AN: This is just a short little one shot for a Tumblr request. The person just wanted to see a peaceful evening for Carylydia.
I own nothing from The Walking Dead.
I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!
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"The…woman…sm…"
"Sound it out," Carol encouraged.
"Smilled?" Lydia asked, wrinkling her forehead at Carol. She knew it wasn't right, and that was clear, but she wasn't sure how to fix it.
"Smiled," Carol corrected gently.
"Smiled," Lydia echoed.
It was evening, and it was time for settling down, resting, recovering from a long and busy day, and reading. Reading had never been one of Daryl's most favorite activities before, but it was growing on him a great deal.
He loved listening to it, at least.
Daryl closed his eyes.
If anyone had ever told him he'd be living this life, he would have told them they were crazy. The most remarkable thing, perhaps, was that it wouldn't have been the walking corpses, set on tearing them apart and consuming them, of which they had to be aware at all times, that would have made him think the person was absolutely insane—it would have been this.
This beautiful, peaceful, happy life in which Daryl settled down after a hard day and listened to the evening's reading lesson.
Daryl would have never believed that he would, someday, have a home like the house they'd claimed in some Midwestern state—he honestly didn't know exactly where they'd stopped because it had never really mattered—after they'd decided that New Mexico seemed a bit too harsh to support the kind of life they wanted. He never would have believed that he'd have a dog, the two cows they'd found, the small flock of chickens—or any of the other animals they planned to domesticate from those he'd tracked and found roaming freely in the area.
Even more than that, Daryl would never have believed that, someday, he would have the love of a truly incredible woman and that that woman would want to be his wife—or something as close to a wife as anyone came to being these days—and that they would have a daughter they'd adopted between them.
Daryl would never believe that his wife and daughter would prepare the food he brought to them for a dinner that had been, really, remarkable. He would never believe that he could sit near the fire burning in his fireplace, his eyes closed, and digest that delicious meal while his wife taught their daughter to read.
Of course, if someone wanted to scrutinize their life and criticize it, they might point out all the obvious problems with the life they lived.
They might point out that everyone there had had very difficult pasts. They might point out that Lydia was, in fact, Carol's fifth child—adoptions and biological children included—and she was the only one that remained alive at this point. They might point out that every day they had to clean the protective fences around their property to keep the roaming corpses from causing them problems. They might point out that all of them, if they were being honest, had enough trauma probably to fill the ocean. They might even point out that it was ridiculous that Lydia, at her age, was only now learning to read well.
Daryl would probably give whatever asshole that pointed all that shit out a busted jaw for his troubles, though.
They were doing well, all things considered, and they were happy. These days, Daryl knew, that was the most important part of it all. They were happy and, for all of them, that was something brand new and something truly worth celebrating.
"I can't do it, I'm too slow," Lydia said in frustration. Daryl peeked an eye open at the two women that made up his whole life.
Lydia was grown, if they were being technical about things. She'd spent enough years on this Earth to be considered, if not a full-grown woman, nearly a full-grown woman. Still, she'd spent so many years being neglected, abused, and mistreated that she seemed like a child in almost every way. For now, they'd decided to nurture her. They'd decided to give her the chance to experience some of the things that she'd missed in childhood. There was always time, after all, to grow up.
Daryl, who had missed his own childhood, in many ways, needed to see Lydia get a chance at being something of a child.
And Carol, who mourned deeply the loss of her children, needed the opportunity to nurture Lydia nearly as badly as Lydia needed to be nurtured.
"Sweetheart—it doesn't matter how fast you read," Carol said. "And you'll get faster. It just takes time and practice. You're already doing so much better than you were before. Now—come on…let's try some more."
"Can't you read to me?" Lydia asked, sighing and leaning her head against Carol's shoulder again. Carol leaned her own head against Lydia's. "Please? I love it when you read to me."
"Before you go to sleep," Carol said, "I can read to you for a while. Would you like that?"
Lydia hummed, sounding almost like she might go to sleep right then and there.
"Yes, Mama," Lydia said.
The word still sounded a little foreign to Daryl's ear. It still sounded like it tasted a little strange on Lydia's tongue. It hadn't been that long, really, since they'd set out from Virginia to make a life for themselves. They'd been busy since they got here, scrambling to build what they had—to make a life that could sustain them through the winter—before the winter caught them. It had only been, recently, that they'd had any time at all to begin to relax.
And it had only been since they'd begun to relax into their roles that Lydia had timidly confronted Daryl and Carol with her request to call them her parents, especially since they were clearly dedicated to filling those roles.
I had only been since they'd begun to relax that Daryl and Carol had admitted how much they wanted all of this. They'd declared themselves married, for all that it really mattered these days, and they'd admitted how much they wished they could, in some way, go back and get back all the time that they'd wasted not being together.
They'd admitted how much they wanted the love they had between them, and how much they wanted that love to create a home and a family.
They'd immediately agreed that Lydia could, and should, treat them fully as her parents, but all things took time to settle and set.
"OK," Carol agreed. "When we go up to bed, I'll read to you for a while. But, for now, you've got to read to me. Come on. You can do it. Let's start from here."
Daryl smiled to himself and closed his eyes.
Lydia began reading again. Sometimes she read smoothly, and other times she stumbled and tripped over words. Sometimes, even, her tongue seemed to fall down entirely. Carol was always there, though, to gently encourage her and offer her a hand back up. She was there with care and encouragement. She was there to celebrate the successes when they came. She would always excitedly tell Daryl, too, how wonderful Lydia was doing, and how much progress she had made, so that they could celebrate together.
Learning to read, Daryl realized, was a lot like life.
It was a struggle, at times, and other times it seemed to come simply. There were successes and failures. What mattered most of all, though, was that you didn't give up. You kept going. You kept trying to get better and improve.
And what mattered, honestly, more than anything, was that you had people on your side to help you and encourage you when you needed it and to celebrate your successes when they came.
What mattered was, really, what mattered in all things—love.
Daryl finally had an abundance of that to both get and give.
Daryl settled a little deeper into the couch cushions, his mind lulled by happiness, warmth, and the sound of Carol and Lydia's voices.
Reading, it seemed, was one of Daryl's most favorite things.