How about shaking things up a bit...?
Disclaimer: Not mine!
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Chapter Thirty Seven: What Can't Be Undone
No one saw this coming.
Daryl wasn't a relationship guy. He never had been. He preferred to be out in the woods hunting and generally by himself. Of course, that was back when the world was semi-okay and before the dead rose. When the world was turned upside down, he began to appreciate the company of other humans, even if he still preferred hunting. Then he met Carol Peletier, and things began to change once more.
It took a full year for him to finally let her in, and even when he did, he was cautious. Humanity had burned him before; it would not hesitate to burn him again. But Carol…Carol was different. She was sweet and kind, soft where he was hard, and giving when he only seemed capable of taking. She had been there for him through everything, and in spite of everything. Nothing he did seemed to scare her away, and he was gradually realizing it wasn't a bad thing. She needed him, and some part of him needed her just as much, if not more.
"Daryl?"
He looked down at the small woman cradled in his arms. She was tucked against his chest, and his hand ran up and down her back without conscious thought. "Yeah?" he whispered.
"You're the best thing that's happened to me since Sophia."
Under the cover of darkness, his mouth quirked into a smile. He wanted to tell her how much she meant to him, how if it wasn't for her, he probably would have abandoned the group long ago. But no matter how he tried, his mouth couldn't say the words. She seemed to sense his struggle.
"It's okay." Her hand came up and lightly feathered over his chest. "I know."
Ducking his head down, he softly kissed her forehead. Then he tightened his arms around her before closing his eyes.
"Love you, Daryl."
He knew something was wrong the moment he opened his eyes. Instinctively he held his breath and listened for Judith's cry. Then it hit him.
Carol, the woman he had held in his arms all night, the woman who held his battered heart in the palm of her tiny hand, wasn't breathing.
"Carol!"
Aneurism was Hershel's best guess. A condition that, even in the old world, would have been hard to diagnose and even harder to treat. She would have died either way.
Not much comfort there, Daryl thought bitterly as he stood over her grave. There was a Cherokee rose clutched between his trembling fingers. There had been a service for her, and afterward everyone left one by one, until Daryl was the only one who remained.
"Ya weren' s'posed to do this, Carol," he whispered. Dropping to his knee, he laid the rose over the fresh dirt. "Ya knew I needed ya." Why couldn't he have said it to her when he had the chance? Why did he have to be so damn stubborn?
A single tear leaked from his eye and down his rough cheek before hitting the dirt beneath him. He had buried her once before, but this time, she wouldn't be coming back. He had made sure of that with the help of his knife. She was gone and he would never see her again. He didn't even have a damn picture to help him remember her face. He looked over his shoulder, at the prison behind him. This place held nothing but pain and regret for him. Not even little Judith was enough of an incentive to stay. Rick would take care of her, as well as the rest of the group. They didn't need him, not anymore. And he didn't need them.
Reaching out, he grasped the crude wooden cross in his callused hand. "'m sorry, Carol," he muttered. "Sorry I didn'…" His voice failed him, and he hoped she understood. Slowly he stood up again and fished the keys to his motorcycle out of his pocket. Without looking back, he headed down the grassy knoll and climbed onto his bike. No one was there to stop him as he opened the gate and slipped away, this time for good. They wouldn't have been able to stop him anyway. He had buried everything that was good in him with Carol. He no longer gave a damn about anything.
Faintly he heard Judith cry as he sped away from the prison, but he never turned back.
The End.