AN: Here we are, another chapter here with hopefully more to come soon. This is the second for the day, so if you're behind, you'll want to make sure you didn't miss anything.

Thank you all so much for the support. I really can't tell you how much it means to me!

I hope you enjoy! Don't forget to let me know what you think!

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Carol had never been on a ride like this before and she'd started the ride quite nervous. She'd leaned her head against Daryl's back and she'd held on for dear life when they'd started. The feeling of being on the bike was different when they were riding through Liberty. The interstate was a whole different beast.

In a large group, they'd started down the interstate. It hadn't taken long before they'd met up with other Judges from other places—all of them wearing the same identifying scales on their backs, but each of their cuts a little bit different. The thought of riding a bike among so many other bikes was a little bit terrifying to Carol, but they all seemed to handle it like it was a finely choreographed dance. They rode staggered, in a long line, and Daryl was near the front of it.

The sight of the trees passing by them quickly was a little dizzying. It was worse when Carol glanced down at the road and realized how fast the asphalt was rolling away beneath them. The wind whipped around her and the helmet only somewhat muffled the thunderous sound of so many bikes ripping down the interstate at once.

Carol had closed her eyes, for a while, to the overwhelming sensations and she'd clung to Daryl. She had to trust him. This entire thing was about trust. The only thing that was keeping her alive at that moment—and she knew it—was Daryl. She had to trust him to keep her alive.

And she did.

As the miles folded out beneath them and her body started to feel numb from the vibrations of the bike, Carol started to relax. She still held to Daryl, not brave enough to take her hands off of him like some of the other women around her did, but she didn't feel like she needed to hold on quite so tight. She felt like she could sit up straight. She could look around her, and she could take in the Georgia countryside as it unfolded.

Most of the cars that drove in the lane next to them to pass the herd of bikers kept their distance. A few stared out their windows, but nobody really bothered them. They rode for what felt like hours. Ahead of them, every now and again, another wave of bikers would come off an exit and seamlessly seem to flow into the stream. They wore different jackets—different cuts. They were from another club.

They were from many other clubs.

But as they rode, that didn't seem to matter. They simply made their way, together, toward the rally—all of them seeming to magically know where they were going.

When they reached the place where they were going—a relatively small town just away from the hustle and bustle of the bigger coastal areas—they had to slow down given the dense population of bikes. Carol clung to Daryl again, this time because she didn't trust the bikers around them. Some seemed keen to show off. Some seemed like they weren't aware that this could be dangerous. Some seemed determined to catch the attention of the cops who were out in abundance.

Carol clung tightly to Daryl when he started to walk the bike because there was no way he could move quickly enough to keep them upright otherwise.

When they stopped for a moment, their pause necessitated by the dense traffic, Daryl pulled his helmet off. He was sweating. Even with the face shield open, the helmet was stifling. Carol understood. Her own breath had fogged her face shield and she'd been too afraid to move a hand to open it. She opened it now.

"Just hang tight," Daryl called back over his shoulder. "Relax. It's OK. I got'cha. Just keep your feet up 'til I tell you to put 'em down and relax. We headin' to the motel first. Got our reservations. Gonna unload an' get cleaned up. Go get somethin' to eat."

He was yelling at her because there was no other way to communicate with the noise. Carol yelled back her understanding and rested her head against his back once more. Daryl returned his helmet to its proper location and eased them through the traffic. Carol sat up when she felt a little more confident again, and she could see Merle and Andrea not far from them, easing their way through the crowd.

Andrea looked like she was comfortable. She looked like she was at home. She'd probably never been nervous like Carol felt.

Carol searched out other bikes she knew. There was Glenn, one of their young prospects, riding Teeter's bike with Teeter in the sidecar. With nobody to watch the old man over the weekend and with the concern that Teeter might burn his own house down around him, they'd decided to bring him along. He was the Prospect's responsibility.

Carol found Alice easily enough. She was one of the few people there on a trike and she cleared her own path—practically shoving other bikes out of the way—as she plowed her way through the crowd. The woman on the back of her bike—Sadie—held to Alice, but she didn't look particularly bothered. Her helmet lacked a face shield and Carol could see her face clearly. She looked confused and overwhelmed, perhaps, but not nervous.

They passed a number of hotels and motels of varying description. Bikes filled the parking lots of all of them. Then, finally, Carol saw those ahead of them—all wearing the scales of the Judges—pulling into the parking lot of a motel. They had arrived.

