Disclaimer: The Walking Dead does not belong to me.
A/N: Big things on the horizon here...
The Long Road Home
At lunchtime they retreated briefly to the relative warmth of the old blue car. Shuffling through the backpack at her feet, Carol removed the lunches she'd gathered that morning. After taking a swig of the cooling coffee, Carol picked at her sandwich while across from her Daryl practically devoured his. She smiled over at him from the passenger seat as he picked the last breadcrumbs from the wrapper. Her eyes crinkled in amusement. "I'm glad to know you still eat my cooking."
He swallowed the last bite of crust and looked up in surprise.
"Rose wasn't at the kitchen yet when I went over this morning, so I made do with what was there. Got another sandwich if you want it," she offered, unzipping the bag.
He nodded his agreement and she pulled it from the pack. "I think this one's just peanut butter."
He unwrapped it eagerly and took a bite. "It's good," he mumbled through the thick, dense bread Rose created on an almost hourly basis.
Carol chuckled lightly while rolling her eyes. "Two ingredients. Pretty hard to screw up." She took another bite of her own sandwich and chewed thoughtfully for a minute. "I miss it a little," she mused in the quiet.
He sucked a dab of peanut butter from his finger and glanced at her from the corner of his eye.
"Cooking," she clarified. She took another bite and swallowed before she continued. "I always liked to cook. Back...before. Just seemed like it was all I ever got done back at the prison. Well, that and laundry." She pursed her lips recalling her frigid, wrinkled fingers. "That, I don't miss."
Daryl smirked through a bite of bread.
"I worked with Rose for a while in the kitchen, back when I first got to Haven." She crooked her head to the side. "At least, when I was well enough to," she amended.
Daryl's brow lowered. She'd never really told him how she ended up there. Never talked about those missing two years. She'd certainly never mentioned being sick.
Carol didn't elaborate, though, and he couldn't find the words to ask. "Wasn't in the kitchen long before I started helping patch people up with what I learned from Hershel. Then Ali came along and we got the clinic going." She stopped a bit of sandwich filling from slipping away. "By then the settlement grew and I never really got back to it. Too busy with the clinic. Now it seems like that's all I ever do."
Daryl wasn't sure what to say. He took another bite and used the time to think. "Could go help out over there if ya wanted. In the kitchen. Nothin' keepin' ya out."
She smiled wryly. "Except for the endless parade of stitches and coughs and skinned knees and," she swallowed, "bites and knife wounds," she finished darkly.
Daryl chewed the last bit of his sandwich in silence.
Leaning her head against the coolness of the window, Carol sighed. "Probably just as well," and her voice was light again, even if it felt a little forced. "It's nice to do something useful, besides the cooking." She thought a moment before allowing a smile. "And I'm not sure I could stand to fix all those potatoes."
Daryl huffed a half a laugh at her unconcealed dislike of their dietary staple. "They might actually taste like somethin' if they was comin' from you."
Her eyes brightened at the compliment. "That," she grinned, "or we'd all starve to death when I threw them out."
Daryl crinkled up his sandwich wrapper. Carol held out her hand and stuffed it back into the pack. "Anyway, it'll be nice to have some meat for a change."
Nodding his agreement, Daryl reached for his bow, waiting in the back seat. "You ready?"
She smiled that one that made his stomach do a flip. "Absolutely."
Together, they stepped back outside. Right away, Carol noted the bitter chill that had crept into the wind.
Daryl noticed it too, and adjusted his poncho. "Snow's gonna start soon. You sure you want to go back out? Only gonna get colder 'til it starts."
She nodded quickly as she closed the car door. "I've got enough clothes on for at least three people. I'll be just fine." There was no way she was cutting this day short.
Together they made their way through the brush, back toward a little clearing they'd passed earlier in the day. Setting up for the afternoon, they saw the first flakes. A little while after that, it began to fall in earnest.
"You still sure?" he turned to ask.
Again, she nodded, smiling up at the sky. "Honestly, Daryl?" She stepped a little closer, hoping he wouldn't back away. "This is perfect." She bit her lip after the words, hoping that maybe, just maybe, he'd realize she didn't mean the weather.
The snow fell heavier as they waited in silence. Daryl was starting to doubt they'd see much else on account of the weather. Seemed like all the game had headed in for the day to avoid the storm. Inwardly, he debated putting voice to the words inside his head. Asking the question he'd had since they'd ate lunch in the car.
Carol sat beside him, turned so that she covered his back. He'd learned she could be just as still and silent as he was out in the woods.
Eventually, he decided it was worth the risk of running off food. He rubbed his chilled hands together a bit and finally spoke. "What'd you mean when you said you was well enough to work?"
"What?" Her breath escaped in a white puff. She looked surprised that he'd spoken at all.
"Earlier, in the car. You said you was sick when you got to the settlement."
"Oh," she nodded softly. She didn't speak for so long he began to think she wouldn't answer. At last, though, she did. "I was out there alone for a few months. Made my way around without really knowing where I was headed. Just wandered from place to place."
She was silent again as the snow continued to fall. She marveled that she could almost hear the flakes reaching the ground. "I made my way back over to the farm."
Daryl looked up in surprise.
"There wasn't much left. Herd tore it apart pretty good. I'm glad…I'm glad Hershel never had to see it." She looked down at her glove covered fingers. She tensed and twined them together in nervous thought. "But, I went. Said good-bye to my little girl."
