AN: This is just a one shot that comes from the request of someone on Tumblr.

I own nothing from The Walking Dead.

I hope you enjoy! Don't forget to let me know what you think!

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All the way to fucking Georgia.

Daryl had tracked a lot of things in his life. He was pretty good at it, too, and that was being modest. He was especially good at it if the thing that he was tracking wasn't really interested in covering its tracks—or didn't realize it was being tracked to begin with.

Still, it was a hell of a feat to track something all the way to fucking Georgia.

At least Daryl knew where he was going, so the tracking wasn't the only thing that was getting him where he needed to go. Gas stations still had maps—cracked, drying, rotting, falling to damn pieces, maps. He collected them as he went, much like his quarry probably did, and he used them to get where he was going.

He was driven by an urgency that he couldn't explain. He could practically feel it vibrating in his soul. He was at least a half a day behind his quarry, but he was desperately trying to catch up without overtaking her. He was trying to stay just far enough behind to let her make the pilgrimage that she needed to make—and he knew she needed to make it—on her own merits. She needed this, and she needed to know that she could make this trip on her own.

Something in Daryl's gut told him how important it would be to her to get there on her own—to reaffirm what they both already knew. She was a different person. She was—although not necessarily a stronger person, because she'd always been strong—more capable of a certain particular brand of survival than she'd been in a past life.

Daryl might have missed his window of opportunity to catch her, and he might have ended up really having to track her, and he may have, possibly, lost her trail entirely, had it not been for Jerry.

"She's gone, Boss," Jerry had said, shaking his head the way that someone does when they're disappointed in you. Except, at that moment, Daryl hadn't known why in the world Jerry would have any reason to feel anything about him—disappointed or otherwise.

Jerry didn't disguise his feelings of affection toward Carol. He was a friend—it wasn't like that—and Daryl appreciated the man's protectiveness. Daryl loved Carol, and he had done so, now, for just about as long as he could remember. He wasn't always the best thing for her, though, and he'd never actually gathered up the courage to tell her how the hell he felt. He appreciated knowing that someone like Jerry was looking out for her, too.

Jerry, though, seemed to somehow know about the feelings that Daryl kept to himself. Maybe Daryl was more transparent than he thought.

"She was feeling pretty messed up about something," Jerry said. "You wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you? I couldn't help but notice you just got back…"

Daryl had felt irritated, but he'd quickly recognized that he was really only irritated with himself. Jerry wasn't stupid. He'd figured out that they'd had a fight. He'd recognized that it had affected Carol negatively.

I had affected Daryl negatively, too. That's why he'd been turning the whole community upside down looking for her when he'd bumped into Jerry, who had almost seemed to be looking for him while trying to appear nonchalant by carrying around a shovel that looked pretty damn clean in a place where Daryl couldn't help but notice there weren't really any holes.

Daryl had pushed Jerry to tell him what the hell he knew and to spill that shit quickly.

"She didn't want anyone to worry," Jerry said. "And she didn't want anyone to follow her. She said she was going to Georgia and then wherever the road led her. She said there was someone she had to say goodbye to. Someone she had to apologize to. She's on foot, Daryl. If you leave now, you could catch her before she gets too far away."

Jerry had practically helped Daryl pack and, by the time Daryl had grabbed up the supplies he needed and had whistled for Dog, Jerry was handing him a small sack of food and pointing his way down the road.

Daryl hadn't actually said "thank you" to Jerry. He hadn't actually said anything. He hadn't felt sure he could, but he felt pretty sure that Jerry understood anyway.

And then he'd followed her ass all the way to fucking Georgia.

When he caught up with her, he hung back far enough to keep her unaware of his presence. He stayed close enough that he could see the smoke from her fires, and he could reach their burned-out ashes within a few hours of her letting them grow cold. He carefully guarded his own fires, keeping them low, and did his best to keep them hidden—hoping she never noticed his smoke and never realized she was being followed.

He celebrated, quietly and privately, every kill she made for food—evidenced by bones and leftover bits of meat. He congratulated her, silently, for every pile of downed Walkers she left in her wake.

She needed to do this, and she needed to do it without him.

He only hoped that, when he finally showed himself, she would have had the chance to find what she was looking for and that, maybe, she'd want to do the rest of it with him.

Things grew up. They grew wild. They grew out of control. Things changed with the years and, in some ways, they became entirely different than they'd ever been before. They became unrecognizable. And yet, somehow, and in an entirely contradictory way, they still remained the same underneath it all. If someone looked close enough—especially someone who had at least once been intimate with those very same things—they were wholly recognizable.

