Disclaimer: I do not own The Walking Dead.
A/n: Originally I was going to split this chapter into two separate pieces, but on re-reading, I found that I didn't want to interrupt the flow of Merle's increasing agitation and aloofness-so I have left it as one slightly longer than normal chapter.
Also, I am one very happy bunny as my signed and personalized photo of a certain Michael Rooker arrived in the post today. *fangirl swoon* :)
...
It was worse than she feared, and Carol had to bite back down the tears that stung at her eyes as she stared at the ruins of what had once been the small, pretty community of Woodbury. The Governor had destroyed his own town, burnt it beyond all recognition. Ash and charred blackened husks of bodies littered the once pristine streets, and Carol felt a pang of sympathy surge through her for the few paltry former residents...escapees that now resided back at the prison with their own group.
She found that she didn't really know what sickened her more. The needless destruction, the savage loss of life...or what he had done to Merle-nearly killing him, and maiming him in the process.
She felt a hand on her arm, and she glanced through tear misted eyes as Michonne stared back at her. The other woman tightened her grip, but the look in her deep brown eyes was one of sympathy and understanding, not of disdain and irritation.
"That man, the Governor? He's done a lot of things, Carol." Michonne sighed softly, "I understand why Daryl, even why Merle want to find him as much as they do. I want to find him. I want to make him pay for everything that he has done."
"I didn't realize, Michonne, not any of this. I didn't realize the extent of what he was capable of. Oh, I know what he did to Merle, and I hate that man for that. But this? My God, this is something else," She wiped at her eyes with her fingers, sniffing back another quiet tear filled sob. She felt foolish for crying in front of the dark skinned woman, but Michonne didn't seem to mind-even if she herself felt that her tears made her seem naive and weak in front of the other woman.
"I don't think any of us truly realized that at the start," Michonne said quietly. "I had my suspicions though. Andrea wouldn't listen, of course. She couldn't see it. She was blinded by the whole ideal of Woodbury, blinded by him." She shrugged sadly, her thumb rubbing across the strap of her katana. "I've always thought that if something appears to good to be true-then usually it is."
Michonne eased her grip, and rubbed at Carol's arm softly. She offered her a small grim smile as she stepped back, and unsheathing her katana, she edged silently away and followed after Daryl up the ruined street.
Carol rubbed at her arms, before fumbling under her jacket to the sheathed knife at her waist. She saw Merle stood with Daryl, his hand swatting at his forehead, and Merle glanced across to where she was stood, his face an unreadable mask. He dropped his eyes from her gaze, said something to his brother, and strode across to the other side of the street, hardly breaking his stride as a walker emerged stumbling from a burnt out wreck of a house, his prosthetic arm coming out and dispatching it quickly. She watched as the body slithered to the ground, watched as Merle kicked at the corpse with his boot, before stepping over it and into the singed doorway, the heavy wooden door half hanging off its frame.
Sighing, she gripped the knife in her hand, before following after Merle.
The room...the house must have been something quite special once, and Carol wrinkled her nose at the sudden stench of damp, disuse and the pungent acrid bitterness of burnt out timbers. She mused to herself as she watched Merle move quietly in front of her-he hadn't noticed that she was there, or if he had, he wasn't paying her any attention. She tore her eyes from his khaki shirt covered back, to the rows of once polished pine clad walls. The corridor was a maze- twisting off at one point into a different direction, but she ignored it, stepping quietly after the older Dixon brother. He stopped, and she frowned as he looked briefly in her direction, his eyes narrowing, but then he turned away from her before she could say anything, and he was shunting his shoulder to a door, pushing and grunting softly under his breath. The door finally opened with a loud creak, and he stepped quickly through, leaving it gaping open.
Carol waited for a moment, doubt crowding her mind. They had already been here in the wreck of Woodbury for a few hours, and she had seen little of Merle in that time. He had been stoically investigating Woodbury mostly on his own-and it had been very obvious to them all that he hadn't wanted their company. Daryl had bit back at him after a long while, and Merle had briefly relented and allowed his brother to accompany him, although that didn't last long, and pretty soon Daryl had found himself standing in the street, watching his brother with concern, leaving Carol to wander the ruins with Michonne.
Carol sighed bitterly. She didn't know if Merle wanted her there...in fact she doubted that he did-the look on his face told her that he didn't, but she wasn't about to let that stop her, not this time. There was something here that he seemed badly to want to see-and if it meant that much to him, then she felt that she had to know for herself.
