Carol "covered her hand with her mouth". That's some trick, and yes I wrote that. LOL Sorry, I didn't catch it until later from the last chapter. These things happen sometimes.

Anyway, here's another chapter. Admittedly this one is much longer than usual, but there was nowhere to cut this one.

I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!

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There were several houses that weren't too far from the place in the creek where Daryl found Sophia's tracks. All the houses were in different directions from the creek, even though they were all on the side where Sophia had scrambled up out of the water. Daryl felt sure that the girl was in one of the houses, but the only way to know which was simply to search them all.

Having a definite plan in place made Daryl move quicker through his morning than he normally would. He didn't worry about what it seemed the rest of the camp was planning or not planning to do with their day. Whether or not they all sat on their asses, he was headed to the woods. After breakfast, he packed a bag with a few supplies and waited out by the pond for Carol. He'd only briefly spoken to her over breakfast, and that was to let her know that he'd give her roughly half an hour to meet him there. If she could safely get away from Ed and away from the camp, then she was going with him. If she couldn't, he'd circle back to make sure that all was well and he'd pick up Andrea to drag her along with him.

Without a watch, none of them were entirely certain what half an hour was, but Daryl hadn't had to wait long after breakfast before he saw Carol coming toward him. She was double timing her steps and was only a little bit away from breaking into a full trot. Daryl got up from the spot where he was seated and he'd greeted her.

All she'd told him was that she'd left camp. She was going with him. He assumed that meant that she left without telling Ed where she was going, but there wasn't anything to be done about it. Carol was determined to go and Daryl wanted her to go. If that meant that the whole camp had to deal with Ed later—well, then so be it.

They moved quickly and quietly through the woods. They didn't talk about Ed. They didn't talk about the kisses that they'd shared. They didn't want to draw Walkers and there was nothing to say at the moment about any of it. The focus was on finding Sophia and, with any luck, finding her even before those at the camp were worried about what they were going to eat for lunch. At the first of the houses, Daryl and Carol had gone in together. With Carol sticking close behind him, guarding silence until he told her to speak, Daryl had cleared the house. There'd been one Walker in the house and nobody else. Carol had walked through the house, calling out Sophia's name, while Daryl had stuck his head in every room to make sure that Sophia wasn't hiding somewhere where she might not be able to hear them.

The second house had turned out to be equally as empty. It hadn't even offered up the one Walker. Daryl, then, had begun to wonder if Sophia might be so scared of everything she'd endured while missing that she didn't trust what she was hearing ad wouldn't dare to come out. As they'd searched the second house, Carol walking through the house calling out to her daughter. Daryl had searched every room and, for good measure, had searched every closet and cabinet he could find as well.

Still, the house had turned up empty and they'd headed on toward the next of the houses that Daryl had identified as being well within Sophia's probable trajectory.

By the time they got to the third house, though, they didn't need to exchange conversation for Daryl to see that Carol's hopes were sinking. Her shoulders sagged and a deep frown had begun to take over her entire face.

Daryl wanted to promise her that they'd find the girl, but he didn't dare to do such a thing. He wanted it to be true, but if it wasn't? Promising Carol something like that would only crush her and, beyond that, it would take away whatever credibility Daryl might have with her. He wanted her to trust him. He didn't want her to think of him as a man who made false promises.

The front door of the third house was locked. Daryl's stomach sunk a little as he realized that it wouldn't open. The other houses had been open. Whoever had lived there had either left them that way, not worried about what might happen to their belongings in light of what was happening around them, or else they'd died inside without ever bothering to lock themselves in. The locked door suggested to Daryl that they might find the original owners of the home inside or they might simply find that they'd left and locked the door behind them—there would be nothing inside except the belongings they'd believed that they would one day return to claim.

Daryl didn't say anything about the lock to Carol, though. He didn't bother with picking it, either, since he didn't imagine there was any need for locked doors these days. He broke the lock and pushed the door open, letting it swing open in front of him. Nothing came for them immediately. There were no owners, dead or alive, jumping out at them.

