Carol was just making the bed when she heard the knock on the door. "Can you get that, Sofie?" The girl answered and then steeped back immediately as if surprised.
"I ain't gonna eat ya," came Daryl's deep voice. "Brought ya hot chocolate." He took a step inside.
Sofie took the offered cup and murmured, "Thank you."
Carol stopped making the bed and looked at him curiously.
"Sorry if'n I woke y," he said. He held up the coffee. "Coffee."
He looked strange, standing there in the doorway, holding up a cup of coffee, like a waiter, but with the muscles of his strong shoulders rippling. Carol felt a surge of affection and laughed.
[*]
"How long before the coffee grounds spoil?" Michonne asked as Rick pushed the handle of the French Press down to drive the brown flecks to the bottom of the glass. That old, familiar aroma wafted to her nose.
"Well, the regular grounds are already starting to taste flat, but the instant coffee can last twenty years."
"I guess we could eventually grow coffee beans," Michonne said, "but that seems a waste of resources and land space."
"It does," Rick agreed as he poured her a cup. "We're using all the land we have. But we should grow more crops. We might want to fence in additional land."
"Bring it up at the next Council meeting."
Carl padded, stocking foot, into the kitchen and scratched his head.
"You need to let me cut that hair," Michonne told him.
"I need a cup of coffee."
Rick shook his head. "No reason to develop the habit. We won't have it forever."
[*]
Damn that monk, Daryl thought. Carol was laughing at him. She thought it was a joke, him bringing her coffee. It was a joke. Who was he kidding? This wasn't a goddamn romance novel he was living in.
"Sorry," Carol said. "You just looked like a waiter from a Chippendale strip club."
"You spend a lot of time in strip clubs?" he asked gruffly.
"What's a strip club?" Sofie wanted to know.
"Nothing you'll ever have to worry about in Alexandria, I don't think," Carol said.
Carol took the cup from Daryl's hands and lightly brushed his fingers while she did it. Was that intentional? It seemed intentional. Maybe the damn monk was right. How many dozens of times had she done something like that, and he hadn't noticed, or he'd just put it down to friendly affection?
"Did I wake y'all?" he asked.
"We were waking up anyway," Carol said. "Sofie and I have to get an early start. We're moving her things over to Kendra's house, getting her settled in her new room, and then we're going to do some canning today."
Daryl nodded. "I'm takin' Ethan out. Maybe get a wild turkey. Or grouse. Fox squirrel, if nothin' else."
"Please, no more squirrel stew," Sofie begged.
Carol smiled. "I'm getting a little tired of it too. And there is canned storage meat in the pantry. We haven't used our rations for the week."
"A'ight. Won't bring back squirrel."
Carol sipped the coffee. Daryl watched her and shifted awkwardly on his feet, not knowing what he was supposed to do next. She seemed to sense his discomfort, because she said, "Go on downstairs. I'll make the house some eggless pancakes, since Jesus still hasn't come to trade yet. One day, I'll be able to make them without applesauce."
[*]
Michonne slid her katana into the sheath on her back and walked out onto the porch beside Rick. "What are you up to today?" he asked.
"Well, I'm going to practice my forms, teach an art class at the school, and then I think I have to relieve you."
Rick wiggled an eyebrow. "I could definitely use some relief."
"On watch, I meant." She smacked his ass playfully. "But maybe later tonight I'll relieve you in other ways." She chuckled as she strutted down the porch stairs.
[*]
The stack of pancakes Carol had placed in the center of the table quickly disappeared. Daryl shoveled the food into his mouth like a steam engine, while intermittently casting furtive glances across the table at Carol, as if he wanted to say something to her. But he didn't.
"Not breakfasting with Tom this morning?" Brother Lawrence asked Nadia pointedly.
"Did you know that Tom's sister was a psychology major in the old world?" Nadia replied. "And a counselor."
"I did not know that."
