AN: Here we are, another chapter here.
I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!
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"We didn't have a damned thing when I was a kid," Daryl said. "Old man pissed away anything he got. Mama could hardly keep us goin'. I guess Merle was puttin' food on the table from the time he was old enough to steal it. Hell—older I get, the more I'm realizin' how much damn weight fell down on Merle's shoulders. No wonder he went a lil' fuckin' wild every now an' again an' fucked some shit up. I didn't know it back then, though. He hid it from me."
"Daryl—I'm so sorry," Carol said. She rested her hand on his leg. They sat outside at Andrea's, enjoying the porch and the quiet of night. The screen door was open, and they could hear if Sophia stirred from her sleep.
"I ain't tellin' you this 'cause I want you to say sorry for somethin' you ain't had nothing to do with or because I want your sympathy or pity or whatever," Daryl said. "I'm just wantin' you to understand me. Where I come from. That I grew up without a pot to piss in, Carol."
Carol nodded.
"I understand," she said.
Daryl mirrored her nod.
"When I was a kid—I wanted a bike somethin' awful. Maybe all kids do," Daryl said.
"You mean a motorcycle?" Carol asked.
"No, I mean a bike," Daryl said. "You know—a bike. For ridin' around the neighborhood. I was prob'ly younger'n Sophia when I started wantin' one. I was older'n her when I finally got me one. I just found out today, actually, that it was Merle that got me one in the end. It was the best gift I remember getting."
"That was sweet of him," Carol said. She wasn't being insincere, but Daryl could see on her face that she was confused. She didn't know, after all, what was prompting Daryl to share the story with her.
"Hell—I spent most the day tryin' to come up with some kinda way to talk to you about this," Daryl said. "But—I don't got a single thing that's better than just sayin' what I got to say and hopin' to hell you hear me."
Daryl didn't miss that Carol set her jaw. He saw the tension in her muscles. He saw her eyes widen for a flash of a second before they returned to their normal size with just a slight glaze of fear covering over them. He shook his head at her.
"It ain't bad," he offered softly. "And—I would never hurt you. Not on purpose."
He saw her relax. Slowly, she let go of some of the tension that had flooded her system without her even planning for it to happen. She let out the breath that she had probably been unaware that she was holding. Her expression softened.
"I know you wouldn't," Carol offered quietly.
"Maybe your brain does," Daryl said. "Somewhere. But your instinct doesn't. Not yet. An' that's OK. It's gonna catch up eventually—hopefully."
Carol laughed to herself.
"You don't say that like you're a hundred percent sure," Carol said.
"It's been a long damn time," Daryl said. "An' I still jump if I ever hear that snappin' sound that sounds like leather poppin' against somethin'."
Carol leaned into him and Daryl rearranged himself so that he could simply hold her against him as they sat on the porch. He felt the waves of tension in her body—tense, release, tense, release. He gave her a moment to finally settle on the relaxation. He moved just enough to kiss the side of her head and she nuzzled him.
"Sophia—she was tellin' me the other mornin' about how the kids at school talk about ridin' their bikes in the park," Daryl said. He ran his hand up and down Carol's arm, savoring the feeling of her resting against him. It felt good to him. It felt natural. It felt like something that he'd simultaneously been missing all his life, and it felt like something that seemed to have simply been a part of him forever. "There's a trail down there. An' she was sayin' that she could—ya know—be somethin' like a Judge if she just had her a bike that she could ride."
"Sophia knows that I can't afford a bike right now," Carol said.
"She does," Daryl said. "An' that's why she was talkin' to me about it."
Carol sat up and faced Daryl again. She shook her head. She frowned at him.
"She had no right to ask you for anything, Daryl," Carol said. "And I don't want you feeling like..."
Daryl held a hand up and stopped her.
"Can I please have the chance to tell you what I'm thinkin' without you tellin' me what I'm feeling?" Daryl asked. "I promise I'll give you your chance to tell me what you're feelin', but let me be the one to say what I'm feelin', OK?"
