This Is Now

by sienna27

ZA, AU - Daryl runs into Carol and Sophia one night shortly before society begins to crumble. Their relationships, and canon events, are re-imagined as a result. Multi-chapter, pre-show and moving through season 2. Caryl straight friendship to start, shift in their relationship as things move forward.

10. Plans, Unmade

Author's Note: This chapter took much longer than expected, because it became another ridiculous, time sucking, monster. And the only reason that I allowed, it to become another monster, was because I refused to post another chapter that didn't get this damn story where I wanted it to be! :) And I finally got there! You folks will all see at the end, what I've been trying to get us to for the last two postings. So from here on out, "normal sized" chapters, will be the focus. I can't keep doing 18k words a week. It's sort of an insane pace, especially seeing as I'm not getting paid :) If I was getting paid by the word though, I'd be THRILLED to post a 'novella' a week for you folks! Ha, ha!

And thanks everyone for all the notes on the last one! I don't if I got back to anyone yet, but once again, they are always appreciated :)

So picking up again with Carol. You might want to get some popcorn, and refill that diet soda. It's a LONG one!

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Two roads diverged in a yellow wood . . .

- Robert Frost

Plans, Unmade

Carol's teeth began to grind together.

There were two minutes left on the clock, and she still hadn't heard from Daryl. Yes, she knew that he'd said ten minutes, not eight minutes, so really there was no reason to be getting this panicky two minutes before she was even expecting him to call.

But she was.

Though given what she was picturing could have happened to him since he'd been gone, she felt that a little panic was forgivable! As long as she didn't completely freak out, that is.

Which was the exact moment . . . the 'just don't freak out' moment . . . that the cell phone began to ring.

And she was so startled (wired) that of course she dropped the phone. And as she watched it falling out of her hands and bouncing to the carpet, she felt that panic (for totally different reasons now) send her heart rate galloping.

She was squeaking out an, "OH CRAP!" even as she fumbled down to snatch the little vibrating device back up again.

And hearing Sophia's vaguely concerned, "you okay mama?" coming from the direction of the television, Carol muttered back a "yep, fine baby," just as she smacked her finger down on the green button.

She got it on the fourth ring.

Before the phone was even fully up to her ear though, she was rasping out, "hey, are you okay?"

"Yeah," Daryl calm voice came back immediately, "everything's fine down here. Sorry if me calling scared ya, I just wanted you to know he's not here yet, so I'll be a few more minutes at least. But maybe I left a little early, so I'm not gonna assume there's a problem. So let's give it another ten, twelve minutes, if he's still not here, I'll call you back from inside the lobby and have you check with the place to make sure nothing happened, okay?"

Carol nodded while simultaneously answering back with an anxious, "got it."

And though she would have liked to just keep Daryl on the phone and keep him talking . . . because she'd feel better then knowing that he was totally fine . . . she knew that wasn't the safest thing for him. Because he was outside, and needed to pay attention to his surroundings.

Which was hard to do that when half of your focus was on the phone stuck to your ear.

So when he said, "see you in a bit," . . . she let him go.

And they both hung up again.

For a moment Carol stared down at the phone in her hand, wondering how it was she'd become so attached to this man so quickly. But attached she was, and there wasn't any point in dwelling on that. Because she already knew that it would be awhile before things between them could go any further than they were right now. And how things were right now was good enough.

As long as he came back upstairs.

That was literally ALL she wanted from the universe in that moment . . . Daryl's safe return to the room. So once more Carol put her head down, and clutched the phone in her hand, and teetered on the edge of that couch. All while trying to tell herself that she wasn't actually holding a "vigil" for a grown man to safely return from meeting a delivery boy, at the front door of a busy hotel.

But she was.

She totally was. It was ridiculous. Or maybe it would have seemed ridiculous yesterday.

But not today.

Today was different. Watching a little boy snack on a grown woman . . . a woman who might have even been his mother . . . had made it different. And Carol was wondering how long it would be until the world would seem normal again.

Well, people would probably have to stop eating each other first . . . she thought with a cut of bitterness . . . yeah maybe then the world might start to seem normal again.

But that was just one more thing that she had no control over.

And she knew to feel bitterness about something like that, the actual state of, "the world," was beyond pointless. Whether it was an illness or a drug, or just something in the damn water around here, eventually the authorities would figure it out. And in the meantime, she just needed to not think about it so much. At least not until Daryl returned. Though it was admittedly difficult to NOT think about the exact reason she was worrying about Daryl, when Daryl was not there to distract her from worrying about him NOT being there!

Yes, that was a vicious little cycle that she needed to get off of before she gave herself a headache.

So in an effort to go with simply 'clearing her mind' of all of those unhelpful thoughts, she decided to try a mental exercise. Counting to ten in as many languages as she could.

That was two.

Well, three if she included English. But obviously being a native English speaker, counting in English wasn't a complex enough mental task to distract her from anything. So she was just focusing on the Spanish and the French. Because what she remembered from high school (where she'd had two years of each) was pretty iffy. Which was actually fortunate under the circumstances.

It made her have to think a little harder.

And she'd made it through two successful runs in Spanish, and was on her second fail in French . . . she kept getting stuck on how to pronounce "neuf" . . . when she heard a knock on the door.

Her thoughts stuttered to a stop as her head snapped up to hear the muffled, though still distinctive, drawl of, "it's me."

The "me" hadn't even completely left Daryl's mouth, before Carol had jumped off the couch . . . startling Sophia in the process . . . and run over to snap back the deadbolt and rip off the chain.

She yanked the door open.

And there was the man himself, with a faintly amused expression on his face, and an oversized brown paper bag tucked under his arm.

He reached out to put his hand on her shoulder.

"See," he murmured while backing her into the room, "told ya I wouldn't die gettin' French fries."

And she was honest to God so happy to see him there and totally fine . . . even though he was apparently never actually in any danger at all . . . that she almost threw her arms around his neck. But she restrained herself.

Barely.

It was for her own well being though, that she did. Because those kinds of hugs, the man/woman, 'grownup' kind, were something else that she'd been getting by without for a lot of years now. And she was thinking that was just one thing that if she got it back . . . that feeling of warmth and security she was sure would be found in those muscular arms . . . it would just make things so much more difficult for her tomorrow.

And they were going to be bad enough as it was.

So instead of hugging him, she sufficed with just slowly running her hand down his arm, while she watched him reset the locks on the door.

"No problems at all?" she asked quietly.

"Naw, not a thing," he answered with a shake of his head, "least," he turned to give her a look, "not like you mean. I would like to talk to you though," he continued on while shooting a look over to Sophia, who was interested enough in Daryl's return to have gotten to her feet, but not actually hungry enough to have yet left the TV, "because I met a man downstairs while I was waitin,'" his eyes darted back to hers, "and he told me some stuff I wanna tell you about."

"All right," Carol nodded slowly, "let me just get Sophia set up with her dinner, and then we can go talk."

About what, she couldn't even imagine. Because honestly, after this day, if he was going to tell her that someone had spotted little green men running around the baseball stadium, she wouldn't have been a bit surprised. If it was little green men though . . . she grunted to herself . . . maybe they could catch a ride with them off this God forsaken planet!

Realizing then she was starting to sound a little bitter again . . . even if it was just in her own head, she needed to stop . . . she pushed those thoughts away. Because bitterness was just another type of sickness. Like a cancer that ate you out from the inside. And she'd been fighting with herself all these years, to make sure that life with Ed didn't turn her into a hateful, bitter old shrew. She'd won that battle.

And she wasn't going to let the world beat her down now.

So after she'd taken the bag of food out of Daryl's arms, she walked over and put it down on the coffee table. And she was about to reach in and start emptying their dinner items out, when she stopped. Because it wasn't a sandwich or her salad that she was seeing there in front of her . . . it was book.

Her book.

The one she'd told Daryl that she wanted to read . . . The Year of the Flood.

"You got it for me," she whispered while slowly reaching in to pluck it off of the white Styrofoam container that it was sitting on top of. And Daryl grunted back a confused, "huh?" before she heard his boots began to move across the carpet.

He stopped next to the table.

"Oh yeah," he let out a slow breath, "the book. Well, I'd just gotten the food and I was right there walking by the store and I saw it clear as day from the lobby. So," he shrugged, "figurin' I had a couple minutes before you were expecting me, I'd just get it for ya now."

Then, noticing that Carol wasn't even lookin' at him . . . she was still just starin' down at the book in her hands . . . he added with a touch of worry.

"That's the right one, isn't it? Margaret Atwood, the flood one. That's what you'd said."

"Yeah," Carol quickly blinked away the growing moisture in her eyes, before she lifted her head, "it's the right one. It's just," she bit her lip, "you bought me a present. I um," she swallowed, "I just haven't had a present in a long time."

What she'd just said, might have seemed a little dumb given how he'd been paying for everything all weekend. But it wasn't the same thing at all when Daryl 'covered' the bills for basic supplies like food and shelter, or even clothes, versus him going out on his own to buy something for her. Something that he knew would make her happy. Especially something so unnecessary.

Like a book.

The last person to buy her a book had been her father. That was when she was eighteen and in her freshman year in college. One weekend that fall, she'd called home to check in, and in the middle of the conversation about her grades, she'd told him how excited she was to be studying the classics, and how she was discovering how much she loved all of those old authors. It was sort of a throwaway comment, with certainly no hint behind it. So she'd been very surprised when she'd come home for winter break . . . a week before Christmas had even arrived . . . and her daddy had sat her down in the kitchen. That's when he'd gone up into the top shelf of the canned good cabinet, to pull down a heavy, gilt edged, green leather bound book.

The Complete Works of Jane Austen.

It was absolutely beautiful, and probably the fanciest thing that she would ever own. She'd even managed to keep it intact all these years with Ed. In fact, when she was packing up Friday morning, it was the only thing she'd cried about having to leave behind.

The book was just too heavy to lug.

Realizing then that she'd gotten herself a little distracted in her memories, Carol blinked and looked up, focusing in on Daryl again. Which was when saw the look on his face. It was a look she was becoming familiar with.

Discomfort.

It was the gratitude. Her being touched by what he'd done. And God did she wish she knew what it was in his past, that made him so uncomfortable with such a simple, human, emotional exchange. Whatever it was though, she knew it wasn't anything that was going to get 'fixed' in the short time they had left. Because after their eyes had locked for a moment, she saw his hand come up to scrub along his chin. A second later he muttered, "as long as it's the right book," before his arm came down. Then he reached out to move her back a little, so he could lean in and start unloading the paper bag himself.

That wasn't what Carol wanted though, for him to brush this one off like it meant nothing. Because it did mean something. It meant something that he thought about her. About doing something to please her.

And she didn't want to just brush that way.

So she reached over to touch his chest. And when he froze, with his eyes on her face, and what was clearly Sophia's foil wrapped grilled cheese sandwich clutched in his hand, she gave him a little smile.