"She's been counseling me. After dinner. That's why I've been going there twice a week."
A look of hope crossed Brother Lawrence's face as he sat back in his chair. "Good. I hope it helps. I sincerely do."
Brother Stephen put his fork down and announced, "I'm moving in with the rest of the monks."
Carol shot him a befuddled expression. "You have your own room here. They're two to a room in that house."
"These rooms are three times the size of my cell in the monastery. It's too big, this bedroom here."
"Well, we'll miss you," Carol told him. She'd miss the way he cleaned the house.
"If Brother Stephen is moving out," Sofie asked, "Can I stay here and have his room?"
"Wouldn't you rather be in a house with the other kids, sweetheart?" Carol asked.
"I'd rather be with you. I can see my friends in school."
Carol felt at once touched and overwhelmed by the request. If Sofie continued to live in the same house as her, the whole community might come to regard her as Carol's daughter. Sofie might come to think of Carol as her mother. Did she want that responsibility? Did she want to risk loving and possibly losing another child?
"Please?" Sofie asked, her large blue eyes widening. "It would be a waste of a room otherwise."
"Well," Carol said softly, "I'll clear it with the Council, but I think maybe that would be fine."
Sofie grinned and resumed eating.
Brother Stephen picked up his fork again, but he didn't eat. He spoke to Brother Lawrence without looking at him. "I've been talking with the other monks, and we're all agreed."
"Agreed about what?" Brother Lawrence asked.
"We've elected a new abbot to replace you. Brother Timothy. You were never meant to be abbot anyway. You only assumed the role because Brother Anton died, and we let you give orders at the time, you were so desperate to rescue Nadia."
Nadia put a hand near Brother Lawrence's on the table, so that their pinkies almost touched. Brother Lawrence looked down at her hand. Then he looked back at the younger monk. "You're all agreed?"
"All of us. You're too much in the world, brother. You insisted on living in this house," Brother Stephen glanced at Nadia's hand near his, "instead of with the other monks. You're always leaving to go on these supply runs. You simply aren't around regularly to lead us. And you've stopped wearing your cassock." Brother Stephen gripped his coffee cup. "Also," he said, "when your term is up on the Alexandrian Council, we don't intend to nominate you again. We need someone who truly represents our interests on the Council. We'll be backing Brother Timothy next time."
"Brother Timothy? He didn't even fight in the war. He stayed behind at the monastery."
"To guard the women and children."
"And a fine lot of good he did!" Brother Lawrence exclaimed. "The Saviors burned the monastery to the ground. They killed half the people in it!"
"He saved the other half, and we aren't at war anymore anyway. He understands our needs. We're already vastly outnumbered on that council. The prison camp controls it almost entirely, with just one of the original Alexandrians and one of us. How did that even happen?"
"Let us not forget we were refugees here," Brother Lawrence said.
"So was the prison camp," Brother Stephen, glancing at Carol and Daryl.
"No," Brother Lawrence replied. "They were brought in by special request to preserve Alexandria. You can read all this in my history, brother."
Brother Stephen shook his head. "That's another thing. Your vanity. So you were a church historian before the Outbreak. So you had six books and all those writing prizes to your name."
Carol raised an eyebrow. She hadn't known about any of that. How little they knew about some of these people's old lives, in that other world, in that other lifetime. In this sea of death, there was a chance to be reborn, to reinvent oneself. She certainly had. So had Daryl. But there was also a chance to lose oneself, to lose one's humanity. Brother Lawrence, in writing his history, was, she supposed, clinging to some old, beloved part of himself, a bridge to his past humanity.
"At any rate," Brother Stephen continued, "you cannot be our abbot any longer. We're decided."
"Well, if it's decided," Brother Lawrence said. "Then it's decided." He pushed back from the table. "Thank you for the breakfast, Carol. Now I think I'll go work on my book. I'm outlining the chapter about the monastery now. You'll have a section all to yourself, Brother Stephen, about your superb laundry skills." He strode from the kitchen.