Taking a deep breath; partly in fear and curiosity, and partly because of the overwhelming scent off burnt wood, she followed after him-stopping in shock as she saw him kneeling to the ground in a small squared off room.
Merle was leaning over a corpse, something that had once been a man-something that had once been a walker. Half of the man's head had been caved in, his dirty plaid shirt thick with splatters of black congealed blood. She could see that the body had been stabbed multiple times, the wounds in the chest and stomach gaping putrididly open. A pair of spectacles lay not far from the figure; the lens of one glass cracked and splintered, the wire frame twisted.
"Did you know him?" she asked softly as she crept into the room, the sound of her voice harshly breaking the heavy silence.
"Yeah," Merle grunted after a moment. "I knew him."
He didn't look at her. Instead he got to his feet, searching the room, and Carol found it hard to take her eyes away from the solitary chair sitting in the center of the room. Manacles dangled from the arms of the once former dentists black leathered seat, slithers of matt duct tape hanging limply from the base.
It was then that she knew exactly what this room was, and whom it had once held. And if she was not mistaken-the dead man on the floor was once formerly Milton Mamet, and the chair was the one that the Governor had shackled Andrea to. She felt bile form at the back of her throat, and she swallowed it down, wincing and thinking of what the blonde haired woman must have gone through to escape, and Carol found that she had to admire the bravery and single minded doggedness that Andrea must have possessed to escape this infernal hell hole.
"I...I'm sorry, Merle," she breathed.
He glanced at her quickly, not saying a word, his eyes dragging away from hers to continue his search of the room, and she wondered what he could possibly be looking for. He reached down and grabbed at a dirty rag, and she watched in surprise as he approached the prone figure, kneeling in front of it again, and placing the rag over its ruined head.
"I'm sorry for what ye went through, brother," Merle said softly. "I'll find the bastard. Don'tcha worry-I'll make him fuckin' pay."
The breath caught and ached in her throat as she watched him, and she felt her feet compel and drive herself forwards until she was stood close to him. He didn't say anything, only moving his head to her thigh, resting his head against her leg. She reached down and touched at his head, her fingers trailing and touching at the soft small curls of his hair. He closed his eyes and pressed his bowed head firmly to her thigh.
They stood that way for a moment, before he moved away. Her fingers clutched loosely at thin air, and she snagged her hand back, winding it about her arm, her knife dangling limply in her other hand.
He got to his feet, and he slowly raised his eyes from the body to her, and to her shock and dismay she saw tears smeared thickly in his smoky blue eyes. He stared at her fixedly, edging backwards and away from her.
"What ya think yer lookin' at, huh?" he snapped suddenly. "Quit following me and quit buggin' my fuckin' ass, will ya."
She blinked rapidly in surprise. "Merle? I don't know...I'm sorry, I didn't mean-"
"Get the hell away from me, Carol. You don't know jack fuckin' shit. Jus' get the fuck out'a here."
She stepped backwards at the sudden vehemence in his voice, the way he glared angrily at her. She bit at her lip painfully, feeling the sting of tears at her eyes, the bitter tang of copper filling her mouth.
He shook his head angrily, "Jus' go already, will ya? I ain't needin' you here, god fuckin' dammit! Ya dumb bitch," he hissed, and Carol turned and fled.
She ran through the burnt out pine clad corridors, the tears swimming and blurring her vision, and all of a sudden she was outside, gulping down lungfuls of cool icy air. She leaned her back to the red bricked wall, her hand shaking as she swatted at her eyes, trying to clear the tears.
She was unaware that Daryl was racing towards her, Michonne following quickly behind him.
"Carol?" he asked, "What's wrong?"
She glanced up at him, and saw the worry on his face, his blue eyes filled with concern. He stepped hesitantly nearer, his hand shooting out and grasping at her wrist, pulling her away from the wall and closer to him.
She shook her head, unable to look at him for the worry in his voice. "There's nothing wrong, Daryl," She tried to smile at him; to ease him, but the look on his face told her that he wasn't fooled for one second.
"Tell me," he urged. "What is it?"
She looked up sharply as Merle emerged from out of the door way, and she twisted her gaze away from him, swallowing against the lump in her throat. She brushed Daryl's arm away, trying to compose herself. She shrugged, pasting a bright smile on her face that she didn't feel, "There's nothing to tell," she said softly.