"I won't say thank you," she whispered, keeping her voice down so Sophia wouldn't hear, "because I know you don't like that. But please know," she tapped the back of her finger against the book's binding, "it makes me makes me very happy that you thought to buy this for me."

After a moment of Daryl's jaw twitching, while he continued to stare into her eyes, Carol saw his expression soften.

"I'm glad it made you happy."

The words came out on a soft breath, just a little louder than a whisper. Then she saw the corner of his lip quirk up.

"Now come on," he gestured back to the still half full bag, "let's get this food out before the warm stuff makes your salad all gross."

She snorted.

"Right," she leaned over to put the book down on the table, "good point."

So together now, they went back to emptying and sorting out their delivery order. Fortunately everything was there, and it had been packed well. Meaning the sandwiches didn't seem soggy and they had actually put some cardboard in there to protect Carol's cold salad, from the hot food.

Somebody at that sandwich shop, actually took pride in their work.

But actually tasting that work, was going to have to wait. Because Carol had promised Daryl they'd talk after she got Sophia setup with her dinner. And besides that, as she was unwrapping her daughter's little box of French fries, which Carol knew on a base level smelled 'good,' her appetite still wasn't kicking in yet. Which meant that she might as well wait and try to eat a little later.

At least then she might actually enjoy it.

And she was about to go into the bedroom to get Sophia a drink out of the duffel bag, when she realized that Daryl had already done that.

He was just walking back into the room.

There were two waters and an apple juice tucked against his chest.

Her eyes crinkled.

"Thanks."

Then her focus darted over to her daughter still standing there engrossed in her movie. If memory served Carol though, that movie was almost done.

The toys were at the airport.

"Sophia," she called over, "time for dinner. You can keep watching your movie, just come sit here and eat while everything's hot."

"Okay, mama," Sophia murmured while slowly inching her way backwards across the room, clearly so she wouldn't miss anything on the screen.

Of course she didn't make it all the way to the table.

She ended up backing into Daryl instead.

And when her head snapped back to look up at him standing there behind her, her cheeks flushed a bright red.

"Sorry Daryl," she murmured sheepishly. And he just shook his head.

"Gonna get you and your mama both some glasses," he grumbled, "'cuz both of you keep walking into me."

Though his tone made it sound like he might have been a little annoyed, Carol could see how the corner of his mouth was twitching when he looked down at Sophia. And she knew . . . he wasn't really bothered at all.

He was just joking.

Though seeing the worried look on her daughter's face, Carol wasn't sure if she knew that too. Because she did come from a home where an 'accidental bump,' would usually lead to a very intentional, 'thwack.' Not that Daryl had ever shown anything but kindness to her daughter, but ten years of one kind of life, was difficult to shake off in just a couple days. But then maybe Daryl seemed to remember that point too, because his expression softened as he reached down to touch Sophia's cheek.

"It's okay darlin'," he murmured with a gentle pat, "no harm. It was just a joke."

Then he winked, and Sophia gave him a bright, relieved, smile, and Carol let out that new breath she'd been holding. It felt like that's all she was doing lately. Holding her breath over one thing or another.

Because it was always something.

Something big, like worrying about Daryl coming back safely to the room, or something little, like worrying about Sophia being scared that the same man was angry with her over a clumsy step. Of course that wasn't really a little thing at all though.

Because it came up from the abuse her child had suffered under her bastard father.

Though as Carol watched Daryl now stooped down and helping Sophia get the straw into her juice box, she was thinking about their plans for the future. If Daryl came back into their lives and was around to show her girl how a father (even of the part-time proxy sort) should be, patient and kind . . . and gentle. Like just now, Sophia was about to take a bite of her grilled cheese, and Daryl had reached over to quickly brush a strand of hair back from her mouth so she wouldn't eat that too. That was the kind of simple little thing that a good daddy would do. A little girl who could spend the rest of her growing up years with a daddy like that (again, even if he was of the part-time proxy sort), then she might just turn out all right.

Not screwed up like her mother.

Feeling a new tightness in her chest at the sad reality of what kind of role model she really was, Carol had to look away from a moment. Before she'd even looked back though, she felt Daryl's hand on her shoulder.

"She's all set now," he murmured while walking them away from the table, "so let's talk quick while she's occupied."

"Mmm," Carol murmured back, not trusting her voice quite yet. But fortunately Daryl took care of all the talking that needed to be said with a simple, over his shoulder, "your mama and I'll be back in a couple minutes, little miss."

And Sophia mumbled a, "'k, Daryl," around whatever bite of sandwich or French fry she presently had in her mouth.

Then Daryl was walking them out into the hall, and three steps later, through the doorway into the bedroom.

He immediately closed the door behind them.

Noting that the shadows in there were a lot longer now than they'd been even after her shower. . . the sun had started to set . . . Carol took a breath to clear her head (and her voice) as she walked over to turn on one of the lamps by the bed.

When she turned back, she could see Daryl looked much more agitated than when he'd been in the sitting room. In fact he'd just started to pace back and forth on the two foot wide swath of carpeting between the end of the bed, and the front of the television.

And now feeling a fresh jolt to her anxiety about the 'big picture' stuff creeping in again, Carol's arms came up to wrap around her body.

"What is it that you needed to tell me?" She asked anxiously while walking back across the room.

The question was pretty straightforward, but rather than answering her directly, Daryl just stopped short, shot her a quick look, and then reached out to grab the remote off the top of the television set.

"One second," he murmured while fumbling to find the button to turn on the TV, "just realized I might be able to show you part of it."

That was the moment when the screen started to lighten up . . . and then the picture appeared. Daryl immediately punched in the code for a local news station.

A quick glance at the time showed Carol that the station should've been in the middle of the six o'clock news hour, but at the moment all she could see was a fast food commercial.

Somebody was going to Burger King.

And the sight of all those pretty actors eagerly biting into their thick, juicy hamburgers, was enough to make Carol's stomach start to turn again. Apparently she wasn't the only one though, because that's when Daryl flipped to another channel.

It was another commercial . . . must have just been that window in the news block . . . but this time there was nobody eating anything. Just people standing around a bank. And as those people began to discuss their new, no fee, checking account, Daryl began to talk.

"News should be back in a minute," he said quietly while inching down the sound to a just audible level, "and hopefully we'll be able to see what I heard about. But anyway," he turned to her with the remote still gripped in his hand, "backtracking to while I was gone. I'd just gotten outside to wait for the delivery guy, but you know he was late, so I'm standing there in front of those doors like an asshole and while I'm checking out the parking lot, I notice this big black guy walking towards me. He's like," Daryl held his hand up well over his head, "six, six at least, glasses on his face, but built like Schwarzenegger. He's got on a security uniform but no gun. And he comes up and says he's hotel security and asks me what I'm doing. And I explain how I'm waitin' for the guy, and then we start talkin' and I made a comment about there not being any security people around when we checked in, and he explained how they only have an overnight shift. Three guys, one girl, regular six to six, but they got called in early 'cuz of what happened next door. And I'm thinkin' all right," Daryl smacked the back of the remote for emphasis, "now maybe I'll get some information about what really did happen, because hell if anybody should have some direct skinny, it's gonna be the security people for the neighborhood, you know?"

Carol gave a nod as she sat down on the edge of the bed.

"Right," she quickly agreed, "that makes sense. So did he know anything?"

"NO!" Daryl threw his arms up, "that's the bitch of it! He didn't even KNOW about the attack!"

Feeling her eyes pop as her jaw dropped, Carol sputtered back, "wha, what?! How is that possible?!"

"I don't freaking know," Daryl's nostrils were flaring now as he shook his head, "but that's what he said, all he was told when they'd call him was that there had been a 'police incident' in the neighborhood, and that hotel management wanted the security team to come in a little early because of it. And I'm like, are you fuckin' kidding me? So I start telling him what the," Daryl flashed a half assed set of air quotes, "'police incident' was, and his eyes are like boom, saucers. And he's not saying nothing. And I'm thinking he's not saying nothing because he's shocked 'cuz you know, it's some horrible shit. So I say as much, but then he says no, that's not it. And he starts telling me," Daryl jabbed his index finger into his chest, "that he saw that EXACT thing on the news today, but at another funeral home, in a different neighborhood!"

"Wait," Carol blinked, "what?"

And Daryl threw his hands up again.

"That's what I said! Oh shit," he quickly shifted his focus as his eyes darted back to the TV screen, "hold on," he started pushing the volume up, "I think they're back."

They were back, but the anchor woman immediately cut to the weather, so Daryl turned the volume down again.

"So anyway," he looked back to Carol, "this other funeral home attack he told me about, it was even worse than ours was. Carol," both his voice and body language sobered considerably as looked down at her, "they had twenty-two dead there. Twenty-two dead like ours."

And her hand shot up to her mouth.

"Oh my God!"

"Yeah," Daryl swallowed, "and I just barely got through seeing six. But I guess this was a huge memorial service. Some high school football players got killed drunk driving a couple days ago, and they were doing a combined wake for 'em at one of the big funeral homes in the city. And then," his jaw clenched, "just like at ours, something happened and shit hit the fan. Twenty-two dead on scene, and like twice that over were hurt. And," his lips pursed, "a lot of them were hurt real bad like what we saw here."

For a moment they were both silent, just listening to the faint chatter of the meteorologist discussing next week's forecast, and then Emily looked up.

"So is that what you're trying to see on the news," her gaze briefly flickered over to the screen, and then back up to Daryl's face, "this other attack?"

"Yeah," he nodded, "that, and ours. Because Christ between the two of 'em, they gotta be giving out some kind of reason by now for why this shit's happenin'. You just can't have thirty people torn to bits in an afternoon and not give a REASON!"

The anger was clearly seeping into his voice at the end, but Carol knew that anger was born out of frustration and well, fright. Because it was all the more terrifying knowing that these attacks were happening, but not knowing why. If somebody would just TELL them the why, then maybe they could prepare themselves. Take some kind of precautions. Avoid certain areas, or foods, or whatever.

Right now they were just getting by on sheer luck.

And she could see that Daryl seemed to be doing his counting to ten lesson that he'd learned in his anger management class . . . he had his eyes closed and he was staring at the floor . . . so she gave him those few seconds. But when he opened his eyes again, she gave him a small, worried, smile.

"You all right?" she whispered.

It took a second while he took in another slow breath, and then let it out, but finally he nodded.

"Yeah, sorry, just," his jaw clenched, "this whole thing's so God damn infuriatin.' I just wanna know what's goin' on, that's all."

"I know," she let out a faint sigh, "me too. So how did you leave it with the security guy?" Her brow wrinkled, "what was his name?"