Inside, Daryl looked around the living room. It was a nice house. It was quaint and comfortable. It was the kind of place he could imagine seeing on a television show—especially on the network they used to pick up with tinfoil and rabbit ears that had so many warm and inviting homes where people lived out their happily-ever-afters. It looked to be fairly untouched, though. There wasn't a lot of evidence that the house had been rifled through. There weren't any immediate signs of struggle. Daryl made his way into the kitchen and looked around. A few cabinet doors were left ajar, evidence maybe of packing, and there was the traditional horrible smell that came from rotting food left behind, but otherwise the kitchen was in order. Daryl walked over to one of the cabinets, opened it, and slammed it shut hard.

He saw Carol jump at the sound and he muttered an apology.

"They'll come to the noise," Daryl said. "If they in here."

Carol nodded her head. Her response was to the noise was to reach up and beat her hand on the wall. She beat her hand several times on the wall, loudly enough to call up any Walkers in at least the lower level, but nothing came.

Nothing came and nothing growled at them. Nothing moved. The house was still. They were the only two living—or non-living—beings there.

Carol sighed.

"Sophia?!" She called out. "Sophia? It's Mama. Sweetheart?! Sophia? Are you here?"

Her voice faded out with the calling. With each word, it got a little weaker. It ended, finally, almost in a whimper. Daryl saw the exact moment that it became too much for Carol. She backed up against the very wall that she'd been beating on and she dropped down, sliding down the wall, as her knees bent to allow her to make her way to the floor.

And there, crumpled against the wall, she cried.

"Please don't do that," Daryl said, swallowing against the ache it caused in his throat. "It—we ain't gettin' nowhere with that."

"We aren't getting anywhere as it is!" Carol yelled at Daryl through her tears.

"We ain't even searched the house yet," Daryl said.

"Daryl—what's the use?" Carol asked. "If Sophia was here..."

"She could be hiding," Daryl said. "Hell—you don't know. We don't know. She's got a million damn things to be scared of. Could be sleeping and can't hear us. Tucked away some damn where. Could be—could be so damn scared she don't know if she trusts what she's hearing. Could be—could be anything."

"Could be that she's not here," Carol said.

Daryl swallowed and nodded his head.

"Could be that too," he said softly. "But this ain't the last house."

Carol sighed. She was drying up her tears a little, but Daryl knew that she was only doing it for his benefit. She wasn't drying them up because she suddenly felt any less hopeless about the situation. Daryl offered her a hand and she took it. He pulled her to her feet and stepped toward her, shifted by the weight of her, when she reached standing. Close to her, Daryl's breath hitched.

They hadn't talked about the kisses, but he hadn't stopped thinking about them. He hadn't stopped thinking about her. Standing this close to her, he could feel the warmth of her body. This close to her, he could smell her sweat. He could smell her. If it wouldn't have horrified both of them, he was close enough that he could have licked her face. He could've tasted the saltiness of her tears. And the most horrifying thing to Daryl was that his brain suggested to him that he might want to do just that.

He might simply enjoy knowing just what Carol tasted like. After all, he'd only tasted her mouth.

Daryl swallowed and pulled away from Carol, his heart pounding.

"You wanna—we oughta do something," Daryl stammered out.

Carol nodded her head, staring at him.

"Yeah," she said.

Daryl shook his head gently. He laughed to himself, his nerves drawing his stomach up in fits.

"If we don't? I can't stand here like this," Daryl said. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't think what I think, but I think it just the same. And standing here? With you just..."

Daryl reached out his hand and brushed it down Carol's side, demonstrating how close she was to him. She didn't back up, though, and she didn't run away horrified at the thought that he was possibly thinking things that it wasn't right to think. She simply stared at him, her throat bobbing, and she opened her lips a little.

Daryl could hear her breath escaping and the rise and fall of her chest suggested that she was breathing a little too quickly for a normal intake of breath.

