AN: This was based on a request from an anon on Tumblr who wanted a fic where Caryl hears the song "I'm Not in Love" and reminisces. I'm starting a new grab-bag type selection to pick what I write/update next, and as I was putting in requests, this one caught my attention.
I own nothing from the Walking Dead.
I hope you enjoy! Please don't forget to let me know what you think!
111
"Hey," Daryl said, finding Carol in the kitchen.
She looked up at him from her work of rearranging finger foods on a platter. She smiled at him. He couldn't help but smile back at her, his heart skipping a beat in the familiar way that it always did—the way it had since the very first time she'd smiled at him, specifically at him, nearly twenty-five years before.
"Hey yourself," she said, a hint of sass in her voice.
"You gonna enjoy yourself at all tonight, or you just gonna spend the whole night handin' people shit to eat?"
She raised her eyebrows at him. He knew that look. She was sizing him up. She was deciding if she was going to take what he said as a joke, or if she was about to tear him wide open for it. Luckily, she was in a very good mood—and he'd meant nothing by it. She'd know that. To help her know it, though, he gave her a half-smile. She smirked in response.
"I didn't hear your ass complaining when you were shoveling in my chicken salad cups," she said. Daryl let his smile grow to its full size.
"That's because your chicken salad cups are like—my second favorite thing of yours to eat in the whole damned world," Daryl said. His face burned warm, and he picked at the door jamb with this fingernail to occupy his hands.
"My second favorite thing of yours to eat?" Carol challenged, just like he knew she would. "What's the first?"
He smirked and his face grew warmer.
"You know what the hell it is," he said. Her face grew red in response because, really, she did know.
"What?" She urged. She'd abandoned her efforts at arranging treats. He had her full attention. He stepped closer to her, into the kitchen.
It was Merle and Andrea's anniversary party. They'd been together for twenty years. Daryl and Carol had five years on them, and both couples counted their dating time in there along with their married time because, as they figured, life was short, and they wanted to celebrate everything. Besides that, they all figured it was nobody else's business how the hell they chose to mark the time that they'd loved each other.
Daryl and Carol had surprised them with the party. It was a simple party. They'd invited only family and a few close friends. The only "catering" done for the event was the food that Carol had scrambled to prepare with the help of their daughters and Andrea's one daughter. The music was being handled by Andrea and Merle's two oldest boys—both of which had been working for some time to collect together every song they thought their parents enjoyed.
Upon entering the house—believing they were just coming for a simple anniversary dinner—and realizing what was going on, Andrea had cried and confessed that they'd planned a party for Daryl and Carol's upcoming twenty-five-year anniversary, and now it was probably ruined.
They'd comforted her by insisting that no celebration of life, love, and family could ever be ruined, and they'd be just as happy to dance at their own party as they were to dance at Merle and Andrea's.
The truth of the matter was, though, that they hadn't danced yet. Daryl had spent most of his time standing around and talking to whoever wasn't otherwise occupied at the moment, and Carol had spent most of her time nudging people to eat and drink, refilling things, and offering more food.
Daryl stood, palms on the island, across from Carol and smirked. He kept his voice low so that it didn't travel to anyone who might not want to hear it—their children, he'd learned, were particularly persnickety about overhearing the wrong things.
"You know your pussy's my favorite thing to eat," he said. The red on Carol's cheeks deepened. "Has been for two and a half decades."
"Stop it," she said. There was no actual warning in the words. Daryl simply smiled in response.
"I mean it," he said. "You wait'll every damn body gets outta here later."
"I'm warning you," she said. The laughter at the end really took any sting out of the pretend warning.
"Whatta you say?" Daryl asked. "Let 'em fend for themselves with the snacks for a bit and dance with me before everybody's ready to call it a night and haul it in?"
"We could dance all night, once they leave," Carol offered.
"Might do that, too," Daryl said. "But—I'd like at least one damn dance with my wife."
Carol picked up the dish towel and wiped her hands from where she'd been moving chicken salad cups and mini-cheesecakes from the large storage boxes, where she'd held them in the fridge since she'd assembled them prior to the party, to the platters that she would carry out and put on the dining room table for people to enjoy.
"Well," she said, "when you put it that way…dance with me, Pookie."
Daryl accepted the nickname that she'd given him years ago just to get his goose. It didn't get his goose. It hadn't then, and it didn't now. Instead, it actually just made him feel warm and special. There was a name that she had just for him, and she used it when she was feeling affectionate. For that reason, rather than annoy him, it always made him feel loved and like he wanted to love on her.
Daryl slipped his arm around Carol when she came around the island, and she leaned quickly and brushed her cheek against him in a sort of nuzzling motion. She nuzzled him frequently on the couch or in bed. Of course, he was a nuzzler, too, and he loved to nuzzle the curve of her neck and smell her when she hugged him.
In the living room, there was some dancing. There was also some snacking and some talking.
Carol and Daryl caught only the last few minutes of a song, and had only begun to sway together before it went off. Luckily, though, Luke—their nephew—was quick to get the next song going.
