Hey guys! I tried to post this chapter yesterday but the site was acting up again and I deleted it. So, apologies for the mess and there we go again… It took me a while again, didn't it? But here I am before the premiere! Ok, important reminder: The events of chapters 9, 10 and 11 take place in the same night. It's parallel action in the prison, the camp and the cabin Carol and Daryl have met. I think if you reread the scene between them in chapter 9, you'd follow this chapter easier. Also, some details might be disturbing, but keep reading and by the end of the chapter you'll find out that they were there for a reason :) There's an index of the camp population in the end of chapter 9 in case you need to refresh your memory.
I'm nervous that this fic will completely deviate from the show events, but hopefully you'll still be interested in the story after the next few episodes are aired. Let's just see where this plot might get us :)
To those of you who follow 'Rain', I will try to post the last part within the week. The fluffiness of that story balances out the angst of this one and it makes me happy to write :) As far as the other one shot about Daryl and Beth talking about Carol, it will remain a one shot. I'm sorry, but I just can't have too many stories going on at the same time and, honestly, it was just meant to be my intake of the promos. You know, wishful thinking :)
Enjoy!
"The decision to kiss for the first time is the most crucial in any love story. It changes the relationship of two people much more strongly than even the final surrender; because this kiss already has within it that surrender."
― Emil Ludwig
With a sharp inward breath, Lilly's eyes snapped open. Drenched in her own sweat, she gasped for air, striving to recall the nightmare that jerked her out of her slumbering state. All she could wrap her mind around was the distant howls of a dog pack, echoing deafeningly through the serenity of the wee hours like a belfry knelling from hell.
Rubbing her hollow eyes, she took in her bearings. Tara had cried herself to sleep, grieving Alisha's loss, but was now breathing peacefully and Meghan was curled next to her. She still couldn't come to terms with how the hell they lost Alisha, how they lost any of the people that died slowly and in horrific suffering. Despite being a trained nurse in the life before all this, before the end of the world and the biters claiming earth for their own, Lilly couldn't stomach the kind of death she had witnessed here –people choking on their own blood, bleeding from every orifice. Or maybe it was exactly due to her being a nurse that she felt this way. She was supposed to provide comfort and cure the sick, not just watch them perish in dying throes. People weren't supposed to go like this, not in the twenty-first century, not from a goddamn flu. And that things would have been worse had Carol not been familiarized with the illness before was an understatement that didn't even begin to cover it.
Brian was nowhere to be seen inside the trailer and Lilly scooted up noiselessly, mindful not to disturb Tara and Meghan. Exhaustion was claiming its toll on her, three sleepless nights brewing in agony and uncertainty for her daughter and sister's life. What a huge irony to nearly lose them both the very same day she had ascertained her relief that for the first time in a long time she was feeling safe again out loud, around a picnic table with skunky beers and banters on all sides. She should have known it by now. Moments of happiness in this world weren't only fleeting; they were stolen, and sooner rather than later the taxman would knock on their door to collect the forfeit.
Slowly sipping a glass of water, Lilly leaned heavily over the counter, arms splayed and breaths ragged, squinting at the table clock. Three AM. She wondered were Brian was at this late hour, if he had watch duty or was assigned for perimeter check. She couldn't recall him saying anything along these lines earlier when they shared a cigarette.
And then it happened. A shot, percolating the stillness of the wee hours over the death-ridden camp. A shot, clear and loud and sudden, impossible to be mistaken for something else.
Lilly jumped, her wild gaze flicking between the two people sleeping inside the trailer and the closed door. Part of her wanted to go outside, find out what happened while another part was afraid to leave them alone in there, weak and drained and disease-smitten. She wasn't even sure whether Tara was strong enough to hold her firearm in case things came down to fighting for their lives. Once again, she wondered where Brian was, if he was safe, if he was coming for them, and bit her bottom lip, vacillating indecisively behind the door. Outside, the camp stirred, indistinct thuds and a general hustle coming from the other trailers moments after the resounding boom.
