AN: Here we are, another piece to this one.
I hope you enjoy! If you do enjoy, please do let me know!
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Being outside and at some distance from their group was truly what Daryl needed. The further they got away from the house, the more he could feel the muscles in his back and shoulders relaxing and untangling themselves from the tight knots they'd been forming even before Lori had opened her mouth to say things that made Daryl want to demand that she and her entire family go, immediately, and not look back for even a second.
They'd brought supplies with them, and as they walked, Daryl marked their way and, together, he and Carol set some snares. For the most part, he let her set them, and he watched her, coaching her as she did the work, to make sure that she would always know how to handle things, just in case something should keep him from being able to do the task. He wanted to know that, if she had to, Carol could handle things on her own. He wanted to know that, no matter what, she would be OK.
He knew she would survive, if something were to happen to him, because that's who she was, but he wanted to know that he'd helped her. He wanted to know that he'd made it so that she could survive more easily and more comfortably. He wanted to feel that he'd prepared her for life without him, while making her comfortable that, as long as it was in his power to avoid such circumstances, she'd never have to live a life without him.
They wouldn't starve—Daryl hadn't lied about that.
They would hunt, trap animals, and breed their own when they were settled enough to do so. They would grow food, dig roots, and scavenge for anything edible.
They would not starve. Daryl would not let them starve—not as long as there was life in his body.
But he also would not let Rick and his family feel that they had any right to question anything any longer.
"You're stewing, Pookie," Carol offered, breaking the silence after what had been a significant amount of "think time" that she'd allowed him. "I don't mind you thinking about things. I know you need to, and we need you to, but…I don't want you to stew, Daryl. It's not good for you."
"What the hell's the difference?" Daryl asked, knowing what it was. "Sorry," he said, almost immediately, recognizing that his tone was unnecessarily harsh and that it wasn't meant for her.
She wasn't offended. Instead, she offered him a half smile, and she reached her hand out, catching his and squeezing it quickly with her fingers.
"It's OK," she said. "Look at this…"
They'd wandered some distance away from the house, but really not so far that it would make repeating the trip really dangerous or difficult. Daryl doubted that too many people could get lost making the same trip, and they'd followed a somewhat trail that was worn into the dirt to get here. The woods around them, too, weren't terribly overgrown or dense.
This had been someone's property, and they'd enjoyed coming out here, more than likely, for escape and something like meditation. They'd maintained this property, and though it clearly had seen some time to allow it to grow-up, it wasn't terribly wild yet.
Daryl and Carol had come out of the little wooded area to a bit of a clearing with a little pond that looked to be creek-fed. The water that ran into it—the little creek of sorts—was small, and nothing too terribly impressive, but the pond it ran into wasn't bad.
"Spring-fed," Daryl said.
"Probably," Carol agreed. "Come on—just for a minute."
She tugged his hand and tugged him toward a little bench that had been placed near the edge of the pond. The bench was weather-worn, but it didn't look too dangerous. It, too, had been maintained and, more than likely, frequently replaced. Daryl dropped the bag he was carrying, with their supplies for setting snares, by the bench. He sat first, moving around to test the integrity of the bench, and then he invited her to join him with little more than eye contact and a head nod passing between them as conversation.
Carol eased down next to him, tensing over the possibility that the bench might not support them. Then, seeing that it did, she relaxed and leaned into him as he wrapped his arm around her.
Daryl inhaled deeply. For just a moment, the world was right, despite the fact that half of him was fully aware that a Walker could come ambling out of the woods around them at any moment.
A popping sound caught Daryl's attention.
"Fish," he breathed out.
"You think the pond is stocked, or you think they're coming from that creek," Carol asked. "From somewhere else?"
"Don't matter to me," Daryl said. "They'll eat, either way. Biggest worry you'd have is getting an idea for about how heavy the population is, so you don't overfish for their breedin' time."
"That's if you're staying a while," Carol said.
Daryl sat quietly for a moment. He noticed the feeling of the breeze on his face. He felt the warmth of Carol's body next to his. There was a hint of cold in the air—not much, but enough to remind him that winter was coming. The winters here were mild enough that he knew how to survive them, even if their heat source was limited. Further north, however, that might not be the case. Further in any direction, really, he had only limited knowledge of what they might expect.
Daryl listened to the sounds around them. He could hear the creek running. It wasn't roaring, by any means, but it was running. There were springs underground here. There was possibly a larger waterway—maybe even a river—not too far from here. The water wasn't at risk of drying up.
There was the occasional sound of activity in the water—fish, turtles, and maybe other wildlife. There were sounds around them in the woods, too. Daryl imagined that deer, squirrels, rabbits, and a variety of birds were all around them.
