Whoo HOO! Neither I nor this series are dead, thank you AMC for the Walking Dead S2 marathon this weekend to remind me of such things. Been so long since I wrote thanks to real life that I feel quite rusty, so I apologize if I stumble a bit getting back into Carol's mindset in the series. Can't promise when the next update might be, but with much delay, here is a new chapter!
Fidgeting, by MissMishka
"I don't remember seeing that in your things."
Carol drops the pendant as if burnt as Maggie's words startle her from her thoughts.
"It's pretty," the young woman says with a smile when Carol can't think of a reply.
No response seems required of the observation or compliment as Maggie proceeds to return her attention to the meal they're nearly finished making. It smells delicious and Carol's eyes return to the perimeter of their clearing in search of Daryl's returning form. Her fingers again go to her new necklace to fidget with the heart as she had once done with the cross she had left behind with Sophia.
"What do you suppose set him off?" the woman asks, seeing the direction of her gaze.
She has no answer that she wishes to voice and gives Maggie a shrug at the question. If she were to hazard a guess, she would say that it was her 'family reunion' comment possibly bringing up memories of how different Daryl's family had been from the playful scene they'd been watching between Carl and Shane or the intimacy of Glenn and Maggie's exchange. Or it could have been her allusion to being able to forget the nightmare that the world has become as she had watched the others going so calmly and almost happily about their routines.
The reason for his stalking off doesn't matter, though, so long as he comes back unharmed.
Her fingers curl around her new talisman, imprinted the shape of the heart pendant into her flesh as she they all tense at the rustle of trees nearby. Hoping it to be Andrea and Daryl returning, she bites her lip to stifle a worried cry as Lori rushes to protect Carl and Maggie grabs her arm to pull her back toward the safety of the RV.
As the men shuffle into a protective formation around the perimeter where the noise came from, they all hear the sound of voices; casual conversation passing back and forth from Andrea to Daryl and the tension fades from everyone.
The quickness of their reactions is reassuring. If it had been a zombie stumbling upon them, the group would have taken out the threat without blinking an eye. Their cohesion as a unit in this world was comforting. Their instincts were to protect one another and that instinct grew stronger with each passing moment they spent together.
She smiles at Maggie as the girl eases the grip she has on Carol's forearm once the pair strides back into the camp. Carol gives that hand a gentle squeeze as silent thanks for the thought before she urges the fingers to release her completely so she can approach the man.
Shane's still fingering his Glock like he doesn't trust the duo to have come back to the camp without friends and Carol resists the urge to roll her eyes at the man. Andrea doesn't bother to resist when she sees the gun in his hand. The blonde raises her hands in playful surrender.
"We come in peace," she scoffs, jeering at the officer until he lowers the weapon, clicks the safety back on then tucks the gun back into the waist of his pants.
She lowers her hands and turns to exchange a look with Daryl; something in her expression indicating that Shane may have been a topic of discussion between them.
Carol can't help but wonder what else came up while they were out. She's not jealous of the blonde, she reminds herself, but she can't stop herself from being envious of the knowledge that he talks to the other woman. Daryl communicates with her, says words here and there to tell her things, but she knows there's something different when he talks to Andrea. Something that bonds them in a camaraderie that he doesn't have with any of the others.
She wonders at it; if the blonde evokes memories of something in his past and that leads her to wanting to question and learn his past for herself. Does Andrea know the reason why he talks to her as he does no other? Does she know something of his life before the Dixon brothers found the group gathering at the quarry?
Maybe Carol should try talking to the woman. It always seemed a bit helpful to Daryl the few times that she knew of them having had a private moment to converse.
Or maybe she should just man up and try actually talking to Daryl herself, but therein lay the dangers of asking the wrong questions and getting answers she may never be ready for. The only thing more worrisome than the thought of what he may talk about with Andrea was the thought of what all he might reveal if she shone too much light on his darkness.
Dale might offer her some better insight into the situation than talking to Andrea, but Carol finds herself to use him as a sounding board on this topic. She knows she can rely on him for discretion as well as an open ear and articulate mind to air her thoughts to, but she doesn't know what thoughts to voice yet.
She's wearing a necklace that Daryl presumptively taken from the store for her, but she has no idea what the bauble means in his mind. They had kissed just hours ago, embraced and clung together with the relief of surviving the group's Wal-Mart expedition. She had been travelling with him since they left the farm, clinging to his back like a second skin on that motorcycle and alone in the cab of the truck with him. That first night they had slept side by side in her tent, the night before she had slept in his arms in that pickup.
He had set her tent up with the bedding laid out in the obvious intent for the structure to be shared by them both that night.
Is it presumptive of her to think of them as them?
Until she's able to figure that out for herself, she's not about to go discussing the possibilities with anyone else.
Her fingers are fidgeting once more with the necklace as she finally steps to his side and the motion of her hand draws his attention to her.
His eyes flicker from the pendant to her eyes then back to the necklace before dropping away to stare at the ground as a slight grin touches his lips.
