This chapter is short and sweet. Emphasis on the short. And sweet. Maybe overly sweet, but Daryl is coming to realize that he's built relationships over the last few months with the other people around him, as well as Pru. This is chapter is necessary for what's to come.
Because I did two Pru chapters back to back, I'll even the odds and do up another Daryl...And in that next chapter, well, let's just say things are going to get hairy. I promise action and I will deliver. I SHALL NOT SAY ANOTHER WORD.
Thank you all for keeping up with this story. And WELCOME! to all my new followers! Hope everyone is enjoying! Please read and review! I love to hear from you all! It keeps me sane while I'm writing! Mucho love to all! -Laur
He envied how soundly she was able to sleep. Since he'd known her, he realized, she'd somehow managed to sleep deeply. As he stared at the ceiling, he recalled the time, well over a month ago now, that he'd stood in Dale's dinosaur of an RV prodding her with the butt end of a bolt for well over a minute or two before he had to whack her with it. Only then had she slammed into consciousness. Of course, she'd imbibed a good amount of alcohol the night before that. That would have caused anyone to sleep that heavily. But he'd stumbled upon her sleeping form a few times after that, and she'd slept the same. Completely gone, off somewhere in her unconscious mind.
Once he'd even jostled a stack of dishes that had been set in the sink while she was asleep in in the passenger seat…Nothing. She'd never even flinched. He smirked at the memory as he absently picked at the now almost completely healed scabs on his knuckles.
He didn't know how she was able to shut her mind off so quickly and fully. His own mind constantly worked, it seemed. Worked on nothing. He felt like his head was a set of wheels burning out underneath a torqued up beast of a car sometimes. As he lay with his head now turned to face her exposed, porcelain back, he wondered if this was how Rick's mind slowly started to come apart. It must have been. You only fail to sleep when your mind was too active, and his was just about running a marathon.
Thoughts, heavy with a state of shame, of Rick had been the original reason he hadn't passed out like she had immediately after their union. Not exactly what you wanted to float through your mind after sex, but the fact that he'd come up here and just did what he'd done while Rick was downstairs, weak as a newborn fawn...The fact that he was able to, like everything was fine…It just didn't sit right with him for some reason.
He drew the back of his hand up to her smooth skin and ran it lightly from her shoulder to the divots just above her ass which was draped with the sleeping bag. Light from the waning moon that was just barely beginning to push through the rain clouds was pooling on her through the portal overhead, and it allowed him to see a thin, very faint streak of blood his cracked knuckle had left on her derma. He huffed at the tarnish, turned onto his side to face her, and licked his thumb, wiping it gently away.
He settled his hand on her hip and tried to pacify his mind's ceaseless chatter with the contact. It did nothing to dampen it. In fact, as he laid his hand on her warm skin again, he was reminded of her admitted run in mere hours ago. It reminded him of what could have happened and that he was lucky she'd made it back in one piece. She could have died out there yesterday, alone in the woods had Carol not been out there.
For fuck's sake, it was CAROL. Carol had saved her ass from being torn to shreds. Maybe that's what was bothering him so much about it. It was only two geeks, and Carol was even able to handle herself against them. He knew she'd been correct in saying it just as well could have been him bent over a kill, completely engrossed when the fuckers staggered up from behind. He'd not heard that hog he'd been tracking as it came up behind him all those years ago...
There was no consolation to be had in the thought, though. It still had been her today, not him. It should have been him. He flexed the muscles in his leg a bit. The one the hog had ripped up with its razor sharp tusks. The injury still got stiff sometimes. Had she have been bitten, she wouldn't have gained a scar, though. Only lost her life. He rubbed his hand down his tired, worried face and settled onto his back again.
"Ya gunna go to sleep anytime soon?" she growled into the pillow, clearly annoyed that he was up and shifting his weight around next to her restlessly. He drew in a deep breath, pissed with himself for waking her. He sat up then, stretching his eyelids and as far open as they could go and then blinking to chase the tired feeling from them. He pulled himself from the bed, joints popping, and made his way over to a folded pile of clothes that had been left out on the old office's desk.
"Where ya going?" she croaked after him as she flipped herself onto her belly, following him with her sleepy eyes. He pulled a dry pair of jeans out of the pile and stepped into them, turning back to her a bit.
"No sense in me keepin' both'a us up." He explained softly. She grunted in agreement and buried her face back into the tangle of blankets and pillows. He smiled slightly to himself, thankful that the woman was willing to leave him to his own mind once in a while. He snagged a clean long sleeve shirt and some socks from the pile, backed to the bed to sit, and finished dressing. When he was suited up, he bent to retrieve the still soaked clothes he'd discarded to the floor earlier, along with his denim jacket from the back of the chair. He pulled his leather vest on over himself, picked up his crossbow, and made his way to the door. As he reached for the doorknob she shifted on the mattress again.
"Eat breakfast before ya leave…" she grumbled again. He paused his movements and smirked at his feet again.
"What I tell you 'bout naggin' me, girl?"
