AN: Here we are, another chapter here.
I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!
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Daryl had so many things going on inside his head—so many things that he wanted to tell Carol and to ask her. As the days ticked on, though, he found himself unable to bring anything up to the surface that was inside of him. Part of him was simply afraid that bringing things up might complicate things. Bringing things up might cause hard discussions and, for the most part, Daryl wasn't interested in hard discussions at the moment.
Daryl was interested in simply being with the woman that he loved—in every possible manifestation. He was interested in hearing from her—sometimes with sleepy whispers, sometimes as her body shook with what he could physically do to it, and sometimes with the sound of a smile and a laugh behind it—that she loved him, and he was interested in telling her the same in return. It felt so good to say the words that they rolled out of Daryl in ways, and at times, that he never would have expected before. Nearly every time he saw Carol, even if she was just brushing her teeth, his mind reminded him that he loved her and, now, his mouth felt free to share that information with her. Beyond that, being wrapped in her love—so freely given, both verbally and physically—was the nicest place that Daryl had ever been before.
Still, certain thoughts and certain desires gnawed deep in Daryl's gut. He could push them down, but he couldn't keep them there forever. He did little things to calm them, but he knew that, eventually, he'd have to do more.
In the early morning of the Fall Fling Festival—which was really a day on which they would celebrate the coming winter, everything they'd accomplished this year, and everything they were anticipating in the future— Daryl took Carol out to practice with her bow. Afterwards, they'd eaten breakfast and gone back to their home for showers. They didn't fit well in the shower together, despite their best efforts, so they'd simply promised each other that showers, together, would be something that they would explore in the future, once the baby was born. Daryl took his shower first, since he was the fastest at such things, and let Carol take her time enjoying the ritual that she created surrounding bathing and dressing.
In a few days, they would be butchering a bull that wouldn't be kept alive through the winter to fill smokehouses with meat. They would be butchering a few other animals, too, that wouldn't likely live through the winter or contribute much more in their lives. Their final gift to the community would be food for the cold months. Their greenhouses were up and running, with some seedlings already in place, and they'd be moving some portable plants in there that couldn't withstand the cold, but which they didn't want to risk losing.
Daryl felt invigorated when he thought of all the hot, sweaty work that stood between him and the winter when they would spend much of their time huddling inside around crackling fireplaces with the people they loved. He had never been afraid of hard work, and this felt like work with purpose—work with great purpose.
For the Fall Fling Festival, though, Daryl wasn't dressed for work. He was wearing a fairly unstained pair of pants—all things considered—and a dark blue button-down shirt that was light enough not to irritate him, but warm enough to ward off the chill in the air. He stood on the porch and smoked a cigarette, enjoying the smell of the fires that were already burning, and waited for Carol.
When she hadn't come out in what he loosely suspected was a reasonable amount of time, Daryl wandered back inside to check on her.
In their bedroom, Carol was wearing a yellow dress that was flowy and tied with a bow just above her swollen belly. She was beautiful, and Daryl smiled at the thought, even while he was simply seeing her reflection in the large mirror that hung just above the dresser.
She smiled and turned to look at him.
"What are you doing?" She asked.
Daryl laughed to himself.
"I could ask you the same thing," he said. "I got worried you'd—slipped in the bathroom an' busted your head open or something."
Carol picked up a dress from the bed. It was similar in style to the yellow one she'd gotten, very recently, from the community items. It was white and had little pink flowers on it.
"I couldn't decide which one to wear," she said, still admiring the white and pink one like she wasn't sold on the yellow one. "They're nice little dresses. They're pretty—not for working in the gardens or…hunting. I'll pass them off to Andrea soon. It's a shame I won't have any reason to wear them. Ed didn't like for me to wear nice clothes. He didn't like to spend the money and—he said that vanity was proof that I was a cheater."
"And he's deader'n shit," Daryl offered. He walked over to her. He felt his anxiety grow, itching within him, every time she so much as mentioned Ed Peletier. Daryl reached for the pink and white dress. Carol let him have it, and he held it up in front of him before he rested it on the bed. "Pretty," he said. "Yellow's pretty, too. Of course, maybe it ain't the dresses I like all that much."
Carol's cheeks blushed pink and Daryl was pleased with himself.
"Wear the yellow," Daryl said. "Save that pink an' white one."
"Save it for what?" Carol asked with a laugh. "It's not like we have a lot of special occasions around here. I mean—we're pretty practical."
"There might be use for it," Daryl said.
His stomach churned. It ached. The anxiety that the mention of Ed caused in him was only compounded by his own concerns when he accepted that, if he was ever going to start to soothe the thoughts that came to him, randomly, while he was doing anything else, he was going to have to start somewhere.
Daryl reached his hand in his pocket. He felt the rough corner of a small plastic bag there. The bag wasn't even half the size of a playing card, and Daryl had carried it around and hidden it, here and there, for days. He'd hidden that baggie with every ounce of dedication that Merle had ever used to hide drugs.
Maybe they both had addictions—it just so happened that one of the strongest that Daryl had ever had turned out to be a woman, and everything she represented to him.
"Are you alright?" Carol asked, her earlier smile disappearing entirely. "You're—knid of pale. Do you need to sit down, Daryl?"
Daryl laughed to himself.
"No," he said, still feeling the baggie with his fingertip. "No—I don't need to sit, Carol. But—I might just need to…." He stopped a moment and used the edge of the bed to help him, ignoring the popping sounds that his knees made from too much work, recently. He knelt on one knee, and a smile spread across Carol's face before tears started to run from her eyes. "Jeez," Daryl said. "I just got down here an' you already leaking. That a good sign or a bad one?"
