A/N: Phew, okay, big, difficult chapter to write, guys. That's why it took me an extra day. A lot of highly emotional stuff is going on, so I needed to make sure I hit as many of my marks in that area as I could.
I'll just let you get to the reading and talk to you at the end, okay? :D
Chapter Twenty Five
"Some people see scars, and it is wounding they remember.
To me they are proof of the fact that there is healing."
Linda Hogan
Rick pressed his back more fully into the hollowed out tree, trying to become invisible as a swarm of Walkers shuffled past him. He stretched out an arm above him, trying to make extra room to settle more of his body into the tree. The Walker herds really were moving around in vast numbers at the moment. The last thing Rick wanted to do was draw attention to himself because there were just too many to stand and fight with. His search for Daryl had been fruitless and Rick was on his way back to the prison to see if the other man had turned up yet. At least he had been until he crossed path with this latest herd. Rick stayed calm and just watched the undead file past him on a mission to not even they knew where. They just walked, it seemed to be a relentless drive, the last instinct of humanity, to keep moving forward. Rick could appreciate that. It was pure instinct which kept driving him forward these days. There had been so much loss and yet, there was still so much more to lose. The potential for pain and suffering was never-ending and stopping didn't seem like an option, because all that pain would be able to catch up with you and Rick didn't know if he'd be able to endure such an assault. So, he just kept moving forward, just like these tortured souls surrounding him, not knowing what he was moving towards, only knowing he couldn't stop.
Rick briefly closed his eyes and gave a silent prayer of gratitude that at least Carl was safe and sound at the prison. It seemed old habits die hard with the praying because Rick didn't know if he believed in God anymore and he certainly questioned the benevolence of the God he used to believe in. How could a loving God let so much pain and suffering fall on the likes of Carl? His son hadn't done anything to warrant this kind of hardship, and either had his daughter. The unfairness of the life his children now had to look forward to made Rick want to scream out at the top of his lungs sometimes but again, fear held him back. Fear that he'd start screaming and not be able to stop. Rick's eyes snapped open as he suddenly felt something clamp onto the hand stretched above him. He bit back a scream as his flesh was pierced, all the way to the bone with a vicious bite...
oooOOOOooo
Daryl threw down his clean clothes and first aid kit down onto the nearby bench in the shower room and made an annoyed face. That idiot Rick had gone out looking for him. Why the hell hadn't the guy just waited a little bit longer instead of risking his own life to look for him? Daryl knew his way around in the woods, those Walkers weren't going to get him but Rick had to go and play hero for someone who didn't need saving in the first place. Daryl made a frustrated grunt as he wiggled his shoulders experimentally. There was a sharp pain just below his left shoulder blade but he just wanted to get enough blood off him so he could go and get Rick back. There was no way Carl was going to lose another parent, not on his watch. Even if that parent had designs on Daryl's woman. The unwelcome thought popped into Daryl's head and he didn't know if he was more shocked by the idea Rick might make a play for Carol in the near future, or that he was thinking of Carol in terms of being his now. Either way, kicking something seemed to be the way to go. Daryl lashed out and kicked at the nearby concrete wall, painful shockwaves radiating up his leg.
"What, you're not hurt enough?" came the exasperated question behind him. "You've got to add to your list of woes?"
He spun around to see Carol standing in the doorway of the showers, disapproval written all over her face. Daryl wasn't ready to see Carol right then. He was still so confused and the sight of her brought up so much emotion in him these days that Daryl knew it'd be a mistake to let her take another step inside the door. "I ain't hurt," he said gruffly, not wanting here there right now because it scared him how much he wanted her there right then.
"In that case I think you've got your period," said Carol sweetly as she glanced down at the bloody trail Daryl had left behind him as he'd walked.
He blushed but tried to scowl his way through it. "It ain't nothin'," he repeated tersely. "I just been runnin' and my blood was pumpin' a bit more is all."
"You got a medical degree since I saw you at breakfast this morning?" she challenged him. Carol started to walk towards him and Daryl instinctively took a few steps back. She shook her head at him. "You can't even see the state your back is in. How can you be so sure it's nothing serious?"
"I can take care of myself," he growled.
"Even people who can take care of themselves need some help sometimes," she countered as she walked up to him. "Come on, let me see." Carol raised her hands and made to move for the buttons of his sleeveless plaid shirt.
Daryl panicked and grabbed her wrists. "What are you doin'?" he demanded to know, blood roaring in his ears.
"You need to take your shirt off so I can see how bad the cuts are," said Carol calmly.