"Christopher," Daryl pinched the bridge of his nose, "his name's Christopher. And I told him flat out, I don't care how big you are man, you cannot be standing out here after dark trying to watch the door. It'd be like tryin' to catch a rabid lion. You'd have your throat ripped out before you could even make a move to run. So," Daryl's attention briefly flickered back to the screen . . . the weatherman seemed to be wrapping up, "he moved himself inside when I came in, and he said when the rest of his crew gets there, they were coming from different part of the city, that he'd sit 'em down and they'd figure out a best approach to keep watch. Because apparently they usually do a perimeter walk around the hotel grounds every couple hours, but between what I told him, and him seeing for himself all that police tape up next door, he definitely got the point that wanderin' out in the dark when his whole crew worked unarmed, was a bad idea. Oh," Daryl's eyes snapped back to the television, "here we go."

There was a generic shot of a funeral home sign on the screen, and as Daryl started pushing up the volume, he could hear the anchor lady saying, "to recap our top story . . ." so he figured that had to be it.

And so he curled the remote up in his hand, brought it to his chest . . . and he listened. Listened while that pretty lady told the greater Atlanta Metro area about the twenty-two people that had been killed, and the forty-seven injured, at Davison and Sons Funeral Home.

From there, after those basic facts, she was kinda (oddly) hazy on the details. Just that the place had been packed at the time with a crowd of over a hundred people, and that there had been multiple attackers who had struck quote, "randomly, viciously and without mercy in regards to age or disability."

Now, God knew Daryl did NOT want any details on the "disability" angle . . . because now he was just picturing old people in wheelchairs . . . but he still thought it was strange that they didn't focus in more on the blow by blow of how this thing went down. Then he was thinkin' maybe because it was the 'recap' of the top story, they were editing the thing down a little.

Either way, seeing as they were doing a rush job there, at that point Daryl was expectin' them to go on to mention the bloodbath that had happened next to their hotel. After all, it was late enough now for them to have picked that one up from the scanners at least.

But no.

His new buddy security guard buddy, Christopher, had been right, their attack with their single digit death count . . . at least that's what it was as far as Daryl knew . . . hadn't even made the broadcast. What those news people ended up doing instead, was to put up a map. And then the lady anchor went on to say how this incident during the memorial service, was part of a larger outbreak of extreme, random, violence that had been rolling through the city over the last few days. That in fact there had been fifty-two (the number made Daryl's jaw drop) such reported incidents, of varying degrees of severity, since midnight on Thursday. They had 'em all broken out on the city map by colors, based on the number of people injured or killed at each location. The lighter colors, the yellows and pale greens, they were the smaller incidents. Then the darker colors, the reds and the browns, they were the worst ones.

There was a whole big smattering of red splotches goin' all through the ghetto neighborhoods.

They didn't put it that way of course, the ghetto way, but that's how Daryl read it. And he read it real easy. What did surprise him some, was that the bad neighborhoods weren't the only ones with red dots. There were a couple of ritzy places on the other side of the city, where apparently some serious shit had gone down too. So whatever this was, it wasn't discriminatin' none.

At least not by economics.

The only really shocking thing about watching a news report dedicated to a wave of cannibalism sweeping through a modern American city, was that the "cannibalism" wasn't mentioned at all! Not once did they use the word. They talked about "unprovoked attacks," "unparalleled violence," and . . . this was the key repeated phrase . . . "gruesome violations."

Now, by Daryl's experience, 'violations' usually referred to something of the sexual nature. So if they were using that term to describe people getting their faces eaten off, then some asshole down there at the news station had a seriously fucked up sense of humor. Or maybe, another thought came to him, they were just tryin' to be 'delicate' in not sceeving out their audience with talk about human cannibalism during the dinner hour.

All right . . . he gave half an eye roll . . . it was probably the second one.

Either way though, they were seriously screwing over the public by not explaining EXACTLY what the hell was happenin' out there! You hear "gruesome violations," you think there are some sick, psycho rapist/murderers pouncing on people and cuttin' them up. You also assume (by the odds) that they're probably mostly going after ladies, and then not to mention . . . he started gettin' a good head of steam going . . . you're NEVER gonna think that kind of shit is happenin' in broad daylight on busy STREET corners!

So yeah, basically they were zero for three in passing out quality information to keep people safe.

It was enough to make Daryl start swearing under his breath, but then he stopped. Because they were finally gettin' to what he'd been waiting for . . . the experts.

The people who were supposed to tell them exactly what was happenin', and exactly why it was happenin', in that city. And they did have two fancy professors from Emory University all lined up to talk. A man and a lady. The man had a psychology specialty, the lady they said, mainly worked in the field of Criminology. She was a former FBI agent, and the both of them had a whole hell of a lotta letters lined up after their names. And all of that together meant, that Daryl was feelin' pretty good about these two maybe havin' some decent insights, on this particular topic.

But then they opened their mouths.

And when they did, in their joint, pre-taped interviews, they both ended up saying the same thing.

It was the heat.

Yes, it was definitely heat. That there was a proven "correlation" (big word of the day) between the rise in summer temperatures, and the annual rise in criminal activities. Both the psychology of criminal behavior, and the statistical studies, backed it up. So all this was right now, was a small, unexpected, spike in the bell curve. There was no reason for people to be alarmed.

None at all.

The curve would correct itself, as it always did, as soon as the humidity broke. In the meantime, people just should stay alert, practice good common sense when out afterhours, and report any unusual activities to their local authorities.

Daryl just stood there for the whole ridiculous interview, with his mouth wide open. And when they cut back to the news studio again, he snapped the TV off. Then he slowly backed up, and dropped down next to Carol on the end of the bed.

The remote fell to the carpet.

"The heat," he muttered in disbelief while leaning back on the mattress, to stare up at the ceiling, "I can't believe they're saying it's the God damn heat."

It was the fucking stupidest, most ignorant thing, he'd ever heard in his life. But at that point he was too stunned at the idiocy of it, to even be pissed off about it.

He realized though, that Carol seemed to have the pissed off emotion covered for both of them, when he heard her spit out.

"I know! It's Georgia for God's sake! When isn't it hot down here? Besides, the heat just makes people more likely to lose their tempers, it doesn't make them EAT each other!"

Her voice broke on the last word, and that's when Daryl realized that the anger was draining out of her.

Then she started to cry.

"Come here," he whispered while reaching up to tug on her arm. And so she did. She leaned back to lie down on the bed, and he reached over to take her hand.

He pulled it to his chest and wrapped it up in both of his.

For a moment they just lay there in silence, and then Carol sniffed and let out a slow breath.

"I bet they don't know have any idea what's causing it," she murmured sadly, "I bet that's why they're saying that it's the heat, because it's something to say. Something for people to repeat to each other. Oh yeah, it's the heat you know." Her voice started to fade, "it's making people go crazy."

"Maybe," Daryl sighed, "I don't know. I just hope whatever it is stops happenin', as fast and out of the blue as it started."

Carol had nothing to say back to that. Because all she could think about was how Daryl was leaving, and she and Sophia were still going to be stuck in the city. And those little dots, in all their different colors, were already spread out all over it.

How many more would of them would there be, by the end of the weekend?

It was possible that Daryl was thinking the exact same thing that she was in that moment. Because suddenly she heard him let out a sharp breath, right before he squeezed her hand.

"You can call me every day if you want," his voice was tight and stressed, "and when you run outta minutes, I'll send you new cards."

Feeling a fresh tear slide down her cheek, Carol turned her head.

"Are you sure about that?" She sniffled, "because if things keep going the way they are, I might just take you up on the offer."

Hell, who was she kidding? If he was onboard with that plan, then she was ABSOLUTELY going to be calling him every day!

So really, she was just thanking God when she saw how firmly he nodded, right before his eyes shot over to her.

"I am one hundred percent sure about that," his jaw clenched, "because otherwise I'm just gonna go nuts worryin' about you two, and that Goddamn rainbow colored map. Now come on," he huffed out a tired breath as he started to pull her up.

"Let's go eat."

/*/*/*/*

Dinner ended up taking awhile.

Not because Carol wasn't in the mood to eat . . . surprisingly, her appetite kicked in on the first bite . . . but more that it was the last (and first) meal that she and Daryl were going to have alone together, and she didn't want to rush it. So she chewed and swallowed each bite ten times over. Then she finished up the last few cold French Fries that Sophia had left in her box, and then she continued on to eat the last half dozen cheesy fries that Daryl insisted she help him finish up. Though he really didn't have to insist all that much.

Because she really was kind of starving.

Next time she'd know enough to order a sandwich to go along with her salad. But then she remembered . . . they were all out of next times. The next meal they had together was going to be probably a bowl of cold cereal down in the communal cafeteria off the lobby. Then that would be it.

For maybe a year.

That was the moment where Carol's appetite started to dry up again. Fortunately by then she was on her last two cheesy fries anyway, so she just dropped them back down onto Daryl's napkin, and insisted that she was full, so he should finish them up. And once he had, she gathered up all of their empty containers, and soiled napkins and pushed everything back down into the brown paper bag it had all come out of. Then that bag, she hoisted it up, and brought it over to stuff down into the small trash barrel over by the desk. And she did that, because she didn't want the food smells to keep wafting up into her nose for the rest of the night.

They might bother her stomach.

When she came back to the couch a few seconds later, she stopped and looked down at Daryl slumped back on the cushion, drinking his water. Then she looked over to the time . . . just after seven . . . and then finally over to Sophia back to sitting cross legged in front of the TV.

They were halfway through the third Toy Story.

"After this one's done it's going to have to be bedtime Sophia," Carol called to her daughter.

Sophia turned to look over her shoulder.

"Okay, mama."

When she turned away again, Carol let out a faint sigh as she dropped down onto the couch. Then she pulled her legs up and leaned over to rest her head against Daryl's shoulder.

After a brief pause, he tipped his head down.

"Something specific botherin' you?" He asked softly, "or just our general situation?"

"The general," she murmured while rubbing her cheek against his warm skin, "I don't want it to be tomorrow."

"Yeah," he let out a sigh, "I was havin' some similar thoughts over here." Then he patted her leg.

"Hey, how much of this movie's left?"

"Uh," she squinted for a second, staring at the image on the screen while at the same time thinking back to the last time she'd seen it, "maybe forty-five minutes." Her eyes shot up to his profile.

"Why? What are you thinking?"

"I was thinking," he continued softly while reaching for her hand, "that she can finish her movie," he started to pull her off the couch, "while we can go have grown-up talk in the other room."

Feeling a little flutter of butterflies in her stomach, Carol had to bite down on the smile that was trying to spread across her face. But it had been a couple of decades since any man (and God knew she was including her husband there) had made her feel the way Daryl did.

Like she was a teenager again.

So when he had them both on their feet, with him looking down at her with that hopeful eyebrow, she couldn't help but give him a little smile.

"Okay," she whispered, "but we have to leave the door open this time."

The corner of his mouth twitched.

"What'd you think I was gonna do to you woman?"

And of course when he said that, the shot of heat that went up her face then, made her skin burn like it was on fire. Really, she would have been happy to have a giant volcano to leap into, to save herself from having to answer that question.