"I'm sorry," Daryl said. "We ain't—we ain't found her yet—and I'm sorry. But we're gonna...keep looking. Gonna find her."

Daryl only meant to wipe the tear from her cheek, but as soon as he touched her face he couldn't help but hold his hand against her cheek. And then he couldn't help but kiss her. And as soon as he'd allowed his body that much pleasure, it was like he was overtaken with the need to search out more. He stepped toward her and she matched his steps, stepping backward, so that the very wall that had caught her before caught her again, this time a little differently.

"Jesus!" Daryl spat, pulling away from her. "I'm sorry."

"I'm not," Carol said, touching her fingers to her lips. "I am but—I'm not."

"I just want to—do it again," Daryl said. "And I don't know why. But fuck if I can stop myself from wanting to. I just wanna make you feel better, and I know that ain't the way but...my stupid ass head don't seem to know that."

Carol looked at him and gnawed her bottom lip.

"I'm married," Carol said.

"I know," Daryl said. "And that don't make it no better. I'm sorry, but you're married to a fuckin' asshole." Daryl shook his head at her. "It ain't my place to say, but you coulda done a hell of a lot better than that."

"I could have found—someone like you?" Carol asked. She raised an eyebrow at Daryl almost in challenge.

Daryl swallowed. His chest tightened up.

"I know," he said. "I ain't shit. But—you coulda done better'n somebody like me, too."

Carol stepped forward and kissed him softly. His stomach fluttered at the gentle touch of her lips. She kissed the side of his face and then she pressed her face against him like she wanted to rest there for a moment, her hand holding his neck.

"I don't think I could've done better than you," Carol said. "I'm not sure—anybody could."

"Leave him," Daryl breathed out, not sure what drove him to say it.

Carol laughed quietly to herself. She pulled away from Daryl and looked at him.

"Are you serious?" She asked. The humor left her features. "You're serious," she said. Daryl assumed that his face probably gave him away. He'd never been more serious about anything in his life, even though he had absolutely no idea how something like that might work or what it might turn into. "How?"

"Just do it," Daryl said. He swallowed against the ache in his throat. Suddenly, without ever having entertained it before, it seemed that the one thing he wanted more than anything else was for Carol to tell him that she would leave Ed. "Just—tell him you done."

"He'd kill me," Carol said. "There isn't exactly anywhere to go."

Daryl shook his head at her.

"I wouldn't let him kill you," Daryl said. "Even if—even if you didn't want me or—or you didn't want to be with me. I wouldn't let him kill you. Way I see it? You ain't been married for a while."

Carol laughed nervously.

"How can you see it like that?" She asked.

"Marriage is all about—having and holding," Daryl said. "Love and honor and cherishing. I've heard it all before. That's what the hell it's all about. It ain't my damn business, and I know that, but I ain't seen none of that shit since I first met you. You tell me it's happening when I don't see? I'll believe you. Tell me to go to hell if you want. But—truth is? To me? It don't look to me like you been real married for as long as I've known you."

Carol stared at him and Daryl wished he could take back everything he'd just said. Still, it was out there and that's where it was going to stay. He couldn't exactly suck the words back up into himself. She sucked in a breath and she nodded her head.

"And I've—done a lot of time for—for cheating on Ed," Carol said. "I've—taken the punishments. But I've never done the crime. Never even thought about it. Until now. And now? Daryl—I can't stop thinking about it and that's hurting me. Because I'm worried about Sophia and—I'm thinking about you and those two things? They don't feel like they go together for me."

"Thinking don't work that way," Daryl said. "Ain't like you can't think of but one thing at a time."

"If I asked you to—if I said that there's a nice couch right over there and if I asked you to..." Carol broke off, clearly unable to ask Daryl what she wanted to ask him. His body responded, though, like it already knew what she wanted. "Would it make me a horrible person?"

Daryl swallowed.

