Before she got better, Michonne had a few bad days, as she would later call them. One night, Daryl had to stand guard over her sleeping form as she called out for the children she was mourning. It had broken his heart, he had found himself praying to a God he did not think listened, about keeping his family safe.

The CDC ended up being a mix bag, but they were getting used to this. It had been burnt to the ground, but they found nearby a tomb for someone named "Baba".

"When we were waiting for Sophia to say her first words, Merle would make fun of me, asking me if I'd rather be her daddy or her papa or anything. I honestly did not care, but maybe she did. Her first word was "Baba". When she gets sick, she still calls me that instead of "Daddy", he had explained as he removed the wooden cross before the makeshift tomb.

He would gladly give his left leg to hear this little girl call him anything, even "I think I know you" would do the trick.

They had found more medicine buried in this altar to his baby's first act of defiance toward her loving uncle. Michonne had kept her antibiotic therapy going on, as her wound was getting less septic every day she was on it.

They followed the direction indicated on the love note Carol had left him, but from there it got trickier. Instead of fake tombs with goodies, they would fine carvings in trees, three beads of a necklace Carol use to wear, things like that letting them know they were on the right track.

As they set up camp near Highway 20, Michonne asked for how he had found Carol again after all those years.

"You must know by now I don't give up easily. I want to know the whole story."

"You just like making me feel uncomfortable talking about my personal life…"

"It doesn't hurt that I see you fidget and go from being proud of your family to feeling like a teen when I ask you how things happened."

"I wish you asked me where babies came from," he retorted. "At least no matter what I answered we would both be equally embarrassed in that moment."

But she had not relented.

"I told you before, I guess I'll say it again… I'm a hunter."

"Except the trail had been cold for eight years…"

"I was lucky. I really was."

That was one way to put it. One day, while riding in the car of a guy he sometimes went hunting with, he had seen her, in his neighborhood.

It had been the most random moment of his life. Of course he had often wondered where the girl from camp had gone too, and if she was alright, and sure he would have given his soul up in exchange for an update on where she was.

She was carrying groceries back to where he had supposed home was for her. As he had not been driving, he had not been able to turn the car around and go straight for her.

Instead, he had fount himself that very evening, and the following days, beating that beat, looking for her, trying to push for another lucky encounter.

He must have scared the people living there crazy as he had stalked the shadow of the woman of his past.

As he had gone up and down the streets, he had gathered there was a trailer park nearby, where women wanting to get away from abusive husbands were known to gather.

"Ouch, looking for a girl who was probably running away from all men? I have n o idea how you got your happily ever after…" Michonne jibed.

"It was complicated. I did not want to be stalking this place, but I had to know if she was staying there."

As luck would have it, while trying to stay away yet still be able to spot Carol if she happened to be getting out, he had spotted an old woman from his apartment block coming out.

Biding his time, he had waited until the next day when he had arranged for "chance" meeting to take place. She had been polite, chatting a little as she always did about whatever, obviously expecting him to run, like he always did. When he had stayed and listened, she had asked for his help with fixing the sink at her place, and while he had been stuck under the plumbery, she had kept on chatting away.

"She mentioned a niece she had set up at this particular trailer park, and told me about the terrible day when her husband had tried to come and get her to come back with him…"

"Carol was her niece?"

"Nope. She was the woman who kicked his ass for daring to show his face."

Mrs. Ragetta, his neighbor had had nothing but praise for the woman who had helped her niece. She had not been able to see the excitement of Daryl's face when she had spoken the name "Carol", as he was stuck under her sink, but it had been worth it.

With this new information, he had been able to go back to what he did best, hunting.

Also, he became the recipient of regular delivery of random pies the lady felt like cooking. It had been rad.

He had looked from afar, but with the intel Mrs. Ragetta had provided him, he was able to deduce that Carol had to be living on the east side of the trailer park. He had waited for night to be able to move quickly among the rented RVs and trailers.

He had been able to pinpoint her location, but nothing had prepared hm for when he finally set eyes on her again.

Acting like an homo sapiens wanting for more evolution, he had started standing guard in front of Carol's trailer at night, especially after he heard two women talk about her father trying to ger her back in his house. He may not have reconnected with her yet, but he would protect her to the end.

"That's a little stalkerish for my tastes…" Michonne commented.

"She liked it just fine."

And she had. One evening, as he had silently made his way toward his spot for watching over her, he had found some grilled cheese waiting for him, with a note which said:

"You may be a weirdo, but you shouldn't starve."

Michonne laughed.

He had eaten his prize, and stood guard. And again, and again. Each time there was note, each time he was called a weirdo, and each time he was ready to beg for more.

He knew that Carol had a freelance job with an antique dealer, who would give her furniture to restore. He had pieces it together, from the chemicals which sent lingered around her lot, and some invoices he saw sitting around.

He had been happy this way, not seeing her, yet knowing he made her safe.

Until one evening, she had forgotten about time and had still been working on a cupboard when he had arrived.

He had stayed in the shadows, watching the woman whom he felt he had been chasing his whole life.

Just that simple moment, watching her bite her bottom lip as she worked, the way she moved her slender figure as she brought life back into a previously sad piece of furniture, it had taken his breathe away.

She was as beautiful as he remembered her, more even, if such a thing was possible.

She wore her hair long, like she had back during that fateful summer.

She was a master at a craft. She seemed to know when to push the wood or when to hold back in order to give it a new life.

However, she had also been a master at spotting awkwardly looking men watching over her creepily as she worked.

She had lifted her head, looked straight up at him. He knew straight away when she realized who he was and how they knew each other, in a way. There had been a playful smirk on her lips, made softer by the melancholia he spotted in her eye. She never changed anything and said:

"Hey weirdo."