"What are you doing?" Carol asked, wiping at her face.
Daryl couldn't help but smile. His stomach was still tangling in knots, but he had a better feeling about things than he'd had the few times he'd let his mind run away with worst case scenarios.
"Been keepin' it a secret for a couple days," Daryl said. "But I went sortin' through the community stuff and—they ain't had no real big selection on account of they don't tend to bring in things that aren't practical, but I found this."
Daryl pulled out the baggie he'd been carrying around, split it open, and dumped the contents into his hand. He looked at it, for a second, and wished it was more—he wished it was all that she deserved. But it was all that he had, and it would have to do. He offered his palm toward Carol, and shook his head.
"I don't even have to pretend that I think it'll fit you," Daryl said. "That's what I got the chain for. Chain's steel or silver, and I'm guessin' that band is platinum. Didn't have no diamonds. No real choices."
"You got me a ring?" Carol mused.
"On a necklace," Daryl said. "I know it ain't supposed to work that way, but…Carol, I'm sorry, I gotta stand up."
Carol laughed and Daryl laughed in response. He hated to ruin the mood, but the position was uncomfortable. Carol didn't seem bothered, though. Instead she moved like she was going to help him. He wouldn't have dreamed of straining her body, at that moment, by pulling up on her. He pretended, though, to accept her help as he used the bed as leverage to stand. He readjusted the ring in his palm and held it out to her again.
"I'm tired of pretending, Carol," Daryl said. "I don't want pretend. I just want—real. I don't want to pretend we're married. I want you to really marry me."
Carol smiled at him. He reached a hand up and brushed away a few of the tears that dropped from her lower lashes. She took the ring on the chain and smiled at it.
"It's the most beautiful ring I've ever seen," she said.
Daryl laughed to himself.
"Then you ain't seen too many," Daryl said. "It's just a plain old band, Carol. There's nothin' even beautiful about it."
"It's beautiful because—I love you," Carol said. Daryl smiled to himself. The statement, really, made very little sense, but he understood the sentiment behind it perfectly. He leaned and caught her lips with his own. She gladly kissed him back, her hand going behind his head to tug at his hair.
"That mean you'll marry me?" Daryl asked.
"They think we're already married," Carol said, somewhat regretfully. Daryl shook his head.
"I been thinking about that, and that's not exactly what they think," Daryl said. "They think we kept this a secret since the quarry. Andrea was with us 'til we left the farm. She thinks it was all a secret. If we kept it a secret, then it would mean we were together, but we never got married. Not in some kind of official type way."
"And now we want to make it official," Carol supplied. Daryl nodded his head. "I don't know how they'd feel about—us being guests of honor, or something, at a gathering like this and then turning around and saying…and we want to have a wedding."
"We're tryin' to promote keepin' warm and makin' babies this winter," Daryl said. "Marriages help get people in the mood to build families—to make babies." His stomach tugged with other thoughts—other concerns that were almost always coming back to the forefront of his mind. He pushed them back for now. He could only deal with one great concern of his at a time.
Carol smiled.
"That's true," she said. "And it wouldn't be like we'd—like we'd demand a whole lot of the community."
"We wouldn't even have to do nothin' big," Daryl said. "Just—a couple of us. Together in the livin' room, if you want. You can wear your pink and white dress and…it don't have to be big. Unless you want big. I don't care, Carol. The only thing I care about is that—it's not pretend anymore."
Carol touched his cheek. She seemed to ignore the tears that dropped, every now and again, to run trails down her face and drip off her jaw if Daryl didn't catch them in time. She kissed him again—long and slow—until Daryl could barely breathe anymore.
"Please tell me that's a yes, you're gonna marry me," Daryl said.
Carol laughed to herself.
"In my heart, I already did," she offered. "But I'll certainly do it again, for everyone to see."
Daryl smiled at her. His heart pounded in his chest, and he felt a little shaky, but in the best way possible.
"Here—I want you to wear this. Please?"
He took the ring from her, and he cursed his fingers when they shook too badly for him to open the tiny clasp on the necklace. Finally, he managed to get it open, and Carol turned around, allowing him to fasten it around her neck.
"I'll find you a better ring," he said. "One that's big enough to fit on your finger."
Carol touched the ring.
"I love this one," she said. "But I'm sure—they're going to want to know about it. Why now? Why all of a sudden?"
"And I'll tell 'em that—it's a special day," Daryl said. "You said—you didn't have a baby shower with Sophia."
Carol shook her head.
"I didn't," she confirmed.
"And you didn't have a wedding ring from me," Daryl said. "So—I thought I'd give you a gift. Thought you—oughta have one. That's all they gotta know. That and…that we decided to really get married."
"To have an official ceremony," Carol said.
Daryl wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close to him. He rested his forehead against hers. The baby was clearly awake. She was probably feeling cramped. Carol said that she was beginning, especially at night, to protest, more and more, the confines of her space. Winter was coming, but so was she.
Daryl kissed Carol again.
"Save your pink an' white dress for when we get married," he said. "You look pretty as you are. I like the yellow—it's happy. But—we better head on. We don't want you to miss the party."
"Daryl?" Carol said, catching his hand and pulling him back as he started toward the bedroom door. He hummed at her in question and turned back to look at her. She smiled at him. "The color of the dress isn't the only thing that's happy about today," she offered. "I love you."
Daryl returned to her, quickly, and kissed her once more.
"I love you, too," he offered, holding her tight against him and deciding that they could be just a little late—there was always time, after all, for one more kiss.