AN: This story was inspired by an anonymous Tumblr request.
I own nothing from the Walking Dead or the song that's mentioned.
I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!
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Carol had heard people say that you couldn't make up for lost time. Once lost, time was simply that—lost.
While she agreed with the sentiment on the basis that it was fact—a minute, once gone, would never return again—she disagreed with it on the basis that, as long as there was time left, there was time to be who you wanted to be and to do what you wanted to do with your life.
There was hope, as long as there was breath.
Carol might not have felt that way once upon a time, but at nearly sixty, she'd started to believe a lot of things that her younger self might have dismissed as entirely ridiculous.
Her younger self would have said that love wasn't real. After all, what reason did she have to believe in it? She'd been married to Ed Peletier—an asshole of the first degree—and she spent more time lying about her life than she spent telling the truth about it. She spent more time crying than she spent feeling like life was worth living. Her younger self would have said that all men were horrible, but Carol could forgive her. She'd been young, after all, and she'd had so little experience, and most of it had been bad—it was only natural to believe that Ed had been representative of the entire male population. Her younger self had only escaped her hell-on-Earth at forty and, at that time, she'd still believed all of the horrible things that Ed had taught her and, even worse, she'd believed that you couldn't make up for lost time.
She'd believed she'd never have the happiness that Ed had stolen from her, and she'd never make up for all the years that he'd filled with suffering.
At forty-three, she'd reluctantly agreed to the double date with her best friend, Andrea, and some disaster of a man that she'd dug up from somewhere. She'd dragged her feet, moaned and complained, and insisted that the date was going to be a disaster from start to finish, but Andrea had dragged her along with her anyway.
And Carol had requested, and her request was granted, a special "best friends' dance," between she and Andrea, that had taken place at Andrea's wedding to that disaster of a man that had turned out to be every bit as human as anyone else and, therefore, most certainly, a disaster, but who had also proved to be a loving and dedicated husband to the woman who was willing to accept him—disaster and all.
At a couple months shy of forty-five, the practice was repeated, and Carol had danced with Andrea at her own wedding to the disaster's younger brother—the younger disaster. Carol's disaster. The man who loved her completely, no matter the fact that she'd first met him as a sulky, jaded, single mother who had condemned him before he'd even held out a hand—slightly trembling, she remembered—and offered her a nervous and crooked smile as a greeting on a blind double-date.
It had been fifteen years since Carol had said forever to that crooked smile and had, as he'd begged her to do, taken a chance on the possible wonderful and beautiful, absolute disaster that could be their lives together.
It had been messy, hard, sometimes painful—and it had been wonderful, amazing, and the best thing that had ever happened to both of them.
Daryl had taught her what it was to feel beautiful, loved, and appreciated. He had also taught her that perfection was not achievable and, more than that, it was not necessary or even truly desirable. He had taught her that she was desirable, though. He'd taught her that there were good men in the world, and he'd taught her how appreciative a man could be of a woman who truly loves him, honors him, and gives back to him all the good he gives to her.
Carol couldn't give Daryl back the years that he'd spent thinking he wasn't good enough for anyone. She couldn't give him back the time he'd lost feeling unloved—but she could fill the years they had together to the brim with her love for him. He gladly returned the favor.
They couldn't get back lost time, but they could certainly make the best of the time they had.
Their daughter—Carol's daughter that Daryl had adopted and showered with love—was in college. She could never forget the horrible man that she'd known early in her life as her father, but she was blessed to know the man that she called her father now—a man who had taught her not to accept anything less than she was worth and, as a Daddy's girl, she was worth the world.
Their son—fourteen years old and every bit his father's son—was smart, and a smart ass, sometimes. He was fun-loving, good with his hands, and there were days when he didn't think his parents were the dumbest people on the planet, although there were many more days when he did. He would grow out of that, though, and Carol was confident that he would grow to be a confident and, more importantly, a kind young man.
Daryl hadn't always been confident. Carol, maybe, had given to him the confidence that, now, he wore very well. She counted out the wonderful things about him nearly every single night, and she'd done so, now for at least fifteen years.
And he returned the favor.
She couldn't give him back all the years that he'd spent thinking that he wasn't worth much, but she could make sure that he knew his worth for the rest of his life, and she could bask in the way that he made her feel like a treasure.
Even on their worst days—because they were humans and, of course, there were days when they were both absolute disasters—she wouldn't have chosen to live without him.
"Hey—hot stuff, you need another drink?"
Carol jumped when Daryl goosed her upon his return to the table from a somewhat extended absence while he meandered somewhere around the bar.
