AN: Here we go, I thought I might as well get this out.
I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!
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"I know what you're going to ask me," Carol said.
"Psychic, huh?" Daryl asked. He laughed to himself. "That's some trick. Especially since I wasn't sure what I was gonna ask you."
"You were going to ask me the same thing that I've heard before. Probably the same thing that everyone wants to ask me. Why didn't I just leave him before? But this time you're going to want more than the half-ass answer." Carol responded.
She watched as Daryl poured nearly half a bottle of steak sauce onto his plate. If the cow hadn't been cooked to death, it was clear that Daryl intended to drown it. Her own steak was practically cooked to perfection—just like she'd ordered it. The potatoes were good as well and the salad was fresh. She couldn't complain about the quality of anything that she'd tasted so far.
"I figure you didn't leave him 'cause you couldn't, or it weren't the right time," Daryl said. "Hell—do it really matter? You left him now."
"I left him before," Carol said. "I thought about leaving him every time he put his hands on me. But what do you do? I had nothing. I didn't have a job. I didn't have money. He made sure of that. He made sure to remind me, too, that I wasn't going to have anything if I left him. I kept thinking that I couldn't support Sophia like that. And she didn't deserve to suffer because I wasn't able to take care of her. It's—it's not as easy to get away as—well, as you might think."
Daryl was staring at her when Carol looked at him. He shook his head at her and pointed to her plate with his knife.
"Eat your food," he said. "If it's gonna put you off your food—we don't gotta talk about it."
Carol returned to her food. She laughed to herself.
"I guess someone like you probably finds it pretty pathetic to think that I stayed all that time," Carol said.
"Someone like me?" Daryl asked.
"Someone who's used to not taking any shit from anyone, right?" Carol asked.
Daryl laughed to himself. He shook his head.
"If you think that's who I am, then you got a lot to learn about me," Daryl said. "A whole damn lot to learn."
He didn't sound like there was any malice behind the statement. He'd made it as a matter-of-fact statement. There was so much that Carol didn't know about him. That's all he was saying. And he had to be right because she barely knew him, just the same as he barely knew her. Now he'd piqued her interest, though.
"Like what?" Carol asked.
"What?" Daryl responded.
"What do I need to learn about you?" Carol asked.
Daryl stared at her and dramatically chewed his steak. He'd put far too much in his mouth and he was having a hard time working his way through it. His table manners were atrocious, but Carol assumed that he probably didn't have to worry too much about how he ate around his brothers. He shrugged his shoulders.
"Forget it," he said. "It's nothin'."
"I want to know," Carol said. "Because I think it is something. And that's what we're doing, right? Getting to know one another. I married a man when I was really too young to get married. I thought he was charming. I thought—he would be a good husband. I thought he was a good man. So much so, in fact, that I forgave him when he started to lash out. I made excuses for him. It was a bad day at work. The car got a flat tire. He was really tired because he worked hard. I didn't leave him—even when I had to learn to treat my own injuries because the hospital staff started to get suspicious and we couldn't afford the bills that were piling up. I showed you mine—the painful, ugly truth of it. That's worth something about you, isn't it?"
Daryl frowned at his steak like it had disappointed him. He stabbed it with his fork twice. Carol was just on the verge of telling him to forget it because she didn't want to cause him any anguish when he practically threw down his fork and stood up.
"What are you doing?" Carol asked.
"You wanna know about me?" He asked.
Carol didn't tell him that having him standing over her like that made her heart pick up a few beats. She simply nodded at him and trusted that the frustration in his voice was part of some internal conflict and not something he intended to take out on her.
Daryl rubbed his hands together in frustration and then he grabbed the bottom of his shirt. Carol started to protest the action—nervous about the fact that he was choosing to start stripping off clothes—but she stopped when he pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it to the side like he'd ripped off a band aid. He turned around before Carol could say anything about his chiseled chest or the tattoos his shirt had hid. He turned his back to Carol.
And Carol's heart clenched.
On his back was another tattoo—demons. They were perfectly placed, too, on Daryl's shoulder. Just below them were the gruesome streaks that Carol was pretty sure would be burned into her memory. It may have been a whip that caused them. It could have been a belt.