"I don't see any squirrels," she says to break the silence.
"Wasn't hunting," he replies, shifting under her gaze to shrug the strap off his shoulder to lower the crossbow he'd apparently had no need or intention to use while out in the woods.
She doesn't ask what he had been doing, just reaches for the weapon and moves to place it in their tent while he goes to have a brief talk with Rick. The domesticity pleases her; having her man home safe at the end of the day and seeing his gear put to rest for the night alongside her own possessions. Regardless of what anything else meant in this world, settling his crossbow down inside the tent made it theirs.
She takes that confidence from the sight of their meager possessions intermingling in the structure and moves to find him settling down beside the fire as Lori and Maggie began to serve the dinner that they had prepared. Carol goes to collect two empty plates and see them both filled with portions of canned meat and vegetables, insuring a good plateful for Daryl. She hands the larger portions to him and finds a seat waiting for her at his side along with an unopened bottle of water to match the one he was currently drinking from.
There is no need for words or backstory when they have their simplistic harmony like this. They care for each other in these little ways; make room for one another in their lives and each allow space for the other in their personal bubbles that no one else is allowed to penetrate.
She balances her plate on her legs, bends to open her water and take a drink then lightly touches her necklace like saying a prayer before she begins to eat.
"You like it?"
He isn't asking about the mouthful of canned ham heated in Maggie's flavorful mix of honey, mustard and sugar that she rushes to swallow at his lowly pitched words. Still digesting, she can only give him a rather shy sideways glance before nodding in answer.
"It's beautiful," she whispers once the food in properly consumed. "Thank you."
Their eyes meet briefly then fall back to focus on eating; the campfire being far too open a place for her to express her feelings at his gesture.
Conversation ebbs and flows around them, some of it rising to encompass and draw them in like the tide as the meal passes. Carol discusses food with the women; their supply of clothing, cleaning supplies and chores for the following day once they breakfast. The men discuss ammunition, guard duty and night watch shifts with Daryl.
Andrea breaks the gender norm by voicing concerns about their arsenal and volunteering for the first watch. Then Maggie stirs up a storm by tossing out the question grenade of, "So where are we going now?"
Carol listens for the first hour of heated discussion where someone will make a suggestion that no less than two others in the group immediately tear to pieces. She doesn't bother to float out any ideas because she has none on the topic. She goes where Daryl goes. He's her lifeline in all of this and the necklace her new anchor. He's said nothing to this point and she finds herself with little interest in what he may have to say to the group.
Suddenly weighted with exhaustion from the day, she pushes to her feet to gather the plates they had set aside after eating. She quietly makes a circle of the group to collect all the dishes and carries them into the RV to scrub clean in a sink full of water from jugs with a splash of dish liquid. Through the window she sees the argument rise and fall with new suggestions. If she focused she could hear the ideas wafting in through the open door of the camper, but she really has no care for it. She doesn't understand why they get so worked up over it.
If all the events up to now have taught her one thing, it's that no destination is safe from the threat or presence of Walkers. Sure, they may find a place to hold up for a while, but they had to be ready to move on quickly because they could only afford to fight so long and so hard to hold on to a piece of this world. Any one of them could be lost in such an attempt and it wasn't worth that to her. True, they needed shelter and food for the coming winter, but they needed one another more and their fighting over this matter just shattered the harmony she had taken such pride and comfort in earlier.
With the dishes done, she turns from the window and exits the vehicle. Moving quietly and without any acknowledgement from the group she returns to Daryl's side long enough to give his shoulder a brief squeeze.
"I'm turning in," she tells him quietly before loosening her hold on him to go to their tent.
He surprises her by reaching up to take her hand in his before she's pulled it away. Without a word to the others, he stands to follow her.
"Daryl," Rick fairly snaps as they begin to move away from the group, "we're not done here."
"And you ain't ever gonna be at this rate," he pauses to snap back. "All you're doing is arguing in circles round and round the same damned bone. We need food; we need shelter. Take out the map and someone throw a dart for all I care, you don't need me here to judge your pissing contest."
"Daryl," Lori rushes to cover Carl's ears like 'pissing' is the epitome of profanity and therefore completely unacceptable for speech within miles of her son's young ears.
"Been a long day, boss," he ignores the chastisement and keeps his focus on Rick. "Whatever you say is good enough for me. Long as I've got my bow and my bike I can do my part to keep up alive and moving. Figure that outta be enough."
Carol wonders where she falls in that equation; where, if at all, she ranks with the bike and bow.
He places his hand in the small of her back, a gesture that warms her as it seems to guide and protect while urging her toward their shelter.
"I'll take my watch in a bit. It you're all still up yammering on this topic, I'll settle it for you then. We'll do it the Dixon way; rock, paper, scissors to your face if you don't do what daddy fucking says."
Lori's second scandalized cry of "Daryl" follows them into the shadows until they're zipped into the isolation of the tent.