"Ya didn't tell me much of anything, but ya keep lecturing me and ya gunna have to go back to Maggie for more condoms pretty soon." She warned in an affectionate, raspy voice. He snorted.
"Git yer ass back'ta sleep." His whisper was gravely and low as he opened and shut the door behind him. He walked across the hallway to the door that lead outside to the fenced area where the generator and huge fuel supply tank was located to turn it back on for the day.
It was chilly and damp. Chilly and damp didn't cover it, actually. It was almost frigid, he thought to himself as he tucked his free hand underneath his armpit to shield it from the cold. The cool rain that had fallen all day and night, along with the elevation, was making for a dramatic shift in the temperature. He knew by experience that winter tended to come early to the region, and by the feel of it, it have been on its way earlier than usual this year. Just what they needed. He hoped he was wrong and that this morning's temperature drop was just a fluke for now.
He stooped next to the generator, feeling blindly for the switch that would bring life to the machine in the dark that still blanketed everything. When he found it, he beat a hasty retreat back into the warmth of the hallway, locking the door behind him.
He crossed into the stairwell and down to the living area. The open space was dark for the most part except from the dancing exchange of light and shadow that illuminated and darkened the room in turns. He could hear a very faint snoring coming from the couch just in front of him and to his left. He leaned over it and saw Rick and Lori's young son, Carl, slumped with his head resting on the arm of the couch, one leg pulled up onto the cushion. Carl shifted on the couch as Daryl stood there, pulling his body tight to itself, trying to keep warm. Daryl worried at his lower lip with his teeth for a bit as he watched the kid sleeping in the cool basement-level room. He moved to the couch and set the lump of soaked clothing down on the back of it, and grabbed up a thin fleece blanket that had been folded and left on the opposite arm. He opened it partially and flung it over the sleeping boy, like he was tossing a net over a vicious animal, hoping it would help to keep the kid from feeling cold as he slept.
His keen ears picked up a rustling sound and the unmistakable creak of a door at his back. He whirled around to see Carol as she pulled the door to her and Beth's room closed. She brought a hand up to her mouth in an insincere attempt to hide the small smile that pulled at the corners of her mouth. He'd been caught red-handed. Goddammit.
She raised her other hand to him to assuage his ruffled plumage and he deflated a bit. She moved without sound, shuffling behind him on the carpet in her socks over to the kitchen to pour herself some water from the tap and he scooped his balled clothes up again, walking off down the hall to the laundry area. Upon stepping in and flicking the light on, he was struck by the sudden realization that he didn't know the first thing about how to get the machine in front of him to dry his jacket out. Not willing to be bested by a machine, though, he yanked the door of the dryer open and removed his belt and sheath that held his buck knife from the pants his and tossed the lump of cold, tangled denim into the drum and then pushed the door shut.
High Heat. Low Heat. Air Fluff. Permanent Press. Regular.
10 minutes. 40 minutes. 70 minutes.
What the hell happened to ON and OFF? Why were those not options? He decided that Regular was the least intimidating option and turned the dial to that setting, and twisted the second dial to 40 minutes. The sun would be coming up around about then, he surmised, and he wanted to get a move on, itching to step out into the wilderness for the first time in a week. The dryer wouldn't go on, though.
He turned the dials again, moving them back to the proper settings that he'd chosen, but again it didn't come on. He glared at the obstinate machine.
The fuck?
A light hand to his shoulder gently guided him to the side and he watched as Carol pulled and pushed the knobs and buttons. She then leaned over and dug into the washing machine, pulling armfuls of wet clothing out of it and loading it into the dryer as well. She pressed a button then and finally got the dryer to hum to life, the sound of the metal buttons scraping and bouncing off the inside.
"Ain't never used one." He shrugged turning the sheathed knife over in his hands.
"I can tell," she smiled, turning from the room and flipping the light off, "You almost had it, though. You had to pull the dial up after setting it."
He stood in the dark for a second after she left before moving back out into the hallway, threading his belt and knife on as he walked. He came to stand in the kitchen as he did up the buckle of his belt.
"Coffee?" she asked, keeping her voice low so as to not wake Carl. He nodded affirmatively, folding his bulky arms over his chest and backing up to rest against the fridge to her right. He watched her work for a few minutes, the want and need to say something to her pushing at him. How was he to express his gratitude to her for what she'd done? He began mulling over what he wanted to say in his head.
She looked at him sideways, as she pushed the mug of coffee into his hands and he knew she could tell something was up. He kept his eyes glued to the coffee mug in his hands, staring at it like it was about to bite him.
"We don't have any sugar, if that's what you were wondering." She chuckled quietly as she poured herself a cup of her own and turned to him. His eyebrows flew to his hairline and he opened his mouth to suck in a breath, shaking his daze and the question she'd asked away lazily.
"Thanks…Thank you." He mumbled after clearing his throat. She took a sip from her mug and turned to another cabinet, pulling it open to see what kind of food she could start preparing for the group's morning meal. She looked back over to him again narrowing her eyes just a bit and smirked. He became acutely aware that she she'd never heard those words come from his mouth before, and it made what he wanted to say all the more difficult. Not because saying it would be hard, but because he now knew he suddenly had so much more to thank her for. Months and months of gratitude for all the little things she'd done for him snowballed to the act of selflessness she'd carried out so bravely the day before, making the words of appreciation heavy in his throat as he tried to push them out.
