Daryl disappeared after the tea party and no one knew where he was, but at dinner time they set a place for him anyway. Glenn had returned from the farm, looking tired and haggard, and promising to catch them up after Daryl arrived at the table.
They'd all just picked up their forks when Daryl strolled through the opening to the dinning room and said, "Glad to see you made it back without a shotgun shell in your ass." He sat down across from Glenn, leaned down, and sniffed the plate. "Smells good. My woman must of cooked tonight."
Carol smiled. "I did." He'd never called her that before. My woman. She didn't hate it. "Then again, I cook four nights a week." She liked the cooking. It was the cleaning up she was glad to have shifted to others.
"So, what the fuck happened with the hippie farmer?" Daryl asked before shoving a bite of food in his mouth.
Glenn held up a finger as he finished chewing. He took a sip of iced tea before speaking. "He called me a murderer and a monster and told me to get off his land for good. But Maggie told him she'd asked me to do it. Then he was horrified at her. Beth went over to her mother's walker corpse and started bawling. Jimmy tried to comfort her, but when it came out he was in on it, too, and knew it was going to go down, she started slapping his chest in anger, until he had to grab her wrists and settle her down. And then Patricia told Hershel she also knew and approved, and that she'd made sure Otis wouldn't turn, and Hershel didn't know what to make of that. He said – I ought to kick y'all off the farm." Glenn sighed and set down his fork. "And then Patricia lost it. She let loose on him, telling him he was responsible for Otis's death, because he asked Otis to wrangle that walker in there."
"Merle's walker?" Daryl asked.
"Uh…yeah. That was the one. Jimmy and Beth found him down by the stream when they went to…fish."
"Why are you saying that like it's a euphemism?" Andrea asked.
"Because it is," T-Dog told her. "No hanky panky under daddy's roof. But by the stream…" He shrugged.
"Seems like a dangerous location to get naked," Rick observed.
Lori was looking peeved that this conversation was unfolding in front of her son. "Isn't Beth only four years older than Carl?"
"They weren't getting naked," Glenn insisted. "They were just making out when Merle's walker growled up on them. They just ran. The walker followed, but they got through the rear gate and shut it before the walker could get to them, so it just stayed there growling at the gate. Then Otis and Jimmy got the pole to wrangle it into the barn. And that's when Otis got bit."
"That's all they know?" asked Daryl. "That his walker was by the stream?"
Glenn nodded. "Anyway, Maggie got everyone settled down. And I spent the day digging graves with her and Jimmy for their people."
"Hershel let you stay the night?" T-Dogg asked doubtfully.
"I wouldn't say he let me, exactly. He went to his room and locked himself inside. Maggie told me to stay. I stayed with her. In her room. Oh, and Beth tried to kill herself."
"What?" Michonne asked.
"She didn't try try. Just kind of tried," Glenn said. "Cut herself a little, but when it hurt, I think that was the end of it for her. Then she just went to bed and cried herself to sleep. Jimmy sat outside her door all night, but she wouldn't let him in."
"Bunch of drama queens in that house," Daryl muttered.
"In the morning, Hershel was gone," Glenn continued. "He'd gotten up before sunrise and taken one of the farm trucks somewhere. Maggie said maybe he'd gone into to town. To the tavern. For a drink."
"We took all that booze," T-Dog said. "What little wasn't already looted."
"Not all of it," Glenn told them. "Because we found him drinking at the bar. Apparently, there were more bottles in the storage closet. I guess he used to be an alcoholic. He almost destroyed his first marriage over it. He quit drinking when Maggie was born. I don't know if it was because he was drunk or what, but he told me if I was willing to open that barn just because Maggie had asked me to, and I was willing to put them down for her peace of mind, and dig graves all day for Maggie, maybe I wasn't such a bad guy after all, and he was glad Maggie had found me."
"Wow," T-Dog said.
"I think he came to grips with the fact that there isn't going to be a cure, and that burying them was better than the false hope. Anyway, we brought him home drunk and put him to bed. And…uh…I took all the booze from that supply closet in the tavern. Maggie doesn't want any in the farmhouse. She wants to get Hershel back on the wagon."
"Yeah?" T-Dog asked. "How much you get?"