Lilly gritted her teeth. She couldn't just stand there, shriveling behind the phony security of tinfoil walls and looking on the events unraveling outside like a useless bystander. This was their camp, the place run by an excellent leader that had opened their doors to four ramblers, this was where she hoped to start over and go on with her life, this was the place Meghan strolled around and played chess. This camp was their second chance in life and it was worth fighting for, risking your life for, maybe even dying for. One life in the altar of greater good wasn't much of a price. It made sense. The group's safety came first. The rest of them, as individuals, were expendable. New world, new order. What used to be a friendly nurse who had never fired a gun in her life had to rise to a more equivocal status. She had to be ready to fight, kill, the dead or the living made no difference, protect her own.
Swallowing hard the acrylic taste of her fear, Lilly willed her body to move. In less than thirty seconds after the shot, she had loaded her gun and stormed outside, securing the lock behind her so that nobody and, most importantly nothing, had access to her daughter and sister.
She was the first one outside and that hazardous loneliness coiled and roared in her stomach once again, whispering in her ear to get back in. She didn't. Instead, she opted for securing her clutch around the gun's handle.
Across from the red bed of coals that marked the central fire of the camp and was now dying out, the door of the first RV hung ajar and running footsteps echoed, but she could neither locate them nor pierce through the darkness to spot the owner. Wondering what had happened and if she had just missed the person who had shot the gun for a split second, Lilly hearkened with bated breath.
A few more moments and everyone was running and searching around.
Alex busted outside his trailer, guns in both hands and belt still hanging unbuckled.
Brian was still nowhere in sight and Lilly's heart mauled up to her throat.
Caesar, dressed in military pants and a wife beater, was barking out orders for his men to gather the survivors and count their numbers, to check the perimeter and make sure it was cleared. To lock the trailers of those recovering. To be ready to fight and defend their place.
Scott and Mark did as commanded while he banged Carol's door and yelled her name, but the drapes were shut and the windows loomed dark and eerie.
Erin started lighting the torches around their gathering spot, bringing back visibility, and Lilly mentally scolded herself for being too terrified and numb to think about it first.
When Caesar screamed for Pete, her eyes searched for him and his brother in reflex, aware of how crippled their man power was without them. She couldn't see either.
People were fretting, frantically scanning their surroundings because a shot meant noise drawing walkers but it also meant a killer roving between their lines, and Lilly hesitated only for an instant, glancing indecisively between the open RV across from her and the trailer of the person closest to being called her friend. Making up her mind, she then charged forward, shouldering and elbowing her way past the others, ignoring the questions addressing her, her feet leading her to Carol's trailer just the moment Caesar started kicking the door.
She was almost there when something pawed her shoulder, an unyielding clutch, grabbing and rooting her on the spot. Her knees gave away, but her arm shot up, finger on the trigger as a familiar figure stepped in her view.
"What happened?" Lilly exclaimed and lowered her weapon. "Where were you?"
"With Mitch," Brian answered, ushering her a few steps away from the havoc. "I heard the shot and ran back to you."
Regarding him quizzically, her mind berated the diametrically opposite direction between where he came from and Mitch's trailer. "What's going on?"
"I don't know. Where's Meghan?"
"In the trailer, I left her with Tara." Peering over Brian's shoulder, Lilly saw a shell-shocked Caesar stumbling out of Carol's trailer, standing under the door frame for a mere second before slamming the door shut behind him and disappearing among the others. Alone. And Pete or Mitch weren't around either. Her gaze drifted back to the hanging door of that trailer she knew all too well whom it belonged to. "Is anyone missing?"
Brian shook his head. "I don't know. Get back and lock up behind you. I'll find out what's going on."
"No. I'm fighting if I have to."
"Lilly-"
"No!" she said firmly. "I'm staying."
A shrill screech tore through the bustle, interrupting their exchange, and Erin toppled on the ground, shrieking and crying as she tried to fight off a snarling walker with her bare hands. A dozen weapons lifted to assist her but Rachel's Bowie plunged in the creased scalp first and the twice dead man dropped like a spineless heap of sinews above Erin.
