Carol's eyelids are pulled up with the rising sun. Daryl lies on his back in the infirmary bed next to hers, but he has his head turned toward her, and his eyes are open. He's looking at her in a strange way. Almost sadly.
"Hey," she says quietly. "You're still alive." She slides out of her bed and walks over to the controls on his. "Want this up?" She figures he probably feels vulnerable lying so flat on his back.
"All the damn way."
She adjust the bed until he's in an upright sitting position. He winces repeatedly as she does it. "Bob says you need to stay here and continue to be monitored for three days before I can safely move you back to camp."
"I ain't staying here for three days!" He twists sideways to mess with the rail of the bed, which clatters as he collapses it.
"Stop! You've been shot! You can't just get up and stroll out of here. And you're going to need more blood."
"Fucking ridiculous. Feel fine. Just hurts a little is all." He begins to swing himself out of bed and then groans, grabs at the dressing that is now affixed over the stitches on his chest, and falls back. "Fuck that hurts!" The monitor beeps rapidly.
"Just stay still! You need to heal."
"Yeah," he breathes. "Maybe so. Feel dizzy."
She swings his legs, which are half off the bed, back up on it and readjusts his sheet halfway up over his chest, which she take a second to admire. The monitor eases back to a normal pace, and he lets his hands slip to his sides.
"Dr. S can take your stitches out in twelve days," she tells him as she sits in the chair by his bedside. "Back at Copper Creek. Bob says no heavy lifting for six weeks, no firing a crossbow, no firing a gun. So that means no hunting. How will that affect you, ration wise?"
"There's ninety percent disability for four weeks."
"And that means…?"
"Four weeks of light duty at ninety percent of your regular rations."
"And the other two weeks?"
"Four week's fine. I sure as shit ain't waiting six weeks to hunt again."
Carol doesn't argue. She supposes it's a miracle he's even willing to wait four.
"Can probably check m'traps in the meantime at least."
"You can't reset them," she says. "Doesn't that take muscle?"
"Some of 'em do. Some don't."
"Maybe I could go with you and you could teach me how to reset them?"
He turns his head and looks at her curiously. "That mean you're staying at Copper Creek? 'Stead of moving here?"
"I want to stay at Copper Creek, but I do have to consider what Sophia wants." And whether or not Jefe will let her stay. Jefe's going to be pissed that her best hunter is laid up for weeks, and she might blame Carol for it. "I'll talk to Sophia about that when I go back today."
"Going back today?"
"I have to. Sophia will be so worried if we don't come back when we said we would. Jefe will be worried about you, too. She might even send a search party. And, also, I thought I'd bring Sophia back here to see all her old friends. And then we can all three go back together when you're discharged." If Jefe hasn't kicked me out, she thinks.
"You ain't going alone to fetch Sophia."
"You can't move. You can't be riding around in a jerky truck right now."
"Carol, we just got jumped. In case you ain't noticed, got a bullet in my chest! Ain't safe out there. Even I don't go supply running without a backup. Most of the time."
"Oscar did offer to escort me," Carol says. "But I didn't how you'd feel about me taking a stranger to Copper Creek, especially one who ransomed Garrison."
"You don't trust 'em? Thought these people were your friends."
"Some of them are. And I really don't think Oscar means us ill. He was angling for information, but any good leader would. He was also talking about wanting to meet Jefe, make amends, establish an alliance going forward for trade and exchange of information. You think she'd be willing to do something like that?"
"If she thinks it's in the interest of Copper Creek."
"Maybe I should take Glenn instead," Carol muses. "He's much more likeable."
"Nah. Likeable ain't what works with Jefe. Met Oscar when we made that exchange. Cool, collected asshole. Looks and acts like he don't take shit. He'll do."
"So should I accept his offer?" Carol asks.
"Hell, I'd feel better if you did. Think he'd be good backup on the road."
"Then I will."
Daryl raises his thumb to his mouth and chews on his hangnail, as if he's nervous about something. Finally, he lets his hand fall. "Listen," he murmurs, "maybe it'd best you moved here after all. To be with your friends."
"What?" she asks. "Why?" Her voice cracks with the question. The suggestion is so unexpected.
"'Cause you don't need me no more."
"We've established that. I thought I made it clear that kiss wasn't about need for me."
"But I can't be what you want, Carol. You and Sophia can always stay in m'cottage if you need to. Love having y'all there. And I liked the kiss. Hell, I like you. A lot. But you oughtta know something."
"What's that?"
"I ain't boyfriend material."
"Daryl, in the last two weeks, you've brought me flowers, complimented my cooking every single time you ate it, comforted me when I was upset, and took me furniture shopping just because I said I didn't like the loveseat. That's more than ever Ed did in fifteen years of marriage."