He knew what he'd thought about Shane and Lori once Rick returned. He knew what he'd thought about other people before. He'd been just as judgmental, from time to time, as any other asshole had ever been. He couldn't tell her what other people would think and what they wouldn't think. But he knew that what he'd thought about other people had never mattered. He didn't think it would matter much what other people thought of her either. Still, he couldn't answer for them.

"Not to me," he said.

Carol kissed him again and her hands went to his waist. She tugged at him and it was all the request his hungry body needed. He put his hands on her waist and guided her backward to the living room. He didn't allow himself to think because he knew that if he thought too much about it, he might not have the nerve to go through with it and he wanted to go through with it.

He didn't speak to her until she was pulling him down on top of her on the couch. He didn't speak until both of them were half stripped and hungrily kissing each other like they were sex-starved teenagers in a backseat somewhere.

And when he did speak, it was only to apologize to her because he wasn't sure it was going to be very good. He wasn't sure, honestly, that she'd even think it was worth it. Still, she'd promised him that she'd think it was worth it—and whether or not it was worth anything to her, it had been worth everything to Daryl. Even the pain it caused in his ribs and side didn't matter to him. Being inside Carol was worth it all—a hundred times over.

It was worth the guilt, too, that washed over him the moment that his brain allowed him to think clearly again. Nearly smashing her into the couch with his weight, Daryl realized that he'd helped her cheat. And if anyone found out about it? It would come back more on her than it ever would on him. He was sorry for that. Carol might have seen the sorry, too, because she leaned up from her spot, pinned underneath him, and she planted several kisses on his face where her lips would reach to try to soothe the sorry away.

"Please don't be sorry," she begged. "I'm not. But if you are..."

"Don't want it to hurt you," Daryl said, his chest aching. "I didn't mean to hurt you."

Carol shook her head at him.

"You didn't hurt me," she assured him softly. "And if anything else does? That's not your fault."

"It's on me," Daryl said.

"No," Carol said. "You didn't hurt me and—you've never tried to hurt me. Not once. And that—it means more to me than I can say, Daryl."

Daryl moved and kissed her again, closing his eyes to the sensation of her lips against his. He wanted to stay there, just like they were, on a couch that wasn't theirs. He wanted to run away with her. He wanted to find Sophia and run away with the both of them. He wanted them to never have to face Ed again or anyone else that might not understand the way that he felt right then and there on that couch that belonged to people they'd never even know.

But they couldn't run away together. That wasn't how life worked.

And for better or for worse, Carol had to go back. Even if it was to tell Ed to go to hell, she had to go back.

"I'm sorry I hurt you," Daryl said. "I'm sorry—if I hurt you. But—I ain't sorry for what we did."

"Me either," Carol assured him.

"You need to leave him," Daryl said.

"I would," Carol said. "But I don't know how. I didn't know how before and—I certainly don't know how now. He would've walked through a restraining order. Now?"

Daryl laughed to himself.

"He ain't never tried to walk through a Dixon, I guarantee you that," Daryl said.

Carol nodded her head.

"You have to let me think about it," Carol said. "Handle it carefully."

"Wouldn't have it no other way," Daryl said. He shook his head. "Last thing I want is—you getting hurt."

"Not now, though," Carol said. "We still have...so much to do."

Daryl nodded his head.

He pulled up off of her and put his clothes back on correctly. He handed her a handkerchief to wipe off the evidence of what had happened and assured her it was clean. He'd only picked it up that morning and hadn't touched it since. He told her that she should check the dining room—a room he could see off from the kitchen, and he'd check upstairs. Carol went quickly toward the dining room, even while Daryl was still speaking to her as he headed for the staircase.

But as soon as he said that he'd check upstairs, he heard something. He heard footsteps above them in the second story and then he heard creaking at the top of the stairwell.

He rushed over, expecting to see a Walker seconds from tumbling down on top of him, and looked up the stairs. He wasn't prepared for what he saw. He wasn't even sure, for a moment, that he believed his own eyes.

His heart caught in his chest and he couldn't find his breath for a second. When he did find it, though, he used it to call out to Carol.

"Carol! You better get in here!"