Fortunately though, her embarrassment alone seemed to be enough of a response. It also seemed to provide some additional amusement for Daryl.

Because he let out a snort, while simultaneously putting a hand out to start backing her up.

"Come on Scarlett," he grunted, "let's go burn down the mansion."

And even though she was still trying to rub away the heat from her face, Carol still found herself giggling at the remark. Honest to God giggling.

So when she felt his hand run down her side as he started to turn her around the other way, all she could think was . . . God, if only she was single. Because she absolutely would have been THRILLED, to burn down the mansion with him!

Even if it was just for the one night.

But she knew that wasn't what he'd meant anyway. It was just her damn, dormant hormones, kicking in again and embarrassing the daylights out of her.

Still though, when Daryl walked them into the bedroom for the second time in as many hours, she couldn't help but feel a bit of shyness settling over her. She wasn't quite sure what it was, maybe it was just him, but when they were alone, and he looked at her the way he was looking down at her right now, she really did feel like she was fifteen again. Then he shot her a wink . . . and she felt like burying her head against his chest. Instead she just took a quarter step back.

Because she was still afraid of those grownup hugs.

And how they were likely to make her heart hurt tomorrow.

"So what did you want to talk about?" She whispered while reaching out to let her fingertips slowly brush down along the buttons on his shirt.

"Well for one thing," he caught her hand just above his belt buckle, "unless you really did wanna to burn down the mansion, you need to stop doing that."

"Oh, sorry," she winced as she pulled her hand away, "I'm really bad at this."

"Carol," he reached out to brush his fingers down her cheek, "there ain't nothing to be bad at, because we ain't doing nothing." His eyebrow inched up, "you do know that I just wanted to talk, right?"

"Yeah," her mouth twisted in a bit of an embarrassed smile, "I did know that, I just, you were looking at me and I . . ." her voice faded, "I got out of sorts."

It was a hard admission to make, because it was a weakness. Another one. And coming from the life that she'd been leading, where everything about her personality seemed to be a weakness, she was still trying so desperately, to work her way back to what she knew she had once been. A woman of confidence and belief in herself.

Currently operating with the romantic instincts of a teenage girl, did nothing to help that.

Not that she would change these new (old) feelings she had, for anything. It was just going to take her a little while to remember how to act like a woman talking to a man, and not a teenager talking to a boy.

Fortunately she had about three hundred and sixty-five upcoming phone calls, to get that sorted out.

In the meantime though, feeling Daryl's thumb brushing gently along her cheek, did kind of go a long way to remind her that she was very much dealing with a man. Because when she was a girl, she'd never known a teenage boy who had been as sure and gentle with his touch, as Daryl Dixon was with his. So now she was kind of wondering, if she'd known him back then, back when they were both kids, would he have been the same way? Or was that just maturity?

And with no other topics on their present agenda, she decided to ask.

"Were you like this when you were young?" She whispered.

"Like what?" He asked, as she saw his eyebrow quirk up in confusion. The sight of it made her eyes crinkle.

"Gentle," she clarified, "were you gentle like this when you were younger? I was just wondering what you were like back then."

Now feeling even more confused than he was a moment ago, Daryl snorted.

"Did you forget Carol, where I told you I've spent almost two years of my life in jail for fightin'?" He started to take a step back, "because that should tell something about what I was like when I was younger."

"No," Carol caught Daryl's hand when it fell from her cheek, "that only tells me how you were with other men," she slowly shook her head, "not how you were with girls or women. At least not how you were based on how you are with me," she shrugged, "or Sophia either for that matter. That man who helped her tonight with her juice box," she gave his fingers a little squeeze, "he was gentle."

At that, she saw his eyes narrow a bit as he seemed to think about what she'd said. Finally he shook his head.

"I wouldn't use that word to describe myself, but also, I didn't know any girls back then that would've turned into women like you, so," he shrugged, "I haven't got any comparison to give about who I was then to who I am now."

Then he paused for a second, and Carol could tell he was still thinking about the question, so she stayed quiet and just let him think.

Finally he bit his lip.

"I guess," his jaw twisted, "if you're pressing the point, I could tell you that I've always liked animals, and they've always liked me. Little kids too. Even when I was one, the littler ones would always want to come play with me." His brow furrowed a bit then as he tipped his head.

"Does that answer your question?"

"Yeah," she gave him a soft smile, "yeah it really does."

Beloved by animals and very small children . . . from birth.

That was exactly what she wanted to know.

"So," with a faint sigh she lowered herself down to the edge of the mattress, "your turn. Did you have anything that you've wanted to ask me?"

For a moment Daryl just looked down, but then finally he nodded.

"Yeah," he reached out to brush his fingers through her hair, "this. I was wonderin' about this. Do you keep it short and silvery 'cuz you like it?" His lips pursed as his arm fell back to his side, "or because it's had to be that way?"

Though he knew the question was possibly going to tread into a sensitive area, he still couldn't stop himself from asking it. Because he liked her hair, she had the face for it, but it wasn't a traditional look for someone her age. So before he really put his foot in his mouth and complimented her on it, he just wanted to know if she had good reason to hate it or not.

And he could see kind of a wistful smile touch her lips, right before her hand came up to ghost over those little spikes. That's when he knew . . . it was a sensitive area.

It was too late to take it back though.

"Actually," Carol bit her lip, "the length and the color came about for different reasons. The grey, it was two months after my thirty-fifth birthday. And it wasn't even gradual, I just woke up with it one day." She huffed, "I guess it was just one day too many with Ed. And I decided to leave it because one, I was kind of in a major depression then and didn't much care what I looked like. And two, I was really hoping maybe he'd lose interest and not want to, well," she shrugged, "you know. But," her voice faded off, "it didn't work."

"I'm sorry," Daryl stooped down to touch her knee, "if you don't wanna talk about it, just," he shook his head, "don't. Because I don't wanna bring up bad memories for ya."

"No, no," her brow furrowed slightly, "it's okay. That was just the situation as it was. Though the day it all got cut off," she bit her lip, "that was a bad day. It was last June, a Friday, and I'd gone to the store for groceries but when I came in, the phone was ringing and I got busy talking to Sophia's school about a fundraiser, and then making dinner, because God knew that dinner couldn't be late, so I just plain forgot that I hadn't finished emptying out the car. I'd put Ed's beer in the trunk because it wouldn't fit with the bags in the back seat. And it was a typical ninety plus day, probably well over a hundred in that damn trunk."

Seeing Daryl's nose wrinkle, she nodded.

"Yeah, the beer exploded. Sixteen bottles. And it wasn't until after Ed got home and was looking for his Coors, that I remembered where they were. When we got out there and he saw all that foam and glass that had gone everywhere," her jaw clenched as her gaze fell to the carpet, "he just went crazy. And my hair was longer then," her eyes snapped back up to Daryl's, "like down to my shoulders. And he grabbed it and dragged me back into the house. Unfortunately the first sharp object he saw when we got back inside, were the pinking shears in my sewing basket. So he grabbed those and pinned me down on the floor, and just started hacking away. I was screaming the whole time because I was just waiting for him to cut off a piece of my ear, or slice into my neck, but somehow I got through it without losing anything vital. But by the time he was done, my head was bleeding all over and it just looked like I'd put it under a lawnmower blade." Her jaw twitched, "felt like it too. It was the middle of the summer, and I couldn't leave the house for weeks without a scarf and a hat over the bandages and band-aids. I think people at the market thought I had cancer or something, but that was preferable to anyone seeing me looking like Frankenstein's girlfriend. But then finally," she sighed, "around August, the cuts had healed all over and the hair had started growing in again. But of course it was all uneven because he'd chopped some places down to the scalp so I had to keep trimming it and trimming it, and," she shrugged, "long story short, it's been about ten months and this is as long as it's grown."

For a moment after she finished speaking, Daryl was quiet, not because he didn't know what to say, but because he was very seriously, and truly, considering tracking down her husband tomorrow night. He had an idea on how he could put those pinking shears to good use.

Maybe snip something off that that asshole didn't deserve to keep.

And he might have gotten completely bogged down in his speculative plans, if not for suddenly noticing that Carol was rubbing her eyes.

There were tears in them.

And he felt just awful then, because he was the one that asked about the story.

So he was the one that had drug all this up.

"Are you okay?" He whispered while reaching out to touch her knee. And he saw her nod, right before surprisin' him, with a little smile.

"Yeah," she cleared her throat, "actually I am okay. It felt kind of good to get that one out." Her lip quirked up, "I've never had anybody to talk to, you know? I lost track of all my old friends years ago, and Ed didn't approve of me making new ones," she rolled her eyes, "for obvious reasons. So, yeah," she let out a huff, "thank you for listening."

Daryl snorted.

"That's kinda funny, because I was just gonna apologize for upsetting you,"

"You didn't," her eyes crinkled, "it was my past that was upsetting, but having somebody who cares about what happened," she put her hand down onto his, "that's nice."

That time Daryl didn't actually know what to say, so he just turned his hand over, and laced their fingers together.

After a few more seconds had passed though, his brow wrinkled.

"You gonna let it grow long again?"

"Well," she huffed, "that is the funny thing, because I've been thinking that I just might keep it short. It is cooler in the heat, and less fuss overall." She brought her hand up to brush along one side, "I'll probably let it grow out a little more though. I always feel like my ears are sticking out."

He immediately shook his head.

"They're not." Then he reached up to brush his fingers along her neck, "you look real pretty. I like the color too. It suits you," his lip quirked up, "goes with your eyes."

A faint blush touched her cheeks.

"Thank you." She whispered back. But then another thought came to her, and her lips started to twitch.

"You know," she continued with a faintly amused tone, "looking at you on Friday, I would not have realized you were such a smooth talker."

"Pfft," he snorted, "stop."

And she let out a little chuckle, before reaching out to pat the space beside her on the mattress.

"Now come sit with me, and we'll have more grownup talk."

So he got up from the floor, and he sat down next to her on the bed . . . and they went on like that. Back and forth, just sharing little stories, and pieces of their lives before. Mostly they stayed away from the harder stuff though, and just talked about more general things. Like Carol's two years at the University of Kentucky, and how she had to drop out when her father got sick with cancer for the first time. Then the few years she'd worked waitressing to keep up on the medical bills. And how after her daddy went into remission, and the bills were caught up, that she'd gotten herself certified to work in a daycare. But then how she'd almost had to quit the first month, because she kept falling in love with the babies.

Daryl liked that story.

It made him smile. Like a real full bright smile, that made Carol's heart happy to see. Then he told her how he'd worked as a peewee football coach one season at the elementary school in his town, and how much he'd liked that. But that he'd had to stop because one of the parents found out he'd been in prison, and it didn't matter that it had been a few years earlier and had nothing to do with kids. The principal told him he couldn't help out with the team anymore.