Lugging her away from underneath the dead weight crushing her, Rachel shook the woman's shoulders. "You have to learn how to fight," she scolded. "You have to or you're dead!" Erin was nodding like a sleepwalker under Lilly's incredulous supervision of the scene and Rachel went on. "Carol trained me. I can help you learn. It's easy!"
Erin pawed the tanto Rachel slipped in her hands and within a heartbeat walkers were popping up from everywhere.
Chaos elicited, children squalling, snuggled in their mothers' embraces, women and elders screaming.
"Don't shoot, don't shoot!" Caesar hollered. "Use your knives!" Teamed up with Rachel, he swiftly dispatched three walkers from the vanguard of the herd attacking them while the girl took out another two. "Gather around the women and children! Protect them!"
Brian was by Caesar's side while a strict formation around the defenseless ones was hewed.
A walker wave smashed upon them.
Mustering her courage, Lilly chanted to herself that Carol, Pete and Mitch were there, out of sight, but fighting with the rest of them. She unsheathed her knife and lunged at an approaching walker.
Brian and Alex were near, Mark and Scott a few feet away. Everything was perceived through the haze of her groggy mind, but she was right there in the middle of the carnage, focused, heart and soul.
"Hold the lines!" Caesar shouted, being the first to never retreat half an inch. "Hold the lines!"
Knives and hatchets, gleaming under the moonlight, cleaved the air, silver and shiny at the beginning, dripping gunk and viscous slime as the battle peaked. Blood was everywhere. Blood, intestines, maimed limbs and squelched skulls. But walkers kept coming and coming. Impossible to say if they were losing or winning this.
Soaked in blood, her hands lost their grip around the hilt of her blade and Lilly cursed loudly, wiping them off her pants.
Tara was next to her, pale but armed, lifting a hand to interrupt her protests. "If my sister's fighting, then so am I."
"Where's-"
"I locked her in the trailer. She's scared but fine." Releasing a warrior's whoop, Tara propelled forward, her knife dipping into the mouth of the walker closest to them. "That's for Alisha, you fucker!" she growled and launched to the next.
The pressure was huge. They were surrounded, outnumbered, exhausted, blindly heeding to Caesar's orders. He was their leader, their king of their chessboard. As long as he was standing, putting his neck out there first and fighting like a lion, none of the rest would dare to desert.
Once again, Lilly marveled at Brian's bravery and mettle. He and Caesar ganked walkers like it was nothing, giving the signal of unstoppable action to the others.
Plucking out a blazing torch, Erin started cantering behind the fighters, giving a hand to anyone in need, determined to help and pull her weight despite her lack of skill. She settled the score with Rachel when she fired up a walker that grabbed the girl's arm while she was putting out another and saved Alex by a hair when his knife got stuck in a walker's eye-socket.
Lilly had no idea how much time had passed. Her hyperactive mind couldn't even catch up with her sore muscles. But she knew what had started that massacre.
When the lying bodies were more than the walking ones, she galloped away at a pelt, every step bringing her closer to that half-open door no one had the luxury to check out up to that moment. The closer she got the more her stomach rolled. It was more than a hunch or a creeping suspicion, it was knowledge. Sick, blood-curdling, nauseating knowledge. It was that shot that hadn't been debunked yet, that had undermined their safety and put their families in mortal peril.
Finally there, she was panting like someone trampled on her lungs, unsure of how ready she was to find what lurked in the darkness. The rusty hinges screeched as the door opened slowly some more, just a notch before recoiling on something behind it, and the moonlight above them cast a saffron-tinged thread through the entrance.
Her heart was drumming in her ears, every pulse thudding deafeningly one by one. Lilly slid inside carefully, still amped up in full attack mode. At the sight of what was blocking the door, she keeled over on all fours and puked on the floor, unable to peel her gaze off the lifeless eyes staring back at her with a bullet lodged between them.
xxxxx
At some point, Carol dredged up the pack of cigarettes from her backpocket and lit one. Daryl stared at the pack placed on the table and then back at her without a comment, draining his own as though each smoke inhalation was doping him up with sanity.
Later on, she wouldn't be able to recall the train of her speech. Which secret was divulged first, the precise order of her revelations. Her earlier rehearsals rounded up barren, every well-constructed and defended argument during her off stage soliloquies in her trailer failed to come in handy.