"I'm sorry," Carol offered quietly.
"I don't want'cha to be sorry," Daryl said. "I just—wanna speak."
"Go ahead," Carol offered.
Daryl nodded his head.
"I know somebody. Man named Puddin'. At least—that's what we call him. Makes just about anythin' you can dream up, but he makes custom parts an' helmets an' all. One of his specialties is these parts that you attach to a regular, everyday bicycle. Looks like a lil' Harley, but it ain't one, of course. Soph—she's comin' outta a raw deal, too."
"I wish she had never..."
"Shhhh," Daryl offered. "I weren't suggestin' that it was nothin' you did wrong. I said it before, you've done what'cha could. You got her outta there an' there ain't no need in talking about it anymore. We don't go backwards. None of us do. But—she's still comin' outta something. And she's a real good kid. Does what you ask her to. She don't never act up. Don't cause no trouble. She don't talk about her old man, but you can be sure the asshole—he's in there somewhere. In her mind. Maybe—she don't even know it yet, but he's in there. Maybe she deserves somethin' good. Somethin' that she wants. Somethin' that's special an' it's all her own. Somethin' to really hold onto."
Carol chewed at her lip and examined the floor of Andrea's porch with enough concentration that Daryl might have been convinced that she could tell him how many nails had been used to put the thing together.
"You already bought it," Carol said.
"You gonna tell me to go to hell?" Daryl asked.
"I told you that I didn't like...I asked you not to buy me things," Carol said.
Daryl swallowed hard and fast. Inappropriate laughter bubbled up in him and he wanted to choke it down to save himself. Carol wasn't going to find anything amusing—not at this precise moment.
"I didn't buy it for you," he said. "I bought it for Sophia. And, maybe, I bought it just a little bit for me. For—for the kid I used to be. All scraped knees an' accustomed to Merle damn near draggin' my ass around by the scruff of my neck. Maybe I bought it for me, too."
Carol flicked her eyes in his direction, then, and Daryl didn't miss that there were tears brimming in them. He didn't ask, for a moment, if the tears were for what he'd done or what he'd said.
"You don't have to buy her things," Carol said.
Daryl laughed, then. He didn't try to swallow it down.
"I don't have to do shit that I don't want to do," Daryl said.
"Why is that always your answer?" Carol asked. "Why is that Andrea's answer to everything? Merle's?"
Daryl shrugged his shoulders.
"Because we built our family—all of us—on doin' what we do 'cause we want to do it. Not because someone's forcin' us into it. People are quick to give you all the credit for anything bad you done. You done it because you're an asshole. A fuck up. But they take away that autonomy when you do somethin' good. Suddenly—you're doin' it 'cause someone or somethin' requires it of you. It just ain't so. We do what the hell we do 'cause that's what we wanna do. The good an' the bad. She wants a bike, Carol. It ain't no big thing. An' it means more to me than I've got the breath to explain that she sat across from me an' told me that—all quiet like—like it was something just between us. Because—Carol—maybe she's got some shit feelin's for her old man that she ain't talked about yet. But—she sees somethin' in me that means she ain't holding that against me. It's a big damn deal to me. A good kid like that—she sees somethin' in me that makes her not hold him against me. And—more'n that? Carol—she's seen all of us. Been up to the Chambers an' down to the shop. She's lookin' at all of us an' she don't see no bikers scarin' the shit outta her." He smiled to himself. "She's seen all of us an' she's thinkin'—hey—I might like to be that, too. It's just a bike, Carol. But it's a helluva lot more'n a bike."
Carol's tears rushed out then in a sudden flood and Daryl reached for her. She came, willingly, and let him hold her against his chest the way that he wanted to. She curled into him, nearly coming into his lap, and he held her while she cried out everything she seemed to need to cry out.
He was certain that the tears over the bike and his sentiments regarding the bike ran out pretty early on, but a woman like Carol—she had a lot that she needed to get out. And there was more room out than there was in, so he simply held her while she gave it up and released it to the world.