That one had made Carol sad, because she could see even then, years later, how it still bothered Daryl.

But then he told her how the principal had called him back a week later, and said he'd found another job for him. One doing maintenance stuff on the school buses. He'd known that Daryl was good with engines, because he'd learned them as a trade at the technical high school. So Daryl said he did that for a few years, working a half time shift during the school months. He said it was good part-time work, but then he got into another bar fight, and he ended up losing that job because one screw-up when he was nineteen was something the school said they could overlook, but going back in when he was twenty-five was something they couldn't overlook.

Again, Carol felt a bit of an ache in her chest when she heard that, because there was so much lost potential in this man. Not that she thought he'd appreciate her pity, but just . . . it bothered her to know how sad his life had been.

Though she'd have to imagine in the alternative, he might just say the same thing about her.

And that's when she decided to guide the conversation a little, to try and keep it on a positive note. So she asked him about his best memory, out of all of them. And he was quiet for a minute before a soft smile touched his lips. And he told her how one spring day when he was six, his momma had gone in and taken him and Merle out of school. And she drove them down to Alpharetta, and they went to the movies. It was a double feature of old sci fi classics from the fifties. They saw the giant ant one, and the fifty foot lady. Then she took them out for hot dogs and ice cream, and she sang along with the radio all the way home. He said she never did explain why she did it, it wasn't any of their birthdays or anything like that. It was just a real nice day.

One that she'd given them for no reason.

Seeing Daryl's eyes looked a little teary after that one, Carol was about to change the subject again . . . to tell him some silly story about the time she tried to dye her hair blonde and it came out orange . . . when Sophia knocked on the open bedroom door.

"The movie's over, Mama," she said. And when Daryl turned away to pinch his nose, Carol immediately leaned around him.

"Okay baby. You go in and brush your teeth and go to the bathroom, then we'll read some Harry Potter before lights out."

Seeing how her daughter's little face lit up at that plan, gave Carol a warm feeling in her stomach. And once Sophia was gone . . . raced off really, so they could start reading more quickly . . . Carol turned back to Daryl.

"You want to stay for Harry Potter?" She asked him with a little smile.

And his lip quirked up . . . his eyes were dry by then.

"That's okay." He shook his head, "I didn't read the other ones so I'd probably be lost." He patted her leg.

"I'll go wait for ya in the other room."

Then he stood up and walked out.

Ten seconds later he walked back in again.

"You'll probably need these," he stated flatly, while dropping the Harry Potter books down on the mattress, "otherwise it's gonna be a real short bedtime story."

Carol chuckled as she leaned over to pick them up.

"Thank you!" She called out . . . but he was already halfway out of the room again.

"Yep," he waved over his shoulder, "I'll keep the couch warm."

And he was gone again.

That time she heard a "night Daryl" from Sophia just after he walked out . . . she must have just been coming out of the bathroom. And then immediately after came Daryl's response of, "good night 'darlin. You have sweet dreams," and Carol's eyes crinkled.

Yep, he'd definitely make a good part-time proxy daddy.

/*/*/*/*/

It took almost an hour to get through the first two chapters of the Prisoner of Azkaban. But fortunately by then it was almost nine, and Sophia was starting to get sleepy anyway. So after tucking a folded tissue into the chapter to hold the page, Carol put the book on the nightstand and gave her daughter a kiss on the cheek, before tucking the blankets up to her (and Anna Marie's) chin(s).

Sophia's eyes were already falling shut by then.

On her way out of the room, Carol paused to turn out the overhead light, before she pulled the door closed behind her.

It wasn't until she was stepping out into the hallway, that she realized at some point while they were reading, Daryl had gone in to take a shower.

She could hear the water running.

So Carol continued on into the sitting room and turned out the overhead light there too. Then she turned on one of the two standing lamps, and stood there in front of the couch for a moment, rubbing her eye.

Because she was getting tired.

Not that it was really so late . . . again, it was barely nine o'clock . . . but it had been a busy, VERY stressful, two days. Which meant that a little early exhaustion was understandable. But she didn't want to go to bed yet.

It would be a waste of her time left with Daryl.

So instead she just went out to hall closet, and got herself one each of the spare pillows and blankets that had been left tucked up on the top shelf.

Then she went back to the sitting room, picked up a pen and the pad of hotel stationery from the desk. Once she got back over to the couch, she put the pillow down on one end, and the blanket in the middle.

She scribbled a short note on the pad of paper.

'Wake me when you're out.'

The note she placed down onto the middle of the empty coffee table, before she turned and shook out the blanket.

Finally she laid herself down on the couch.

But after seeing what was being shown on the TV . . . some kind of war movie . . . she grabbed the remote and kept flipping the channels until she got to something that didn't have any teenyboppers in it, or images of people being murdered or blown up. She ended up settling on some movie with George Clooney. One where he was playing a lawyer.

It seemed like it was almost over.

That didn't matter really though, because she could feel her eyes closing before she'd even dropped the remote back on the coffee table.

The next thing she heard was the sound of Daryl's voice whispering in her ear.

"You stole my bed."

And her eyes crinkled, just before her lashes slowly opened.

His face was about two inches away from hers. She could see that his hair was damp, and all of his little five o'clock shadow stubbles, had been shaved away.

He looked really good.

"Borrowed," she yawned back, with her hand half over her mouth, "only borrowed. I needed to rest my eyes for a minute." She started to push herself up, but Daryl put his hand on her shoulder.

"It's fine," he murmured with a pat, "you can lie down if you want, I'll just sit on the floor."

"No," she blinked and looked up at him, "that's silly. I wanted you to wake me up so I could sit with you," she gave him a sleepy smile, "it defeats the purpose if you're going to sit on the floor."

"Well," he shrugged, "when you put it that way," his lip quirked up, "move over."

She laughed.

"Okay, okay," she chuckled, while slowly shifting herself up and over to the middle of the couch, "I'm moving."

Once she was out of the way, he moved her pillow and sat down.

Even though it was obvious that he'd just taken a shower, he'd put his jeans back on again. Though he was just wearing a t-shirt now and not the cotton shirt he'd been wearing all day. Either way, Carol was just happy to see his arms were still out.

She did so love looking at his arms.

And after she'd reached over to pick up the remote, she leaned her head against his shoulder.

"Here," she pushed the remote into his hand, "I'm not fussy, just no guts please."

"Got it," he murmured while slowly flipping up the channels, "no guts."

After a moment he stopped.

"This okay?"

"Yeah," she nodded, feeling her cheek brush against his skin, "that's fine."

Dances With Wolves.

It was actually kind of perfect. It was a nice, long, slow movie. And they'd already gotten past the Civil War hospital scene that Carol remembered had been really gross, so she was pleased to just be able to look at the pretty scenery.

They had been watching for about an hour, (the buffalo hunt had just begun), when Daryl commented that this one was one of his favorite movies. And Carol smiled, because she could kind of see that. Then he added, sort of hesitantly, about how he'd grown up tracking and hunting in the woods, and that the "bow and bolts" was the only way he really liked to hunt even today.

And that he spent probably half of his weekends, just wandering through the forest catching game.

Now that, actually surprised her. Not him hunting, that seemed very much in line with his character, but that there was this whole 'Woodsman of the Forest' element of his life, that he hadn't mentioned even once in all the time they'd been talking. Granted, they'd only had about an hour alone together before Sophia had come in, but Carol was taking (from the tone of his voice) that this was kind of a big piece of his life, and it was just funny when he was telling her those other stories, that nothing about the woods or his 'bow skills,' had come up. But that's when she realized, maybe he hadn't said anything before . . . because it was important to him. So maybe he had to get comfortable with the idea of telling her about it.

He had to decide that he trusted her enough.

And that was around the point, where Carol realized that she hadn't actually said anything back to Daryl when he'd told her about this thing that she'd just deduced was this huge piece of his personal life. And now she felt kind of like a jerk.

So she reached over and put her hand on his knee.

"I'd like to hear about your hunting sometime."

And when his eyes snapped over to hers, she added with a soft smile, "that is if you'd like to tell me."

"Yeah," his words were quiet, as his attention drifted back to the screen, "yeah, I could do that. If you wanted to hear about it. Maybe someday when you call, if we've got nothing else to talk about."

Though he tried to make it sound like it was no big deal, Carol could tell that he was pleased she'd shown an interest in hearing about that part of his world.

Then he moved his hand over, and put it over hers . . . and he laced their fingers together.

And that's how they watched the rest of the film. With her slumped against his side, and him holding her hand.

As tame little first dates went, it was pretty much perfect.

By the end of the movie though, Carol was getting really sleepy again. She'd actually been yawning steadily, for the last twenty minutes or so of the film.

Of course by then it was well after eleven, and as the credits began to roll, Daryl reached over to pat her arm.

"You should go to bed."

"Yep," she blinked and yawned, "I should do that."

Looking down and over to see that Carol's eyes were half shut, Daryl huffed.

"Okay woman, I'm gonna run to the bathroom, and then I'm going to escort you home."

She murmured back a, "'k," that Daryl took as enough acknowledgment of his words that she hadn't actually fallen asleep yet. So he let go of her hand, and stood up.

When he looked behind him, Carol was yawning into her arm.

"Somebody stayed up past her bedtime," he murmured to himself, before turning to head off and take care of his business.

Too many bottled waters that night.

When he came back from the bathroom about a minute or so later, it wasn't a huge shock to find that Carol had completely passed out again. Basically she was slumped over in almost the same position she'd been in when he'd gotten out of the shower.

Though this time she was missing the pillow and blanket.

And not having the heart to wake her when she looked so peaceful, he debated just pickin' her up and carryin' her into her own bed. But then he thought about her waking up in there, when she had told him earlier that she was seeing those images playing out against the blinds.

That wouldn't be nice if that's what she woke up to the middle of the night.

So no . . . his jaw clenched . . . he couldn't do that to her. But obviously he couldn't trade beds and go sleep with Sophia either, so he needed to figure something else out.

Then he realized he could steal her pillow off the bed, and that there was probably another blanket in one of the closets.

That's all he really needed.

So after he'd gotten Carol shifted around with the pillow back under her head, and the blanket pulled up and over her shoulders, he brushed his fingers along her cheek.

Then he went about getting himself sorted.

And sure enough, he did find that there were two blankets in the hall closet, and even another pillow in there too. Which meant that he didn't have to go into the bedroom at all. Great.

Because he really didn't want to have to worry about waking up Sophia.

Instead, he just tucked the pillow under his arm, and the blankets over his shoulder as went back into the sitting room. Once he was there, he moved the coffee table over to the front of the TV stand, and then walked back to lay one of the blankets out on carpet.

After that, he dropped down his pillow and the other blanket. And if he was honest with himself, he knew that he was happier that things had worked out this way. He didn't mind sleeping on the floor, it was a hell of a lot more comfortable than sleeping out in the woods, and now he could be right there with Carol.