The farm was gone. Fire had consumed it. Nature had reclaimed it. The gravel remained—marking a way to where the farm had been—but the fences and gates had either fallen, burned, or been swallowed by kudzu and other invasive, clinging vines that were set to help Mother Nature take back what she'd once lost.

Still, it felt familiar. It felt like a part of him was there—like he'd left it there, buried in the soil.

She'd left a part of herself there, buried as deep as they'd been able to dig down that day—deep, but not quite six feet, they'd guessed, only by having Andrea stand in the hole to make sure it was over her head.

Dog—faithful beyond the measure of most men—panted as he walked along beside Daryl as they made their way toward the place that Daryl's feet simply seemed to know how to find. As they cleared some growth and the place they were seeking came fully into view, Daryl's stomach flipped and his heart drummed.

He could see her, on her knees, with her back to him.

He could see, from here, that the rocks had stayed. They'd fallen here or there from some people's stacked formations, but they'd stayed. They marked the graves that had been dug in what almost seemed like another life. She hadn't come out that day to see her daughter buried. She'd been too broken hearted, though she'd covered the feelings over with other explanations, and she hadn't felt able to face actually seeing her child's broken body go into the ground.

At least, that's what Daryl imagined.

He had left a part of himself in that hole, too. He'd left the part of himself that had somehow been sure that he could give Carol everything she wanted and needed in life. He could make things right for her.

He could give the woman he'd only just begun to love, at that moment, what she needed.

He'd buried that part of himself when he'd helped Andrea ease the small body into the hole and rest her as delicately as possible on the dirt.

She was the grave on the very end. Daryl had marked her grave with stones. He'd waited until everyone had left—waited until it was dark and he was left outside the group in the camp he'd made for himself to be as physically removed as he felt emotionally removed—and he'd marked the grave with white stones. The flower he'd made was rudimentary, at best, but it wasn't the worst rock depiction of a Cherokee Rose that anyone had ever made—if anyone had ever made such a thing before.

He'd told her it was the last grave, in case she'd ever wanted to visit it, but he hadn't told her about the flower.

He might have wanted to give her privacy for a while longer, but Dog wasn't of the same mind. The animal moved too fast for Daryl to make an effective swipe for him and stop him. Dog loved her nearly as much as Daryl did, and the second that he recognized her, he galloped in her direction and yipped for her as he reached her side and very nearly plowed her to the ground.

Daryl's stomach ached and his face felt as hot as his feet did in the overly well-worn boots that had way too many miles on them. She was surprised to see Dog, and she was even more surprised to realize that she knew him. She buried her face in his neck, and he loved on her like he'd been afraid of never seeing her again. She'd laughed at his antics, and then she'd turned and looked at Daryl.

He expected—something. He didn't expect the wide smile she'd given Dog to fall to a somewhat tight-lipped smile.

She scrambled to her feet and dusted her hands off on her dirty clothes. She turned to face Daryl, and he didn't approach her until she was on her feet and looked ready for him.

"What are you doing here?" She asked.

"Come to pay my respects," Daryl said, nodding his head toward the grave that, now, was just normal ground—nothing except the rocks marked that it had ever even been a grave.

"How'd you know I was here?" Carol asked.

Daryl smiled to himself.

"Had a gut feelin'," Daryl said.

"A gut feeling named Jerry?" Carol asked.

"He said you were comin' to Georgia and then…wherever. Had to say goodbye. Apologize to someone. I figured the rest out on my own."

"You followed me," Carol said. Daryl shrugged. "Don't try to deny it, Daryl. For a tracker and a hunter, you're not very good at keeping yourself hidden."

Daryl laughed to himself.

"You got me," he said. "What'cha want me to say?"

"You didn't think I could get here alone? You didn't think—I could take care of myself."

"Knew you could," Daryl said. "You did. That's why I hung back."

She relaxed a little. Realization washed over her. She had done it on her own. She had taken care of herself. And Daryl could have overtaken her many times, but he never did. He'd let her do what she needed to do.

"I had to say goodbye," Carol said. Daryl nodded his understanding. "I had to tell her…I was sorry."

"Sorry?"

"For not being…enough," Carol said. "If I'd been…then…who I am…maybe…"

"No," Daryl said, shaking his head. "No. Don't do that. We all grew. Learned. Had to. But if we get into that? A bunch of—if I had…? We won't get no damn where."

Carol frowned. Daryl knew it was for her hurt—the hurt that she would never be rid of—and not for anything he'd done or said.