"Stop it!" She barked at him, not caring that she was loud. The bar was loud. Nobody cared, anyway. Everyone there was drinking, and everyone, at least as far as she could tell, was having a good time.
They couldn't make up for lost time, but they could do things that they wanted to do. They could decide to have experiences that they wanted to have. Their age didn't matter, and it didn't matter that they were celebrating their fifteenth wedding anniversary with a weekend alone while Andrea and Merle kept their bouncing baby boy and fielded all of his eye rolls and teenaged mood swings. All of that didn't matter—they could still go out to a bar, get drunk, and have a good time.
Although, really, it was Daryl that was doing the most drinking—Carol had agreed to be the designated driver for the night, and she was still nursing the first drink that she'd gotten when they arrived, and the only one she would have. Daryl would repay her. It would be her turn to be ridiculously drunk another night.
Daryl grinned at her, pleased with himself for having pinched her ass the way he had. He was, without a doubt, a good many drinks into this evening, though Carol had lost count of how many he'd had. He had reached the point in the evening when he was void of any and all inhibitions, and he wore nothing but an absolutely endearing—and remarkably goofy—grin.
Carol couldn't help but grin back at him.
"You been outside flirting with the little college-aged girls?" She teased.
"Only one girl in this bar sexy enough for me to flirt with," Daryl offered. He winked at her. "Girl…woman…woman…sexy woman."
"Did you go smoke a cigarette?" Carol asked, swallowing back some of her amusement. Daryl hummed. "You were gone a while."
"You wanna 'nother drink, beautiful?" Daryl asked. His voice slurred slightly. Carol didn't care. Unlike Ed Peletier—who had taught her younger self that drunk men were dangerous and would break her bones and her spirit—Daryl was a very cheerful drunk when he had no reason to be sullen. At the very worst, he got pretty lusty, but Carol never found that to be unpleasant.
Carol laughed at her husband's drunken attempts at making flirtatious and seductive expressions at her, and she leaned on the high-top table where she was standing. Daryl eased back around, coming toward her again, and she stepped one step to the side.
"Don't pinch my ass again!" She yelped when his hand came for her, laughing at the expression on Daryl's face.
"What if I was just to—fondle it a little?" He asked. He raised his eyebrows at her. "It's such a nice ass."
"You're drunk," Carol said. "And you're—adorable."
"You're fuckin'—hot," Daryl said. Carol laughed.
"You're not so bad yourself," she said. "But—there's a real good chance that you've had enough to drink that…the spirit may be willing, but the flesh may be weak."
Daryl laughed and his cheeks ran red. He wasn't too embarrassed, though. Firstly, he knew she spoke fact. Secondly, they were close enough together that nobody could overhear them—not with all the noise around them—if they even cared to try to listen.
Daryl nodded and licked his lips.
"You may be right, but I am starting to feel mighty fuckin' hungry, Carol…and you know I love a midnight snack."
"Promises, promises," Carol teased. Though, if she were being honest, the teasing sent an electric jolt through her body. Her younger self would have told her that men didn't like to go down on women. She could tell her younger self, though, that she'd only had a poor example of a man on which to base her analysis. Daryl—a real man in every possible sense of the word—had turned eating her out into an art form, and he'd more than made up for all the years that, honestly, she'd felt entirely sexually neglected.
"You wait," Daryl said.
"I will."
"You want somethin' else to drink?"
"I'm driving, remember?"
"If you don't drink nothin', how the hell am I gonna get'cha to go home with me so I can take advantage of you all night long?"
Carol winked at him.
"I'm a pretty sure thing," she teased. "You just stick with me, and I'll make sure we both get home—and I'll make sure you get your fill to eat."
"Now who the hell's full of promises?" Daryl responded.
Carol tasted her drink, but she honestly preferred the water she'd been drinking for most of the night. The cherry flavored drink was strong on vodka and, honestly, it was a little too strong—even for a one drink night.
For a few minutes, they simply stood together, listened to the bad karaoke in the bar, and enjoyed being out together. Then, at the start of a new song, Daryl straightened up from his half-drunken lean on the table and stopped chewing on the toothpick sword he'd stolen from Carol's drink. He polished off what was left of his current drink—how many had that possibly been? Then, he smiled at Carol.
"I gotta run," he said. "'Mmma be back."