She forgot the trivial technicality of breath from the get-go, suffocating as the air hoarded and bloated inside her chest. She just sat there, chalky-white and paralyzed from fear, spilling her guts like a robot. Ridiculously neglecting to defend herself and invoke any extenuating circumstances to her favor, she heard her voice rumble on and on.
Caesar Martinez. She was abducted by his men, but not under his orders, lived in his camp for three months straight before finding out who he really was. And the only reason it happened was because of…
The Governor. Or Brian.
She heard the loud gulp and the crack of his clenched jaws. She saw the teeth digging in his lower lip, the eyes going from narrowed to nearly gouging out of their sockets and back to a slit. She felt him stiffen, his hand morphing into a rock until he yanked off the grip she had on it.
She spoke and spoke for God knew how long, sharing every teeny tiny detail until every skeleton moseyed out of the closet and her mouth dried out. She told him everything, Caesar's involvement in Merle's death included, and eventually came squeaky clean. And he smoked and smoked until the full pack of cigarettes was almost empty and the ashtray couldn't stash any more cigarette butts and for each freshly snubbed out, embers and filters were squeezed out and rolled on the table.
It terrorized the hell out of her, his muteness. The silence was deafening, much more ominous than any shitstorm of tantrums and cussing and she realized she'd know how to deal with him breaking and smashing everything inside the cabin but had no idea what to do now that he was glaring at his balled fists, vibrating head to toe. He was seething, rage bottled up, sizzling under the surface instead of lashing out. That was so un-Daryl-like, containing everything inside instead of honing it in a berserk spree of violence.
When he stood up, opened the door and walked out on the porch with a labored trudge without as much as a word, she had no clue whether she was supposed to follow or wait in her seat. The haunted expression in his eyes, the shock spread across his features screamed of how her words had blitzed him and stabbed him in the heart.
Mustering her courage, Carol willed herself to move and toddled behind him hesitantly, staggering like a drunkard when she was as sober as humanly possible despite her few sips of alcohol. Lack of oxygen blotted out her clarity, fear and apprehension were all there was. She leaned heavily on the banister next to him and risked a sidelong glance. His knuckles were white, wrapped around the sturdy frame as though it was a twig he'd snap any moment now. Her nails absently scratched the chipped varnish. Splinters pricked the flesh beneath but it didn't register through her haze. She braced herself for whatever condemnation was boiling in Daryl's foreboding silence and willed her eyes to not well up. He shouldn't pity her, even if he resented her, and she'd reap the harvest of the seeds she planted with as much dignity as she could possibly salvage. Tears had no place there. Grown woman, choices, repercussions and all.
Daryl heaved violently and the buttons of his shirt stretched, challenging the loops to suspend the molten fury surging beneath them. Three times his mouth cracked open to say something. Three times his chin flexed, temples throbbed and he pressed his lips shut again. When he spoke, the low growl of his tone was lethal. "You're in danger. You gotta get outta there."
Granted that what he said was nowhere close to what she'd expected to hear, Carol blinked, struggling to force her thoughts into a meaningful order. "Daryl-"
"I ain't askin'," he seethed, turning to face her full front. "You're gettin' outta there and I'm burnin' that place to the ground." His withering gaze converted into an ominous, straight-faced detachment to underscore his angular bone structure that only made the venom drizzling from his voice more virulent. "You're gonna tell me where the camp is and I'll tell Michonne and Rick. These fuckers won't know what hit them."
Images of death flooded her berating mind. Good people suffering, dying. Good people from both sides. Maggie, pregnant, fighting for the unborn baby inside her womb. Erin, who lacked any skill on how to defend herself. Glenn, trying to protect his family. Lilly and Tara, having so much to stand up and fight for, Meghan and the camp and safety. Tyreese and Sasha, probably looking for her amidst the havoc. Michonne, blinded with revenge. Rachel, so young and thriving, who only recently became deft with weapons. Rick, who had denied her forgiveness but had two children waiting for him to return back to the prison. Pete, Alex, men decent, brave and honorable, men that would never betray or turn their backs to their leader. Caesar. Caesar whom she owed so much to, whom she was so fond of and cared so deeply for, being the prey. And Daryl, most of all Daryl, livid and reckless, hunting down Caesar and Brian and losing his life in the process.