Daryl's hands unconsciously tightened on her wrists. "No," he rasped. It filled him with panic to think of Carol getting a close up look at the scars which littered his body. They were his secret shame, the marks which told of his past weakness. Daryl didn't want anyone to see who he used to be, not ever and particularly not Carol. He knew she'd pieced together the story of his childhood from what he'd told her, but Daryl didn't want to see how truly helpless he'd once been. He didn't want Carol to think any less of him.
"I know what you're tryin' to hide," said Carol, her face set in great seriousness.
Daryl's nerves tightened at that thought.
"You've got a superfluous third nipple, haven't you?" she continued on straight-faced.
"Wh-what?" asked a confused Daryl and then saw the beginnings of a cheeky little smile on Carol's lips. He couldn't help but give a grunt of laughter as her teasing broke the tension of the moment.
Carol was openly smiling up at him now. "It's just me," she promised softly, comforting eyes searching his now. "It's just me, Daryl."
She was asking him to trust her and Daryl did. He always had, instinctively knowing that Carol wanted to care for him the way he'd always wanted to care for her. Like recognised and understood like. Daryl didn't answer, just let some of the tension leave his body. He slowly let go of Carol's wrists and she was able to move to make short work of the buttons of his shirt and then slip the sodden, blood-stained garment from his shoulders. Daryl braced himself for the look of pity he knew was coming when Carol got a close up look at the state of his heavily scared chest. He didn't want her sympathy, but knew it was inevitable. His body was a mess of deep scars, how could anyone not look at that and just see a victim?
"Phew," said Carol, letting out a long breath, "that's a relief. No third nipple to be seen." She looked up at him, lips twitching. "Nice to know you're not a freak."
Daryl searched her face in amazement, stunned to see no soul-destroying pity in her expression at all. He'd built up people seeing his scars as this fate worse than death in his head, but with some simple teasing, Carol had taken that fear away from him. Daryl blinked a couple of times, trying to take in the enormity of the moment.
"Take your shoes off," she instructed him.
Daryl took a moment to make sense of what Carol had just said. "Why? My feet ain't hurt."
"They're soaked in blood and water. You're going to have to put your other pair on."
Daryl looked down at his sopping shoes. "I'll do it later."
"Daryl, take your shoes off," she ordered him in exasperation. "I've been dealing with one fussy baby all morning, I don't need another."
Daryl pouted at her. "I ain't no baby ta be told what ta do." Without warning, Carol's hand snaked up and ripped out, at the root, one of the sparse chest hairs he sported. Daryl started and made a noise of complaint. "Ow! What the hell, woman?!"
"You're going to start doing what I tell you, when I tell you, otherwise I'm gonna pluck you like a chicken, Daryl Dixon," said Carol sternly.
Daryl tried to stare her down, but he couldn't hold a straight face. "Florence Nightingale you ain't," he complained around grumbling laughter.
"Well, you not gonna win any prizes as patient of the year either," threw back Carol unrepentantly. She looked down at his still damp pants.
"I ain't takin' my pants off," said Daryl hastily, fresh panic welling up inside of him at just the thought of it.
"I've seen a man without pants before," said Carol calmly. "Even ones who don't favour underwear."
Daryl looked at her in shock. "How do you know I ain't wearin' underpants?" He couldn't help but think of Carol's penchant for sneaking up on people and seeing and hearing things she shouldn't. Had Carol already caught him with his pants down without Daryl even realising it? A new blush heated his face and he just hoped there was enough dirt there to hide it.
"I do the washing, remember," said Carol in amusement. "I've never seen a pair of your underwear grace my wash tub, so unless you've been wearing the one pair for nearly a year now, I'm pretty much assuming a commando situation goin' on down there." She purse her lips. "Or, a pair of not so tighty or whities that could fell a bear."
Carol's constant teasing of him was making it hard for Daryl to remember that he was meant to be frightened of her standing this close to him or the fact that she could see just about every scar on his body. Instead he was actually enjoying standing there, half-naked with a vague anticipation of her touch.
"Seein' as the pants are stayin', I'm guessing me finally gettin' you to take a bath isn't going to happen today," surmised Carol.
Daryl's heart skipped a beat at the thought of Carol watching him shower. Was it possible to be both terrified and excited at the same time by the same thought?
Carol stepped away from him and inclined her head at his feet. "Shoes," she reminded him as she went and collected a nearby bucket, turning on a shower and collecting the falling water in the plastic container.