Surely there were Walkers, too, but they would find them anywhere. Anywhere they went, they would have to figure out how to protect themselves against the Walkers.
Daryl ran his hand absentmindedly up and down Carol's arm as she leaned against him. The movement felt like it kept his mind somehow clearer to think.
"Don't say no right away," Daryl said. "Just—think on it a minute. What if—we were to stay a while?"
"Here?" Carol asked.
Daryl hummed.
"House really ain't bad," Daryl said. "Despite what the hell Lori says, we got plenty of room right now. If they don't like it, they can get the fuck out, just like I said. Maybe we even look at what's around, you know? If we stay long enough. Spread out? There's water. That well's working. Generator's working, but—even without it? Fireplaces are open, so we can use them. We'll figure out something—maybe even those solar things, you know?"
Carol sat up so that she could look at him. Her face was mostly neutral. It was pleasant, if he was trying to read anything from her expression.
"Do you want to stay?" Carol asked.
"I asked you," Daryl countered.
Carol shrugged her shoulders.
"I don't care where we are," she said, "as long as we're together. I'll go wherever you think is best. If you want to stay here, I'm happy here. If you want to—go to Canada, I'll be happy in Canada."
Daryl laughed to himself.
"Too fuckin' cold in Canada," he said.
"My point is that, wherever you think is best, that's where I'm going to think it's best," Carol said. "And I'll be happy anywhere you are." Daryl hummed and nodded, still chewing over the possibilities, but pleased to hear what she'd said and, more than that, to be absolutely certain that she was telling him the truth. There was nothing in her face or her voice that made him doubt her for even a moment. "What do you think everyone else will say?" Carol asked after a moment.
"Fuck whatever they gotta say," Daryl said. It was a knee jerk response, and Carol gave him a little frown that told him that she knew that. He sighed, reminding himself that he was out here to cool down and, really, he was feeling better. "It doesn't matter," he said. "We're gonna do whatever the hell is best for us, and that's the end of it. But—I think most of 'em will agree with whatever I say. They don't really have any reason to argue, and if they had a good reason? Like a real good reason? I'd hear it, and I'd listen to it. The only people that'll likely bitch about it for the sake of bitchin' are Rick and Lori—and that whole little clusterfuck."
"And you don't care what they say, anyway," Carol offered, a half-smile just barely turning up the corner of her mouth and raising the side of her nose slightly.
Daryl smiled simply because he had always loved when she made that expression. There was something endearing and a touch mischievous about it.
He thought it often, but every time she made that expression, he always thought "I love you," even if he didn't give voice to the thought.
"Not one damn bit," he agreed. "All I care about is what suits you. What's good for Sophia. What's good for us. For the…" He stopped. He hesitated—not because he didn't want to say it, or because he didn't want it to be true, but because he wasn't used to saying it or even thinking it. They hadn't talked about it enough for it to even seem real—like more than a dream. Still, he tried it out, and he liked the way it felt in his mouth and sounded to his ears. "What's good for the baby. I want the best for us—whatever that's gonna be in this world."
"That's what I want," Carol said. "And—I trust you to find that for us. And—whatever you find, I'll help you…you know…fix it up."
Daryl smiled at her. He leaned toward her and she understood what he wanted. She leaned and met him for a kiss. For a long moment, they stayed there on that little bench and simply kissed each other like teenagers necking in the car. Daryl only stopped kissing Carol—stopped touching her—because he felt like, if he continued, he'd be likely to lose control of himself and beg her for more. He felt like she'd give it to him, too, judging from the heat in her kiss.
This wasn't a world where he was going to make love to his wife—his pregnant wife—in the woods on a rickety bench. Neither of them wanted to get caught with their pants down if a Walker happened to come lumbering out of the woods.
Beyond that, Daryl knew that they ought to be heading back soon. If they were going to stay for a while, they needed to discuss that with the others. It was early enough that anyone who had any mind to leave could still do so before the darkness threatened them too much. Those that were going to stay, though, needed to start putting their heads together to make solid plans about what needed to be done to turn this place into something that would be safe and comfortable to call home for however long they decided to stay—whether that was a season, a year, or something else entirely.
Now that Daryl had started to think about the possibility, and to really imagine that they might simply choose a place and make it into what they needed it to be—shape it into the home that they needed—his pulse kicked up with the excitement of the prospect of settling in and starting to build something they could rely on in the months to come.
And, as they walked back toward the house, Carol's hand clasped in his, Daryl's steps felt lighter than they had on the way out toward the pond.
They were walking toward a house, but they could make it a home. This place wasn't perfect, but they could make it what they needed it to be.
They could make it—and he'd welcome anyone who wanted to help them make it. The rest, however, were free to go, because Daryl didn't have time for them to stand in the way.