"Which side am I fighting for?" she croaked and flinched when he was in her face before she had the chance to prepare herself.
"Which side are you fightin' for?"
Carol upturned her hands in a placating gesture. "I'm with you, Daryl. But people from the prison will be shooting at me!"
"Like you give a shit about your life!" he accused indignantly and started pacing the length of the porch, fuming like a caged bull. "You don't care about yourself!"
"I care about you," Carol exclaimed. "And Lizzie and Mika and Carl and Maggie and Beth and Glenn and Hershel and everyone else. And the people in the camp, too. They're good people, Daryl! They have cattle and vegetable gardens. Men will start lumbering next week, they will go on runs for stoves. They're getting ready for the winter. They're not a threat to anyone, not under Martinez's command!"
"They don't have to die, then," Daryl deadpanned and came to a halt. "They'll hand me the Governor and Martinez and they can go on with their sorry excuse of a life."
"They're soldiers!" she emphasized. "One third of the population is soldiers. And the Governor, Brian? He's one of the best, they look up to him. You think you can march inside the camp and spit your terms? They will fight back, Daryl, they won't surrender!" The frantic flux of words subsided and her tone mellowed to pleading. "Martinez is a good man. He found himself in the wrong side just like we found ourselves in the quarry. By accident! It was a matter of where the ball landed during the outbreak."
"Martinez-" he spluttered but she cut him off.
"He's the reason I'm alive, Daryl. He saved me. You don't wanna know what you would've found of me if it wasn't for him!" Taking a step back, she squared her shoulders, well aware that what she was about to say would push him to his breaking point. "I won't turn him in."
"He fought for the Governor!" he yelled incensed, every bulging muscle wobbling heatedly and voice strained.
"Merle fought for the Governor, too," Carol countered. "The only reason he ditched him was because of you."
"Don't you talk about-" He launched at her, wagging a finger inches from her face, and instantly staggered back, radiating repentance for the violent connotation of his movement but Carol held her ground. It was provocative, testing her restraint and forbearance and she marveled at them both. At him for the swift harness of his temper. At her for how crippled his raw demonstrations rendered her, horrified and fascinated by his animalistic instincts and savage demeanor at once. Because he was always verging on the thin edge of the wedge, yet tamed it down effectively before rage spilled over, at least in her presence. If she had flinched earlier, it was due to surprise, not fear.
"What, are you nuts?" Daryl raved. "He still has the Governor with him!"
He was eyeing her wildly, angst-ridden and torn and Carol dropped her head. "He needs him," she explained. "There are men he can't control on his own." Her forefinger whipped up, pointing to the scar on her face. "The guy who did this to me is there and he has allies, he's questioning his authority every chance he gets."
"Hell of a leader if he can't control his men."
"He's the only leader I've met that understood my motives and didn't dump me by the roadside like trash," she argued bitterly, instantly retrieving the tight reins of her wavering composure. "Caesar is a good man, Daryl. And a whole lot more of a better leader than you'd ever give him credit for."
"Caesar?" he winced as if being punched in the gut, his features scrunched as the sole of his boot stamped on the tangerine snuff of his last cigarette. "Since when that fucker become Caesar?"
"Since the day he saved my life. I owe him this much. I'm gonna help you with whatever you want to do with the Governor. But Caesar? No, I'm not turning him in."
Huffing, Daryl grimaced a feigned smirk and shook his hand, scourging her with a gaze thronging such derisiveness that Carol felt vomit maul up her throat. "I'll hold off for now. Happy?" he sneered at the tears brimming in her eyes, receiving a broken nod. "Just fuckin' peachy then. Was that it?"
Carol chuckled a humorless laugh and wiped her drizzling eyelashes. "You want more?"
"I wanna know everythin'."
"That's all."