Daryl felt his throat begin to close. He remembered back to the cramped RV. The day of the funeral.
Carol inhaled a shaky breath. "I couldn't do it back then. When it first...happened. I know you didn't understand why." He lowered his head in memory of his words, but Carol didn't seem angry or even upset. "I just couldn't," she went on. "But you were right. I owed her that." She straightened her back. "And then I kept on moving. Figured it didn't really matter much what happened after that."
He'd checked the farm. Found it in much the same condition he imagined she'd seen it in. Broken, withered, empty. He must have gotten there too late. She'd already gone. Always too late. His chest tightened at the memory of the flower he'd left resting on Sophia's grave.
"I wasn't paying attention."
Jerked from the memory, he looked over to find Carol staring straight ahead.
She continued. "I was headed into an old farmhouse and I didn't see the barbed wire. It was all rusty in the weeds. Cut my arm up pretty bad. Tried to clean it out and stitch it up, but it got infected. I decided to head out to a town, look for something to treat it, but I was pretty bad off by then. Guess I wasn't thinking straight." She exhaled, studying the sky. "Was just luck I happened onto the camp."
He didn't know what to say.
"They took me in and I got better. Took a long time. Weeks, I think. I don't remember much about it. Red was the one that first saw me. He and Jonesy got me back. I still have the scars on my arm."
It occurred to Daryl that she was always so careful to wear long sleeves. He wondered how he hadn't noticed, but then again, it was winter and he'd thought nothing of the fact that she was always so cold.
Carol sighed and faced him for the first time. He was studying her with such a look of guilt that it nearly took her breath. Summoning all the courage she had, Carol offered him a weary smile. "You know that none of that was your fault." Seeing that he wouldn't answer, she changed the subject and raised her eyes to the snow falling from above. "It's really coming down now." And the conversation was through.
She didn't tell Daryl what brought her over to the camp. Couldn't find words to say what she'd seen that day, sick with fever and certain of death. That through her feverish haze, wandering on shaky legs, she'd seen a tiny patch of white amidst the green. And that, making her way closer, she'd collapsed next to a Cherokee rose.
That when they first found her, she'd thought they were him.
When the sun slipped partway down the sky and their boots were soaked from all the snow, Carol reluctantly agreed that it was time to head back.
Daryl led the way back to the car. Once there, they deposited the labors of the day into the trunk.
They'd done well, and Daryl had to admit he wouldn't have gotten half of it if it wasn't for her. Carol watching his back freed him up to concentrate on the game, and he'd gotten enough to last the settlement at least for a while.
Though he knew that most of what he'd got would end up with Rose as fodder for the community cafeteria, he made note to hold something back just for her. The kills would keep easily in the cold, and he had an idea that he could cook a rabbit over one of the camp fires and slip it to her the following night. Maybe ask Rose for a few things to go with.
Something just for her, so he could see that smile.
Slamming down the trunk, Daryl made his way to the driver's side door. He froze in place, though, when he saw Carol. She also, stood just to the side of the passenger door. Her head was tipped back toward the sky, snowflakes coming to rest on her upturned face. Her eyelashes fluttered when they landed too close. But what captured Daryl, what made the breath catch deep in his chest, was the joy spreading like sunshine across her face.
It hit him, in that moment, that Carol was beautiful.
That she was beautiful there in the snow, letting the flakes rest on her cheeks.
She didn't move under his scrutiny - didn't seem at all phased by it. Before he knew what had occurred, he'd made his way around the car to stand before her. After a moment, she spoke.
"I had an aunt in Illinois. Growing up, we used to visit her at Christmas." He watched her breath puff in the air. Her head remained tilted toward the sky. "We'd make snow angels in her backyard. It was the view I liked. Watching the snow come down."
She lowered her head from the sky and down to his eyes.
His heart jumped a little. That joy was still there.
"I just forgot," she whispered, tilting her head back to the clouds. She'd wanted just one more minute of this. "That anything could be so beautiful."
He nodded a bit while she watched the sky. Her cheeks flushed red in the cold. Daryl swallowed, intent on her face. "So did I."
Finally, she lowered her gaze to rest with his. Blushing a bit, she reached up to brush some snow out of his bangs. She smiled even wider when he didn't back away. "Thanks for bringing me out here, Daryl." Her eyes threatened to flood with tears, but she blinked them back. "I think I needed to do this. It was..." She willed her chin to stop its trembling and pulled on a watery smile. "It was perfect."
One idyllic snowflake landed on her cheek. Daryl watched it for a moment, transfixed as it rested against her skin. Incrementally, he raised his hand to her face. So delicately, he moved his fingers. The snowflake melted against his thumb.
Carol held her breath at his feather touch.
"Anytime," he finally whispered.
There was a moment where her heart didn't beat, a moment of breathless maybe, and then all too soon he was backing away. "Best be gettin' back before it gets any deeper." His boots crunched in the snow as he tracked back around the car.
Hot and cold, stops and starts.
Exhaling, Carol reached somewhat shakily for the door handle and took one more look at the moving sky.
And their rhythm continued as more days passed.
Days, then weeks with that delicate dance.
Delicate and easy, until the night they were torn from sleep by the crack of gunfire and terrified screams.
The cry came ripping like a knife through skin.
"Walkers in the camp!"