Daryl smiled when he heard the familiar song start to play. He wrapped his arms a little tighter around his wife and pulled her to him so that their bodies were close to each other—closer, really, than the dance required, but Daryl would never not love the feeling of her body against his.
She rested her head on his shoulder with a sigh as they swayed.
"You 'member this?" He asked.
He could hear the smile in her hum. There was no way she wouldn't remember. Her memory was always better than his, and this song had been important to the both of them.
"I don't think Luke knows this was ours before it was theirs," Carol offered as a response.
"How would he?" Daryl responded. "I thought you were such an asshole when you gave me this tape."
"You didn't," Carol said, laughing quietly.
"OK—you're right. I didn't think you were an asshole. Not really. But—I did feel like you were callin' me out."
"Oh—I was absolutely calling you out," Carol agreed. "Mr. I like you and all, but I don't do relationships."
Daryl laughed quietly. In response, he tightened his grip on her and hugged her more tightly.
He'd never actually been in a relationship before Carol. He'd been out on a couple of bad dates, but that was about it. Usually, he met someone that Merle had decided wasn't right for him and, therefore, would probably work for Daryl, and he'd tossed her in Daryl's direction. Daryl hadn't realized that saying he didn't do relationships, at that point, was like if he'd been saying that he didn't eat vegetables because all he'd been allowed to eat his whole life was okra—which he abhorred.
Daryl had met Carol by accident. She'd served him at a diner one night, and they'd struck up a conversation because there hadn't been too many customers to keep her attention off of him for long. From there, it had gotten serious pretty quickly—and the serious had scared Daryl at first.
Mostly, he'd been afraid of how much he'd liked her.
He'd stopped by the diner one night after a handful of wonderful dates together, and he'd given her the verbal equivalent of a Dear John letter. He liked her and all, but he just didn't do relationships. Then, he'd practically ran away before he had to face her reaction or the truth behind what he'd said.
He'd found the tape in his truck at work, which Carol knew he didn't lock because he joked that he'd probably get more money if it was stolen than it would ever be worth, and he'd gotten a note from her. She didn't believe him, but if he meant what he'd said, he should listen to the song and then return the Polaroid of her that he'd tucked into the visor after their third date—a picture she could have taken, if she'd wanted to, when leaving the tape and the note.
If he couldn't do those simple things, she said, then he should meet her at the diner with a damn good apology for hurting her feelings.
In a move entirely unlike himself, Daryl had listened to the song and then met her at the diner with a bouquet of flowers. She'd teased him—the flowers were hardly enough for making her cry, she'd said, but she'd accept them.
He'd promised, then, that he'd spend the rest of his life doing everything he could to make it up to her—and to make sure she never cried again…at least not because of him.
He hadn't kept that promise entirely, but it hadn't been for lack of intention.
"You know my ass was just scared," Daryl mused.
"I know," Carol said. "I knew it then, too."
Daryl laughed quietly and turned his head just to kiss her neck. He closed his eyes and kissed her neck again, slowly. He inhaled the scent of her.
"Almost twenty-five years since I kissed your ass in that diner parkin' lot and tied the ribbon from them flowers around your finger to seal the deal that I meant forever," Daryl said. "I never regretted a minute of it."
"I never even got rid of the ribbon," Carol said. "It's still safe in my box with the babies' hospital bracelets and locks of hair."
Daryl pulled away enough to see her face. There was a hint of a smile on her lips.
Twenty-five years and the five kids they had between them meant that her figure was a little different than it had been, but so was his. He liked her old figure, but he loved her new one. Her new one was comfortable. He knew it well. He'd watched it become what it was. He'd seen her body give life to his children, and give a home to his love. Twenty-five years meant there were new lines on her face, but there were new lines on his, too. He loved those lines. They marked tears and smiles—they marked laughter, and fights, and breakdowns…and they marked building each other back up and coming back together stronger than before.
He loved everything new about Carol—and he loved everything old about her that had remained, too, through all the years.
He kissed her quickly and gently—a soft peck on the lips. She puckered just in time to return the kiss, and her smile was more sincere when he pulled back to look at her again. He winked at her quickly.
"Make it a lil' bit longer, and I just might get your ass a new ribbon for our anniversary."
Carol laughed, a soft snort marking her amusement.
"Asshole," she muttered. She leaned into him, resting her head against him again.
"You're the one that wouldn't let this asshole go," he teased.
"And I never will," she assured him, tightening her fingers where she held him as they swayed to the dying notes of the song's end. She moved her mouth close to his ear so that her breath made him shiver. Of course, it might've been what she said that made him shiver. "Don't be an asshole, and…maybe I'll let you have a snack later. Your favorite thing to eat."
Daryl laughed and spun her, quickly, despite the fact that the music had ended. She cackled with laughter, and several other people laughed, even though they had no idea what had led to the antics.
"Yes ma'am," Daryl said, laughing right along with her and everyone else that didn't know the little joke between them.
