. Carol was pretty sure that Rick was the only one that didn't know about it—and that had to be because he was practically blind and willfully unobservant.

Carol smiled at him.

"Nothing at all," she said. "I was just going to get Sophia ready for bed."

"Goodnight, Carol," Shane offered sincerely.

"Goodnight, Shane," Carol said. "Lori."

She left the room before she heard a goodnight from Lori. On her way out, and without saying anything about it or being asked to do so, Carol closed the door to the entertainment room. She made her way down the hallway to the little room that she was sharing with Daryl. The door to the room was cracked, and Carol knocked quietly at it before she stepped inside. There was a pause before she heard a response from inside.

"Yeah..." Daryl called.

Carol assumed that meant that he wanted her to come in, so she stepped inside. He was sitting on the mattress that he'd dragged to the floor from the futon. His clean shirt was clinging to him, so Carol assumed that he'd just gotten out of the shower. From the looks of it, he'd thrown the shirt on quickly and practically without drying off.

Carol tossed the book she'd brought at the floor so she could lower herself down. Then she eased herself down onto the mattress and slowly unwrapped Sophia.

"Got a book?" Daryl asked.

Carol swallowed down her humor. She could give him a hard time about the stupid question, or she could accept it as an effort to make conversation. She decided to do the latter because she preferred the conversation to anything else.

"From the entertainment room," Carol said. "There's a lot there if you like cards or board games or puzzles. I would have brought you a book or a magazine if—if I'd known what you might be interested in."

"Like to read," Daryl said. Carol glanced at him and raised his eyebrows at her. She saw him bristle, but he quickly erased it with a smirk. "What? You surprised I can read?"

Carol shook her head. She understood his defensiveness. She also understood why he felt that way. He'd probably faced more than his fair share of unfair judgement.

"No," she said. "I'm only interested in what it is that you like to read."

She turned her attention to rearranging herself and getting Sophia adjusted so that she could nurse before her complaining—which was quickly growing louder—turned into a full-on fit that would be impossible to get under control quickly. It took a few tries to convince her that she wanted what she desperately wanted, but eventually Sophia latched onto Carol's breast.

Though she didn't look at him, Daryl must have been waiting for Sophia to be soothed, because he didn't speak again until she was situated. He cleared his throat.

"Magazines," he said. "I don't usually like to sit too long so—magazines. Them books with the short stories in 'em. The chicken soup ones? I like those 'cause you could read it in a sitting. Just pick a story an' go. Detective novels sometimes. If they're good. I don't like the ones that there's no chance you could figure it out 'cause it was like impossible or something."

He leaned forward and, before Carol could rescue her book from the floor, Daryl snagged it.

She felt her face burn warm. She hadn't expected him to have any interest at all in what she was reading, and now he was examining the book. She couldn't even bring herself to glance at him for the time being.

"You read this?" Daryl asked. Carol heard the sound of pages shuffling. She heard the sound of him flipping through the book. She hummed out a response since her voice seemed to have retreated to some place deep down inside her. "You like it? I mean...I guess you like it. Wouldn't read it if you didn't. You—think it's real?"

Carol swallowed.

"No," she said. "I don't think it's real. At least—it's not real to me. In my experience. Maybe that's why I read it, though. Because—it's not real. But maybe, sometimes, I wish it was. Not—not all of it. Just some of it."

Daryl cleared his throat a couple of times before he excused himself. He got up, the book going with him, and went for his bottle of whiskey. He stood, across the room, sipping from the bottle and leafing through Carol's book.

"I guess—in a way ain't none of it real," he mused. "Maybe that's why we read anything—get a couple minutes break from the shit-show we live in."

"I think so," Carol offered.

Daryl hummed to himself.

"Worst damn thing about it is how many people livin' so as to need a way to escape their lives," Daryl said. "Want some wine?"

Carol smiled to herself at the offer. The wine was the cheapest kind there was—with a twist off top—but Daryl wanted her to have some. It was clear because he was already unscrewing the lid of the bottle. Sophia would be done nursing soon and Carol had no doubt that she would sleep. Carol wasn't as tired as she should be, and she wasn't going to sleep when her daughter drifted off.

And she was enjoying the company.

"Please," she said.

Daryl smiled to himself. He seemed so pleased with such a simple word. He tucked her book under his arm and brought the wine and whiskey. He passed her the bottle and she put it down to wait until Sophia was done.

Daryl sat down with the book, and Carol noticed that he put it on the floor, but he put it some distance away from her. Maybe without meaning to, he was making it clear that he intended for them to pass some of the evening together. Perhaps he was hungry for company. Carol didn't mind.

"Maybe," she said, "this place will offer some of us a chance to live our lives in a way that we don't need to escape from as much."

Daryl laughed to himself.

"You got a lotta faith in this place," Daryl said.

"Maybe I'm just hoping for the best," Carol said.

"Optimism," Daryl said.

"I'm trying my best to cultivate it," Carol offered.

Daryl smiled to himself. He nodded his head.

"It's good," he said. "We sure could use it. Besides—it'll be good for her. Kids oughta grow up with that shit. Don't need all the negativity."

"That's the idea," Carol said, touching her daughter's face as the baby nursed and fought the sleep that was creeping up on her. "To create the best kind of life that I can for her. She deserves that."

"Yeah," Daryl said. Carol smiled to herself at the simple confirmation that her child—a child who hadn't had the warmest reception from the world into which she'd come—was worthy of something as simple as a good life. "She does."