Before Carol, Daryl had never known sex could be like this – so slow, so intense, and so intimate. He never imagined how desperately he could want to make a woman cum, desperately enough that he could somehow manage to hold himself back even when he was this close to losing it.

Carol cried out his name and curled her fingers against his hips as she arched and bucked beneath him. He let go of the last of his restraint, groaning and shuddering over her as he spilled into her. The arms that were bracing him above her gave out as the last of his moan tore through him. Spent, he collapsed atop her, but rolled off immediately in response to her grunt of pain.

"Sorry, sorry," he muttered as he flopped onto his back beside her.

"It's okay," she said between recovering breaths. "You just hit my leg. At least I didn't pop one like you did."

He smiled. "Sure sounded like ya popped one."

"I meant a stitch."

Daryl chuckled. He patted his chest. Instead of rolling on her side and settling her head on it as she normally would have, she said, "I can't roll that way. That's my stitched leg."

It took them a moment to find a new after-sex cuddling position. She rolled onto her uninjured leg instead, away from him, and he spooned around her. There was a time when that position had made her feel trapped, but she didn't mind it anymore. She curved herself back against his naked body and nestled into it. But he forgot the scratches on her arms when he wrapped his arm around her, and after a small whimper from her, he repositioned his arm on her bare stomach, and then she lay her arm on top of his.

"This okay?" he asked.

"You're a good cuddler," she assured him.

"Pffft."

"And this is good. This way you can't see my ugly, scratched-up face."

"Stahp. Face is gorgeous."

Bob had picked four splinters out of her cheeks, and her forehead had been lightly slashed three times by spraying wood. Those small wounds had made the slow kissing during foreplay difficult. Daryl had kept wanting to cup her cheek and had been forced to resist the almost overwhelming urge. Kissing was Carol's favorite part of foreplay, too, he knew. It always got her going after just a few minutes. It might even be his favorite part now. He'd never kissed a woman the way he had Carol. He'd rarely kissed women at all, and when he had, it had always been a violent kiss, a rough precursor to the hard, faceless sex that was sure to follow.

But he savored his kisses with Carol, whether firm or feathery, quick or lingering, affectionate or sensual…it was a whole new world to him, this world of kissing, and one he had never imagined he could comfortably inhabit. He kissed her cheek now, softly, on a spot of flesh just below where a splinter had once lodged. "Beautiful," he murmured.

"It's scratched all over," she muttered.

"Adds character." He bent his head in the crook of her neck.

Carol chuckled, but Daryl barely heard it. He was already drifting off to sleep.

December 13

The scent of coffee drifted under their door as the rays of the just risen sun filtered through the open blinds of the window and pried Daryl's eyelids open with their brazen dance across the bed. Daryl eased out of bed quietly, dressed, and crept out of the room just as quietly so Carol could keep sleeping.

He found Dixon, with his crutches set aside and leaned against the counter and his weight shifted onto his one good foot, pouring himself a mug. "Headed out to hunt?" he asked as Daryl rubbed his eyes.

"Takin' the day off." Daryl wanted more time with Carol today. He'd almost lost her two days ago, and then there was a day of flurried activity to follow – a funeral and a wedding and packing and moving, and, frankly, he was beat. He wasn't seventeen anymore like Dixon, who looked physically unfazed by the work of the last two days. "Lot of shit goin' on."

"Wish I could go." Dixon nodded at his crutches. "But Bob said not to walk on it for two weeks to a month. I figure six or seven more days should do it."

He was Merle's kid all right. Beth would talk him out of walking on a sprained ankle too soon, Daryl supposed. "Yeah, well, this way you get to spend the week with your girl."

Dixon sighed. "I don't know if she wants to spend it with me. It's like I repulse her every time I try to touch her now. She's so…jumpy."

"Man tried to rape her. Cut off her shirt and bra."

Dixon's fingers curled tightly around the mug. "I know," he said angrily. "I was there. But I'm not that guy."

"Give 'er time."

"I don't know what the hell to do with my hands around her right now."

"Keep 'em on the crutches," Daryl suggested.

"It's hard. Being patient like that. I want…" Dixon laughed slightly. "I'm not trying to sound like an ass, I just…want to make out with her…a little…you know? We've barely kissed."

"Mhmhm." Waiting for Carol to be ready for sex hadn't exactly been easy, but at least he'd had some consolation in the meantime. Dixon was in a different situation. The kid was a hell of a lot more mature than Daryl had been at seventeen…maybe a hell of a lot more mature than Daryl had been seventeen weeks ago…but he was still a horny teenage boy. "Gotta decide what she's worth to ya."