"Twelve unopened bottles and one opened one. Whiskey, vodka, gin, peach schnapps, I don't know what all."
"At this point, we could open a bar," Rick said.
"I hung out a bit longer," Glenn said, "and then came back. I brought the eggs and milk and everything Maggie promised. Also, Daryl, three pounds of ground beef."
"I said six."
"Well, I got three. But we might get more in trade. Patricia and Jimmy wanted to know if they could come here and learn to shoot better on our range, if you would teach them, Rick. They wouldn't both come at the same time. Maggie doesn't like leaving her father and sister on the farm alone. But they'd each come on separate trade trips. Patricia has Otis's rifle. And Jimmy has his father's. But they'll need more ammo."
"Well, if they'll pay," Rick agreed. "We could use fresh vegetables. Our first aren't set to start coming in until mid-to-late December. And then a lot more in the spring."
"Ask for two chickens instead," Daryl said. "Can use the coop in that little pettin' farm set up in Kids' Kingdom. Have our own supply of eggs. Dozen a week."
The petting farm was next to the pony ride ring. There had been no animals in the petting farm – they'd been cleared out for the temporary park closure – but there was still some feed, a chicken coop, two small pens, and a goat house.
"I don't know if she'd give us two chickens for the ammo," Glenn said.
"Hell not? Was willin' to feed 'em to walkers."
"It's a great idea," Rick agreed. "Tell her we'll give her extra ammo beyond the practice ammo to take home in exchange for them. And let her know they'll be getting professional instruction. I'm a certified firearms trainer."
"Yeah…I don't think they really care about certification in an apocalypse," Glenn told him.
"He just means he's a decent teacher," Lori said. "
"They assumed," Glenn replied. "It's why they want to train with you. I'll see what I can do about the chickens."
"You'll need a rooster then!" Carl exclaimed.
"They only have one full-grown rooster right now," Glenn told him, "They aren't giving that up."
"Then we can't have eggs!" Carl cried.
Sophia rolled her eyes. "A hen doesn't need a rooster to lay eggs. She just needs a rooster to lay fertilized eggs. The eggs we eat are unfertilized."
"Oh," Carl said.
"Well, at least he knows about fertilization now," Andrea said with a smile.
[*]
Carol ran the brush through her hair one last time and lay it on the vanity. Sophia, who was drying her hair as she returned from the shower, closed the bedroom door and asked, "Are you staying all night at Daryl's again?"
"Most likely."
"Good. Then I get the big bed." She ran and flung herself with a bounce on the bed. "It's so much more comfortable than the trundle."
"Is it?"
"Way more. Why don't you just move into his room and I can have the good bed to myself? And the extra closet space."
Carol chuckled. "Well, we haven't exactly discussed that yet. But you're welcome to the bed anytime I'm not sleeping here."
[*]
The lovemaking was less angst-filled tonight, but their parts fit together just as easily as they had the night before. There was a slower build up, and Daryl lasted longer – but still not quite long enough for Carol to climax. She'd almost gotten there. After discarding the condom, Daryl brought her over the edge in less than a minute with his tongue, which had her digging her fingers into his hair and bucking off the bed.
Curled against him later, she asked, "Is it okay with you if I stay the night again?"
"You're always the one runnin' off."
"I'll take that for a yes." She rolled over, switched off the light, and rolled back. He pulled the cover up to her chin after she settled back in. "Sophia said she wanted the good bed."
"Hmmm?" he murmured.
"She claims the trundle is uncomfortable and wants my bed. She said I should just move in with you."
Daryl had been tracing patterns on her back and his fingertips stilled.
"It's too soon," she said. "I know. I didn't tell her I was going to. I said we hadn't even talked about it yet."
"We talkin' 'bout it now?" he asked.
"I suppose."
"Ain't used to havin' a roommate. Other than Merle. And I'll be gone some nights, huntin'."
"Well, those would be the nights I'd have the room all to myself. You know…" she teased as she raised her head to look at him and slowly traced a muscle in his arm with a fingertip, "so I can touch myself in private while I think about you."
"Fuuuuck…why you got to put that picture in my mind?"
She smiled and kissed his shoulder.
"So…that means you're movin' in?"
"I suppose. When you get back from hunting. If you're okay with it."