One by one, the rumble of the engines died and people got off the bikes and stretched their legs. Daryl took Carol's helmet and rested it on the seat of the bike with his. He burrowed around his saddle bag and then closed it, not coming out with anything other than a pack of cigarettes that he tucked into his pocket.

"You aren't scared somebody's going to steal something?" Carol asked.

"They ain't gonna steal nothin'," Daryl assured her. "Out here—if you left it on the bike, they wouldn't take your wallet. It's like an unspoken rule. You just don't take shit. Not at these rallies. Come on—let's get our shit."

The van that Nellie drove was brown and tan. It was old and quite spacious inside. Seven of them could have ridden comfortably in the van if they'd wanted to. Nobody could fit in there right now, though. She'd packed it full of their stuff and she had every door of it open as they all dove in and dragged out the bags that they'd packed.

Carol pointed her bag out to Daryl at his request and he took both her bag and his, refusing to let her help at all with carrying her stuff. As soon as he had the bags, he started toward the building and Carol followed after him. He directed her to get the key and she walked toward Andrea who—while everyone was stretching and getting their stuff—had gone inside to get keys for all of them.

"Here you go," Andrea said, handing a key over to Carol. She winked at her and offered her a smile. "We're changing clothes and out the door. Thirty minute turn around. But don't worry—it'll be an early night tonight. In case you're tired, I mean."

Carol knew that Andrea wasn't worried about whether or not she was fatigued, but she was thankful that the woman didn't say anything else about the situation that they'd discussed in private. Carol held her arm up, waved the key at Daryl, and worked her way through the crowd to head toward their room.

It didn't take her long to find the right door and Carol unlocked it. She was immediately greeted with the smell of stale cigarette smoke and old carpet that seemed to be the universal scent of orange-roofed motels everywhere. Still, the room appeared to be clean and it was comfortable enough.

Daryl followed her inside and immediately put the bags down.

"They got one bed," Daryl said.

"Maybe the rooms were cheaper," Carol said.

"I bet they were," Daryl said. Carol didn't think he sounded sincere. He cleared his throat and looked at her like he was worried. "You OK with that—the one bed, I mean? Because if you ain't—I could go an' ask 'em to switch us out. It's possible that they full up, but they might be someone willin' to switch with us."

Carol offered him a smile, and she hoped it covered up her own worry.

"I think it'll be fine, Daryl," Carol said. "But thank you for asking."

Daryl chewed at his thumb and nodded his head.

"We've got half an hour," Carol said.

"Merle said it was half an hour A.I.S time," Daryl said.

"A.I.S?" Carol asked.

"Ass In Seat," Daryl clarified. "We got reservations for food an' he don't wanna lose 'em 'cause it can be kinda rough around here to get reservations when it's packed like this. You hungry, aren't you?"

Carol nodded her head.

"You alright—I mean after the ride? It weren't too much for you?" Daryl asked.

Carol smiled. Her heart did a little dance in her chest. Andrea hadn't lied. He was concerned about her. He wanted to be sure that she was happy and comfortable—that was sure to translate to other areas of whatever this relationship might become.

"I'm fine," Carol assured him. "I was a little nervous at first. But—it's not that bad. And you're good at what you do." His cheeks blushed red. "What do we do here?"

Daryl cleared his throat.

"Tonight not too much," Daryl said. "We're gonna get somethin' to eat. We're gonna scope the place out. Maybe check out a lil' bit of the night life. Then we'll come on back here to get ready for tomorrow. Tomorrow we'll get breakfast and then there's a—well, it's kinda like a parade. Downtown. We'll all gather there. Ride through. Then there's vendors an' shit. Lunch. Whatever the hell you wanna do in the afternoon 'fore supper." He shrugged his shoulders. "Maybe it ain't as excitin' as you were hopin' it might be."

"It sounds just right to me," Carol said.

"You wanna—freshen up or change clothes or whatever 'fore we go? I gotta take a piss, but...there ain't much more I gotta do."

Carol's heart picked up a beat. This wasn't the time for any of the stuff that she'd discussed with Andrea. In case she didn't know it, Andrea had made that clear to her. This was time to change her clothes, brush her hair, and put on a little lip gloss or something. She nodded her head at Daryl and went for her bag.

