A/N… I am overwhelmed with the response to the last chapter. You reaffirmed my faith in the twist I risked, and I feel a bit better now about doing it. Being an Aussie, it's quite a feat to try and get the characters anywhere near right, accents are a bit of a challenge, so all comments claiming I'm keeping Daryl believable is a huge compliment.

As usual, I will reply to individual reviews but just wanted to say to Guest #1—I think Carol is hot, and I'm not into women. I can't work out why the men on that show are so blind! Guest #2, I really appreciate you saying so, Daryl is definitely a challenge. Here's the next chapter and I hope it's enough to keep you on the edge of your computer chair!

So, enjoy…and let me know if you do…or don't. It's all good!

Part 12

Sometimes the better choice is to sink rather than swim…

Of course she'd heard Daryl tell Rick he was going to throw her in the lake, but she hadn't actually believed he'd do it. As her head broke through water and she spluttered and squealed about how cold it was, thoughts of being too tired to bear the days fell straight from her head.

She'd never been swimming with all her clothes on before, and now she knew why. The weight of them dragged her down in the water and it was using every muscle in her body to fight to keep her afloat. Distracted by the effort not to drown, she barely noticed as Daryl whipped his shirt over his head and kicked off his boots before diving neatly into the water just to the right of her. He surfaced and in the rapidly darkening day, she saw a grin on his face. Momentarily speechless, she stared. For one horrible second she forgot to breathe, and then she couldn't as she sunk again, barely closing her mouth in time before she collected a lungful of lake water.

Daryl's arms surrounded her and hefted her back from the depths to squish her against his body. Suddenly she felt like she was breathing too fast. Hyperventilating.

"I'm losin' my shoes," she admitted stupidly, drawn to the playful glint in his eyes.

Without warning he let her go, sinking against her body until she felt his hands around her legs and one shoe, then the next was tugged off her feet. He propelled himself toward the little dock and dumped her shoes on the planks, then with a firm, confident stroke, he returned to her, Carol impressed as hell.

She'd not been swimming often, not much at all since she was a child, but Daryl was looking like he partially lived in the water, and why was she surprised? She was yet to see something Daryl couldn't do if it was out in the wild, surviving walker attacks and keeping them all safe and fed. It was a tremendous burden on one man, and yet he offered her even more by looking for her little girl and trying to protect her as best he could.

"Thank you," she whispered once he returned, and she wasn't talking about her shoes. His brow crinkled in confusion. She wanted to smooth it out with her fingers but had a feeling he'd not take it well and force distance back between them instead.

"For what?" he asked, his head tipped to the side as he studied her as carefully as he would a rearing snake.

"For takin' care of me. Even when I don't realise I need it."

"Don' know what you're talkin' about. Jus' thought you'd like a swim, is all."

Carol smiled, then broke their gaze and looked around her. She couldn't see much now as the dark covered everything around them, turning their little reprieve into a secret, but she was grateful for the small amount of light that the moon gave her as it bounced against the lake's surface. She heard the ripples of the water around her and sighed. She may not see it now but she suspected this place would be beautiful in the daytime.

"You know, I didn't even realise there was a lake here. Pity we didn't bring any soap," Carol sighed wistfully, thinking what heaven a bath could have been. She felt like a month's worth of grime was glued to her skin.

Daryl smirked at her, and a burst of amusement split her lips as he struggled to free something in his pocket, kicking wildly to not sink in the water, before brandishing a brand new, wet, block of soap.

"Don't drop it 'cause I ain't gonna go searchin' for it on the bottom of the lake."

"Maybe we should go closer to the dock, then? I'll need to take some of these clothes off if this soap is going to have any impact at all." She started kicking toward the edge, trying not to go down every paddle and a half as her heavy clothes dragged against the water. She was panting by the time she made it, putting the soap carefully on the dock before taking a deep breath. Sinking immediately, Carol made quick if not panicked work of stripping her pants from her legs, feeling infinitely more buoyant the minute she dragged them up out of the water and plopped them down beside the soap. Then she removed her top, leaving the bra she'd put on before leaving the RV. Shivering a little as the cold bite of the night air settled around her shoulders, Carol turned and found it almost impossible to see Daryl properly in the dark—even with the gentle moonlight— but she found she could focus on a spot where she imagined his arms stirred the natural calm of the lake. Figuring if she couldn't see him then he likely couldn't pinpoint her, either, she took off the bra and seized the soap, scrubbing it into the fabric so she could give it a quick wash and eliminate some of the odours of summer. Feeling bold, she attempted the same with her panties, though she was keeping those on her body.