Daryl watched her fill the bucket as he stepped on the heel of his first boot so he could step out of it and then repeated the process before kicking them out of the way.
"Turn around," she instructed him as she brought the half-full bucket back over to where he was standing.
Daryl obediently turned around but looked back over his shoulder to see Carol pouring some disinfectant into the bucket water, along with a cloth.
"Okay," she said, straightening up, "let's see what we've got here." Carol was standing behind him now as the smell of the disinfectant wafted up to his nostrils from the wet cloth she was holding in her hand. Carol started to dab at his back with the wet and warm cloth.
Daryl wasn't sure what to do with his hands as they hung awkwardly by his side. He drew them up and crossed his arms in front of his chest, tucking his hands under his armpits to get them out of the way. He was hypersensitive to every touch and tried not to flinch away at each stroke from the wash cloth. The antiseptic stung the little cuts on his back but that wasn't what Daryl was steeling himself against.
"It doesn't look that bad, most of these cuts aren't deep."
"Told you," said Daryl brusquely, concentrating on a spot on the wall in front of him.
"But you have got a couple of stones lodged in up under your shoulder blade here."
Daryl felt Carol's soft hand drift over his left shoulder blade and he tried not to shudder.
"I'm going to have to dig them out. Sorry, it's probably going to hurt a bit."
Daryl just grunted, the idea of a little pain the least of his concerns right now. His blood was again pounding in his ears, but this time it wasn't out of fear or anger. Daryl was doing his best not to enjoy Carol's touch this much, but it was impossible. It was like he was starved for the contact and her slightest touch had the hairs on the back of his neck standing up and his stomach muscles clenching. His face gave an involuntary twitch at the sharp pain as Carol dug out a few stones from his back, but Daryl didn't comment.
"That last one was really deep," she informed him. "I'm going to put some peroxide on it."
Daryl just nodded, actually happy to have anything to prolong this moment, even if it was going to sting. Carol stepped away from him briefly and then returned with the bottle of peroxide. A few seconds later, Daryl felt the sharp bite of the foaming bubbles in his wound, but then it was quickly followed by the tickle of a soft, warm flow of air. Daryl looked over his shoulder to see Carol gently blowing on his back. It was kind of erotic and he wondered if that thought made him weird. Daryl really didn't know.
"It takes the sting out," Carol informed him between breaths as she saw him looking at her. She straightened up. "How does that feel?"
Daryl swallowed hard. "Fine," he rasped.
Carol nodded in satisfaction. "This should close up by itself pretty easily. You were lucky."
"That's me," deadpanned Daryl, "lucky."
Carol's expression had become serious. "I was really scared when I heard you'd been hurt," she said quietly.
"You don't gotta worry 'bout me."
Carol's blue gaze was holding his steadily. "Is that what you want, Daryl? Do you want me not to care if you live or die?" she quizzed him quietly. "Do you want me to be indifferent to whether or not you're in pain and suffering?"
"I-ah-I-," he cleared his throat and tried to collect his thoughts. "I don't want you to worry 'bout me," Daryl reiterated, hating the thought of making Carol worry over him.
She gave a lop-sided smile. "Well, tough, Mister Dixon, because I do." Carol walked around to stand in front of him and inclined her head at Daryl's arms which were still crossed in front of his chest. "Put your arms down."
"Why?" he asked hesitantly.
"I want to check if you're hurt anywhere else."
"I ain't."
"A second opinion never hurt anyone. I can already see your hand is bleeding."
Daryl pulled his right hand out from underneath his armpit to see he had indeed knocked off the skin of his knuckles and blood was already drying over the wound.
"See," said Carol knowingly, "a second opinion is a good thing. The last thing we need is for you to get an infection." She took his hand and quickly cleaned it off with the disinfectant-filled water.
Daryl watched Carol work, seeing the intent look on her face. Of course, he could have pointed out that he could have done this part himself, but oddly enough, Daryl had no real compunction to do so. That would mean Carol would let go of his hand and stop standing so close and Daryl really didn't want that. He did tense though, when Carol dipped the cloth into the bucket and she moved to start cleaning down his chest. Daryl grabbed her wrist again, finding it more challenging to be facing Carol when she was cleaning down his scars then when he had his back to her.
"I need to get this dirt off to check properly," she argued with his silent protest. "Besides, I have to even it up with your back, now that it's actually clean."
