AN: Here we are, another chapter here.
I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!
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Daryl sent Carol to shower while he stopped by the storage areas for a few "things" to help entertain them. Carol had left him to his "shopping" and had only made the request that he grab her a book or two to pass any quiet hours she had at night, when her daughter seemed to prefer that she didn't sleep. She'd taken her time showering at the house and she'd started a fire in the fireplace while she'd waited on Daryl to make it back to the house.
Carol had picked up a few items of clothing from one of the storage areas and she slipped into some gray yoga pants and a loose shirt that was less revealing than the nightgown that Andrea had given her. It was perfect for lounging and she curled up on the couch in the living room to wait for Daryl.
Just thinking about the fact that he was coming back to the house made her insides practically shake with nervousness. Not only was he returning to the house—the house they called their house—but he was coming back to spend the evening with her. He wanted a quiet evening. He wanted a nice, quiet evening at home. The thought kept running through her mind almost obsessively. Every time she turned her attention to something else, the thought came racing back.
Carol was almost afraid that she'd fall short of his expectation and, yet, she had no idea what his expectation might be.
There was very little with which she could think to distract herself, so she was grateful when she heard the bumping around outside that told her Daryl was coming up the porch steps. She hit her feet as quickly as she could and opened the door to try to help him. He smiled at her, briefly, before he pushed past her and stepped inside.
In his right hand, he carried a pot that swung from a metal handle. The lid of it was flipped over—wrong-side up—and there was something packed into the lid. In his left hand, he held the end of a sack that he carried slung over his shoulder. It made him look like some kind of redneck version of Santa Clause.
"What is all this?" Carol mused as Daryl put down the sack he'd brought and thrust the pot out to in her direction. Immediately upon taking it, she realized that the something bundled into the lid of the pot was bread wrapped in cloth napkins.
"Picked up some stuff," Daryl said. "Got supper while I was out. They just give me the pot. Said that oughta be enough, but we can go back for more if we need it. There weren't no dessert, but I did get some snacks. They in the bag."
Carol laughed to herself.
"This should be plenty," she said. "Why don't you—go take a shower? Since we're not going out anymore tonight? I'll warm this up while you're gone and we can have an early meal before we…well…before we figure out what we want to do?"
"Alright," Daryl agreed. "Alright…just—don't open the bag. I wanna show you what I got."
"I won't open it," Carol said. She teasingly dragged her finger across her chest in a large and looping "X." "Cross my heart. I'll just warm up the food while you're gone. I can't wait to see what you got."
"It ain't nothin'," Daryl said, immediately looking a little embarrassed for the flitting moment of enthusiasm he'd shown over his bag full of items."
"I want to see it," Carol assured him, sensing that he needed some urging more than he needed teasing or anything else. She smiled at him. "I'll warm up the food and—you enjoy your shower. No peeking. I promise."
Daryl nodded at her and a smile flitted across his lips for half a second before he disappeared to the bedroom to take a shower. Carol stayed where she was for a short time after Daryl left the room. She closed her eyes to simply enjoy the sensations of the moment. This was her house—her home now—and it was comfortable and safe. The baby she carried was still and, she assumed, sleeping from her earlier acrobatics. The man that she cared so much for was taking a shower and looking forward to a quiet, relaxing evening with her. If she played her cards right with him—was it too early to think how wonderful things could be?
Was it too ridiculous to imagine some happily ever after, which she'd imagined once before, actually coming true? Could she find happiness with Daryl instead of having her dreams shattered for her once again?
Carol laughed to herself when she imagined how Daryl might react to the fact that she was really good at letting her imagination run away from her. Even if he was interested in such a serious relationship with her, he wouldn't be interested in it so soon, and she would only scare him away to tell him all the things she could dream up to share with him in a world where they were wholly committed to one another.
Carol took the food that Daryl had given her, and she carried it into the kitchen. She tested the eye on the stove and found that the whole house was connected, apparently, to the grid. The eye heated and she placed the pot of stew over it. She rummaged around the kitchen until she found a pan that she considered suitable, and she laid the bread pieces out over the pan and turned the oven on to heat. She would toast them slightly so that they'd be warm for dinner.
Carol wiped down plates that she pulled from the cabinets to ensure they were clean, and she set the table with plates, spoons, and some cloth napkins she found in a drawer. For an added touch, she brought two candles from the living room and, lighting them, she placed them in the middle of the table. Maybe it was a bit much, and Carol laughed to herself when she imagined Daryl having something to say about them, but she thought it was better than the harsh overhead lighting or the somewhat distant light on the hood above the stove.
She was stirring the stew, heating it on low heat to keep it from burning and to make sure it was heated evenly, when she heard Daryl's heavy footsteps. He was wearing his boots. She reminded herself that she might ask him if he'd like some lighter shoes to wear around the house and out to the porch or the wood pile. For tonight, though, he was wearing his boots. There was a certain sound to his footfalls that she'd learned to identify already. He shuffled slightly when he walked.