Carol glanced at Daryl, who seemed incurious about the dramatic exchange that had just unraveled at their breakfast table. "Great pancakes," he muttered, his mouth still partway full, motioning to his plate with his fork. "Damn good."
[*]
Carol settled Sofie into Brother Stephen's old room and promised they'd paint it later. Next they cooked and canned beets. Later, Carol and Sofie returned to the greenhouse to do a little planting of herbs. They were on their knees, with their hands - and Sofie's stub - covered in dirt in the pots, when the temperature seemed to change. They looked up and saw that Daryl and Ethan had walked inside, both with a bow and quiver on their backs.
"Look, Sofie," Ethan exclaimed. "Look what I got!" He held up a bird by its feet.
Sofie stood, and then a casual mask descended on her face. She dusted the dirt off against her jeans. "What is it?" she asked dismissively.
"It's a –" Ethan paused in his excitement and turned to Daryl.
"Grouse," Daryl said.
"Grouse," Ethan repeated.
"What's it taste like?" Sofie asked.
Ethan looked at Daryl.
"It don't taste like chicken," Daryl said.
"Not like chicken," Ethan told her.
"It's tiny," Sofie said. "It's smaller than a chicken."
Ethan puffed up his little chest. "It's meat though. Fresh meat. Real meat."
Daryl glanced at the corner of the greenhouse, where Carol had planted two small pots of Cherokee rose.
"It's my favorite flower now," Carol explained. "Ever since you brought it to me." He looked back at her. There was something different in his eyes, something she wasn't used to seeing, and she couldn't quite tell what it was. She wondered if he thought it was a silly, romantic notion of hers, to have a favorite flower in this world, or to have it because of him. "I know I shouldn't be wasting valuable space in here for flowers, I just - "
"- You deserve it," Daryl said. "Grow all the damn flowers you want." Daryl glanced down at Ethan. "Why don't y'all kids bring that bird to the house? You can show Sofie how to pluck it."
Sofie looked hesitantly at Ethan. Then she walked over to him and asked, "Did you get it all by yourself?"
Ethan nodded proudly.
"Cool," Sofie said, and they were out the greenhouse door.
Carol chuckled. "Should we arrange their marriage now?" she joked. "What will you take in dowry? A couple dozen of my cookies?"
"Nah, I'm gonna need more than that for Ethan," said Daryl, taking two steps closer to her. "He's a prize."
Carol smacked her hands together to wipe off the dirt, walked up to stand in front of him, and put a hand on each of her hips. "I'll toss in three dozen blueberry muffins."
"Not enough," he said, the edge of his mouth twisting into a faint smile.
"What then?
Daryl looked down at the earthen floor of the greenhouse. "I uh…might take a kiss."
[*]
A truck pulled to a squealing stop in front of Alexandria's fence.
Rick, from where he stood on the platform along the top of the fence, leveled his rifle. Through the windshield, he spied Jesus and lowered his weapon. The Hilltop's emissary had finally come to trade. Rick called down to Michonne, who had come to relive him on watch and was just now at the bottom of the ladder: "Roll the gate open. It's Jesus."
Rick looked back down at Jesus, whose blue eyes were cool with warning. The man nodded ever so slightly in the direction of the truck. Below, Michonne had rolled the gate one fifth of the way open. "Shut it!" Rick cried.
[*]
Daryl wished he hadn't said it, because Carol didn't say anything in response.
Nothing.
Not a goddamn word.
Daryl could feel his cheeks growing hot. He studied the ground.
But then her fingertip was under his chin, and she tilted his head until he was looking in her eyes. He didn't have the bangs anymore to hide those eyes, or the insecure longing in them.
She leaned forward and touched her lips to his.