"I wonder what I'm worth to her," he replied. "I mean, she picked me over Jimmy, but she only had two choices. And now she's down to one again. Maybe that's really why I didn't want to go to Woodbury. Tara said there were five guys there between the ages of fifteen and twenty. You ever think about that?"

"'Bout what?" Daryl asked.

"If you'd be with Carol if the world wasn't so short on people."

He'd thought about it. More than once. Thought what a strange thing it was that while the whole world had gone to shit, his world had improved. While everyone around him was losing everything…he'd gained three things he'd never really had - a home, a girlfriend, and a sense of purpose. Carol had asked yesterday if he ever saw the silver lining on the dark cloud. Well, that was one hell of a silver lining. "I wouldn't be," he answered.

"And that doesn't bother you?" Dixon asked.

"Can't think 'bout that shit," Daryl told him.

"I can't not think about it," Dixon replied as he took his crutches from where they were leaned and tucked them under his arms. "My last girlfriend dumped me because I was moving away and there was a whole sea of guys within a few miles of her. And that's what people do. They just move on. From one person to the next…It's what my mom did, with her boyfriends. And with my father, apparently."

Daryl looked at Dixon standing there, leaning tiredly on his crutches, and realized that even though the boy had been close to his mother, even though he'd had a loving home, he might have never felt truly settled without a father in his life, and with his mother's men in and out of it. "Your mama have a lot of boyfriends?"

Dixon shrugged. "A few. And maybe it's my fault she never settled on any of them. She was always weighing them, you know. It wasn't about what she wanted in a man. It was more about…if they'd make a good dad for me. And they always fell short on that, she thought. But maybe if she'd just let herself be happy…instead of always looking out for me…" He sighed. "It's not like any of them were bad guys. Well, I mean, there was the one. He hit me once. I was seven."

Daryl tensed.

"But just the once," Dixon continued. "She saw the bruise. I told her what happened, and then he was gone…Never saw him again. But the others. She could have just picked one. We didn't have to get along great, me and her husband. As long as she liked him and he didn't treat me like shit. But she always wanted more for me. And in the end that meant there was nothing for either of us. I loved my mother. But it got kind of lonely sometimes, just the two of us. Since she never got married, there I never had any siblings. And since she'd cut off ties with her family, because they were abusive, I didn't even have grandparents. Or aunts and uncles. Or cousins."

"Well, you got a big ass family now," Daryl told him.

Dixon smiled. "Yeah. Yeah. I guess I do. And it's going to get bigger in about forty days."

"Hell you talkin' 'bout?"

Dixon gestured with his coffee cup toward the dogs who were sleeping curled in front of the vents of the faux fireplace. "Hershel said Daisy's pregnant. I hadn't noticed yet, but he's a veterinarian. Said something about her teats…I don't know."

Daryl looked over at the dogs. "Damn," he said. "Bomb sniffin' dog and a huntin' dog…they're gonna make some bad ass puppies."

[*]

Carol began to stir when the door clicked shut. The sound of a cup coming down on the nightstand beside her roused her slightly more, and then Daryl's husky voice saying, "Coffee," woke her entirely.

She dragged herself into a sitting position against the headboard and reached for the cup. He had one in his hand as well, and he joined her in the bed with it. She blew across the top of the hot liquid and took a small sip. "That's strong," she said.

"Dixon made it. Must be how he likes it." He sipped.

"I thought you'd be gone hunting by now," she said.

"Plenty of meat in the freezer."

"That's never stopped you before," Carol noted.

"Thermometer says almost fifty out there. Might be fifty-five by afternoon. Thought uh…ya might want to go out on the lake? Drop a line. I'll pedal."

Carol's blue eyes twinkled beneath her lightly slashed brow. "Are you asking me on a date?"

Daryl shrugged.

"I should get shot at more often. You bring me coffee in the morning. I get a date."

"Didn't say it was a date. Gonna drop a line."

"Well, you better bring wine on this not-date."

"Good thing Bob didn't drink it all," Daryl muttered.

"He'd be dead if he drank it all. And I didn't mean the box wine. A good bottle. From that rich man's cellar." She took another sip of her coffee. "You didn't even know that box wine was down there, Pookie. I think you just don't like Bob because he had his hands all over my leg."

"When?" Daryl baked.

"When he was cleaning my wound."

"Oh. Yeah."

Carol chuckled. After another sip of coffee, she asked, "Are you going to make me breakfast, too?"

He nodded to her coffee cup. "Just did."

