Chapter 10

They decided against the Harley Dealership based on distance and weather, and the idea that they needed to get home. It was still spitting snow, but more importantly the temperature continued to drop so that everything that been even a little wet froze. The roads, were slick and treacherous, and the warm feeling that had permeated the cab of the truck in the first few minutes got siphoned slowly away by muffled curses and sharp inhales. Carol was scared out of her mind in the passenger seat, her knuckles white where they gripped the door handle, but she didn't whine about it. She just held on in absolute silence, as if the slightest noise would distract him and kill them both.

Neither of them was used to the kind of weather they were having, and winter was just beginning.

When the old farmhouse finally came into view, the sun was low in the sky. Carol sighed beside him, and Daryl caught himself before he did the same. It was still here, still standing, and something strange and unfamiliar tried to take hold of him. The feeling bordered on too much, too pleasant, and he shoved it away and went back to assessing the situation. Several Walkers had found their way to the front of the house, and their heads turned toward the truck and as they approached, then step by step they started moving toward the source of the sound. Everything about them seemed eerily in unison, and Daryl wondered if the tendency to move together was left over from being people or if it was something new that came to 'em after they died. He didn't let that thought linger, either.

Something had shifted between them in that storage lot. Daryl couldn't put his finger on exactly what it was, but he knew it was more trouble than it was worth and he was going to keep ignoring it.

Carol let out a sigh beside him. "Do you think any of them made it inside?"

"Don't look like it," Daryl said. "I'll lead 'em away from the house. You go on up on the porch, but don't go in yet. After I take care of these assholes we can get the bike down. Put the truck at the front door and the bike at the back. Then we'll worry about supper."

She looked for a moment like she was going to argue, but instead she just nodded and blew out a breath. "Fine. But we're checking the house together."

Daryl nodded. "Rather take care of 'em from a distance. Any of 'em got in the house we'll be putting 'em down up close up and personal, but I don't think they got in."

The bike was a pain in the ass to get out of the back of the truck. They didn't have ramps, and the old piece of plywood that they were using wasn't a replacement by any stretch of the imagination. By the time they finished they both had skinned knuckles, the bike was on its side in the dirt, and he was ready to just be inside with the fire started.

"I'm sorry," Carol said. "I should have –"

"You done this before?" Daryl was yelling, and that would draw Walkers, but it slipped by his guard and he couldn't just suck it back in.

Her eyes flew open wide. "No. I'm –"

"Don't you say sorry one more damned time. Y'ain't got one damned thing to be sorry about. Just stop with that shit."

"Sor – "

"Shhh!"

Carol crossed her arms and just looked at him like she was waiting for something.

She probably had a bug up her ass about him yelling. He rolled his eyes at her and said, "What?"

"Nothing. We're both cold and wet, and one of us is really cranky. So lets finish this, clear the house, and then – well, we'll decide what to do after that when we get there."

She was using her 'voice of reason' tone, now. Like she was talkin' to a toddler or something.

"Ain't cranky."

"Fine. Are we going to leave it on its side, or are we going to move it to the back door so we have transportation at both exits?"

His plan hadn't involved anything beyond getting the damned thing covered with a tarp and getting out of the weather, but having transportation at both exits sounded good. "Clearin' the house first. Then I'll move shit around while you get a fire started and some coffee on."

When he saw the stockpile of supplies still stacked in the dining room, something inside of him loosened a bit. Every room they checked and found exactly as they'd left it untied a knot in one muscle or another until he stepped back outside into the frigid air feeling almost lightheaded with relief, knowing that Carol was putting on a kettle for coffee and finding something for them to eat.

He got the bike up and moved it next to the kitchen door. He covered it with a tarp, to both protect it from the weather and to keep it from shouting out that someone was there if a person happened by. Come spring, they would need to start fencing. Something close in to the house, and sturdy. Maybe plant something, if they could figure out how to do that.

Spring was a long way off, and the odds were that they would be back on the road and looking for Merle when the weather changed. Best not think too much about anything beyond the here and the now, that was a good way to get yourself killed.

