AN: Here we are, another chapter here.
I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!
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Daryl's heart hadn't stopped beating hard since Carol had asked him to imagine that everything they'd been living, since arriving at the community, wasn't fantasy at all. He could feel something of an irregularity in the beats as his chest slightly ached, adapting to the fact that he might spend a significant amount of time running on adrenaline.
He was embarrassingly afraid that it was all a dream. He was afraid that he wouldn't know what to do with it if it were real. He was afraid that it would take less than twenty-four hours of fantasy-turned-reality before Carol was ready to abandon ship.
He was so nervous that he could feel the involuntary tightening of muscles in his hands and fingers, and they trembled slightly.
He never expected that a woman of Carol's delicate size and stature could unnerve him quite so completely.
But if she noticed his fear, she didn't mention it. And he repaid the favor by not mentioning the slightly wild look that had crept it in around her eyes—a look that made it seem like she was afraid that something would jump out of somewhere and knock her to the ground.
If she could feel his trembling when he put his arm around her, she didn't mention it. She let him walk with her, hugged to him, to the main cabin where they were served meals.
Daryl didn't know how to be a good husband. The only real images of good husbands that he had were those that came from television shows and movies—most of them old—that he'd seen whenever he and Merle had television. Those images, realistically, weren't very reliable. Their problems were wrapped up in two hours at the most, and their moments were always big moments. They weren't small moments—they didn't teach him how to take his wife to breakfast every day.
All that he'd ever seen in his real life were examples, really, of what the hell he shouldn't be as a husband. His father had taught him everything he never wanted to do to a woman or to children. Ed Peletier had taught him what cruelty toward Carol and her child would look like. He knew what breaking people looked like—physically and emotionally. He knew what oppression, threats, and brutality looked like in real life. He knew, from watching the outside of Rick and Shane's little situation with Lori, what insecurity and jealousy looked like.
He was limited, though, on what tenderness really looked like—and he felt, in his gut, that he wanted that most of all. He wanted to experience it himself, and he wanted Carol to experience it.
But he wasn't even sure, yet, what this relationship was. He wasn't sure what they would call themselves when nobody was listening. Was Carol prepared to be married to him? It seemed so final when she didn't even know what he had to offer—or didn't have to offer. She couldn't truly fathom the train wreck that he could be because he'd never allowed anyone to see it all—not even his brother.
At the moment, though, she didn't seem too scared of what he didn't have to offer or the damage that he would bring to the table. At the moment, she seemed a little timid, but Daryl got the distinct feeling that it wasn't his presence that she feared.
At the door, he opened the door for Carol to pass inside. That was what a gentleman would do, and he intended to do his best to be a gentleman. She deserved that, after all. There were people already eating lunch. They were at the late end of things, from the looks of it. Some people were starting to leave. Still, others were clearly just settling down, so Daryl doubted they'd inconvenience those preparing and serving the food too much. Daryl scanned the room for familiar faces, but he knew nobody in the main room of the mess hall area. They knew relatively few people in the community with more than a quick and passing knowledge, so it wasn't really any great surprise that they wouldn't know anybody gathered there.
Daryl gestured to a table by the window—happy with the idea of sunlight and a chance to see out while they ate—and Carol followed his suggestion silently. He was already half seated, and Carol was entirely in her seat, when it dawned on him that a gentleman—if that was truly what he was going to aspire to be—would have pulled his wife's chair out for her to sit. He stood, his body almost acting outside of his control, to remedy the situation. He had straightened before he realized what he was doing and came to terms with the fact that there was no way to fix this except for to ask Carol to stand again so that he could pull her chair out—and that was a waste of energy. He felt his face run warm as he sat again and he fought the instinct to simply leave the room and seek some fresh air.
Across the table, Carol looked at him with a furrowed brow.
"Is everything—OK?" She asked. She sounded like she feared the answer and the slight quiver in her voice untangled a few of the knots in his chest.
Daryl cleared his throat.
"I wanted to pull your chair out," he said.
"Oh," Carol said. She immediately started to stand, stammering out her apology. "I'm—sorry. I didn't' realize…" Daryl reached across the table and caught her hand to stop her before she'd gotten to her feet.
"It's OK," he said. "Sit. I didn't think about it until you were sitting. I just—I know I shoulda…you know…pulled it out. Your chair, I mean. Jesus..."
Carol giggled quietly, a full smile taking over her face, and Daryl's heart changed its rhythm and his stomach fluttered. He was more thankful for her laughing at him than he could have voiced. She reached her hand over and touched his hand.
"You're really—nervous," she said quietly.
"Stop it," Daryl said. He shook his head at her.
"No," Carol said. "It's OK. I'm—nervous, too."
"Stop," Daryl said, looking around. Nobody was paying them any attention. Even the three people who were serving and refilling things hadn't gotten to them yet.