Merle grunted, "Let's get the fuck out'a here. You were right brother. There weren't nothin' in this fuckin' place."
Daryl watched as his brother slumped off into the direction of the SUV, and he looked quickly at Michonne, nodding his head. She took his unspoken word and followed after Merle.
"I ain't fooled none, Carol," Daryl said slowly. He sighed, "This got anythin' to do with him?"
She shook her head. "No. It's just...I didn't expect any of this. It was...a shock." She took a deep breath and stepped past him, pausing as Daryl's hand shot out and grabbed at her again. "Daryl, please," she urged.
He narrowed his eyes, glancing from her to the direction that Merle had taken. "Ya sure?"
She nodded her head. "Yes, I'm sure. Can we just go?"
"If he's been gone and done anythin'...I swear-"
"He hasn't done anything, Daryl. There's nothing to tell. Everything here...I don't know. I just stupidly didn't expect any of this," she answered, her breath sitting tightly in her chest. She hoped that Daryl was convinced when she said that it wasn't anything to do with his brother-even if partly, that was a lie.
Daryl gazed at her for a long moment, before huffing quietly. "A'right," he sighed.
He moved off away from her, pausing to look at her over his shoulder, and she followed after him as they made their way to the SUV. Merle and Michonne were sat in their seats waiting, and Carol found that she didn't want to look at either of them as she opened the car door and climbed in.
As Daryl pressed the car into drive, and as they finally left the ruins of Woodbury, she closed her eyes to the sight of the ruined streets and buildings, and leaned her forehead to the cool glass of the window. She half listened as Michonne advised that they would be better off looking for a place to bunk down for the night, than continuing their futile search.
…
They found a small house, several yards off the roadside, a few miles from Woodbury, and as Daryl pulled the car into park, she finally opened her eyes. It was still mid afternoon, but she understood the need to take stock of the situation; to recoup their plans and find shelter for the night. Carol had an idea that the night could possibly be a long drawn out wait, and she felt a weary reluctance for it. She wished desperately that she had just gone with Tyreese and Scott. The way that Merle was responding to her now, surely would have been no different if she'd had gone with the others.
He had barely looked at her as they searched through the house, and he hadn't spoken to her, not even once. Feeling sad and tired of him and his couldn't give a damn attitude, she had slipped silently upstairs and found herself mercifully alone; her footfalls soft and hushed against the thick pile carpet as she paced from room to room. She let her guard down, thinking that there was nothing in this small house-it had seemed deserted and abandoned a long time ago, and she was oblivious to the lone walker as she pushed the bathroom door open.
The walker had been trapped in the bath tub, and she hadn't noticed it at first, it had been obscured by the brightly colored shower curtain draped around the old fashioned bath tub. She had been rifling through a cabinet over a pitted dusty mirror, looking for anything that could have been of any use, but all she'd found was a semi rolled up tube of congealed and oozing toothpaste, and a bottle of aspirin-well past it's expiration date. So focused she was that she didn't hear as it pushed its way out of the tub, the shower curtain wrapping around its fetid rotting body.
Carol glanced up quickly at the sound, watching in horror as the walker suddenly loomed towards her, the shower curtain snagging under its weight and draping itself loosely over the walking corpse like a weird bridal dress, before fluttering to the ground in a heap. She backed away, fumbling to reach the pistol at her waist, her eyes never leaving the walker, her hand skimming across the butt of the gun, her fingers just an inch from tugging it from her waist. The walkers hands clawed at her arms, the dead weight of its stumbling body slamming her forcibly against the wall, smacking her head painfully against the cabinet. She tried twisting her head desperately away from its snapping yellowed teeth as the walker thrust its head at her, its stinking hands clawing at her arms and shoulders through her thick jacket. The damp cloying feel of its rotting naked pulpy flesh pressed heavily against her, and she bit back a wave of nausea as her hand pressed to its ruined stomach, her fingers still fumbling at the polished wooden butt of the pistol.