"Well that's the problem," he says. "You're comparing me to Ed. Ain't exactly a high bar."
"I'm not just comparing you to Ed. I had other boyfriends before Ed. I just never had sex with them. But I'm not comparing you to any of them either. I just like you."
"You know how many girlfriends I've had?" Daryl doesn't wait for an answer. "None. 'Cause 'm broken, Carol. 'M fucked up and I ain't no good for you or any woman."
"Why are you saying this?" she asks. "That's your father talking. Don't listen to him! Listen to that book you read. Or to Dr. Eastman. Or to me. You're not broken!"
"Not entirely," he murmurs. "I'm good for something. Good for putting food on the table. Supply running. Defending the camp. I can put a safe roof over your girl's head and meat in your belly. That's what I can do. That's all I can do. I sure as shit can't give you a denim dream."
"Daryl, those books are just fantasy. I don't really expect life to be – "
"- You said you never had good sex in your life. That's what you told me."
"Yes. That's true," she admits.
"Well, you deserve to have it. And it ain't gonna be with me. Should try Garrison."
Carol scoffs. A couple days ago, he was steering her away from Garrison. "You told me he might have the clap."
"Probably doesn't. Bonnie insisted Merle use condoms. I ain't even sure Garrison's fucked Bonnie. I was just talking shit. But, fine, then Ryan."
"You said Ryan looks like a cueball."
"Yeah, but it's 'cause he looks like a cueball he's probably had to perfect his skill, right?"
Despite how upset she is, Carol laughs. "I don't want to have sex with Ryan!"
"Then Cody."
"Cody's sweet and I like him as a friend, but, Daryl, mentally, he's somewhat like a child, and it wouldn't feel right."
"Then Glenn. What about this Glenn guy?"
"He's married."
"Then Oscar. Hey, they say once you go black, you never – "
"-Daryl! Stop! What is this?"
Daryl sighs.
She scoots her chair closer and takes his hand. He lets her, but he doesn't squeeze back when she squeezes. "What's this really about?" she asks softly. "I can take no for an answer. And you don't owe me an explanation if you don't want to take this anywhere. So if you say this is the end of the discussion, we'll end it right now. But I sure do wish you would just talk to me."
He swallows. "Gonna tell you something," he mutters, and he slides his hand out of hers and lays it on his stomach. "When I said I ain't never had a girlfriend, I don't mean I'm a virgin."
"Okay." She waits for him to continue.
He breathes out heavily before he does. "Merle'd pick up a woman for me on occasion. I did what was expected of me. They were willing, and I liked the way it felt, but I didn't like it at the same time. I got off, but I don't think any of those women ever did. I always felt so damn guilty and dirty 'bout it the whole time, so I made it quick, always quick, and I left as soon as it was done – went for a smoke, whatever excuse I could make. It was like I was scratching an itch that needed to be scratched, but then making it bleed. None of 'em ever came back for seconds. And that's why I never had a girlfriend. Because I'm a terrible fuck."
"Why did you feel that way, do you think?" she asks softly. "Guilty and dirty?"
"I know why. But that ain't your problem, and I ain't gonna make it your problem."
"Whether or not we ever kiss again, whether or not anything physical happens between us going forward, I'm your friend. And I'm going to keep being your friend as long as you'll let me. You can tell me anything. You know you have my confidence."
He sighs and closes his eyes. When he opens them again, he concentrates on his hands in his lap as he tells her a story about when he was barely fourteen years old. Merle was away in the army, and he was going through puberty, discovering his father's Playboys, doing what boys do at that age, overcome with hormones, thinking constantly of girls.
At the time, his father had a girlfriend he'd bring home overnight on occasion, who was fourteen years younger than his father, but sixteen years older than Daryl. That was when they lived in the trailer on the ashes of the old cabin his father never got around to rebuilding. It was a one-bedroom trailer, so Daryl's bedroom was the living room couch.
One evening, when he was sitting on the couch and watching a Dukes of Hazard rerun on the five-channel, rabbit-eared television in the living room, thinking about how hot Daisy Duke was, his father's girlfriend came out of the bedroom in nothing but her bra and panties. She walked right to the TV, bent over to turn the knob and click it off, and then stood and turned around. She said, "Your father's passed out. He had whiskey dick again. He drank so damn much that he can't get it up. But I bet you could. Because you're a dirty boy, aren't you?"