Which was the only place he really wanted to be.

So once he got his jeans off, he laid down and covered himself up. Then he reached back to pick up the remote from where he'd left on the edge of the couch. And though he turned the volume down on the TV, he left the picture on as a nightlight of sorts.

It actually didn't take long before he could feel himself droppin' off . . . but then his eyes popped open wide again, straight up onto the shadows crossing the ceiling.

It was definitely much later.

And for a moment he had a rush of panic, thinking that maybe he'd been hearing middle of the night gunshots again. But as he lay there, heart poundin', he finally realized that the sound he'd heard . . . was voices.

Out in the hall.

They weren't the screamin' kind though, they were actually fairly soft . . . but he had real good ears. And he knew that nobody who was witnessing any kind of attack along the lines that he'd seen, would be using a tone as soft as those people were.

So he tried to calm himself as he pushed the blanket back, and then himself up to his feet. Then he leaned down to grab his jeans, and pull his knife out from the pocket. The jeans he quickly pulled back on over his boxers.

The knife he pulled from the sheath, and held in his hand.

And after a quick eye over to Carol . . . still sleepin' soundly . . . he headed off towards the door, because there was no way he was gettin' back to sleep until he found out what was goin' on out in the hallway at . . . his eyes shot over to the cable clock . . . two seventeen in the morning.

Once he was standing in front of the door, he stood listening with his ear pressed to the wood. It took a few seconds though, before he could make out the exact words that were being said out in that hallway.

". . . ills started this afternoon. And he's just been getting worse ever since."

It was a woman talking, and she sounded real stressed. And okay . . . Daryl nodded slowly to himself . . . there was a man out there too.

He was answering her back.

"Yes ma'am, that's what the hotel operator told me that you told her, so we immediately called for an ambulance. I could hear them just arriving when I got on the elevator."

Now having his curiosity about this situation somewhat perked up . . . whoever this dude was, he had to be pretty sick to be gettin' dragged off to the hospital in the dead of night . . . Daryl closed one eye and leaned in close to look out through the peephole.

What he saw out in the corridor, in the open doorway of the room diagonally across from theirs, was a young'ish blonde, in her robe and slippers, talking to somebody that looked like they had to work for the hotel security team. For one thing, he had on a uniform like Christopher had been wearin' out front.

And he also had a walkie talkie in his hand.

Which was the exact moment that the walkie talkie started to squawk.

"Damon, on channel three."

The security guard took a step back as he turned and brought the walkie to his mouth.

"Yeah, Damon here."

"EMTs are on the elevator," came the responding crackle, "and as soon as they get there, I need you to head on down to three. We've got a disturbance on the floor."

Even as the hairs on the back of Daryl's neck were going up, he heard "Damon" ask, somewhat worriedly, "what kind of disturbance?"

Clearly Christopher had briefed his team on things to watch for. But fortunately, the next word through that little speaker was, "drunk. Guy's apparently been singing Barry Manilow out in the corridor for the last twenty minutes. Tasha isn't having any luck getting him back into his room. And FYI, he's naked."

And when Damon sighed, "yeah, of course he is," Daryl had to bite down a snort. Because he was thinkin' then, it must be an interesting job, working at a hotel. That was one thing he'd never done, and it wasn't on his to do list.

The idea of having to wear a uniform all day made his skin crawl.

That was a thought that was pushed aside when he heard some clattering coming from down the hall. Unfortunately the scope of the peephole didn't let him see that far, but he had to figure, based on the reactions of the two people that he could see (Damon and the woman), that it was the ambulance crew arriving.

"Right here," Damon called out, with a gesture towards the open door, "thirty-two year old white male, name of Scott Bagdon. He's had chills and a high fever since this afternoon, and his wife here," he pointed to the lady in the robe, "she said he's been completely delirious for the last half hour. That's when she called us and we called you."

The EMTs had arrived at the door about halfway through Damon's spiel. The younger of the two, the Asian guy, was standing there with his hand on the empty stretcher, and the other one, the white guy, he had his bald head poked through the open door.

But once they'd heard all of the particulars, the one at the door disappeared inside the room for a few seconds. When he stepped back out into the hallway, he was giving the wife a hard look.

"Has your husband suffered any injuries or been exposed to any diseases, that you know of?"

She immediately shook her head.

"Not that I know of, no."

"And he hasn't been bitten?" The younger guy asked, and she immediately whipped her head around the other way.

"Bitten?" She repeated in confusion, "like by a spider?"

At that, Daryl say the Asian guy shoot a quick glance over to his partner, before looking back to the woman.

"A spider," he started to drum his fingers on the end of the gurney, "or anything else?"

"No," she slowly shook her head, "no, I don't think so. He didn't mention anything."

At that point Daryl was gettin' a little suspicious about the questions these guys were asking, and how they didn't seem to be in any big almighty rush to get that guy to a hospital.

Which was just exactly the point where Damon the security dude, cut in to say that he had to be going to that other call. So he took off down the corridor with a final, "good luck Mrs. Bagdon," over his shoulder. And then it was just the pretty young wife and the two EMTs still standing out in hall.

Then she was shaking her head as she looked back and forth between the two men.

"Well, aren't you going to take him in?" She asked with what Daryl could see was clear confusion and frustration.

He was feelin' a bit of that himself.

But the bald guy quickly stepped up then.

"Yes ma'am," he tapped the radio on his collar, "we just need to call this in. I was going to suggest though, that if you're going with us, you might want to get dressed now, and we'll be in to take him out in just a minute."

And the woman looked down then at her fuzzy robe and slippers, like she'd completely forgotten that she was wearing them . . . Daryl figured that she probably had. Because then she rushing past baldy with a, "yes, of course, I'll be ready in a moment."

After she disappeared through the doorway with her bathrobe swirling behind her, baldy walked over to join his partner on the other side of the corridor.

The two of them were now right outside of Daryl's door, standing about a half a foot to the left of the actual room entrance. And thank God for that, because otherwise when they started whispering, Daryl wouldn't have been able to hear a God damn thing that they were saying. Though what they did say, was very strange. Because first it was the Asian guy, asking quote, "how much time do we have until he's gone?" Like it was just a done deal that the sick guy was totally fucked.

How would he know that?

But it didn't take Daryl long to get the answer to that question. Because then baldy was leaning down, and whispering back.

"He's definitely circling the drain, and we don't want him on the bus when he goes. Garcia over on Lifeline, he said they had one go on Friday night and it was a fucking nightmare. The cops had to come play cleanup. So let's just strap this one down good, and take him over to St. Lucia's. They're only six blocks away, and Benny told me they aren't turning people away yet. Not like some of the other hospitals."

The younger one was quiet for a second then, just staring down at the carpet, before he looked back up.

"You hearing anything about a cure yet?"

"Naw," baldy shook his head, "not that I heard. But," he shrugged, "it's still early days, right?"

"Yeah," the younger guy nodded slowly, "right." He swallowed, "early days. So," his attention drifted over towards the open door then, "you ready to do this thing? And what do you want to do about the wife?"

"The wife," the older guy answered, "we'll just tell her policy is she can't ride with us and she can meet us there. Otherwise yeah," he slapped his buddy on the back, "yeah, let's do it."

And then he did something that actually scared the crap out of Daryl . . . he made the sign of the cross.

Daryl actually muttered a, "what the fuck?" to himself when he saw that. But fortunately the guys couldn't hear him through his door, because they were already pushing the gurney into the one across the hall.

And it made enough noise bouncin' over the doorjamb, to wake the dead.

So Daryl stood there, with his knife tapping against his leg, waitin' for everyone to come back out again.

It took about two minutes before the end of the gurney began to poke its head out . . . and then he could see the man upon it. And he was indeed strapped down from shoulders to chest, to hips, to legs, to ankles, like you'd think they would for a serious mental patient. Still though, as he was rolled out, the man was sweating and twitching and writhing on the gurney, rantin' something about Jesus and the sinners.

And how the devil was gonna rise up and take his pound.

It was creepy ass shit, really. And that was even though it was obvious to Daryl that the poor bastard was completely out of his head. Still though, it didn't make what that poor bastard was saying, anymore okay. So he was pretty happy when those ambulance guys started pushin' the stretcher down the corridor.

But they'd only gotten about ten feet or so, before the wife came running out the open door, now dressed in jeans and a pink t-shirt, but still yanking on one of her sneakers.

"Wait!" She yelled, while turning back to grab the doorknob, "I'll ride down with you!"

So the gurney stopped, and the guys waited.

Everything in Daryl's view now for that peephole angle where they were all frozen, was kinda distorted. Like a kaleidoscope starting to twist, but he could still see the basics okay enough. So he saw the wife shoving what looked like her car keys into her jeans pocket, while still hopping along trying to fix the back part of that sneaker. And she stumbled a little, and fell against the side of the gurney . . . and that's when Daryl saw the God damndest thing. The husband, who was still laying there rantin', his head turned . . . and he chomped.

Just once.

But he did it, it was clear as day, but still clear in that fucked up, twisted kaleidoscope way. Then his head dropped back, and it looked like he passed out.

And even though what seemed to be wrong with this dude, didn't have anything to do with what seemed to have been wrong with those funeral home attackers . . . for one thing he was sick as a dog, and those crazy people were pretty damn spry on their feet . . . that chomp still sent a solid shiver down Daryl's spine.

The only person who said anything about what had just happened though, was baldy. He just shot a look over to the Asian kid with an anxious mutter of, "we gotta go."

And then they started rolling that gurney double time.

The wife was scurrying along behind them.

Daryl twisted his neck, trying to keep the three of them in his sight, but there was only so far that peephole peepin' could go. So it wasn't long 'til they were out of view. That's when he finally turned around, and slumped back against the door. There was only one thought rolling around in his head then.

"What the fuck was that?!"

/*/*/*/*/

Carol let out a sigh as she turned away from her daughter sitting on the bench seat between her and Daryl, rereading the first two chapters of the Prison of Azkaban.

Instead Carol shifted her attention to look out the passenger side window of Daryl's truck.

It was just after two pm, and she and Daryl and Sophia were stopped at a red light in the middle of Little Five Points. There were no signs here of any of the violence that they kept bumping against all weekend. No, this was just a nice Sunday afternoon, in a nice, "safe" (relatively speaking) part of the city, so there were a lot of people around. Most of them were laughing or talking as they walked along the sidewalks or headed into or out of, one of the many funky little shops or trendy restaurants, lining that section of the street.

And just a few feet away from her window, there was a young'ish man and a little girl of around five or six, standing on the corner, about to cross over to the median. Going by the shared flaming red hair, and pale freckled skin, Carol was assuming that they were father and daughter. The man was holding the little girl's hand.

She was eating an ice cream cone.