Finally her fingers touched at the gun and she tugged it out as the walker pushed its heavy dead weight against her. She choked back a cry and grasped the pistol, her fingers damp with sweat, nearly slipping and dropping it, but she found the trigger and raised the gun and pressed, missing as the walker shunted her suddenly across the wall. The bullet hit the ground loudly, throwing up a small halo of wood splinters into the air, and then the pistol finally slipped out of her grasp as the walker shuddered against her, the gun tumbling out of her hand to land heavily on the ground. The walker had her pressed firmly to the wall, and sheer panic filled her as she felt herself pinned- its body tight on hers, its hands grasping and its teeth snapping, and she was unable to move-her hand trapped and unable to reach down and unsheathe the knife at her waist
Carol bit back the cry as the walkers hand pawed suddenly at her throat, and she felt its long ragged nails sink into her skin, bloodily breaking her flesh, its hand pawing greedily at her throat as it thrust its head close to hers, the scent of fresh spilled blood driving it into a renewed frenzy.
Boots thudded quickly and urgently up the stairs, as she wrestled with the walker, her hand finally coming up and pushing against its moldy body, her fingers sinking through its sickening soft and putrid flesh. Its teeth snapped and clacked close to her cheek, and she smelt the heavy pungent aroma of thick decay issue from its mouth. She futilely pushed at it, her fingers sinking further into its skin, and she saw with disgust that her hand was plunging into chunks of rotting flesh that trembled like jello.
A hand reached out, and the walker was propelled from her forcefully, and she lowered her head in defeat, even as a blade plunged into its head, the sound thick and squelching and popping.
She sank against the wall, tears streaming down her face, and then she whimpered in fear as a hand reached out and grasped her firmly, pulling her into a hard taut muscular embrace, arms wrapping tightly about her.
"Fuck..." a voice rasped huskily and warm close to her cheek.
She felt the adrenaline suddenly leave her and she sagged against him, pressing her face to his chest, wrapping her trembling arms around his waist and holding and pressing close to him like he was a lifeline and the only thing that mattered in this screwed up world.
"Shit...ya ain't hurt are ya, darlin'?"
"No," she said shakily through tears "I...I don't think so."
"Were you bit?" Merle asked fearfully. "Did it bite ya?"
"No...no, it didn't bite me," she mouthed against his chest, squeezing her eyes closed as she felt the tears stream relentlessly down her cheeks, wetting and dampening his shirt. Her heart yammered in her chest in fear. It had been so close. So damn close.
"What the fuckin' hell did ya think you were doing anyway?" Merle demanded abruptly, pushing her away, his hand traveling across her skin, pushing her head back to inspect the gouges that the walkers nails had inflicted to the side of her throat. "You could'a damn well been killed!"
She glanced up at him, blinking back the tears at the sound of outrage thick in his voice. "Like you give a damn, Merle," she spat, her own sudden anger rousing and dragging her from her stupor. "Remember? I'm nothing more than a dumb bitch."
Merle gaped at her as she pushed herself away from him, and stepping over the corpse delicately, she turned and made her way shakily down the stairs.
"Carol," Merle called after her, and she felt herself desperately wanting to turn and go to him-but the way he had been at Woodbury and his obvious anger and irritation with her now, stopped her from running back. She stiffened her shoulders, despite the stinging cuts at her throat, and trod resolutely back down the stairs.
Daryl was halfway up the staircase, his crossbow held rigidly in his hands. He looked at her in fear, his eyes traveling across her, and he lowered the crossbow quickly as he saw the twin tracks of red marring her skin. He grabbed at her elbow as she came closer to him, her feet thumping softly on the stairs.
"Are you okay?" he asked pulling her nearer, his hand not leaving her arm.
"It's nothing. Just a scratch," she said meekly.
They both glanced quickly back up the stairs to the direction of the bathroom, as a series of heavy muffled thuds and cursing, and then the sudden sound of glass being smashed reached them.
"What the hell?" Daryl asked sharply.
Merle appeared at the top of the landing, his face flushed, and Carol watched as he raised his hand to his mouth and sucked on his knuckles. He glared at them both, and she heard Daryl's quick hiss of breath as he watched his brother, before turning to her and pulling her gently down the stairs with him.
Daryl led her into the family room, Michonne jumping to her feet from the couch she was sat on, her brow puckering as she watched them.
"What happened?" Michonne asked.
"A walker," Carol laughed shakily. "In the bath tub-"
"Yeah, and it went and had a fuckin' go at ya, Carol," Daryl admonished. "Sit down." He gently pushed her to the couch that Michonne had vacated, propping his crossbow against a coffee table. "We need to get that looked at."