[*]
Michonne, responding to the urgency in Rick's tone, ran forward and slammed the gate shut again. Just as she was locking it, armed men spilled out of the truck, ten in and all. One, who wore a Hell's Angels jacket, pressed a gun to Jesus's temple and cried, "You gave it away, you fucker!"
He looked up at Rick. "Let us in, or your friend dies."
"Whatever you say," Rick replied calmly. "Just don't hurt him. Please."
He scurried down from the top of the fence. "Run," he ordered Michonne in whisper. "Get Daryl and Carol and any other fighters you can. I think it's the men who killed that boy in Cabela's. They must have hijacked Jesus when he was on his way here to trade."
[*]
Daryl tasted like Carol had imagined. Like tobacco and salt. Like a dry Virginia wine and a good country ham, and….oh God…his tongue felt amazing inside her mouth, tangling with hers. His sinewy arms wrapped firmly and possessively around her, and his hands were warm against her back. She'd expected some hesitant, cautious kiss, but this was more like being swept away by a flash flood.
Above the sound of their lips meeting and their hearts beating came a sudden woosh as the greenhouse door opened, and then Michonne shouting, "Grab your weapons! Come quick!"
Daryl pulled away from Carol, slung his crossbow off his shoulder, and ran after Michonne. Carol plucked her AR-15 from where it was leaned against the side of the greenhouse.
Michonne explained the situation as they ran. When they arrived, Rick and six other Alexandrians already lined the top of the fence, with their rifles pointed below. Carol mounted the ladder to stand alongside Rick while Daryl and Michonne organized the boots on the ground.
Once up top, Carol looked down over the wall. How long had these men known about Alexandria? How long had they been watching them?
The man with the gun to Jesus's head said, "Are you going to open these gates or not?"
"Let him go," Rick insisted. "Let him back in the woods, and then we'll talk."
"Hell no!" the group's leader shouted back, pushing the barrel harder against Jesus's temple. "You let us in, or we blow out his brains."
"We're not letting you in here under any circumstances," Carol told him.
"You don't care if he dies?"
"He's not one of ours." Rick sounded disinterested, but Carol knew he was just faking it. Jesus seemed less certain, because his face contorted into a gee thanks look. "Even if he was, we aren't trading one life for a hundred. And that's how many armed, highly trained people we have in here," Rick lied. "So if I were you, I'd leave Jesus, get in his truck - help yourself to whatever he's got in there - and drive on back to your own camp. Because otherwise, we're going to have to kill you all." They were going to kill them all no matter what, Carol thought, but Rick was clearly buying time.
The leader took his gun off of Jesus and pointed it up at Rick. "We'll kill all of you along that wall first. We're gun to gun with you right now. Who do you think's the better shot?"
[*]
Carl Grimes, who had been on top of one of the roofs of Alexandria scouring all four sides of the fence, now skidded to a stop in front of Michonne and Daryl. " There's no one else on any side of the fence," he said. "Not that I can see. This may be all of them."
Daryl motioned up to Carol, who climbed down while Rick continued negotiating with the leader below.
"We've lined up people down here along the manholes," Michonne told her. They had drilled holes along the front of the fence and then covered them with flip covers, so they could shoot out of them when necessary.
"When I whistle," Daryl added, "all y'all start shootin' up there, and we'll start shootin' down here."
Carol nodded and climbed back up to spread the word, person to person, along the upper wall.
[*]
"What are you whispering about up there?" the man in the Hells Angels jacket called. "Look, there's ten of us with guns and eight of you with guns, and we are damn fine shots down here. Just open up before you lose half your people."
Daryl's shrill whistle pierced the air.
The manhole covers slammed up, and gunfire erupted all around.
[*]
When every enemy lay dead on the ground outside the walls of Alexandria, the gates were rolled open. Daryl tore out the moment he could squeeze through. Retching, he fell to his knees before Carol, who lay bleeding on the ground. He scooped her into his arms. She'd been shot while leaning forward to fire and had toppled down over the wall.