This was the neighborhood where their new shelter was located. The beds still wouldn't be available until three, but after they'd left the hotel, and taken a cab (which they'd called for ahead of time) over to pick up Daryl's truck, Daryl had said that they might as well check out the neighborhood while they had the time. They could look around a bit from the safety of the cab, and then get a bite to eat from a drive-thru.

Eating would be safer inside the truck cab too.

Yeah, Daryl had been all about safety, all day. Not that Carol didn't understand why, safety was so much on his mind, but it had somehow become his only focus. From the point where she'd first woken up to find that he was sitting cross legged on the floor in front of the couch, using a new hotel's pen and their old hotel's city map, to figure out exactly where they needed to go that day, and what their fastest, most direct routes were, to get from A to B to C.

For a few seconds she'd just laid there listening to him mutter to himself. But then she'd reached out and put her hand on his neck . . . and he'd jumped. Then he'd turned around to give her a small, tight smile as he'd patted her knee through the blanket and said good morning. But that was all he'd said. And that was all he'd done. Because after that, he'd just returned to his mutterings over the map, and she'd slumped back against her pillow.

Because it was clear to her then just how distracted he was.

And that level of distraction, and focus on planning and safety, had stayed with him through the three of them getting washed up and dressed, and sorting out their bags. In the end, he'd ended up just giving her and Sophia both all of the jerky he'd bought for himself, and the extra hundred minute phone card too. He'd told her that he'd pick up a few new minute cards on the way home. So he was still being really sweet and looking after them, that much had been clear. But there was something in his behavior that was different.

He wasn't touching her at all.

And she'd been getting used to that, the way he'd reach for her hand or brush his fingers along her jaw . . . like he just needed to be near her as long as she was around. And that had made her feel good. But all morning, it was more like was too distracted with whatever was going through his head, to really see what was right in front of his face. So when he'd step around her without really looking at her, or making any kind of contact, she'd tried not to let it hurt her feelings.

Even though it kind of did.

But when it actually came time to leave the room to go down and get some breakfast, his mindset seemed to change again. All the way down in the elevator, he'd held her hand, and brushed his thumb along the center of her palm. He was being really sweet and tactile again.

That had gone a long way towards making up for how distant he'd seemed in the room.

And then when they finally arrived down in the lobby where they were just too many people heading out with their bags on their arms and their suitcases rolling along behind them, Daryl had her tucked up against one side of him, and Sophia tucked up on the other.

He had been so careful with both of them.

It had been like having a personal security detail. And really, even with her nerves as wired as they were . . . because she obviously hadn't been any happier to have to leave the room than he'd been . . . Carol had strangely enough, felt pretty safe. Because the one thing that she was coming to trust more than anything . . . were Daryl's instincts. So even if she knew he couldn't fight one of those crazy people if they turned up (nobody could fight them) at that point, she was starting to believe that he would actually be able to pick up on any of that insanity brewing around them, before it actually crashed into them.

He just had that way about him.

Even when they walked into the dining area off the far side of the lobby, he made sure that there was nobody else going along the breakfast buffet tables, before he let their little group go over to them. There were maybe fifteen or twenty people already in the room at that point, and of those, only five of them were filling their plates. But still, Daryl hadn't wanted to get worked into a line with people close around them.

It wasn't safe.

That was already the phrase of the day.

But after they'd spent maybe three or four minutes huddled around the brick wall in the back, everyone else had finally cleared out from around the buffet. And wanting to make a quick move before more people arrived, Daryl was already whispering to her and Sophia on their way down front, to grab everything they wanted right then, because he only wanted to make the one trip.

So they'd loaded up their trays with hot and cold cereals and scrambled eggs, and muffins and juice and coffee. And Daryl had even grabbed a few slices of bacon, so Carol had known then that his appetite was coming back. Then after they'd grabbed everything that they could reasonably carry (they'd all woken up starving and the continental breakfast was much better than they'd expected) Daryl had led them over to a table on the far side of the room, where nobody else had ventured to set up camp yet.

Once more though, it was just safer to sit alone.

But the second key benefit of that table, at least as far as Carol had seen . . . and she was sure it was the main reason Daryl had picked it . . . was that there was also a bright red, (alarmed), Emergency Exit door not ten feet away from them. Which had meant that if something bad had started to happen over in the 'crowded' area . . . though that crowd was pretty small . . . the three of them could've headed right out the door before that hypothetical violence could spill in their direction.

Again, Daryl had planned for everything.

The only thing that had been a little surprising, was that he hadn't rushed them to hurry up and eat so they could get back up to their locked room. But maybe he'd figured that as long as they had the good buffer zone around them, with an easy exit, that there was no reason for them to have to run straight back upstairs. And really nothing, to Carol's eye anyway, had seemed to be amiss at all. Truly, more than half of the people who had come down to breakfast (and they were there in the ten to ten-fifty am window) had shown up in their pajamas. So in a situation where people were walking around with bedhead, in their flip flops and t-shirts and drawstring flannel pants, nobody there had seemed threatening at all.

That might have been part of what helped to put Daryl more at ease.

Either way, he let them stay until they'd finished everything they'd grabbed, and then they'd gone back to the room again. Fortunately checkout wasn't until noon, so they'd just hung around in the sitting room watching a new Muppet movie until then. At least that's what Carol and Sophia had done. Daryl had spent that whole time in the bedroom, flipping channels, watching all of the Sunday morning newscasts that he could. A lot of them were doing specials on the air disasters.

Another plane had disappeared overnight.

Carol had briefly considered going in to join him to see what other kind of hell was going on out in the world, but she'd decided that the Muppets were a better choice. She just didn't have the stomach for reality that day. Not with them planning to separate in a few hours.

It would have just jacked her nerves up even further.

And she'd already been feeling pretty sick.

At first, as in when she'd first woken up, she'd thought that it was just the hunger pangs in her stomach. And that was part of it, but then after she'd eaten and she'd still felt strange, she'd thought that maybe it was just the food not sitting well. But it wasn't the hunger or the food. It was just fear. A giant lead ball of it, sitting there in the middle of her stomach.

It was still there now.

Really every time she thought about what they were planning to do, to go off and live in this strange place with this big crowd of other women and children . . . when crowds were such a dangerous thing right now . . . Carol wanted to weep. But she'd been hiding that from Daryl.

And of course from Sophia too.

Neither of them could know how scared she was. Because really . . . there was no point in sharing that information. The only other option for them was to go back home to Ed, and good Christ, thinking about doing that was even more terrifying than the idea of going to live in a crowded shelter!

Basically Carol was afraid that they were damned either way though.

Even sitting there at that intersection in Five Points, where the light had just turned green, she could feel her eyes beginning to tear up again.

It was at least the tenth time that day.

And once more she tried to blink the moisture away before either of her travel companions noticed what was happening. When that didn't work, and the truck started to move forward, she closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. It wasn't until she realized that Daryl had just pulled off and turned in somewhere, that Carol let her wet flashes flutter open again.

When she looked around, it was kind of a surprise to see that they were in a Target parking lot.

And Daryl was pulling over to park.

They were way down on the far side though, in the totally empty area where nobody else ever parked, (except the occasional stoner box boy), because it was a half mile walk to the store entrance. No stoner boys appeared to be around today though.

It was just a whole lot of empty parking spaces all shimmering in the mid-afternoon heat.

And when Carol looked over Sophia's head . . . she still had her face buried in her book . . . she saw that Daryl was staring at her. And there was the strangest look on his face.

Sort of desperate, but kind of determined at the same time.

"I need to talk to you," he said quietly, "and this is probably the safest place to do it. Just wait for me," he pushed the button for the locks, "and I'll come around to get you."

"Um yeah," she nodded slowly, "okay."

This was weird. It was really weird. Because they'd basically said all of the personal stuff that they needed to say, last night. And they'd covered all of the practical/logistical stuff on safety and staying in touch, that morning.

So Carol really wasn't sure what else there was to talk about.

But she figured Daryl had his reasons, so just unclicked her seatbelt and let it slowly snap back against the seat.

Out through the front windshield, she could see Daryl squinting in the sun as he walked around the front of the truck. And then he was coming up to her door, and he was opening it up, and putting his hand out.

So she let him take it.

After he'd helped her down though, he let it go. Then he leaned his head around to call in to Sophia.

"We'll be done talkin' in a couple minutes darlin'," and Sophia gave him a little nod and a smile, before she went back to her book.

And after staring in there at her for a second, Daryl slowly pushed the door shut. Then he paused, while looking just to the side of Carol's left shoulder.

His eyes really weren't focused.

And Carol was just about to prompt him, to ask what it was he wanted to talk about, when his gaze snapped back to hers.

"I was just sortin' my thoughts," he said, seeming to sense what she was about to say. Then he took a deep breath.

"Okay," he slowly exhaled, "I want to say something, and I just want you to listen to me, okay? Just let me get it all out, and then you can take it in and say what you wanna say. But just please," he gave her an imploring look, "let me say it at my pace, all right?"

"Yeah," Carol nodded as her brow furrowed and her arms came up to wrap around her body, "of course. What is it?"

"All right," his jaw clenched, "so I've had this thought that's been rolling around in the back of my head for about twenty-four hours now and I just kept battin' it away because I thought it was a dumb idea, and it'd never work, but all day long it's been eating at me like a tapeworm, and I just figured well," he huffed out a breath, "what the hell, I'll say it and be done with it. So, uh anyway," he scratched his cheek, "I grew up, and still live, in this little town called Blackburn. It backs right up on the Chattahoochee National Forest. There's not much there besides the basics. We got two banks, a volunteer fire department, a small sheriff's department and an even smaller health clinic. As far as shopping goes, we got a Piggly Wiggly, a brand new 24 hour CVS, and a fancy thrift shop they started callin' a consignment store, a couple years ago. We get a few tourists in the summer months with folks passing through to go camping out in the forest. Even with those few outsiders though, the town's real safe." He nodded, "we ain't had a murder in a good six years, and that was a whacked out meth thing with one of the way out country folks. There a few hundred of those that live in these little houses on winding roads, that lead way off into the woods. They don't associate much with the rest of the town. And the town on the whole," he swallowed, "it's about fifteen hundred people, spread over five by four square miles, but a lot of that is trees, so anyway you cut it, we're pretty small. But in the midst of those fifteen hundred or so folks, there are these two ladies, Miss Evelyn and Miss Roberta. They're kinda dippy, flower child, old school hippies, and they're the only lesbian couple I know of in town. They're in their sixties now and sorta old biddies." He put his hand up, "I ain't saying that 'cuz their lesbians just," he rolled his eyes, "they never seemed to like me much, even when I was a little kid. But anyway, uh," his brow furrowed, "my point is, these two biddies," he corrected himself, "the ladies, they kind of made themselves a little mark with the town by doing a lot of charity work. And that's gone a long way towards the churchy types getting past the gay thing, 'cuz the ladies look in on the elderly folks and do like one of those daily meals on wheels programs for people who can't get out, and uh," Daryl swallowed as his attention fell to the ground, "well, sometimes they take in ladies from around the county." His eyes snapped back up to Carol's.