Michonne looked at Daryl and frowned, before shrugging. "We don't have any medicinal supplies with us Daryl. We have nothing." She went across to Carol, perching on the edge of the couch, her lithe fingers pulling back the collar of her jacket, her fingertips touching at the edges of the grazes.
"Shit," Daryl kicked at the coffee table.
"It's nothing, please don't fuss," Carol said, glancing away from the curt look that Daryl shot her.
"Like hell it ain't nothing," Daryl growled.
"It's only a scratch-"
Michonne looked at her sharply, her hand resting on her shoulder. She shook her head, "We need some sort of anti-septic, something to rinse out those cuts." She narrowed her eyes as Carol sighed. "Don't be stupid about this, Carol. The last thing you, or we need is an infection. We have no idea what a walkers scratch can do. I really hate to think what could possibly lurking in those nails. In this cut."
"Listen to the woman," Merle growled. He stepped into the room, and stood away from them, leaning his back to the wall. "Ya ain't needin' no goddamn infection."
Carol looked at him, her gaze dropping to his clenched hand. She still felt angry, but it was edged now with tiredness and regret. "You can damn well talk."
Merle narrowed his eyes at her, clenching his teeth. "This ain't 'bout me. If ya hadn't had been so damn fuckin'...willful-"
"The walker? That wasn't my fault. At least I didn't go and smash up my hand in a temper tantrum," she retorted quickly. Part of her knew that she shouldn't be arguing with him, and least of all saying that, but she was suddenly damned if she was going to put up with any more bullshit and attitude off him.
Merle huffed and bristled angrily, "Oh yeah sister, well...ya went and done one better, didn't you? What you did was fuckin' stupid."
Carol closed her eyes briefly, before snapping them open and staring at him. His eyes blazed and met hers defiantly. "Oh, so dumb, and now stupid? Really Merle."
"What ya did was stupid, I weren't sayin' you were. Jesus Christ, get over yer fuckin' self, woman," he bit back hotly.
"Will ya both just shut the fuck up?" Daryl snapped, glaring at both of them.
Merle glanced at Daryl in surprise, "Whatever. I'm 'bout done anyway. I don't need this fuckin' crap." He scowled at Carol once more, before fumbling in his pocket for a cigarette. He lit it and stalked out of the room, slamming the door behind him.
"Ya gonna tell me what the hell that was about?" Daryl asked her, frowning.
Carol glanced at the floor, looking at her dirty boots and shrugged. If she was honest with herself, she didn't know what anything was about any more. All she knew was that she hurt, and it wasn't just from the scratches that the walker had inflicted on her.
"We still need to do something about this," Michonne murmured at her side.
"I don't have much packed," Carol answered, "Just a few things in case of emergencies. Some painkillers, some bandages, a bottle of hand sanitizer-"
"That could work," Michonne said. "Well, it is better than nothing, I would guess."
Daryl went across and retrieved her backpack, handing it to her. "Women and their things," he grunted softly.
Carol smiled at him, and was relieved when Daryl tentatively smiled back, although his smile didn't quite reach those blue eyes that were partly obscured by his thick fringe. She rifled through the backpack, pulling out a small bottle of the sanitizer, watching as Michonne took it off her.
"This is going to sting, I'm sorry," Michonne apologized, smearing the cool liquid thickly on her fingers. She pressed her fingers to the scratches, and Carol couldn't help but wince. "I told you," Michonne said gently.
Daryl paced across the dirty carpet restlessly. "We need ta find some food. There ain't nothing here-this place already been cleared."
"It's getting late Daryl," Michonne answered, passing the sanitizer back to Carol, and getting to her feet. "I have a few packs of granola bars. They will have to do. Maybe tomorrow we can find something more?"
Daryl nodded, and Michonne went to her own backpack, and pulled the granola bars out, passing one to Carol, and tossing one to Daryl, who caught it with one hand. Michonne smirked at him, "Good reflexes there, Dixon." She placed one bar on the coffee table, looking at Carol thoughtfully, "For Merle," she said.
…
Carol didn't see Merle for the next few hours, and she had no idea where he had gone, or what he was doing. Daryl had gone in search of him, but that was over an hour or so ago. Now they were just waiting for them to come back. Michonne was laying on the floor on her bedroll, idly reading a paperback in the wan yellow light of a small camping lamp, which left Carol curled up on the couch with a blanket-and alone with her thoughts.