Daryl reluctantly let go of Carol's wrist and braced himself for her making a comment about his scars. Only she didn't, just worked methodically away on cleaning down his chest with that cloth of hers. He was having to remind himself to breath as Carol worked. Daryl drew in a ragged breath as Carol's cloth moved along the top of his pants, swiping at his waist line and he couldn't stop his body's reaction south of the border. Carol's touch was wiping his mind of all other functions other than feeling each one of her light touches.
When she was finally done, Carol dropped the cloth back into the bucket of water but didn't step away from him. "All done, I think you'll live."
Daryl nodded mutely, unable to take his eyes off Carol's face. She was openly staring at his chest now and Daryl tensed as Carol reached out a hand and dragged her fingers over the puckered line of the most prominent scar on his chest.
Daryl couldn't stop himself from flinching. "Don't," he ordered her harshly. Daryl went to knock her hand away but Carol avoided his hand and simply returned hers to his scar.
"You shouldn't be ashamed of these," she admonished him softly.
"Oh right," said Daryl scornfully, "I should be proud of 'em. Proud of the fact that I used to let my daddy beat me into unconsciousness every other day." His voice cracked over the last part and Daryl cursed himself for the weakness it showed. Those scars were an ugly reminder of the abuse he'd been too feeble to do anything about.
Carol frowned up at him. "These scars aren't about you being hit, Daryl."
"Then what are they about?" he asked angrily.
"They're about you being able to survive," said Carol. Her fingers touched lightly the multiple scars on his chest. "All of these, they've shown how you have the ability to heal yourself, that you're still alive." Carol's face tightened. "The dead don't heal. Their wounds stay open and bleeding forever, they don't have it in them to fix what was broken, but you do, Daryl. You did."
He was looking at Carol warily, not having ever thought of it like that.
"And what's more, you're not like Merle," she continued on, voice low and fierce. "That man hasn't allowed his wounds to scar up cause he keeps on pickin' at them. He's one festering wound of bleeding flesh that he intentionally pulls the scabs off so he can always be in pain and have an excuse to always lash out at anyone who comes near him."
Daryl's face registered shock, never having thought of his brother in those terms before but he couldn't argue with Carol's take on Merle. His brother never let anything heal over.
"In a lot of ways that's why I worry more about Rick then you through all of this," Carol mused quietly.
The mention of the other man's name had Daryl tensing. He didn't want Rick's name here, hanging between them in this moment on intimacy. He didn't want Carol to be thinking about any man but him. A shot of jealousy ran down his spine, like fingers down a blackboard, putting him on edge once again.
"All of Rick's scars are hidden away, inside of him." Her face clouded over. "There are days I think he's bleeding to death internally and none of us can even tell. It worries me."
Daryl knew what she was talking about, but knowing Carol was thinking and worrying over Rick stirred up the insecurities and jealousy he'd been struggling with for the last few days. It really was only going to be a matter of time before Carol found herself in love with the guy. Daryl's hands curled into a fist at the thought.
Carol's hand had drifted down to the area of puckered flesh where he'd taken the arrow in the side while looking for Sophia. "Your scars tell so many stories, Daryl. You got this one when you found Sophia's doll," noted Carol quietly. "It was the last kind of contact with the old Sophia that any of us had. That scar is a legacy of my little girl's memory, how she was when she was whole." She looked up at Daryl, face stricken. "And it's on your body."
The frustration of not knowing where he stood with Carol burst inside of Daryl. It all came out in a rush of anger and fear and jealousy, with Merle's words tumbling around in his head and egging him on. "Is that all I am to you, some kind of placeholder for Sophia's memory?" he asked harshly. "The thing you keep round to remind yourself of the daughter who got taken from you?"
Carol's eyes had gone wide in surprise at the angry questions. "Wh-what, no, Daryl, I don't-"
He couldn't let her finish. Daryl knew he was making a mess of this and wanted to be telling her the truth instead. He wanted to tell Carol that he couldn't stand the thought of her liking anyone better than him. That he was consumed with jealousy and confusion around her and missed her like hell when she wasn't by his side. Daryl wanted to find the words to tell her eloquently that she was more important to him then his next breath and that he was going to love her even if she never found a way to love him back. Because he had to, there was no longer a choice for Daryl. But of course, none of those words found their way to his lips. Instead he'd spewed out something biting and had hurt Carol in the process. Daryl was desperate to try and make this right, but didn't know how to. He panicked, fearing he'd just made his worst nightmare come true and pushed Carol away for the last time. Daryl needed to make this right but he didn't know how to tell her how he really felt.