"Ladies in your type of situation."

Daryl's last sentence came out very slowly, and very deliberately. And suddenly realizing where it was he'd been heading all along with these seemingly random, rambling, bits of information about his hometown and the people in it, Carol's eyes widened.

"Oh."

That was that was the only word that came out of her mouth . . . even though there were about a million thoughts now flying around in her head.

And apparently Daryl didn't take that one word response, to be a ringing endorsement of the idea he'd just proposed. Because while she was still trying to clear her head and untie her tongue, she saw him shrug and look away.

"Yeah, I know." His voice fell as he shoved his hand into his pocket, "it's the middle of nowhere, and you wouldn't have the job trainin' you were looking forward to, or any of that special counseling for you and Soph . . ."

"Yes," Carol cut in.

Daryl's eyes immediately snapped back to hers.

"Yes, what?" He asked with a confused furrow of his brow. And she began to nod furiously.

"Yes, I want to meet the hippy dippy biddies," she immediately clarified right before her eyes began to water, "that's where I want to go. I don't want to stay here Daryl. I am terrified," her hands started to clench into fists, "at the idea of staying in this city. I mean yeah, yesterday I was excited about all that stuff you mentioned, but," her voice started to catch, "we hadn't seen all of the things we have since. It's scary here. And it seems to be getting scarier every time we turn around." Her teeth sunk into her lip, as one of her fists came up to press against her stomach. "And all day I've just had this weight sitting here, like I was making a terrible mistake staying in Atlanta."

"Well, why didn't ya say somethin'?" Daryl whispered back with equal parts frustration and surprise.

She shrugged.

"Because I didn't think there was any point in it. I mean," her lips twisted in a sad smile, "where else were we going to go? I didn't know about the biddies."

"Yeah," the word came out on a soft sigh as Daryl reached over to stroke his thumb along Carol's cheek "I didn't mention them yesterday mornin', because well, it woulda just kind of come off as a bit creepy I think. You know," he shrugged and his hand fell away, "offering to take you home with me and all. I mean," he rolled his eyes, "that's not what it would have been, or is, but I think it just would've come out weird, no matter how I tried to mention it as a last option if nothing else worked out with the other shelters. And then once you got the good beds," he put his hands up, "there didn't seem any point to mentioning it at all. But," his lips pursed then as he gave her a firm headshake, "ever since what happened at the funeral home, I've just been feeling sick about leaving you guys here with all this shit going on. And that sick feelin' has just been getting worse and worse all day, because well," he took a breath as his eyes shifted over her shoulder for a moment . . . watching the people at the other end of the parking lot, "the closer it came to time to drop you off," he bit his lip, "the harder it was hitting me that I wasn't gonna be around to keep an eye on ya anymore."

That was the thing, all day he'd been trying to to tell himself that the plans Carol had made for her and Sophia to go to this shelter, were the best option for them. Because they needed more to start over a new life, than just fresh air and a whole hell of a lotta trees. But coming up into the neighborhood where he was really going to have to drop them off, it just hit like a punch to the gut. He was making a terrible mistake.

One that he was terrified he wouldn't be able to take back.

So even if Carol had thought he was crazy, he'd figured it couldn't hurt to tell her about Miss Evelyn and Miss Roberta, just to see what she thought. And now that she'd agreed to go, even if she and Sophia only stayed with them for a few months, just enough time to let whatever this was happening in the city, calm itself, at least they'd be safe out in the country.

And them bein' safe . . . his eyes darted back over to Carol's . . . was all that mattered.

Hearing Daryl's words, while seeing that look on his face, made Carol's heart twist with something that she couldn't quite identify . . . but it was something that she knew she hadn't felt in a long time. Whatever it was, it caused a fresh batch of tears to floor her eyes. Though when she saw the worried look on Daryl's face, right before he asked, half on a panic, "what's wrong now?!" she couldn't help but laugh.

"Nothing," she sniffled back with a watery smile, "nothing's wrong. I was just wondering if I could give you a hug."

Yeah, she was breaking her no grownup hugs rule . . . but that's because the rule didn't matter anymore.

Because they didn't have to separate.

But she could see though, the splash of surprise that crossed Daryl's features at her request. He quickly covered over that though, with a half shrug.

"I suppose," his eyes crinkled even if his voice was gruff, "if you insist upon it, a hug would be all right."

"I do," she whispered back with a twitch of her lips as she stepped forward, "I do insist upon it."

So she slipped her arms around his neck, and he pulled her to his chest . . . and he held her so tight. And that hug was everything she'd thought it would be. His arms were warm and strong, and she felt so safe there wrapped up in them. Safe enough that she closed her eyes, and burrowed her face against the hollow of his throat.

After a few seconds of breathing him in, she let out a soft sigh.

"This is a really good hug," she murmured against his skin.

And she felt him huff as he ran his hand down her back.

"What?" He whispered in her ear, "did ya think I didn't know how?"

She started to laugh.

"It's not that," she leaned back to give him a little smile, "it just made me really happy, was what I meant."

"Well," his expression softened, "I'm glad for that."

Then one of his hands slid down from her back, to land on her arm.

"Now," he gave her a light pat while giving a quick look up to the sky, "we should get on the road. It's gonna be a couple hours, and we wanna get there while it's still early so you can settle in."

"And you're sure the ladies will take us, right?" She cut in worriedly, "it won't be a problem?"

"No," he shook his head, "it definitely won't be a problem. I know that at least a dozen women, with and without kids, have passed through that place over the last ten years. I think the last one was about six months ago. She was a local girl with a baby. But she ended up going to live with an aunt up north, so they don't have nobody staying with 'em now. And uh," he bit down on his cheek, "their place isn't too far from my place, so and I can check in on ya pretty regularly," he shrugged, "if that's something you'd be okay with me doing."

Seeing how nervous he was at making that proposal, Carol gave him a soft smile.

"Of course it's okay," she whispered back with a press of her fingers to his chest, "you already knew I wanted to keep seeing you," her eyes crinkled, "we're just moving the timetable up some." Then, feeling her own spark of nerves rise up, she bit her lip.

"Can I still call you whenever though?" She asked worriedly, "even if we aren't going to be a million miles away anymore."

"Yeah," his lip quirked up, "you can still call as much as you want."

A small grin spread across her face.

"Okay then."

"Yeah," he nodded, "okay then. So," he turned and put his hand on the door . . . the metal was starting to feel hot, "I guess we're done here. We'll grab some drive thru once we get outta the city, and I'll call ahead to the biddies then too just to," he tipped his head, "well, you know, so they'll know you're coming."

"All right," she nodded, "sounds like a plan. Oh wait," her eyes widened, "I should call the shelter and tell them not to hold the beds for us. They can give them to somebody else."

"Yeah," Daryl nodded as he reached out to tap the cell phone outlined in Carol's front pants pocket, "that's one of the things that this is good for," he gave a somber nod, "making calls on the go."

Seeing Carol shoot him a smirk at that, he slid his hand along her hip, to rest on her waist . . . that wiped the smile away.

"You sure about this, right?" He asked seriously, "I mean I know there ain't a lot of options going right now, but I just wanna make sure you understand before we go," his lips pressed together, "it's real different up there. It's not gonna be like what you're used to."

"What I'm used to," she answered softly, "is living with a man who made my life, and my daughter's life, a daily hell. So I'm sure anything we'll be trading off in the short term, will be things we can live without for awhile. Besides," she brought her hand up to place onto his, "I think we'll be getting some pretty good stuff in return, right?"

"Yeah," his expression softened, "I think so. Though," his eyes briefly flickered over her shoulder to once more check out the parking lot, before they snapped back to hers again, "I'm probably getting the better end of that deal."

He finished the last sentence with a little smile . . . one that she returned in kind.

"I disagree," she answered with a gentle squeeze of his fingers, "but we can discuss it later. For now though," she took a breath, "I'm ready when you are."

"All right then," Daryl's lip quirked up.

"Let's go."

---

A/N 2: They didn't split up :) Yay! This was the twist that my brain made me write out weeks ago, the whole section of him pulling over and making his awkward rambling about the biddies and her like, "oh god, yes, please! Let's go!" This way they get to stay together in a more realistic way (because most communities would have either a church or whatever that would do that), by her being taken in by these ladies, and them now being able to still see each other. Because really, I couldn't just send them home with Daryl, to HIS house, after 48 hours. That would have been SUPER weird :) "Why don't you and your abused daughter come live with me and my abusive, racist, woman hating, drug dealing brother, INDEFINITELY! It'll be totally fine!" The world has not yet devolved to where that's option anyone would propose. And now we're getting to the whole point of the story that I've been trying to get to . . . Daryl's hometown! We'll get to explore it, and the people in it, through Carol, Sophia and Daryl. But have no fear, the messiness will soon catch up with them there too! I have already sketched out a few chapters both pre and post, the mess arriving :)

And Blackburn is my own made up hometown for him. It just sounded like a place that would be on the edge of a forest. The Chattahoochee Forest is real though, right up in Northern Georgia, so I have to imagine for canon, that would have been where Daryl and Merle would have done most of their hunting and tracking. And though this is an AU, wherever possible IN AUs, I try to incorporate existing canon so I thought that was a good factoid to roll in there :) And fortunately for the Dixon pre ZA world, there isn't much in canon to worry about contradicting. So we're keeping mom died in a fire, dad was an abusive SOB, and Daryl and Merle as adults kept themselves afloat doing odd jobs up and down the legal spectrum. Beyond that, I'm mostly building my own world here.

The idea of people getting sick and dying in hotels comes from my favorite book, A Brief History of the Dead. If you've never heard it, it is so highly recommended. It's one of those you either love it or are kind of 'eh' about it, but I love it to death. And it is all about death. Or really, similar to TWD, an extinction event wiping out most of the human race with a virus. Except this story is primarily told from the afterlife. And one of the main characters tells of how she died in a hotel. She was there for work and everybody started getting sick. So much of that book has stuck with me over the years, it's beautifully written, but that idea of being away on a business trip when the world ends, bothers me so much. It's such a sad, empty death. So anyway, as soon as I'd put them up in the nicer hotel I'd had the plan for Daryl to see one of these middle of the night runs with somebody dying across the hall. And again, they don't have enough information to be putting all these pieces together yet. Everything seems like unconnected, isolated, issues. And I do think it is quite plausible that the official 'expert' opinion on a new wave of violence like this would be weather associated. Because they've done that before, just on massive shooting sprees. Not 'spree shootings' (we get those regardless of the weather), but drivebys and what not in the cities. They always try to dismiss them as 'rising temperatures make tempers rise' and it's always a cop out answer rather than really digging into the issues that are triggering whatever the current wave is. So this would be that to the nth degree.

Otherwise I am excited and will hopefully catch up again here in the next week or so. Thanks!