"You'd of made a good used car salesman. Think I just bought somethin' I didn't even know I was lookin' at."
"Then say no."
"Nah. Too late. Already signed the damn loan."
"Well, I hope you don't trade me in on a younger model once the loan is paid off."
"You seen my pick-up? And I paid that off seven years ago."
Carol chuckled. "Well, the purchase contract says I get the top three drawers in the dresser and 65 percent of the closet space."
"Ain't gonna be a problem. I'm only using one drawer and ten percent of the closet space as is. But I get the writin' desk drawers. That's where I put my crap when I empty my pockets."
"Who gets the drawers in the nightstand?"
"Me. That's where I put my gun and knives and shit at night."
"Well, we're going to have to talk about that. I don't want to be a demanding roommate, but I can't have you shitting in the drawers."
"Stahp."
"Then it's settled? I'm moving in?"
"Reckon," Daryl agreed.
"When you get back from hunting in a couple days. I'll move in then. I'll bring over my stuff and we can rearrange things."
"A'ight." He kissed the top of her head. "Nite, Miss Murphy."
"Nite, roomie."
Tuesday, November 17
In the morning, Carol awoke to the sound of Daryl clicking one of his knife sheaths onto his belt. She sat half up in bed, the covers held above her breasts. There was something incredibly sexy about the sound of a man snapping gear onto his belt. The handgun slid into his holster next with a satisfying click.
"Mornin'," Daryl drawled as he grabbed a long-sleeve, olive green shirt off the other bed and pulled it on over his white muscle shirt.
"Good morning. Headed out already? The sun hasn't even finished rising."
"Best time to track." He began to button the shirt.
She sat up all the way and let the covers fall off her. His eyes went exactly where she expected. She grabbed him by the belt buckle. "Sure you don't want to stay a little longer?"
"Stahp. Just got dressed."
She sighed, released his buckle, but let her hand slide down over the front of his zipper as she drew it away. She felt a stirring as she did so.
"Gonna be the death of me, woman."
Carol dug under the comforter for her pajamas and began to pull them on while he shrugged into his leather vest and swung his pack on his shoulders. He walked over to the corner of the room by the closet where his bow was leaned and grasped it. When he turned, she was dressed. "Listen," he said. "Gonna be out of range this time. Ain't gonna be able to check in on the walkie."
She stood and walked toward him. "Why? Plenty to hunt within range. You had luck before."
"Have more luck farther out. Thinkin'…by the Greene farm, maybe. They don't get many walkers drivin' way the game. Got a lot of forest there. And the stream. Bet the wildlife comes to drink."
"You're not going to track a deer, are you?" Carol asked. "You're going to track Merle's walker." When he looked away instead of answering, she said, softly, "Daryl, it's been six days since they wrangled it into the barn. What kind of sign are you going to find?"
He flitted his eyes back to hers. "It ain't rained in all that time. There's a chance there's still footprints on the shore. And broken brush is broken brush."
She sighed. "What are you hoping to find?"
"Answers."
"I think you're much more likely to find trouble."
"Yesterday you said whatever I need. You mean that, or didn't you?"
She put a hand on his side, inside his vest. "I meant it."
"This is what I need to do."
She nodded.
"So you understand?"
"No, I don't understand," she answered. "But I take you at your word that you need to do it. And I'm not some little lady who's going to sit at home twiddling my thumbs and waiting until you get back. There's plenty of work, and I keep busy. I'm just going to be worried at night. When it's quiet and you can't check in and say you're safe."
"Sorry. Ain't tryin' to worry you. Hell, maybe I can find a couple long range radios while I'm out."
"It would have helped if Rick hadn't given his second one to that man he's never heard from since," Carol said.
"Lock the gate behind me?"
Carol snuck back into her bedroom – which would soon be just Sophia's bedroom she supposed - to dress before following Daryl outside. He was taking his motorcycle, so she mounted behind him, and he kicked started it before roaring off. He took a long way round to the gate, through a loop in one of the kingdoms, just to give her the thrill of the ride she thought, before purring to a stop at the front gate. Carol dismounted to open it and then kissed him goodbye. "Be safe."
He nodded and shot off.
Feeling a nervousness settle in the pit of her stomach, Carol swung the gate shut behind him and latched it tightly closed.