AN: Here we go, another chapter here.

One or two chapters left to go in this little short story.

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

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Daryl took a moment to come into himself when he opened his eyes. Carol was still asleep. Her breathing was light and barely audible. She'd be waking soon if she wasn't already teetering on the edge of consciousness. Daryl moved enough to kiss the side of her face and she stirred. He smiled to himself and kissed her face again, this time letting his lips linger there a little longer than he did the first time. She stirred again, pulled away from him, and finally opened her eyes and looked around for a second before she settled her eyes on his face.

Her initial expression was one of absolute anger or disgust at being woken, but it quickly melted into a smile. She hummed at him.

"Too early," she said.

Daryl laughed to himself.

"Don't gotta look at the clock to know it's later than we usually get up," Daryl said.

"Went to bed too late," Carol said, stretching herself.

"I know we was in bed by ten," Daryl said.

"We weren't asleep at ten," Carol said. She yawned loudly to let Daryl know, if he didn't already, just how she felt about the morning. He pulled her to him, inching his body across the mattress to meet her, and kissed her jaw before she'd even finished the somewhat screeching yawn.

"Weren't my fault," Daryl said. "Was you that kept me up."

Carol furrowed her brows at him.

"I did not," she said, pushing at him. "It was you that woke me up for your—your second wind."

Daryl laughed to himself and shook his head.

"Didn't say it was you that kept me awake," he clarified. "Said it was you that kept me up. Was only fair to wake you up to see what you'd done—sleepin' like that and all."

Carol narrowed her eyes at Daryl, but smirked when she got his joke. She swatted at him.

"Asshole," she muttered. Daryl pushed at her in keeping with the rough play and when she grabbed at his sides, using her knowledge of his secret ticklish spots against him, he pinned her against the mattress and held her wrists there. She laughed at him and squirmed against him—not using even the minimal amount of force that it would have taken to free herself—before she finally told him that he'd won this round. "I give," she said. "I give. You win."

Daryl let go of her wrists and Carol pushed herself up so that she was finally sitting up in the bed. She dragged her fingers through her hair and halfway combed some of the wildness out of it.

"Winner says the loser makes coffee," Daryl said. He moved her pillow, using it to pad his own, and reclined back against the both of them. "And then? She brings it in the bedroom and serves it to the winner."

Carol raised her eyebrows at him.

"I've got a better idea," Carol said. "It looks like a nice day outside. I'll make the coffee and we'll sit outside together and enjoy it."

Daryl considered the offer and sat up.

"You win," he said. "Your idea's better. Besides—we gotta decide what we're doing today anyway."

"I kind of like what we've been doing," Carol offered.

"You wanna stay in the RV all day?" Daryl asked.

Carol shrugged.

"What's wrong with it?" She asked.

Daryl didn't really have a response to that. There was, technically, nothing wrong with it. But when they'd planned to go on vacation, Daryl had simply thought that they'd be busy the whole time. They'd have a million things to do. They had to make up, after all, for all the time that they lost. They had to make up for all the things that they'd missed doing together.

But then, it struck him.

The doing nothing together—that was something that they'd missed too. The long mornings lazing around in bed, the slow cups of coffee over casual and unrushed conversation, the days spent watching the hours slip by together—those were things that they'd missed just as much as they'd missed the drinking and the dancing and the walking on the beach.

They had a lot to make up for together, and not all of it even required them changing out of their pajamas.

Daryl smiled at Carol.

"Make the coffee," Daryl said. "I'll set up our chairs outside. Maybe scare us up some breakfast."

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The fire was entirely unnecessary for its warmth, but it was essential for the flaming marshmallows that a quick run to the store had provided them for dessert. Daryl blew out the flame and smashed the gooey treat between the graham cracker and chocolate bar, sealing the last of the s'mores closed. Before he tasted it, he held it in Carol's direction and leaned forward enough so that she could take a bite of the treat.

"I've had enough," she said, trying to wave away the offered food.

"You ain't had near enough," Daryl said. "But this is the last one anyway. Just bite it. I'll eat the rest of it."

Carol sighed, acting as though eating one more bite of s'more was truly a challenge, but she opened her mouth to accept the sandwich and bit down on it as soon as Daryl pushed it into her mouth. He pulled the excess away as soon as she'd gotten a mouthful and polished off the remainder of it before she'd finished chewing thoughtfully through her one bite.

Carol reclined back in her chair, not fighting the fact that she couldn't sit up straight, and bobbed her foot. She watched the flames crackle in front of her and Daryl thought about offering a penny for her thoughts.

More than likely, though, they were just the same quiet thoughts that she'd had all day. The same ones that she'd shared with him in content sighs.

This is nice. It's so pretty here. The air smells so clean. This is really nice. I love you.

Maybe the most important of all the thoughts, at least for Daryl, was the echoing of soft and quiet declarations of "I love you" that had come throughout the day. Without prompting, she'd offered them surrounding their "nap time" when they'd gone back to their bed despite the fact that they had no need for more sleep. She'd loved him as much when they were making love as she'd seemed to love him when he made her a sandwich for lunch. She'd loved him several times while he'd drank a few beers and watched the slightly scrambled television, his head resting in her lap, while she read a cheap novel she'd picked up at the supermarket when they'd gone for burgers and marshmallows. She'd loved him twice at the supermarket and at least once in the car while they were stuck at a red light.