The walker in the bath tub had hardly been her fault-although...she reluctantly admitted, she should have been more aware of her surroundings. Letting down her guard and becoming focused on other things was inexcusable. Things like that now meant a hair breadths difference between life or death, and she was now all too aware of that fact. She wouldn't let, or allow anything like that to happen again. But the simple fact of it was that she'd felt herself being miserably distracted by Merle and his seemingly abrupt and now casual attitude with her-and it hurt and smarted her a lot more than she felt comfortable with admitting to herself.
She sighed, shifting restlessly on the couch. She was tired and weary, but it felt like sleep was going to be a long way off. She told herself that it was because of the scare that she'd had-and while part of that was true, she knew that the other part was because she knew that she wouldn't settle until Merle and Daryl got back.
Michonne was fast asleep, the book she'd been reading carefully placed by her side, by the time the two brothers got back. Daryl looked so tired, that he immediately fell asleep the moment he laid on his own bedroll, several feet across the room, close to the main door.
She glanced across the dimly lit room to Merle, who sat there in the thick shadows, one arm banded around his knees, leaning against the far wall. He was silently watching her, and she felt her heart thud uncomfortably at his earnest gaze.
"Where did you go?" she asked him, when it seemed obvious that he wasn't going to say a word.
"Out," he answered tersely.
She raised her eyebrows at him, glancing from him to the coffee table. "Michonne left you a granola bar."
"Ain't wantin' it," he rasped, looking away from her, and studying his hand.
"You should get that looked at, Merle. Let me-"
He narrowed his eyes further at her, before shaking his head. "I ain't needing nothin' off ya."
"So, you're just going to sit there, for the rest of the night?" She asked, feeling the breath sitting heavily in her lungs.
"Looks like it, don't it?" he growled. "Unless ye gone blind as well as deaf."
Carol sighed sadly. She refused to be drawn into another spat...argument...whatever the hell it was with him. In fact, she would just leave him alone. It was becoming all too clear to her now, that the times that they had spent back at the prison meant precious little to him, and everything to her. She would keep those memories, treasure them for what they'd briefly been and then lock them away.
She crooked her arm under her head, tugging the blanket tighter to her, closing her eyes to the fresh sting of tears. She made a silent vow to herself that when they got back, she would just give him what he obviously wanted from her-nothing. Misery ached and gnawed at her, but she was damned now if she was going to give into it. After all she had been through...after Ed and his abusive sadistic ways, after Sophia and the barn, the many walker filled miles on the open road-she knew that deep down she was stronger than maybe a lot of them gave her credit for, herself included. And if she had to do things alone from now on-then maybe she would have to do just that. But even so-she couldn't help but sadly wonder if things with Merle were coming to an end before it had even really started.
Carol shivered in the cold, pulling the blanket tighter around her. She heard a long low sigh come from across the room, heard the shuffling of feet, and she glanced up quickly as Merle came across and sat next to her on the couch.
He looked at her for a long moment, then glanced away. "This? It-huh...it ain't meaning nothin'. Ya got me?"
Carol didn't understand, but nodded.
He unbuckled his prosthesis, placing it carefully on the table in front of them. "I jus' want to ask you one thing. Alright?" He asked quietly.
She sighed, "What do you want to know?"
He took a deep breath, and for a moment she thought he wasn't going to ask, but he turned to face her, his eyes bright on hers. He let the breath out in a slow exhale. "This morning...were ya gonna sneak out an' go with Scott and Tyreese?"
She looked at him unhappily, "I think you know the answer to that, Merle."
Merle glanced across the room. "Yeah, is what I thought. You need to drop this, Carol. I ain't gonna do this shit no more. If I don't want to tell ya, then I won't. An' if ya can't take that, then I damn well don't know anything anymore."
She shifted on the couch, edging closer to him, desperately not wanting this space to grow between them, but wondering if it already had. She couldn't promise him anything of the sort that he was asking. She leaned her head on his shoulder, pushing the blanket over the both of them, feeling him lean forwards and then wrap his arm around her shoulders, pulling her firmly to him.
He lightly kissed the top of her head before resting his chin there, and she pressed her cheek to his chest, her arm slipping around his waist, sniffling softly enough that she hoped he wouldn't hear.
...