Seeing as words failed him, Daryl tried actions. He grabbed Carol's face with one hand and planted a clumsy kiss on her lips, only he missed his mark a little, the fumbling kiss showing off just how inexperienced he was at the whole thing. Daryl tried to compensate by pressing his mouth harder against Carol's, hoping that would make this better. It didn't by the way Carol stiffened against him, hands pressing against his chest. Daryl was forced to break the kiss and Carol immediately took an unsteady step backwards. She pressed a hand to her mouth, while looking at him in shock and disbelief. Daryl just stared back at her in horror, unable to believe he'd just done that.
"Daryl." Carol said his name unevenly from behind her hand, still looking stunned.
Daryl couldn't wait around to hear her yell at him or worse, try and let him down gently. He pushed past her, grabbing for his clean shirt and practically ran from the room, just wishing the ground would open up and swallow him whole for making such a fool of himself and making everything so much worse.
oooOOOOooo
Carl was fidgeting with his hat in his cell and waiting for news of his dad. He'd had a few bites of lunch, mainly to please Beth when she'd brought the plate of food up to him but he hadn't tasted anything. His stomach was in knots as he waited for his dad to return. By now Carl thought he should be used to this kind of waiting. It felt like his father was always going off, leaving him behind to worry about whether he was going to see him again. Carl was familiar with this limbo state, but he could never get used to it and maybe that was a good thing. He didn't want to get to a point where he didn't care if his dad was dead or alive. Carl couldn't imagine such a thing ever happening, but he did wish that it didn't feel like his heart was ripped out of his chest every time his dad ran off to save someone.
He stood up abruptly and shoved his hat down on his head. Carl couldn't take sitting there and doing nothing anymore. At the very least he was going to wait down by the fence for his dad. Axel was there now and he'd promised to let everyone know the second his dad was back, but Carl wanted to see for himself. He walked purposefully out of his cell and headed down the stairs.
"Where are you going?" asked Beth in concern.
"I'm gonna go look for my dad," said Carl, his jaw set in determination as he finished walking down the stairs.
"You know he wouldn't want you to do that," said Beth softly.
Carl's answer was sharp. "Well, he ain't here to tell me what to do, which is kinda the point." He made a contrite face. "Sorry," he mumbled, "I know it ain't your fault, Beth."
"Just give it a little longer," Beth pleaded with him. "I know Rick is going to be back soon and I don't want you putting yourself in more danger."
Carl's resolve waivered, finding it very hard to say no to Beth.
Hershel limped out from underneath the stairs. "Just take a breath, son," he advised him. "Like I said, we just have to be patient."
Carl opened his mouth to tell Hershel he was sick of being patient when Axel burst into the room.
"It's okay," Axel panted, a bit out of breath from where he'd obviously run back to the cell block, "Rick's back."
Carl's body sagged in relief at the news.
"But you gotta bust open that first aid kit of yours, Hershel," Axel advised the older man. "Rick has gone and gotten himself bit and needs some patchin' up."
The blood drained from Carl's face even as the blood roared in his ears. His dad was bitten. He was going to turn into one of those things. Carl tried to process that information, but couldn't. His brain froze in abject horror and fear even as his body decided to take flight. Carl knew he couldn't be here when his dad got back, couldn't see the inevitability of separation on his father's face. It was too much. Carl just started to run, pushing past Axel and making a wild dash for the door.
"Hey, wait!" Axel called out after him. "Carl!"
But Carl wasn't going to stop, he couldn't. He just kept running, running from the finality of the nightmare which had to come next...
A/N: So, hope you weren't all too disappointed with the shower scene. I'd pictured that one for awhile, so I'm happy to have it written and done now. With this chapter, I'm kind of paralleling Carl and Daryl's journey through their fears, at least, attempting to. Both are limited in their emotional maturity, so it makes sense to have them on a similar emotional trajectory.
Now, as for the first kiss between Caryl in my fic, again, I hope you're not disappointed, but this is my take on NR's interpretation of Daryl. Yes, I think he's right in saying on the show, if there is a first move to make, it's got to come from Carol. That's why in my fic, I wanted to tinker with the idea of a scenario that would have Daryl so desperate, he'd make the first move... and make a complete cock up of it, of course. LOL It's back to that wild animal backed into a corner, desperation driving its every move. That's going to continue to be ramped up now as the drama really heats up.
Lots of things happening in the next chapter, so I hope you'll join me and I'm also keen to think what you made of the Caryl shower scene. Did it work for you, did it not? Did you want more, less? For those still wanting more, don't forget this fic is far from over, so this is just a prelude of things to come. Stay tuned. ;)