He shook his head again and all of a sudden his eyes dented more, the dappled-grey rings circling them grew darker and the sagging bags heavier. Carol watched the change that soared in the air between them slacken-jawed, prying on the shaky hands as they groped his pockets for another of his precious packs of cigarettes, hearkening the hissy cussing at the absence. She fished out hers and motioned it to him but he bit out a sloshed denial and she lit one for herself. It was only her second for the night and she altogether forgot its existence the moment it sparked to life, the corners of her mouth twitching downwards as she wrestled to decipher the plastered spite glaring at her. When he spoke, his voice was sour and gruff.
"You two are all lovey-dovey stuff then."
"What?" Carol cringed at the words, not daring to recognize them for what they were –blatant, uncloaked jealousy.
"You and Martinez." There it was again, that quivery growl of an inconspicuous sentiment.
"No! Why would you think that?"
Daryl scoffed. "Have you heard yourself defendin' him?"
"Just trying to do him some justice," she muttered and leaned heavily against the wall, done in beyond comprehension. "We're friends is all."
It took him a few seconds of meticulous examination, but finally he seemed to believe her. "The guy who did this," he said huskily, gaze roving over the scar across her cheek. "He's mine."
Breaking eye contact, Carol peered over the roundness of his shoulders and straight into the inky darkness of the tree line behind him. "It doesn't matter, Daryl," she sighed and shrugged a little.
She never quite understood her own reaction or, more accurately, lack thereof for the scar imprinted on her. Long, tracing the entire arch of the underground cheekbone; deep and improperly healed because she hadn't cared enough to nurse it back to shape; jutting a ridge crusty and uneven, half-ashen half-wheat –it further tarnished a face she never considered much to look at in the first place. Ugly, the kind of blemish that slaughtered feminine swank, more than enough to make a woman depressed about her appearance. It messed with her features and morphed every facial expression into something else, something harsh and morbid, something monster-like. Although it held the gravity of a trend idly warrior-like, a badge of bravery and resistance as Caesar seemed to approach it, to her it resembled more the medieval essence of branding the sullied and unholy, witches, prostitutes and criminals. It fit to a heroine, which she wasn't, but it also fit to a murderer, which she was.
Therefore she had barely ever paid any attention to it. She had bigger issues with her mirror. The reflection of that stranger to begin with. Loss of skin smoothness was an afterthought when she couldn't recognize the woman staring back at her. Truth was that her body was littered with scars way more atrocious than that, scars that coiled nausea in her stomach and made her wish Ed was still alive so she could get her two-years-later showdown with him. But that scar, that particular scar, flashing on her face like slander on a crippled morality for her to never forget and the world to witness, had always felt too trite to jiggle any amount of zest in her gut.
There lurked the stoicism of a transcendental nemesis she didn't want to admit to him. However, there was no hiding reality from Daryl. Her soul popped nude before that withering gaze, divulging all the guilt she would never contrive how to voice. He knew that the scar marked much more doomed sentiments than marred beauty or courage coming with a massive price. He knew it depicted a paramount personal rout, the indifference for her life, both in the way she reaped it and the way she dealt with it later.
"It's not the first one," Carol said softly and the quirk of her mouth revealed her gloomy acceptance. "It wasn't even the one that hurt the most."
"It's on your face, goddammit," Daryl snarled, his arms flanking her head as he banged the slatted wall behind her. "You should've killed him yourself."
She looked up at him dejectedly when he invaded her personal space. "I was kinda hoping he'd finish the job and chop me up for good."
"But Martinez saved you," he growled under his breath and stepped back.
"But Martinez saved me," she echoed, meeting his eyes again. "I don't mind the scar. Really. I'm a monster inside. Might as well look like one."
His mouth clamped in a tight line and every taut nerve on his face twitched, as he kept plowing the porch back and forth, back and forth, endlessly, fists curling and unfurling. Exhaustion tore Carol apart. She tipped her drooping head on the wall to keep herself up. The ground tugged at her legs, compelling her body to slide down and hit the rigid surface. She had forgotten the cigarette smoldering into embers, not smoked, just sputtering out between her fingers until Daryl stalked back and unhinged it from her grip.