Daryl just froze. "It was like I couldn't move," he tells her while fiercely studying his hands, "I couldn't move a finger or a muscle. She walks across the floor toward me, and I'm just frozen. And she keeps telling me what a dirty boy I am, how dirty I am that I want her, and she comes over to the couch and starts climbing on me, and my dad must have woken up about that time, because he stumbles out the bedroom and starts screaming, 'What the fuck is going on out here?' And she flies off me. She flies off of me, so nothing happened, but I'm sitting there, my hands at my side, completely frozen."
"Daryl, she was assaulting you. None of that was your fault. You did absolutely nothing wrong!"
"I know that now. But back then…" He lets out a breath that is almost a whistle. "That wasn't the worst of it. She starts telling my dad, 'You have one dirty boy, do you know what he wanted to do with me?' But that wasn't the worst of it either. The worst of it was - " He swallows and stares off into a corner of the infirmary. "My father took her side."
"My God," Carol murmurs. Her stomach was already churning, and now it flips again.
"He said I tried to steal his girlfriend. Said I seduced her. Said I was a dirty, sick, son of a bitch, and that's when I got these ones." He pulls the sheet down to his waist and hovers a finger above the two whip lashes there, traces them in the air, down, then up, then where they criss-cross one another.
"Oh, Daryl." Carol doesn't know when she started crying, but she swipes at the tears beneath her eyes now.
"I know it wasn't my fault. But it's like a knee-jerk reaction, anytime I have sex or even just…" He jerks his hand to illustrate. "The guilt. It's not like I don't have the urge, but when I do, I just want to get it over with. And I always feel like shit afterward. So you see, I can't be what you want. I can't be your denim dream."
"I don't want a denim dream. I had to make believe for fifteen years with Ed, walking on eggshells, never saying how I felt, never arguing with him, pretending to be some perfect wife. I just want something that's true. For once in my life, I want to be able to be real. So let me be real with you right now. Let me tell you something honest."
Daryl looks wary, but he says, "A'right."
"I don't know if I'm capable of having good, healthy sex, either. I have so many emotional scars and wounds and baggage associated with that from Ed, that I don't even know how I'd actually act if I tried it with someone else. I might tense up on instinct. I really don't know. But we don't have to. We don't have to rush into that. We can just spend time together. Maybe kiss on occasion. Just…dip a toe in the water?" She laughs. "Like we were in junior high again."
"'Cept I never kissed a girl in junior high. Hell, I never kissed a girl."
"Never? Even the ones you - "
"- Not like we did yesterday. Not like that."
Carol smiles gently. "But you liked it."
He laughs and ducks his head. "Yeah. It was fucking fantastic."
"So…what do you say? Instead of just writing yourself off…what do you say we dip a toe in the water? See what happens? Or doesn't happen. You can always decide you're never going to jump in. There's no pressure here. Not from me. I'm not some woman your brother's brought home and thrown at you. There's nothing you're expected to do. Nothing at all."
"But you want that. Good sex. For once in your damn life."
"I want other things, too," she tells him.
"Don't wanna waste your time. Time you could spend finding someone who – "
"- I'm not in any hurry. This world already moves way too fast. And I was enjoying myself. In that furniture store, in that parking lot…yesterday here in this infirmary. I was really enjoying myself for the first time in years."
"Yeah?" He smiles uncertainly.
"Yeah. And I don't know about you, but I'd like to keep enjoying myself."
He studies her face for a moment, as if he's reading a map. Then he jerks his head toward the bed. "Then c'mere and give me another one of them kisses."
Carol stands and sits on the bed at his right hip. She supports herself with a palm down on the left side of him, and then leans in for a kiss, careful not to press against his wound. He puts a hand on the small of her back and hums as he opens his lips against hers. She's just beginning to tease him with her tongue when the infirmary door swings opens and Bob comes in.
"Guess your blood is already pumping!" Bob says cheerfully as Carol quickly slides off Daryl's bed and steps away. "But we're still going to have Tyreese come and give you more later."
Daryl glowers. "You ever hear of knocking, Dr. Huxtable?"
"This is my infirmary. You're just a guest." Bob puts on his coat, snaps on his gloves, and as he begins switching out Daryl's IV bag, asks, "Pain level? One to ten?"
"I'm fine. Don't need more party drugs."
"This is just for hydration. You definitely need that."
"Not so much I ain't gotta take a piss. Where's the bathroom?"
"Nowhere you're walking to," Bob tells him and glances at the pink plastic bedpan sitting atop the nightstand.
"No fucking way," growls Daryl, flushing with embarrassment.
"I'm going to go see about breakfast," Carol says to give Daryl some privacy. She gives his upper arm a squeeze. "I'll bring you some before I leave to get Sophia." Then to Bob, "He can eat, right?"
"He can eat," Bob says. "But no coffee. It's dehydrating."
"Then just bring me whiskey!" Daryl calls after her as she slips through the door.