Feeling the water start to lap around her and hearing some mild splashing, Carol washed herself as much as she could before Daryl's head bumped against her hip underwater. The resulting bubbles against her skin as he breathed out and surfaced made her whole body tingle and seize in anticipation. She sucked in an aching breath and put the soap back on the dock, happy enough to tread water now that her clothes weren't dragging her to the bottom.

It was amazing what a block of soap could achieve. She felt squeaky clean and now more alert than she had all day. Having Daryl within arm's reach of her almost completely naked body was making her heart pound madly in her chest, and she was grateful for the inky darkness near the dock that hid her burning cheeks.

"Want me to scrub your back?" she offered, feeling more brazen than she ever had in her life.

He didn't reply at first and the silence was broken only by the chirp of crickets and a random frog croaking in the distance. Her hands shaking, Carol lathered the soap in her hands, dropped it against the wooden planks of the structure and reached forward, her hands landing on warm flesh. For once Daryl didn't buck away from her like a newly branded foal. Her hands skimmed over his shoulders, far too sensuous to remove any actual dirt, and realised he was still facing her.

"I need a cloth to be able to scrub the dirt off," she said, her voice soft and husky and completely unrecognisable.

"Use your shirt. You can wear mine back to camp…if you want."

Lifting herself a little so her elbows held her up on the dock, she used one hand to search her clothes for her top and then let herself slide back into the water. Lathering the cloth with the soap, she moved closer to Daryl again, anticipation making every nerve ending burn as liquid fire licked along her veins. She placed one bare hand on his shoulder, sweeping a gentle caress across his flesh and found he'd turned around, giving her his back. His shoulders were stiff against her touch. Carol remembered the hint of those scars she'd seen mar his flesh the night Andrea had shot him in the head and so she rushed to scrub his back like she'd offered, holding her breath as she tried to shift this rapidly escalating awareness back to the job in hand. She scrubbed at his neck, across his shoulders and then each arm, rinsed the shirt and re-soaped to tackle more of him. Pushing on his shoulder to indicate he should turn back to her, she scrubbed with purpose his chest, his ribs and belly.

"You want me to do your face and hair, too?" she sassed, trying to break the tension she sensed was choking the very air around them.

He took the shirt from her hands, scrubbed the filth from his face and then lathered the soap block into his hair before ducking underwater to wash it all off. Shaking his head like a newly bathed mutt, he sprayed drops of water in her face and Carol giggled, reaching out to shield herself.

"Your turn," he informed her and before she could process what he planned to do, she was yanked around and her shirt was roughly sloughing off the dirt and sweat from her back. It felt good, and Carol closed her eyes and surrendered to the sensation of someone looking after her for a change. He didn't go any further than her back and shoulders—stalling only when her lack of bra must have impacted his senses—though he took his time. Carol was just grateful for the drop in his usual guard that allowed him to do even that. She shivered against the night air, reaching one hand up to the dock to hold on and give her leg muscles a rest from the hard work of keeping her above water, and she felt the cool caress of the water against her nipples and sighed.

Daryl paused in his scrubbing motion and she could sense his awkwardness threatening the closeness this impromptu bath had provided. He didn't pull away, not yet, slowly resuming the motion of steady circles on her back and Carol wondered if he saw her as particularly dirty or if he just liked the thought of touching her, though with her shirt between them.

With a wet plop, he put her shirt up with her other clothes, and disappointment swept through her. She turned to face him and could just barely see the outline of his face. It was hard enough to read Daryl in the daylight but completely obscured by the night it was impossible.

"Are you awake now?" he asked, and despite the inflection of anger that simmered in his voice, Carol was relieved to have some insight into how he was feeling.

"Completely," she answered brightly, wanting so much to regain the playful mood of before.

"You're stronger than you think," he informed her, moving a little closer in the dark. "Don't make me do this again."

Longing tripped up her spine, making her whole body burst into life. "Which part?" Her voice, she knew, was too husky as she drifted a tiny bit closer, feeling his warm breath now as it huffed against her cheek. "Just askin', 'cause this bathing thing? I'd be happy enough for that to happen again. Only, maybe next time warn me and I'll strip before you throw me in."

Gauntlet thrown, Carol held her breath to see what he would do next, and when he didn't do anything after several seconds of intense anticipation, she curled her palm around his neck, pulled him against her and with an accuracy that shocked her in the dark, she put her lips against his.

If there was one thing he knew for sure, it was that sitting around waiting for a little girl to wake up and tell him where the fuck his baby brother was last she'd seen him, was boring as batshit. Merle had paced around the cramped space like he was ready to do some damage to Milton, and the nerdy scientist jumped every time he stepped too close. Merle thought it might have been the best entertainment he'd had since he'd been firmly ensconced in Woodbury. That, and the extremely well kept library that surprisingly still existed in the town. Not that he let anyone know that he visited the quaint little space—especially not the old dragon that stood over it like she owned the place. He couldn't let these pricks know he was any more than a dumbass redneck or they'd start thinking he was capable of thinking shit through and making decisions on his own. Decisions like picking up a stray girl, bitten and fevered, and taking her back to possibly the only chance of a cure there was around the place.