When she was finally in control of the sobbing, she sat up and Daryl offered her the handkerchief that he was in the habit of keeping.
"It ain't perfectly clean but—it's better'n nothing," Daryl offered.
Carol thanked him for it and quickly wiped her face with it before she wiped at her nose.
"I want her to have the bike," Carol said. "I want her to have—the confidence. I want her to have the motto that she doesn't do anything that she doesn't want to do and I want her to want to do all good things. I want her to have the world, Daryl. All of the—all of the good and...none of the bad. I wish I could take away all the bad from her..."
"So why was you just about to get upset about me givin' her the bike?"
"He HATED to spend his money," Carol said. "He hated it. He—hated it."
Daryl nodded his head. The sobbing was still there, to some degree, and it broke up her words. It sent them out in bursts and quiet whispers without warning. He waited her out while she repeated the same line over and over again, clearly seeking some way to move on but feeling stuck there.
He waited her out, just like Merle had told him to do, and he found that his brother was right. Eventually Carol moved on from the first thought.
"He hated it so much that—he used to watch our finances. He would give me an allowance. Everything—it had to come out of that allowance and if I needed more for anything, he was going to be pissed off. Money made him angrier than anything else. Money made him—furious. I stopped going to the hospital when he'd—even when it was really bad. I stopped going. I learned to do stitches myself. I learned—I learned to put bones back into place. He dislocated my shoulder so many times that...I could almost do it without even feeling the pain anymore. It wasn't worth what it would cost to go to the ER. It wasn't worth how much I'd pay for it when the bills came in. I would have rather died. When Sophia was born—he was so mad. It was so expensive. I was so scared. She was—so new and so small, Daryl. She weighed just at five pounds and...she was so fragile. They sent us home with the bill and I had just come in the house and I'd just put her down and—he hit me. She was brand new and he was—already hitting me. And I provoked him. I kept him hitting me. Because I was afraid that—he might get bored. He might move on and he'd hurt her."
"Hey," Daryl said, catching Carol by the shoulders and shaking her gently. "You can keep talkin' an you can keep telling me all this. All night if you want. I wanna hear it. Every bit of it. But—you gotta breathe, too. OK? You gotta—come out of it a lil' bit. Looks like you getting swallowed up in it and I need you to remember that—it's all just what you're remembering. OK? It ain't real. Not no more. He ain't here. And I don't think he's got a set of brass balls big enough to set foot back in Liberty without a police escort. Sophia? She's in there in the bed. Sleepin' good with that doll that Andrea give her. Maybe even dreamin' of what her bike's gonna look like when she takes over the park as the President of the park chapter of the Judges. You're here with me. Just me. And I won't put my hand on neither of you—especially not for somethin' as stupid as money. So you can tell me your story. You can tell me all your stories, but I need you to remember that they're just stories now. You gotta breathe a little. And—you gotta understand that money? It just don't mean that much to me. What I give, I give 'cause I want to. Not because I expect nothin' for it. And not because I wanna hold it over your head later."
Carol looked at him. He watched her throat bob with the rapid succession of swallows that followed. She shook her head at him.
"He never minded either," she said. "Until he did."
Daryl nodded.
Her experience with her husband was different than his had been with his father. His father had always been an asshole. He'd been an asshole for Daryl's entire life. Like Sophia, he'd never known his father in any other form or fashion.
Carol, however, had known her husband as something else before she'd known him as the monster that he'd become.
"I understand," Daryl said. He raised his eyebrows and he shrugged his shoulders. "That's all I got, really. I understand. And—I promise you that I don't do what I do out of any sense of obligation. I can't undo the past no more than you can. The only thing I can do is—promise you that I never had a whole lot, so money's never meant that much to me. And—I don't change my mind too regularly."
Carol laughed to herself and wiped at some of the tears that were continuing to trick down her cheeks.