[*]

Daryl was wearing a black and red poncho from the Kingdoms of South America gift shop as he unwound the pedal boat from the dock. Carol had on a pink windbreaker with a crown on the back. It was definitely cool, but not cold. The sun was shining down on the black waters of the lake. The fishing poles lay behind the seats, along with a cooler Daryl had packed himself. Carol wasn't having to do a thing for this not-date.

Once they were settled in their seats, Daryl took the wheel and began pedaling. Carol tried not to laugh. He was right. He did look ridiculous pedaling a boat, but soon he had stopped and it coasted to a standstill in the midst of the lake. Daryl dropped a line, but Carol didn't bother. "Do you really think you're going to catch anything in mid-December?" she asked.

"Never know."

"You just want to pretend this is not a date. But the picnic basket betrays you."

"Pfft. 'S a cooler. Not a basket. Just need nourishment is all. Can't spend the afternoon fishin' without a little nourishment."

She chuckled. "Well let's go ahead and open that bottle of wine, why don't we?"

"Who said I brought one?"

"I have an inkling you might have."

"Wanna drink already? Ain't even noon."

"I got stitches," Carol said, as though that should be reason enough.

Daryl wedged his pole into place and leaned over the seat to fish the wine out of the cooler. He turned around with the bottle in his hand and just looked at it.

"What?" Carol asked.

"Forgot to pack the damn corkscrew. Be fine. Got m' Leatherman." He slid a hand under his poncho, dipped it into a pocket somewhere, and drew out a multi-tool. He pried the Leatherman open and began flipping through the small tools one by one, looking for something that would work - needle nose pliers, wire cutters, wire stripper, knife, can opener, bottle opener… Carol didn't even know what some of the things he was looking at were.

"What's that?" she asked when he'd flipped up a strangely shaped piece.

"Safety whistle," he said. "In case you get fresh with me." He put it to his mouth and blew out a loud shrill sound. Startled birds fluttered from a tree on the east side of the lake.

"That's loud."

"Kind of the point." He paged on through two more tools and settled on what looked like a tiny saw and drove it into the bottle.

"Where do you get a thing like that?"

"Looted it from the campin' store right at the start. Me and Merle filled my whole damn pick-up from that store. But then we got robbed by some bandits on the road. They didn't empty our pockets though. Didn't even take the truck 'cause they had six trucks already and only six men. Just held us at gunpoint while they emptied the bed. Got lucky."

"To be robbed?" Carol asked.

"To not be killed. Who was it said I can't see a silver lining?"

Carol chuckled.

Daryl worked the cork out, wiggling it this way and that to ease it from the neck of the bottle. It was mangled and splintered by his tiny saw when he finally got it out. He held the bottle between his knees, worked the cork off his saw, blew the bits off it, and then closed up his tool and handed it to Carol. "'S yours."

"For me?" she asked. "You'll need it more often than I will, with all the hunting."

"Pfft. Think this is the only one I got? Got another in the nightstand."

"Thank you." Carol took the gift and slipped it in a large pocket on the upper leg of her gray-green pants. "Why doesn't it have a corkscrew though? It seems to have everything else."

"Too specialized a tool." Daryl was turned backward again, holding the bottle in one hand by the neck. He handed her an empty wine glass, snagged the second, and closed the cooler before sitting forward. "Good for openin' wine bottles," he said as he poured wine into her glass. "Useless for 'bout anything else. Takes up too much space." He filled his glass next. "Can get a multi-tool that has one, but then it won't have better shit."

Daryl put the wine back in the cooler to keep it from spilling while Carol fished a small piece of cork out of her glass and wiped it off on her pants. "Got a little cork in there."

"Sayin' I ain't refined? Look at this wine I brought you! Expensive shit. 2003! That's aged like…eight years almost."

"Is that a long time for wine?" she asked.

"Hell if I know. But did you see that label? 'S got like a chateau or some shit on it. Must be expensive."

She looked at the wine in her glass, which was almost to the brim. "You're only supposed to fill it four or five ounces full, Pookie."

"You got stiches."

She smiled and raised her glass. "To our new bedroom, and our new housemates and our new farm animals."

"To Daisy bein' knocked up."

"She is?" Carol asked.

"Gonna be some bad ass little puppies in late January. Bring one to Carl for his thirteenth birthday in February, after its weaned."

Carol raised her glass again. "To the impending puppies, then. And to being done with the governor."

"To you bein' alive."

"To us," Carol concluded, and they tapped glasses, which caused the wine to slosh up and dribble over the side. Daryl licked the outside of his glass. "Charming," Carol told him. She sipped and looked out at the light ripples on the surface of the lake and the early afternoon sun dancing off them. "I guess I don't have to practice C-sections anymore."