"I'm sorry," Carol breathed out.
"You seen enough?" Daryl asked. Carol hummed at him and he went for his shirt. He pulled it back over his head and sat down in the same flustered state he'd been in before. He was breathing heavily.
"I'm sorry," Carol repeated.
"Don't be," Daryl said. He laughed to himself and handed Carol a napkin from the metal napkin holder in the middle of the table. "Hey—hey—don't cry for me, Argentina," he teased. Carol accepted the napkin, laughed at his joke, and dabbed at her eyes.
"I didn't mean for you to..." Carol stopped.
"Show you that'cha not alone in the world?" Daryl asked. He picked up his knife and fork and returned to butchering his steak. "Hell—people oughta do that shit more often. Maybe we wouldn't feel so damned alone sometimes if we was all honest about—about what the hell we hidin' underneath our clothes."
"I've got scars too," Carol said. "Not as bad. But burns and cuts. All in places—well, in places where people wouldn't see them. Not if I'm being modest. It was sort of a sick thing that Ed did. He called it insurance that I wouldn't try to run around on him. I never did—run around on him. But the scars are there."
"I'd like to see 'em someday," Daryl said sincerely. "Shit," he said, dropping his head. "There's like a hundred and ten percent chance I shouldn'ta said that shit. So can you scratch that from the record?"
"I'm not offended," Carol said. "Maybe..."
She didn't finish, but Daryl did look up at her. He practically peeked at her like he was afraid of making full eye contact.
"Who was it?" She asked.
"My old man," Daryl said. "I was smaller'n Sophia when it started. Way on bigger'n she was when it stopped. My Ma never got the ability to leave him, though. Not the way you done. She left him by leavin' all of us. Just—burned up to ashes an' she weren't there no more." Carol felt a shiver run through her body at the way that Daryl said it. It was something that was simply part of his story. He told it with a little bit of regret and maybe sadness to his voice, but the true sting of it had passed for him years ago. He raised his eyebrows at Carol. "And don't tell me you're sorry no more. You know as good as I do that sorry don't change shit. Besides—it just is what it is now. You owe me, though—at least scratchin' that stupid statement I made from the record and havin' another beer with me—for showin' you that. I don't show that to just anybody."
"So why me?" Carol asked.
Daryl shrugged his shoulders.
"So you know you ain't alone. Not even close. So—you know me better. Maybe just so I get it out there in the open. An' so you know—I ain't judgin' you. You not judgin' me, are you?"
"No," Carol said. "I'm not. I don't feel the slightest bit judgmental. But your situation was a lot different than mine."
"Everyone's situations is different," Daryl said. "And that's what the hell makes 'em all the same."
Carol laughed to herself.
"I'd very much like to have another beer with you, Daryl," Carol said. "But—I have to ask you something."
"What is it?" Daryl asked.
"You said—I'm safe with you," Carol said. "If that beer's too much, what'd you mean by that?"
"I meant—ya know," Daryl said. He shrugged and put his knife and fork down again to drink from the beer he'd been nursing. "I meant that—weren't nothin' gonna happen that'cha didn't want to happen."
"What if—after I drank for a while—I thought I wanted it to happen?" Carol asked.
"You ain't drunk right now," Daryl said. "Are you? You ain't had but—half a beer an' all that food."
Carol smiled at him.
"I'm not drunk," she assured him.
"You gonna want somethin' to happen?" He asked.
Carol thought about it a moment. Just the thought made her stomach churn. She shook her head.
"No," she said. "I'm sorry. I'm not—I'm just not ready for something like that."
"Then it ain't gonna happen," Daryl said. "That's what I mean. Even if you was drinkin'. Hell—I bet I could keep you offa me even if you was throwin' yourself at me. It'd be hard, but I think I could handle it."
"But not everybody could," Carol said.
"What?" Daryl asked.
"What if I told you that—a brother warned me that not everybody could...well...keep their hands to themselves? Not everybody could—distinguish between being friendly and something more. Maybe they couldn't take no for an answer."
Daryl stared at her. He had a certain expression when something struck him as quite serious. It was a hard expression and it almost frightened Carol except that she knew it wasn't aimed at her.