"Run where?" Carol asked. He just laughed in response. Carol, too, laughed, but she didn't bother him. He was having a good time, and she was having a good time simply being with him when he was so downright jolly. Besides that, she was confident that—even if their so-called romantic evening at home ended up dissolving into a silly, ridiculous disaster—they were going to have a wonderful night. The only thing that was almost as good as a sexy, romantic night with Daryl was a night spent laughing together until both of them had watery eyes, aching sides, and found themselves unable to breathe.
Daryl disappeared into the crowd again—off to smoke, get another drink, take a piss, or something.
Carol swayed with the music, winced at the person's voice as they crowed out some terrible rendition of an eighty's hair band song, and clapped with everyone else when it ended.
When the next song started up for karaoke, Carol immediately recognized it and smiled to herself. She scanned the crowd of people around her to look for Daryl coming back with his drink. They had this song on CD and one of their guilty pleasures was catching a little time alone—when their children weren't home for them to scar them—to use it as a lead into the sexy times they enjoyed together.
Carol had told Daryl to surprise her with their wedding song. He'd surprised her. And even though some people might have said it was horrible—and that it ruined the whole solemn and romantic mood of a first dance together—Carol had smiled, and even laughed, throughout her whole first dance with Daryl. She'd thought then, and she still thought now, that she'd take that. It had set the tone for what she wanted in her marriage—and it had turned out to be a perfect predictor of what the next fifteen years would be like.
Carol was surprised, and warmth filled her whole body, when she found her husband. He wasn't coming back from getting a drink, though.
Many times, Daryl had crooned that song to Carol—but never in front of a bar full of people.
"I believe in miracles, since you came along, you sexy thing…"
There was no need to ask who he was waving to or who he was inviting up on stage. There was no need to fight it, either, and Carol had no desire to do so.
She made her way through the crowd, and was surprised when someone at the little stage offered her a hand to help boost her up—pretty certain that she'd pull a drunk Daryl down on top of them if she sincerely used his offered hand to make the climb.
Her face was hot, and Daryl's face was red, but he was dedicated to this, and drunk enough to do it, and Carol accepted it for everything—absolutely everything—that she knew that it meant. She accepted being serenaded, albeit a bit off key, in front of everyone. And she smiled at the fact that, somehow recognizing the moment for what it was, all the people paying attention to the music had begun to cheer Daryl on as though this were a truly show-stopping performance, and not like they wished he would stop this show.
The final lines were sung, perhaps, a bit more sincerely than even in the original version of the song, as Daryl pulled Carol close to him. The final lines, with the microphone dropped down to his side, were probably less than audible to the whole of the audience, but they were audible to Carol, and the group of people cheering Daryl on already knew the words as they clapped for Daryl and Carol both.
"I love the way you kiss me, darling. Love the way you hold me. Keep on lovin' me, darlin'. Keep on lovin' me, baby."
The applause that Daryl probably hadn't earned with skill only grew louder when Carol did kiss him—sincerely.
"Let's go home," Carol whispered to him.
Her husband—her endearing, adorable, drunk husband, grinned at her. He grinned at everyone there. Then he raised his microphone back up, the song done, and laughed into it, causing a feedback sound that made Carol shiver. When the sound stopped, Daryl's good humor hadn't faded.
"Fifteen years," he said to anyone who would listen. "And I'm sorry to all you—assholes—but…she's goin' home with me!"
Carol's face burned like fire, but she accepted it, and she accepted the hoots and yelps that followed. She accepted, too, the random whoops and comments they heard as she ushered her drunk husband through the bar, paid their tab while waving away his attempts to goose her at the register, and led him out into the parking lot.
It was only in the cool night air, while Carol stood with Daryl and they both smoked a cigarette, that Daryl seemed to sober up just a little.
"Get it!" Some drunk college-aged boy yelled out at them.
"Sexy thang!" One of his friends whooped.
Carol laughed, the heat in her face renewed. Daryl laughed, too, and shook his head.
"Shit—that was pretty fuckin' bad, weren't it?" Daryl said with a snort. He reached an arm out, pulled Carol to him, and leaned on her a little as he swayed slightly. She held him steady, not bothered in the least. She would always support him, however he might need it, just as he supported her when she needed it.
"Yeah, man!" One of the college kids yelled out across the parking lot. "Let's go! Get her done!"
Carol laughed and hugged Daryl a little tighter, burying her face against him for a moment. It didn't matter, and she wasn't that embarrassed, really. It was nice, if she was being honest. Fifteen years and she still felt a rush of warmth in her chest whenever she thought about how much she loved him and how good he made her feel.
They couldn't make up for lost time, but they could be sure to enjoy the hell out of what they had left.
"It was a disaster—and I loved every minute of it."