Or disappointed.

By the time he'd stomped off the last vestiges of his mood and slipped in the kitchen door, the house smelled of chilli and Carol was standing in front of the fireplace. One hand was rubbing at the small of her back, and she had her head thrown back and her eyes closed. There was a tiny little smile on her face that spoke of enjoying a good stretch instead of rubbing at sore spots, and something jumped all the way up out of his chest and got caught in his throat.

He decided it must just be guilt for yelling earlier. And that he was hungry. And tired. And it felt good to be locked inside this house where they were both almost safe. The guilty/hungry/tired/kinda safe feeling pushed him further into the room and he cleared his throat before saying, "Sorry. For yellin' atcha."

The smile she gave him was soft and fond looking.

Daryl suddenly felt like he forgot something really important outside.

"That's okay. We were both on edge. Feeling better now?"

He nodded. "That chilli?"

"Yep. I doctored it with some hot sauce I found in the pantry. And we have a few stale oyster crackers."

The couch was pushed up against the wall, too far from the fireplace for the warmth to have reached it yet, so he settled himself on top of their pile of mattresses and reached for the bowl Carol was holding out in front of her.

"Better than stuff Lori called soup last night."

Her eyebrows drew together. "Well, what we had on hand had to be stretched a lot further last night."

"Shit. Didn't mean nothin' bad. Just mean you're a lot better at cookin' is all."

"Mmmm. And you don't like Lori."

Something in her voice made him feel like he'd stepped in something he didn't know was there. "Pffft. Lori don't like me none. Thinks I ain't good enough to be around her family. And she's one of them people that talks all the time whether she's got anything to say or not. I like the quiet, and she's got to fill it up ever' chance she gets. Suppose I like her just fine where I don't gotta listen to her. Ain't like I'm hopin' a Walker'll have himself a nibble or anything."

She was staring at him. "I think that's the most I've ever heard you say about anybody."

"You asked! Besides, weren't puttin' down your friend. Know you like her. You're still a hell of a lot better cook than her, though."

"Thank you," Carol said, grinning. "I think."

They finished the meal in the kind of quiet that Daryl liked. The kind of quiet that just was, where there wasn't the feeling that one or the other was out of sorts. It was comfortable.

They'd gotten into a habit of either playin' one of her word games, or making up signs and signals for different things and drilling each other on them before settling in for the night, but they were late getting back and it was already beginning to fall dark.

Daryl cleared his throat. "Was thinkin', maybe we don't have to have anybody on watch tonight. Snow's pickin' back up. Ain't nobody in their right mind ain't already found a place to hunker down. Door's are all locked. We can move a couple things, barricade 'em good, and both of us can sleep."

Carol hummed. "I did like sleeping all night."

Daryl nodded. "That's the plan, then. Not all the time. But tonight."

"Sure, um…"

"Can share blankets, too. It's colder than shit in here still." The fire was warm, and the food in his stomach was warmer, but he said it anyway.

Anyway, Carol was nodding as she carried their coffee cups back toward the kitchen. She didn't call him on his exaggeration while they were moving furniture around in front of the doors. She didn't mention that the fireplace had warmed the whole room as they settled down on the mattresses and pulled the blankets over them. And best of all, she didn't take it to be anything it wasn't. She didn't get all huffy and accuse him of making a pass. Instead, she just patted his arm a couple of times before saying goodnight. He curled up on his side, his back to her, and listened to the soft sound of her breathing.

Hours later, long after he thought she drifted off, he heard her whisper, "Merry Christmas" at him.

That must it then, he figured. The reason everything had felt so strange all evening. It was Christmas Eve night, or close enough to it. How messed up was it that it was probably the best one he ever had?

"In the mornin'? You want? I can cut down a tree."

She snorted. "We can bring in a tree's worth of firewood and call it even."

"We're gonna be fine, Carol," he whispered back. "We got enough of everything to still be right here come Spring."

"Yeah. I think so, too."