And all the whispered little declarations were unprompted, unexpected, and felt sincerely meant. Daryl was collecting them like pennies dropped to the ground. He didn't even know if Carol knew that she was doing it. It was simply what she was feeling, and her feelings were leaking out in the form of words that Daryl needed to hear more than he'd realized. And, in turn, he was feeling the same thing along with a warmth that came from simply knowing that being there—just being there—was what was bringing about the stirrings in Carol.

Daryl reached his hand across the small gap between them and caught Carol's arm. He squeezed it in his hand and worked his hand down to find her fingers. She turned her head enough to cut her eyes at him—like she was checking to see if someone unknown to her had slipped up to grab her hand—and then she smiled at him and squeezed his hand back. She worked his fingers between her own, absentmindedly massaging his hand as they sat there.

"Go down to the water tomorrow?" Daryl asked.

"Sounds nice," Carol said. "We could pack the cooler. Have a picnic on the beach."

Daryl laughed to himself.

"Sounds like a surefire way to get a lot more sand in our diets," Daryl responded. He caught something of a frown out of the corner of his eye and quickly corrected himself. "Sand's gotta be good for fiber. Sounds good to me. Seen they had some of them surfboard rentals down there. The ones with the big sails on them? That something you'd be interested in?"

Carol cocked an eyebrow at him and looked at him with genuine amusement on her face.

"I think I do a pretty good job if I don't fall on flat surfaces," Carol said. "I'd probably spend more time in the water than I would on the board. We might as well just swim."

Daryl laughed to himself and swung her hand a little in his.

"Fair enough," he said. "What about—rentin' a boat? Hell—jet skis if we can't do that? See if we can't—get out there and get a look at some of the inlets around here?"

She was considering that—and it looked like she was seriously considering it. Finally, she shrugged and nodded her head.

"That could be fun," she said. "Jet skis? We could ride together?"

Daryl nodded his head.

"If that's what you want," he said. "I'm sure they ride double."

"It's been a long time since we rode anything together," Carol said.

Daryl hummed at her.

"How old's Matthew?" Daryl asked. "Thirty three?"

"Thirty two," Carol corrected.

"Been thirty two years, then," Daryl said. "Last time I ever let you on my bike was two days before you was holding the plastic stick. Tellin' me—it weren't just us an' Soph no more. Scared my ass to death that I'd had you on that bike when we didn't even know about him."

Carol hummed.

"I remember," Carol said. "You banned me from the bike. You banned me from the bike and from—hot baths. You banned me from just about everything when I was pregnant with Matthew. Not quite as much when I was pregnant with Dallas."

Daryl snorted.

"Because by then I knew that kids were made of rubber from the day they started getting made," Daryl teased. "At least—ours were."

"I'd like to ride with you again," Carol said. She sighed. "Jet skis. Or your bike. Merle keeps it running. He takes it out every now and again. He's brought Andrea around a few times on it."

"You never rode with him?" Daryl asked. "He'da rode you around the neighborhood."

He'd kept his bike all these years, but he really never rode it. Merle's garage was plenty big enough to hold the bike and his brother tinkered enough that he'd keep it in top condition. Daryl should have just sold it years ago, but he'd held onto it. For some reason, he'd never been able to just let it go and Carol had never given him a hard time about keeping it.

"Wouldn't be the same," Carol said. "Besides—I wouldn't feel as safe with Merle."

"He ain't never wrecked," Daryl said. "Never killed Andrea. Don't think he's ever even laid one down with her on it. He'd be extra damn careful knowing it was you 'cause he wouldn't want me to get after his ass."

"I didn't say I wouldn't be as safe with Merle," Carol responded. "Just—I wouldn't feel as safe with Merle."

Daryl hummed at her.

"Let's do it," Daryl said. "Tomorrow? Let's get some of them jet skis and just—ride around. Hell, if I fuck up at least we end up in the water and don't eat pavement." Carol laughed at him and hummed her agreement. "And then—what'cha say? We go up to the mountains like we planned? But we put the bike on the trailer. Go up there to see the leaves change and we bundle up. Take us a nice scenic tour, the way you supposed to do it. Right out there—wide open."

Carol sucked in a breath and squeezed his hand.

"I think—we'll give the jet skis a spin first," Carol said. "And then? We'll talk about taking the bike to the mountains. Maybe—first? We just try to take it around the block a couple of times? If I'm going to break my neck, I'd rather do it wiping out in our neighborhood than going over the side of a mountain."

Daryl laughed at her.

"You think I'd let your ass fall off a mountain?" He asked.

"I think you'd come with me," Carol responded. "But anything's possible."

Daryl pulled her hand to him and kissed her knuckles. She leaned a little, making it easier for him to reach her, and he kissed her hand again before he returned to enjoying the simple pleasure of holding it for however long he liked.

"You right about one thing," he agreed. "Anything's possible."