"Come here," he said, reaching his arms out to her. She might have wanted to fight him, but she didn't have it in her at the moment. She practically toppled into his arms. He wrapped his arms around her. He closed his eyes. He felt her body against his like he had in so many different situations—hugs shared here and there, carrying her out of the tombs, helping her down from something—and, as he always did, he imagined what he'd dreamed of a thousand times. He didn't know if he'd ever hold her the way he wanted, though, for as long as he wanted.

"It isn't fair," Carol said, her voice sounded wet, like Daryl's neck felt where she'd buried her face.

"I know it ain't," Daryl said. "I know it ain't. It ain't fair. Not one damn bit. It never has been."

That seemed to be enough. She didn't seem to need to say anything else. She didn't seem to need him to say anything else. She held onto him like she'd never held onto him before, and he held her back. He would have stood there forever, holding her, if that's what she needed.

He never wanted to let her go. Not again. When she pulled away from him and mopped at her eyes with her hands, he offered her his handkerchief and she thanked him. He stepped closer to her, like he might reach out and grab her if she tried to run.

"Where you goin'?" Daryl asked. "Now?"

Carol shrugged.

"I don't know," she said. "Somewhere."

Daryl nodded his understanding. He chewed at his lip.

"There—room enough for me there? Maybe—room enough for an old ass dog?"

Carol smiled to herself as her eyes trailed after Dog who was running around them sniffing the ground in search of something to eat.

"You shouldn't be here," Carol said. "You should be—looking for her, Daryl. I only mess things up. And I don't want to cost you this. You should be looking for the love of your life."

Daryl's stomach twisted itself like invisible hands were wringing it out.

"I did," Daryl said. "I did look for her. Put everything I had into it. Made it my sole purpose until I found her."

Carol furrowed her brow at him.

"You found Leah?" Carol asked.

Daryl laughed to himself. He shook his head.

"You know—you gotta be right so damned bad that you don't never let my ass finish nothing," Daryl said. "Sometimes, it takes me a long damn time to get to things—too damn long—but I got to have that time."

"Are you getting to it now?" Carol asked raising her eyebrows, her eyes glittering with tears, still, as her lips began to form some amusement.

"I'm gettin' to it, asshole," Daryl said, swallowing back his own amusement. Something inside him fluttered like giant butterfly. "I didn't love her."

"Your note said…you knew where you belonged. You wanted her to find you."

"Because the damn woman I did love was gone," Daryl said. "And…what was gonna make her happy was me movin' on. I'd do any damn thing to make her happy…and maybe somethin' was better than just spendin' my whole damn life noticin' that she weren't there."

"The woman you loved…" Carol said.

"Still love," Daryl interrupted. "Did love. Still love. Only ever gonna love."

"Did you find her?" Carol asked.

Daryl swallowed back his smile and nodded.

"Followed her ass all the way to fuckin' Georgia," Daryl said. He couldn't read her expression perfectly, but he could tell she wasn't angry. The renewed tears came with a smile.

"Me?" Carol asked.

"Always been you. Been chasin' you…"

"You never told me," Carol said.

"You're not supposed to let your quarry know you after them," Daryl teased.

Carol laughed. She actually laughed, and it was one of the most beautiful sounds that Daryl had ever heard.

"This is one time I wish you were a terrible hunter," Carol said.

"If only I'd had the damn guts to tell you back then," Daryl said. "Back…here."

"No," Carol said. "Don't do that. If we start talking about regrets? We'll get no damn where, right? All that matters is…I love you, too. I have since you…" Carol looked over her shoulder toward the grave and used the handkerchief to wipe at her face again. "Since you…gave me a flower you found."

"I wanted to bring you more'n that," Daryl said. "Wanted to find you so damn much more."

"I know," Carol said.

"You can't run no more," Daryl said. "Because—if you run? I have to chase your ass. Catch you again. And I'm tired of running, Carol."

"Me too," Carol admitted, nodding at him.

"I don't know how this works," Daryl said after a moment, "but I always thought—maybe you'd kiss me at some point."

Carol smiled that crooked smile that usually came with some teasing. This time, though, all she said was "come here, asshole," as she pulled Daryl to her and gave him the kiss that he'd imagined for all those years.

The reality, though, was even better than the dream, and he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her against him to keep the kiss, and the connection, for as long as he could. When he pulled away, she was smiling softly at him. The smile went all the way to her eyes. Daryl dared to dream, then, that such a sight as that—her beautiful blue eyes and that kind of love-sodden smile—would be the very last sight that his own eyes ever saw…and that God would see fit to make sure that day was a long time in coming.

"Where do we go from here?" Daryl asked. "I'll follow your ass anywhere."