Carol continued to smile at him. He told her to stop, but honestly, he wasn't fully feeling his own command. He liked the smile and he didn't really mind the gentle teasing. At least it was a distraction from the anxiety that had been chewing up his stomach lining.
"It's OK," she assured him softly.
Daryl chewed his lip. He pulled his hand back and scratched at a place on the table where the fake wood grain had chipped and was starting to peel. He scratched it, widening the spot.
"I don't know what—I ought to do. I know what I want to do, but not really... I wanted to pull your chair out. I didn't think about it, though, until you sat down."
Carol giggled again, but she covered it over by putting her hand over her face. Then she relaxed into supporting her face in her hand with her elbow propped on the table. She looked around them, every bit as aware as Daryl was that they were surrounded by people, yet still quite by themselves. They didn't know these people yet, and these people didn't know them. They shot glances at them and tried to read them. They tried to decide if they wanted to know them and how they might go about crossing the line to meet them. But, for just a moment, nobody on either side of the divide was attempting to cross that line. They focused, instead, on their meals and the people in front of them.
"I lived for almost fifteen years with a man who didn't pull my chair out," Carol offered.
"You'll understand if I say that ain't exactly who I strive to emulate," Daryl muttered.
"Emulate," Carol mused. She narrowed her eyes and smiled at Daryl when he narrowed his eyes at her. "Fancy word," she offered, pursing her lips slightly at him afterwards in an attempt to hold back her smile.
"I can read," Daryl said. "I'm literate—there's another fancy word for you."
Carol laughed.
"I know you can," Carol said with a sigh. "You're one of the smartest people I've ever known. So—you'll also know that I was teasing." Very suddenly her expression went quite serious. "Or—am I not allowed to tease you?"
"No—you are, I mean. I just…wanna make sure you know…"
Carol smiled at him.
"That you're one of the smartest people I've ever known? I know…"
They were interrupted when one of the serving people—a young man—stepped up to the table and offered them two glasses and a pitcher of water. Daryl almost welcomed the interruption because it would change the subject and too much praise had a way of making him uncomfortable.
"What's on the menu?" Daryl asked.
"Deer roast," the young man offered. "It's real good."
"Sounds good," Carol said. She sat back in her chair and laughed to herself, rubbing her hand over her belly. "Just the mention made my stomach growl."
"I know we're all equal here and—there ain't no favorites," Daryl offered to the boy before he could go trotting off to finish the job that was likely assigned to him, "but—you can prob'ly see she's got a kid and…well…that mighta been the deer I shot this mornin' when I was out with my brother…so can you maybe make sure she gets like a good helpin'?"
"Daryl…" Carol offered.
The boy cut her off, though. He smiled and laughed to himself. Maybe he'd been nervous that Daryl was going to ask him something he couldn't do, because he looked relieved.
"You're Mr. Dixon's brother," the boy offered. Daryl felt a little taken aback to hear his brother spoken of in such a respectful manner. Daryl nodded.
"I'm Merle's brother," Daryl said. "Daryl."
"Mr. Dixon, too, I guess," the boy offered. Daryl nodded his head and the boy smiled at Carol. "No worries. Mrs. Dixon will get a good helping. It's standard practice. The mamas-to-be get as much as they can eat. And—thanks for the deer. It would have been rabbit again if you hadn't brought it in."
"Thanks," Daryl stammered. "And—you're welcome. Gotta eat."
Carol offered a thanks as well before the boy went off to continue his work. When Daryl looked back at Carol, she was smiling at him.
"Everyone appreciates your deer," she said.
"Everyone appreciates food," Daryl said. "Did it—bother you?"
"That you asked about the food?" Carol asked.
"No," Daryl said. "I mean—yeah, that too. But—that he called you Mrs. Dixon?"
"I don't want to be Lori," Carol said, "taking food from everyone else."
"It ain't like that," Daryl said. "That deer I got? Weighed easy a hundred and twenty or thirty pounds. Oughta go around a bit."
"Even our group before could tear a deer apart," Carol offered. "And it seemed like—we'd still end up coming up short. Going without."
"All we was eatin' was the deer most the time," Daryl said. "Nothin' else to stretch it. We don't gotta live on meat alone here. Don't worry—askin' that you get a full plate ain't gonna starve this place into the ground. You seen them gardens and the greenhouses."
"I kind of liked it," Carol said after a beat of silence.
"Me askin' for food?" Daryl asked, furrowing his brow at her.
"Yes and no," Carol said. "Being called Mrs. Dixon. I kind of liked it. Did it—bother you?"
Daryl's stomach fluttered as he thought about it. The words had made his stomach do the odd little dance, but he'd liked hearing them. He only wished they were actually true. He thought about telling Carol that, but he honestly felt like it was too much to say at the moment. It was too much, too soon, especially when he still hadn't learned to remember things like pulling out a chair.