"Why do you even care?" She asked.
"What?" Daryl asked.
"Why—why would you even care about me, Daryl? With this? With all of this? There has..." She broke off and laughed. This time the laughter sounded a bit more genuine. "There has got to be a woman that would be easier for you. Someone that's easier to deal with. Someone who's everything that you deserve..."
"Why don't you let me decide what I deserve, OK?" Daryl asked.
"I'm sorry," Carol said. "I keep putting words in your mouth."
Daryl shook his head.
"It ain't that," Daryl said. "It's that you keep puttin' his words in my mouth. And—I don't like the taste of 'em. You wanna know why? I'll tell you why. You—not him. It's 'cause I'm a real picky sonofabitch. But I know what the hell I like. And if I like it—well, it's worth whatever the hell it takes. That's just how I feel about shit."
Carol's smile was even more sincere. Daryl felt warmth spread through his belly. He found the redness of her nose and cheeks somewhat endearing, though he wished they hadn't come from so much pain. He smiled back at her.
"I won't say you deserve it," Carol said, "because you asked me not to, but...you could do so much better."
"His words," Daryl offered.
"I'm serious there are..."
"I'm serious," Daryl said. "His damn words." He laughed to himself. Rather than being upset, Carol found his interruption funny, and it was contagious.
"I'm just saying that..." Carol started again.
"You're sayin' everything he taught you to say!" Daryl said, cutting her off once more. She laughed and he echoed it. Finally, feeling that she'd be receptive to it, Daryl brought his hand up and brushed his knuckles against her damp cheek. She closed her eyes. Tears were still hanging in her eyelashes. "Please say you gonna let her have the bike," Daryl said.
"I want her to have it," Carol said, not opening her eyes.
"Please say—you gonna at least try...just try...to stop puttin' his words in my mouth," Daryl said. "I know it's gonna take you a long time. An' I know old habits die hard. But...say you gonna at least try."
Carol opened her eyes to him.
"What if I don't know what his words are and what are mine anymore?" Carol asked.
Daryl nodded.
"I understand. He's got all tangled up in your head. His script has done took over. I get it. Still hear my old man. I know Merle does, too. Sometimes—it takes the help of other people to stop hearin' his voice. To realize that it's his voice all along."
Carol nodded.
"I hear him all the time," she said.
"You like it?" Daryl asked. "What he says to you?"
Carol shook her head.
"No," she admitted.
"Then you work on it," Daryl said. "That's all."
"How?" Carol asked.
"Repeat after me," Daryl said.
Carol smiled at him.
Jesus.
His heart nearly pounded out of his chest when she smiled at him like that and he knew that the smile was for him and only for him.
"You ready?" He asked, nearly choking on his own words. She nodded. "Thank you for the bike for Soph. It's a real nice gift."
"Thank you for the bike for—Soph," Carol said. "It's a real nice gift."
Daryl nodded his head.
"Good. You doin' good. Now—now how about—I'm so glad I picked you out of all the potential assholes that I coulda ended up with."
"Daryl!"
"You gotta say it," Daryl said. "It's in the rules."
Carol laughed to herself. Her cheeks flushed a darker pink.
"I'm so glad I picked you out of all the potential—sweethearts—that I could have ended up with." Daryl laughed to himself. "Was that alright?" Carol asked.
"Yeah," he said. "Just don't say it too loud. I got a reputation to uphold, you know?"
Carol laughed low in her throat.
"We'll keep it between us," Carol said.
Daryl raised his eyebrows at Carol.
"You know—it's a good woman who'll keep a man's secrets," he offered.
She smiled to herself. She raised her eyebrows back at him.
"Any woman will keep a man's secrets," Carol said. "But—it's the good secrets that she'll enjoy keeping."
"Can you keep one more?" Daryl asked. Carol hummed at him. "Please don't tell Soph I told you about the bike."
"I wouldn't dream of it," Carol assured him. "After all—I want Sophia to learn that there are good secrets, too."