With her back still to him, she smiled to herself. He stopped by the table. She heard the sound of something move. He must have touched a place setting. She knew that about him, too, even if she never told him all the things she'd observed—he was extremely tactile. He liked to touch things.
He thought he was the only observant one, sometimes, but Carol had seen plenty about him—and she liked most of what she saw.
He shuffled further into the kitchen. He stopped. Without warning, arms encircled her from behind her and wrapped around her. He fit his body to hers. He pressed lips to the back of her neck and a jolt of electricity shot through Carol. Her body begged her for more kisses from the man who was holding her so tenderly.
Once upon a time in what seemed like a very distant land, Carol would have been very uncomfortable to have a man walk up behind her and grab her. Her heart would have beat wildly for a very different reason than the reason for which it was dancing now.
Instead of treating her as Ed might have if he'd walked up behind her in such a way, Daryl rested his head on her shoulder.
"This alright?" He asked. The way in which he asked it made the question appear a thousand times more tender than the actual question was. Carol smiled to herself when her stomach fluttered in response.
"You can touch me whenever you like," she offered. "However you like. And, if for some reason I don't like it, I'll tell you."
He moved his head to kiss the back of her neck again. She felt the gentle scrape of his teeth, suddenly, as he nipped the skin of her neck. Her breathing picked up. She was accustomed to being quiet—Ed had trained her to be as quiet as possible about all things so she never alerted anyone to what was happening. She allowed herself, though, to moan her pleasure at Daryl's testing. One of the hands encircling her just below her breasts dropped down and found her belly. Daryl rubbed her belly. He massaged it, gently, under his fingertips. Carol forgot that she was supposed to be tending stew. She leaned back into him and rewarded him with another moan of satisfaction. She could hear him breathing heavier. She could feel his breath as it blew against the crook of her neck and her collarbone. She could feel the slightly sharp bite of his teeth as he nibbled his way down her neck and across the tender skin of her shoulder. The wandering hand worked its way down her belly, crawling carefully over the curves set by her growing daughter, and it threatened to travel lower. Carol's whole body burned in anticipation of the rest of the journey.
But then Daryl stopped.
He placed one final gentle kiss on the back of Carol's neck. He pulled away from her. He untangled them where they'd practically become one person in the kitchen. He stepped back a few steps and when Carol looked at him over her shoulder, he was panting and running his fingers through wet hair. He lit a cigarette unapologetically and examined a glass that someone—probably T-Dog—had left on the counter.
Carol's body was still buzzing with anticipation. She could still feel the slightly rough hold of his fingers on her skin and the residual burn of a few bites that had been, perhaps, harder than he'd meant for them to be.
She stirred the stew that was beginning to bubble in the pot and backed up to gather up the pan with the carefully arranged bread pieces. She slipped it into the oven and then she turned to fully face Daryl.
"Did I do something wrong?" She asked.
"What?" Daryl asked.
"You stopped," Carol said. "Did I—was it me? Did I do something wrong?"
"You didn't do nothin' wrong," Daryl said. "I was just—I just wanted to—you know…hell, I don't even know. I just wanted to…do that."
Carol smiled at him. It was the sincerest explanation of what he'd done that anyone could possibly give.
"I liked it," Carol said.
"Me too," he agreed.
"But, why did you stop?" Carol asked.
Daryl shrugged his shoulders.
"You're makin' dinner and—we had a whole thing planned. Dinner and I was gonna tell you about…Merle and this place here. I saw T down at the storage place and he was with Michonne gettin' stuff they got sent after. She was askin' about the baby and…I put in a good word for him, you know? Uncle T an' we couldn't do without him and all that. Seemed like that got her attention a little. I don't figure he'll be back any time soon. Thought we'd have dinner and…you know…get to know each other? I don't know what you're supposed to do on quiet evenings at home."
Carol smiled at him. He was going quite red in the face and if she let him go too long, she worried that he might embarrass himself. She had a gut feeling, too, that he might react in anger if he got embarrassed, and she wanted neither of those emotions for him at this moment.
She stepped toward him and stopped his verbal worrying with a kiss. He deepened the kiss and wrapped his arms around her again. Immediately, her body responded to the renewed touch and she pressed closer against him for a second before she forced herself to pull away.
"We'll have dinner," she said. "You'll tell me about everything you want to tell me about. You'll show me what you got and we'll…we can do whatever you want. There are no rules, that I'm aware of, for a quiet evening at home. It's whatever you want."
"What about what you want?" Daryl asked.
Carol smiled at him and cocked her eyebrow at him.
"What I want is to spend the evening with you," Carol said. "Whatever that ends up looking like. And then? When we're ready? You'll take me to bed." Her heart thundered over the fact that she had dared to be so direct with him. He looked a little shocked, but he looked pleased, too.
"You mean—like that…?" He asked.
Carol smiled.
"I mean however you want," Carol said. She laughed to herself. "But—I hope it's like that."