He would tell her later. It would keep for a while.
For now, she only needed to know that he didn't mind the words—not that he ached for them to be true.
"I didn't mind it," Daryl offered. "Liked it."
"Excuse me…"
Daryl jumped. They hadn't said anything that the girl who appeared at their table could have understood—at least not in the amount of time that she would have been standing there, especially since she'd been flitting around the room at the speed of a hummingbird earlier. Still, he felt a slight feeling of embarrassment that anyone might approach them while he was having such deep thoughts—even if Carol wasn't fully aware of them.
He sat back, and Carol did too, so as to not crowd the small table. The girl put their deep bowls down and said she hoped they had a good meal. As she stepped away, their thanks had barely dissipated into the air when her helper appeared and dropped a basket of thick bread slices on the table with the same offer of wishes for a good meal before she darted away after her work companion.
"Enjoy it," Daryl said. He cleared his throat and unrolled his silverware from the cloth napkin it was bound in. He pushed the bread basket toward Carol. "Eat it all. She—uh—she needs it. You gotta eat it."
Carol smiled to herself. She unrolled her own silverware and she tasted the food. She gave a satisfied hum and Daryl watched her a moment before he even tasted his own food.
"Good?" He asked.
"You aren't going to eat it?" Carol asked.
"Yeah," Daryl said, dipping his spoon into the food that looked much like deer meat stew. It was loaded with meat and vegetables and served over rice. It smelled incredible. He was honest, though, when he looked back at Carol and smiled to himself to find her watching him. "I'd almost rather watch you eat it, though," he admitted. He cleared his throat again. It kept feeling like it was scratchy and closing up. "I weren't lyin', though. I don't know what the hell I'm doin'…"
"I liked it," Carol said. "When you ordered the food. I liked it, too, when you—ordered for me and you…fed me."
Daryl's face ran warm again. The air, he was certain, was somehow not as oxygen rich as it should have been. Maybe it was the mountain air. Maybe it was thin at this altitude and at this time of year. It was plaguing him this day, in particular, and he was finding it difficult to breathe.
"You liked it?"
Carol hummed in response and chewed more of her food.
"Made me feel—provided for," Carol said. "Cared for."
Her cheeks were pink with her admission. Daryl didn't expect the sensation that ran through his body, though. He didn't expect to feel everywhere from his chest to his dick. The aforementioned organ seemed to have a particular interest, all of a sudden, in providing things. Daryl shifted and did his best to ignore it.
He wanted her to feel everything good—and the organ reminded him how much he truly wanted her to feel everything—and he wanted to be the one to create those feelings for her. Just imaging her feeling all good things, really, filled him with more sensations than he'd ever felt before.
He didn't know how to tell her all that, though. He didn't know how to say everything he wanted to make her feel—everything he wanted to watch her feel. Maybe he'd find the words for it later.
Instead, he reached his hand across the table and took the spoon from her hand. She looked at him, surprised, but she relinquished the object. He dipped it into her bowl and fished around until he was pleased with the balance of vegetables and meat on the dripping spoon. And then he offered it to her.
She looked around nervously. She smiled to herself.
"There are people in here," Carol said, her voice lower than before. "They might be watching."
Daryl pushed the spoon toward her.
"All they gonna see is…" He hesitated a second. Then, he decided to press on. "All they gonna see is Mr. Dixon offerin' Mrs. Dixon a bite to eat. Feedin'…feedin' my wife. My…your…the baby. Providing."
Daryl didn't know if Carol was finding the air as difficult to breathe as he was, but she accepted the spoon full of food and gave a satisfied smile as she chewed it. The feelings ran around inside Daryl's body, the same as before, hitting what felt like every nerve ending in his body and waking them up.
Maybe he'd find words to tell her everything he felt later, but for now they would keep.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw someone looking at them. He saw a smile on the woman's face. He swallowed and did his best to ignore the presence of those around them. He focused, instead, on Carol's pink cheeks and half-crooked smile.
He dipped the spoon in the bowl again and fished until he was pleased with the distribution of meat and vegetables.
This time, she didn't protest at all. Instead, smiling as she chewed through her own food, she took his spoon.
Daryl laughed at her.
"What?" She asked. "What's good for me—might be good for you."
"Stop," Daryl warned, pushing another spoonful of stew toward her. "Put this in your mouth…"
"That might be good for you, too," she teased, crooking her eyebrow at him, her voice barely a whisper.
"Stop," Daryl warned again. He knew it hadn't been loud enough for anyone else to hear them. Still, he couldn't pretend that the whole of his body hadn't heard her, and her somewhat devilish smile told him that his body's reaction to the words wasn't exactly a secret.