"Ya sound almost disappointed. Were ya lookin' forward to cuttin' Lori open?"

"No. But I do want to go see the babies when they're born."

"You will. Me, you, and Soph - gonna go twice a month for trade trips. But probably gonna have to take one other person each time. Everyone's gonna want to see the place, but I ain't leavin' less 'n three fighters behind in Fun Kingdom."

Daryl apparently wasn't counting Beth, Patricia, or Hershel as fighters, though Hershel had blasted that soldier through the door. "I hope we don't lose anyone else to Woodbury when they do see it," Carol mused. "We have a lot of gardens to tend here. And if the Greenes move…they'll take the animals."

"Ain't gonna move. They'd miss out on yer cookin'."

Carol smiled. "A date and compliments. I definitely need to get shot at more often."

The boat hovered in silence for a while as they sipped their wine and watched a flock of kinglets fly overhead and come to roost in a tree beyond the lake. From their newfound branches, they sent up a sweet song. Georgia's neo-tropical birds had all flown onto their winter homes in Central and South America by now, but the kinglets were their winter guests from the north. The world had changed in many ways, and nature was not wholly unaffected – consumed or driven from its nesting grounds as it was by walker herds - but these familiar patterns remained.

Daryl got a tug on his line and handed Carol his glass. He actually managed to reel in a fish, which he tossed flopping into the cooler. "Ew," Carol said. "Don't let that touch our lunch."

"Lunch is wrapped 'n bagged. Ain't gonna hurt it." He baited and tossed again, and Carol decided to drop her line as well, since he'd had some luck. He held their glasses while she did, and then handed hers back to her when she'd lodged the rod behind her seat and sat back down again.

"What did you pack for lunch?" she asked.

"Baby corn, Vienna sausages, and Cheetos."

"Quite the romantic meal."

"Put a lot of thought into it," he said.

Carol chuckled. After they'd sipped quietly for awhile again, Daryl looking out over the lake thinking she didn't know what, Carol said, "It's crazy Glenn and Maggie are already married, isn't it?" He made an indistinct murmur that could have meant anything. "I mean, they've only been together seven weeks. We've been together longer than that."

They'd been together ten weeks, if she was counting from their first date on this very lake, though it felt like a lot longer. It felt like she'd known him since the foundation of the world…and in a way, she had. She'd met him about two weeks after this world started, when he and Merle drove into their quarry camp, Merle on his motorcycle and Daryl in that pick-up, sending the women scattering warily to the sides of their men. It was Merle who had done all the talking, and Carol only knew Daryl's name because his brother announced it. Daryl did talk some around the campfire that night. He told them he'd seen a Chupacabra once. But four days passed before he spoke a single word directly to her, which was, "Got an extra rabbit. Can't eat it 'fore it spoils. You and the girl want it?" You and the girl. He hadn't mentioned Ed.

Daryl gave her a peculiar look she couldn't quite read. Sounding a bit confused, he asked, "Wanna get married?"

Now Carol was confused. "Is that a proposal?"

"Nah. Just askin' if that's what you were hintin' at."

"Oh." She could see now how her observation might have sounded like a complaint. "Good," she quipped, "because if that were a proposal, it would have been a rather disappointing one."

"So that was what you were hintin' at?" he asked.

"I wasn't hinting at anything. I'm just surprised how fast that relationship moved. That's all."

"So you don't wanna get married?" Daryl asked.

"I didn't say I didn't want to. I just said that wasn't what I was hinting at."

"So you do wanna get married then?" Daryl asked.

"I didn't say…" Carol felt a flutter of confused excitement in her chest. "Do you want to get married?"

"Don't care."

"You don't care?"

He shrugged. "I'm here. Gonna be here. Ain't goin' nowhere. Don't matter to me if we're married or not."

She smiled. He didn't see his words as the least bit romantic, but that simply worded committed gave her a sudden sense of comfort. "Well...I'm here, too," she said. "And I'm not going anywhere."

"Know that." He smirked. "Can't pedal with those stitches."

She chuckled. "You've got me trapped on this lake. Good thing I like being with you."

They left the question dangling there, not entirely answered. Carol supposed if she did want to get married, she'd just have to say the word, and he'd go along with whatever ceremony she hobbled together. But she didn't say the word. Her first marriage had been a long, terrible mistake, and though Daryl certainly wasn't Ed, she rather liked being Miss Murphy again. And what they had here, right now, it was good. It was beautiful. And it was enough.

Carol smiled, reached out her hand, and squeezed his knee.