She coughed, and Merle fought against running to her side. He was already aware that Milton was suspicious of him and there was no way he was going to give the little shit more clues. If the Governor got wind of the little girl's connection to his brother then Merle knew she'd be removed from his sight. Even he wasn't so hardened that the thought of wiping out a kid to contain loyalty didn't make his gut clench with disgust.

"She seems cooler," Milton said, almost to himself. The scientist was busily scribbling away in his notebook, keeping strict notes on every response and development of his treatment for the little girl. Merle had noticed the look in the Governor's eye as he'd watched the kid, his interest in the success of this experiment making his expression almost desperate and it had to make a guy like Merle wonder—what was in it for him? The Governor didn't do anything that wasn't going to benefit him somehow and he'd never hung over the other experiments with quite this level of zeal.

He suspected. He'd seen the picture of the man's family in pride of place over the Governor's fireplace, had seen how he stared at it intently and the small tell-tale glance he'd give to the door they were all forbidden to go near, let alone turn the fucking knob. Merle had been confronted with some scary shit since ending up in this town, but he had a feeling that whatever was behind that door might make even his blood run cold.

"What do you think she was doing out there on her own?" Milton asked, struggling to appear off-hand and not as interested as Merle knew he was. Merle knew the scientist was almost busting a gut with curiosity, thinking he was much smarter than dumb'ol' Merle and he'd be able to trick the redneck's interest in the girl out of him.

Merle smirked, knowing he'd win against this idiot in a game of mind-fuck every day of the fucking week.

"Fuck if I know," he replied with a lewd rub to his groin.

Milton flushed bright red and turned back to his patient, becoming clumsy now that he'd been thoroughly unsettled by such crudeness and profanity.

"Per-perhaps she was with her family and got lost?"

Merle didn't sense any real concern in the man's voice, just academic curiosity and it was all he could do not to slam his teeth down his throat. He may have been high most of the time he'd been in that camp, but he remembered this little girl. Remembered her timid nature around big men and how she'd cringe away from her father whenever the dickweed would try to pull her into line—a line she'd never crossed as far as Merle could tell. He remembered her mousy mother, too, though not quite as clearly as the kid. Enough to know she'd made herself as unattractive as any bitch could—probably in a misguided attempt to keep the violent asshole's hands off her. That pansy-assed fucker might have wanted to beat her into the ground but Merle doubted that as desperate for pussy as he probably was, he'd never want to fuck someone that looked that butch, no matter that she was his wife.

"An' maybe she was out for a Sunday stroll. Any point to this? You're wastin' my air."

Before the geek could respond, the door opened and the Governor was before them, a pathetic eagerness plainly visible as he made his way to the girl.

"What is her status, Milton?"

Academic pride surged through him and he rushed to fill in his boss. "She's well past the normal timeframe to turn," he confirmed, snapping up his notebook in case he was asked for anything scientifically particular. Not that it had ever happened yet, but he liked to be prepared.

"Ass kisser," Merle said to himself under his breath. He was just close enough to hear the report but far enough away to stay to the side of the Governor's focus. It was the way he liked it. He could act sincere when he needed to, but it was hell on a man's nerves—especially when the one receiving the act was more than a little touched by his very active God complex.

"I flushed the wound, excised some of the dead flesh, gave her antibiotics and wrapped her in ice." He stopped, gave Merle a nervous, side-long glance and then leaned conspiratorially into the Governor. "I gave her five doses of the…concoction. She hasn't woken again, but…I think she's going to make it," he predicted, and his voice was filled with awe.

"Do you think it would work on someone already infected?" the Governor asked, desperation evident by the way he stared at the girl and clenched his hands into fists that he rested on the edge of the table where she lay.

"Oh no, sir, I'm afraid not," Milton admitted, his tone careful in its regret. "It's designed to attack the weakening of the body toward death. The…condition already exists within us all, so the key is to prevent infection setting in. It can't reverse what death has already achieved."

Merle watched the Governor's jaw harden and cold hatred settle in his eyes. A pulse in his forehead started pumping violently and Merle stood up straighter, preparing for a fight should one be about to present itself.

"This experiment is over," the Governor said, his voice flat and chilly. "Milton, withdraw the treatment. Merle, dispose of her outside the town. I don't want any of our residents knowing she was here." He turned and contemplated Merle and so the rough and ready opportunist nodded and smiled, his eyes as cold as his leader's.

"Consider it done."