Taking a long drag, he inspected it cautiously for a moment and then his gaze slanted up at her. "Low tar," he rasped across the prancing tufts of smoke slithering through his nostrils. "Rookie's choice. You smoke a cigarette or two every once in a while but you ain't no real smoker." Further reducing the distance between them, he flaunted the drained cigarette in front of her and tossed it away. The jerk of his body unsettled the overgrown strands of hair that fell in his eyes and a twinkle of adamant resolution flickered through a crevice. He braced his arm against the wall and leaned over her again.
"You killed two people but you ain't no monster. I don't see it."
The certainty of his tone reminded her of a time not that long ago and certainly not too far gone, of a time she lived by Daryl's word like it was a gospel, of a time that if he said so, it was set in stone. She was tempted to believe him, tempted to heed, if not because she considered herself worthy of atonement, just because he believed that she was and she trusted him blindly.
He was outrageously near her face, trampling on every unequivocal boundary he himself had gone to great lengths to establish. All she had to do for the supple tips of his bangs to tickle against the fan of her lashes was to take that hint of a step separating them. And she couldn't fight it, the scent of a glorious masculinity filtering through her lungs, thawing the iceberg of her heart into a warm puddle that pumped heat and desire to even the remotest cell of her body. She could almost taste him and couldn't command the quiver low and deep in her belly to obliterate. Her body, every limb, every cavity and mound was aching for him with a pain so raw and physical that crumbled her and there was no denying it.
"'Cause of the hair." Her voice was supposed to be a whisper but wriggled out so hoarse and thick she had to clear her throat while her fingers shunted those wisps away, allowing his glistening eyes to scorch her face unobstructed. "You've gotta do something about this hair. It's like a curtain."
"What do you want me to do?"
He was just an inch closer than necessary, gaze just a tad bleaker than the surrounding darkness warranted, breathing just a bit faster than normal, voice just a tone lower than usual. It dawned on her then that the reference wasn't to his scalp state, but to his exhaustion, his defeat, his courage running flat. His shoulders were hunching, chest heaving and the overflowing pain butchered her again. She was asking too much and he was giving it to her. The veil obfuscating her vision was drawn away, she could see him crystal clear, see him nude and armed, strong and vulnerable at once, anticipating something to be guided through it all, and any sincere effort she was working up towards a light-hearted suggestion for a radical haircut or at least a trim dissipated.
In a very twisted way, everything she had told Caesar earlier, about not starting over because it had never been over for her, made sense under that entirely new prism. She saw it now, she acknowledged the why's. Love wasn't here now and some other place some other time. It was just there, always. Not inside her, but part of her. She couldn't separate love from Daryl, just like she couldn't slice herself into pieces and still be physically whole. He was an organic part of her body, just there. Like the air and the water and the sun, the day and the night. No beginnings, no endings. His pain was hers. So were his hopes and joys. And if it ever happened for the scar carving her cheek to be on his face instead of hers, she'd hunt down the man who did this to him like an animal and snuff the life out of his eyes herself, no questions asked.
So she kissed him. No hidden agendas, no tactics. Not expecting anything in return, no validation, no trophies, not even a reciprocation of her bold advancement, she just kissed him because he was right there at that moment and she loved him wherever she was, always.
And Daryl should know this much.
He was entitled to it.
First the hand toying with his hair stilled, curved and cupped the side of his face. Then the other snaked around his neck, fingers kneading the sore muscles of his nape. And then she lugged her weight flush against him.
It wasn't a peck, it was a true kiss. Her mouth glued on his rigid one, her lips flexed against his slit open ones and she stayed there, gliding over the parched tissue until it soaked and softened. He shuddered but didn't fight her off. He didn't kiss her back either, but when she moved to back off, his arms caught up, shot away and clamped around her, trapping her in an embrace impossible to squirm out of.
"Are you gonna freak out now?" She'd gotten all flustered up by herself and in between swooning like a teenager in his arms and craving for more, she felt the shame of that questionable pluck sluice down at pelts.