"If it was a brother," Daryl said, "then he damned well better know how to take no for an answer or he'll end up with his dick nailed to a fuckin' doorframe like a lucky ass horseshoe."
Carol swallowed.
"He did take no for an answer," Carol said. "But—he warned me that not everybody would."
"Who was it?" Daryl asked.
Carol shook her head.
"Please don't ask me that," Carol said. "I don't want to start any trouble."
"He didn't hurt you?" Daryl asked. Carol shook her head. "Then there ain't no trouble. But I won't force you to tell me. If anybody tries to hurt you, though..."
"I understand," Carol said. "It goes against the code. Of the club."
"Just fuckin' wrong," Daryl mused to a chunk of potato that he speared. "You ain't in no danger. Even if I had to tell you no an' fight you off myself—I ain't gonna let'cha leave here with nothin' worse'n a hangover to regret. You got my word on that an' it's a good word."
Carol laughed to herself.
"I believe you," she said. "I bet you've done a lot of beating women off in your life." Daryl hummed at her in question. "Beating women off," Carol repeated. "I don't think that came out right. Fighting them off—when they threw themselves at you. That's what I meant. I bet you've done a lot of it."
Daryl hummed and shook his head.
"Maybe? I don't know. I done my share of tellin' people no, I guess. Most the time it was knowin' she was after somethin', but it weren't me."
"What was it?" Carol asked.
"The cut," Daryl said. "Always the cut more'n me. Some fantasy of who I'd be—what I'd be like. It weren't never the real me that they wanted. Even the ones I let in..." He stopped and shook his head. He put his fork down. "I'm sorry," he said. "Can—we stop talkin' about me just a lil' bit? Maybe we talk about you or...if you don't wanna do that...then tell me about Sophia. Hell—we can talk about anything. I just..."
"I understand," Carol said. She laughed to herself. "It starts to feel like being under a hot light."
"Wanna confess my sins," Daryl said with a laugh. "But that shit'd take all night."
"We'll talk about something else," Carol said. "Maybe we'll just switch topics. Talk about something nice and light. I think I still owe you a question."
Daryl considered it a long moment and then he finally looked at her. His face relaxed and the corner of his mouth curled upward in a crooked smile.
"I can't think of but one question that I got right now," Daryl said.
"What's that?" Carol asked.
"You gotta promise you still gonna sit outside with me. Have another beer 'fore I get'cha home."
Carol swallowed.
"That makes me nervous," Carol said.
"Makes me nervous to ask it," Daryl countered. "So?"
"Does my answer matter?"
"It matters," Daryl said, "in that I got hopes of how you'll answer—but it don't change nothin'. It don't matter like that."
Carol sucked in a breath and released it. She drank down what was left of her beer. Daryl laughed to himself.
"You ready?" He asked. Carol nodded her head. He picked up his own beer and drained it. "Liquid courage," he teased. "You said you ain't wantin' nothin' to happen. Did you—did you mean that for—well, did you mean that for just tonight or did you mean that for like—for always?"
Carol smiled to herself. Her heart drummed around wildly in her chest. The way that Daryl was looking at her, the way that the smile sat perfectly on his face and challenged her, and the way that he made her feel like she could win this challenge—all of those things made Carol almost wish that she hadn't answered so hastily before.
"I certainly didn't mean it for always," she said.
Daryl's smile broadened and he nodded his head.
"Finish your food," he said. "You gonna love how the crickets sound and there's a little creek not far from here so you can kinda hear the frogs when they get to goin' too."
"We'll have to be quiet to hear them," Carol said.
"If you don't wanna..." Daryl said.
"I do," Carol said. "But—it's really dark out there."
"We'll have the mosquito lamps," Daryl offered.
Carol laughed to herself. It wasn't always easy to get him to agree with her. Sometimes he missed what she was throwing at him unless she hit him with it very directly.
"I might be afraid of the dark, Daryl," Carol said. "I might—need you to hold my hand."
His cheeks ran red.
"Yeah," he said. "I reckon I can handle that."
"Good," Carol said. "I'm counting on it."
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AN: How many chapters are too many to load in a day? LOL
I want to thank all of you for the wonderful reception of this fic. Your reviews and comments mean more than you know! I hope you enjoyed the chapter!