"You go ahead first," she said. "I just want to find—my clothes. I need to change."

"Fine," Daryl said. "I won't be but a minute and the bathroom's yours."

Carol found what she was looking for while Daryl used the bathroom. She'd raided Andrea's closet and the blonde had given her first pick of everything she had. Carol had kept it pretty simple. She pulled out her favorite pair of jeans that she'd bought for work and the light blue shirt that she'd gotten from Andrea. It was off the shoulder and it felt delicate. The leather jacket that Andrea had given her to wear, though, gave her the kind of edge that she figured she ought to have if she was going to spend the weekend in the company of the Judges and their old ladies.

Daryl waited for her while she changed. Each step she took toward being ready made her heart thunder around even more wildly in her chest until Carol wondered if she'd be able to even survive the night with Daryl.

What would he think? Would he even be interested? Would he turn her down? Worse than turning her down—would he practically laugh her out of the bed afterward?

Carol coated her eyelashes in mascara a few times and swiped her lips with the softly colored gloss that Andrea had given her. She shoved the gloss in the tight pocket of her jeans and ran her fingers through her hair. For a moment, she stopped and looked at her hair. Her hair had always been something of a sore spot for Carol.

It was graying. Her mother had gone prematurely gray. Her father, too. It was still auburn, but it wouldn't be for long.

It made her look old. She was only in her thirties, but it made her look far older than that. Ed had always said so, but he'd refused to let her dye it because that was vanity and a sure sign that she was trying to get the attention of another man.

It was cropped short, but it was growing. It was starting to go in every which direction since it curled wildly as it gained length. Ed had forced her to keep her hair cut short, too, because he thought it would keep her from drawing attention to herself.

He hated the way that she looked—plain and homely and nothing worth mentioning—but he wanted her to be that way, too.

Carol frowned at herself.

Now she was trying to get the attention of another man and she hadn't even stopped to think about what he might like. Most of the women she'd seen today had dyed hair. They had long hair. They looked a great deal different than Carol did. Suddenly it wasn't her heart that was troubling her as much as it was her stomach that was drawing her attention. It twisted and warned her that she was probably making a mistake—a lot of them.

She looked ridiculous in Andrea's shirt and jacket. Her hair was a mess and Daryl would probably laugh at her attempts to make herself look better with cheap mascara and borrowed lip gloss.

Maybe he'd asked about the double bed because he wasn't looking forward to sharing it with her.

Carol stayed in the bathroom for a while and worried over what she should do and how she should handle the situation. She had been feeling fine earlier. She'd been nervous, but she'd been filled with something else. Maybe it was even hope that had filled her before. Suddenly, though, she found herself tumbling down a long, deep, rabbit hole and she wasn't sure how she was expected to get back out. She was suddenly feeling very claustrophobic and a little trapped, but she had no way of getting in touch with anyone to rescue her from the bathroom and from herself. She had left her cell phone in the room.

She jumped when there was a knocking at the door.

"You OK in there?" Daryl asked.

"Fine," Carol squeaked out.

"You sick or—you sick an' you need somethin' or..." Daryl stammered.

"I'm not sick," Carol called back.

"You got some kinda problem?" Daryl asked.

Carol frowned at her own reflection. She cursed to herself as she realized that she was running her own mascara and soon she'd look like a raccoon to top off everything else. She dabbed at her eyes with a bunch of toilet paper that she wound off the roll.

"If you don't talk to me, Carol, and you don't come out...I'ma have to do something," Daryl said. "You want me to go find Andrea? I don't know what room they in but—you OK?"

Carol yanked open the door and Daryl looked at her. His face said he was on the verge of panic.

Oddly enough, it soothed Carol a little.

"I need to talk to you, Daryl," Carol said. "But—we've got reservations."

Daryl nodded his head.

"You OK?" Daryl asked. "I done—did I do somethin' wrong?"

Carol shook her head. She swallowed against the ache in her throat.

"You didn't do anything wrong," Carol said. "I just—need to talk to you."

Daryl nodded again.

"Lemme call Merle," Daryl said.

"I don't want to cause any trouble," Carol said.

"If anything, they go on without us an' we show up late," Daryl said. "It ain't no trouble. Ain't nothin' but a thing. You stay here. Just—do whatever you was doin' if that's what'cha...what'cha need. I'ma call Merle."