Blazing eyes caressed down her face and lingered on her trembling mouth as his tongue slicked a moist path across his lips, gathering every bit of the feather kiss she had left there. It was the way he was surrendered in that scorching crimson feasting on his flesh as he wrestled with timidity and inhibitions; that and the ignorance of his unpretentious charm that made him utterly irresistible. It was the fact that he prevailed on every reflexive instinct to quail and bolt that made her head swim.
"You will," she mumbled, eyelashes batting in frenzy under the heavy-lidded ocean puncturing through her. Tears of remorse prickled her eyes, the fear of an imminent rejection she ought to have mulled over more thoroughly earlier. "I will, too." Her palms slid and pushed at his chest, dueling for freedom, and her head lolled, seeking oxygen away from his face. Humiliation drenched her to the marrow of her bones and she wished for a quick death when he pawed her head and forced her to look at him.
"No!" he groaned through gritted teeth and then his mouth crashed on hers.
"Daryl-"
"Just this once, Carol. Just shut up," he soughed, nibbling on her lower lip until her mouth went pliant and granted him entrance, reciprocating his passion, breaths convulsed winging out in sultry heaves. The kiss deepened as his tongue swept in and the mind-blowing sensation knotted up her innards. She had missed his taste. She had lived her entire life without knowing it, yet she had missed it and was now sipping him greedily.
His kiss was different. Speeding up immediately, it swapped from tentative to demanding in a matter of seconds. His mouth was devouring her, setting a torrid pace she hopelessly strived to keep up with. It was ravenous. Fervent, teeming with non-verbalized statements. And it was aggressive. Authoritative. Not just the sum up of months or yearlong bottled up sexual tension. Not even the formerly reticent inhibitions gushing out in grooves. It was a man staking claim of property, demanding rights, and a mess of moans and gasps and squeals responded to his every shift. His lips were sucking hers and she was swelling under his assault. The skin around her mouth burnt, the get-go of a fledgling rash. The scratchiness of his unkempt stubble harrowed and tingled her flesh and a wet trail lingered on the trench crowning her upper lip. He was conquering her and it was purposeful. And the more she was writhing in his embrace, the more he knew he was winning and refused to let go.
"Ain't no monsters here, you damn idiot. Just you and me," he drawled, a hairsbreadth away from her mouth. Abrupt, harsh, rough. A man who wouldn't take no for an answer, designed to subdue and excite his victim simultaneously. "Say it."
No amount of willpower could tamp down the primal vehemence of awakenings long hibernating in the most inner parts of her body and the electrical currents rippling down to her curled toes. Even vaguely aware of her indistinct slur and the gravity dragging her to the ground, of the world tail-spinning out of orbit and the complete shutdown of her mind, her senses were aggravated and tippy-toed. She couldn't resist the uproar of life that surged and balled in her belly, no more than she could control the frantic rage of her heart and, frankly, why would she want to anyway? She's felt more alive in these past few seconds than she had her entire life and time stumbled and crawled to serve her best. A small voice, muzzled under layers of sermonic self-condemnation and guilt wormed into her head to whisper that she deserved that. Justice was off topic there; it was her damn chance, a chance bestowed with minimum risk, because Daryl had come clean with her, stood right there, staunch and hellbent on not crossing her off just yet, behind his actions, behind those succulent lips rampaging hers.
"Fuckin' say it."
Her knees betrayed her and the air in her throat instantly hitched as he hauled her up for a second and then they both slammed against the wall and once again, the impregnable fortress she had fought so hard to build and bolster around her frazzled away, until there was nothing left but the charred remains of her fire-ravaged resistance. The feathery mouth hovered over hers until she couldn't say who was breathing or not or for whom. Until all those ghosts and demons haunting her, the impossible contradictions living inside her in a permanent state of warfare obliterated like a soap bubble under Daryl's tobacco-stenched whisper. Until there was nothing else left except Carol, stepmother of two and irrevocably in love with the man kissing her nightmares away.
"No monsters here." Her lips tugged upwards despite the husky moan as he breathed raggedly and she inhaled him back in. "Just you and me, Pookie."
Then, she was lost again.
I really hope you liked it :) This chapter nearly killed me! So I hope it was angsty and emotional and hot and everything! Let me know, ok? Promise to update soon!