"You know I ain't talkin' 'bout no damn coffee." He mumbled again, much harsher than he'd meant it to come out. He sighed and fixed her with a weak, apologetic look and her brow furrowed in confusion.
"Yesterday…She tol' me," he began, eyes going back to the black liquid in his cup, "…She tol' me what you did…If you hadd'na been there, Carol…"
An unfamiliar weight settled to his chest as his quiet words tapered off and his larynx drew tight in his throat. He swallowed thickly as he watched her shake her head, wondering why she still wasn't getting it.
"Daryl, you don't need to thank me for that. Anyone else would have done the same th-"
"I tried," He interrupted suddenly, voice so much smaller and softer than usual, "I couldn't do the same fer you. When we lost Sophia…I tried, but I wasn't good enough to bring her back to you. An' there you go…Scared as I know you are, puttin' yerself at risk when I couldn't bring her back like I promised. "
"Daryl," she said, voice firm but shaky in the wake of the turn the conversation had suddenly taken, "You did what you could for her. More than anyone else. Don't you dare beat yourself up over my little girl's death. That was not your fault, or anyone else's…Do you hear me?"
She'd never sounded like that before. Never as sure or as adamant or as…Angry. She sounded like a mother. A damn good one. The kind of mother that could pull honesty from a lying tongue or make the word "because" the only reason needed. He swallowed again and nodded silently, knowing now that he'd said the wrong thing. She wiped at the bit of wetness that was threatening to spill from her eye and put her coffee down so she could properly continue her disciplinary speech.
"The last thing you need to be doing is lugging that burden around…Especially when it isn't yours to carry. And after all this time!...I know you tried, Daryl…You tried and you gave me hope when I didn't have any…I'm grateful. And I always will be…And yesterday? I was there and I did what I could. Just like anybody. Just like you did."
He nodded again, not knowing what else to do or say. He felt like a child. He couldn't even thank someone properly without letting slip something wrong or inappropriate. He rubbed at the back of his head and cast his eyes back to the floor.
He felt her small hand encircle his wrist and he looked back up to her, wanting to jerk away but failing. He brought his eyes back up to Carol's and in them he read the volumes of what she was conveying with just that one look. She looked proud. Proud and strong. The inner strength he knew in the back of his head that she'd always possessed was pouring through her pale blue eyes. It was the same strength she'd displayed that day at the quarry back in Atlanta as she'd brought the sharp end of his pick axe down on Ed's skull.
She squeezed his wrist before letting it drop and the reassurance in the gesture was not wasted or lost on him. He needed it and she knew it. Carol, for some reason, was able to read him better than anyone he'd ever known. Even better than Pru, and at times it freaked him the fuck out. But right now he felt himself accepting it. His lips tugged, ever so slightly and he felt the culpability that he'd carried since Sophia's death fade into the background.
She gently shooed him out of the way and pulled the door to the refrigerator ajar, fishing around inside of it for some leftover venison and cranberry sauce from the night before. He stepped aside, allowing her room to work, hoisted himself up onto the counter that separated the kitchen area from the rest of the living space and sipped quietly at the hot liquid caffeine. After a few moments of sitting and waiting as she warmed the food back up, he cleared his throat quietly and spoke again.
"So you any good with this gun you been runnin' 'round with?" he questioned. She scoffed as she prodded to food in the pan with a spatula, back still turned to him.
"I don't know…I can hit what I point it at now. I haven't had a chance to…Walkers." She shrugged.
"Feel like you could?"
She turned away from the hot pan on the stove and folded her arms across her chest, shrugging again. The confidence she'd displayed to him just a moment ago had eclipsed back into her again. He gulped down the last bit of coffee and shoved off the counter moving to pour himself another cup.
"She can help you…With movin' targets, I mean." He offered to her as the coffee sloshed into the mug in his hand. She looked over to her left at him, eyebrow cocked.
"And how is she going to feel about her beau volunteering her for something she doesn't know about?"
It was his turn to cock an eyebrow at her. Beau?
"That's what you are to her, aren't you?" she asked, smirking, able to read his expression like an open book. He narrowed his eyes at her and chewed at his cheek. He hadn't really given any thought to the idea of what they were to each other. Goddamn people and their need to categorize and label absolutely everything. She'd caught him off guard with the word, but after rolling it over in his mind a few times, he decided it fit. He side-stepped answering the unexpected question and looped back around to the first, smiling inwardly.
"She ain't gunna care. 'Specially if it means you'll be able to protect yerself an' the group…I'd do it m'self, but girl's better with a handgun than me." He admitted. Her eyes went wide at his confession.
"…An' don't you go tellin' her ass I said that, neither. I'll never hear the fuckin' end'a it." He warned gruffly, earning a bit of a chuckle from her.
