AN: This was inspired by "Our Walking Dead Family's" challenge to get everyone to write a fic where team family tries to get two characters together. I'll admit that I strayed just a little, but I had to go where the muse wanted to go. I'm not sure Negan is team family, but he has to count here. Also, it was supposed to be awkward and funny, and I'm not sure how many of those notes I hit, but this is what I had to write.

Please note that this is ZA, but it's rather AU. I wrote it "in the Commonwealth," but without any of the Commonwealth drama. It's just for fun, so please don't overanalyze.

I own nothing from The Walking Dead. All I own are my original characters/plot lines/ dialogue, etc.

I hope you enjoy! Please don't forget to let me know what you think!

111

"Cookie, Pookie?" Carol asked. She smiled at Daryl and winked her eye quickly.

Daryl felt his face burn warm at the teasing, and he glanced around to see who might have noticed. The town was busy that morning, and nobody seemed to really be paying them any attention.

As was often the case in Carol's presence, especially when she was teasing him and looking at him the way she did that made him feel like she could somehow see inside of him, Daryl's stomach started a dance that made him feel like the organ was unreliable. His heart felt a little unreliable, as well. In his mind, a million possible responses pinballed around, running into each other and knocking each other out of the way, as he searched for something perfect to say.

As usual, he found himself unable to make any of those perfect responses come out. When it didn't matter, he could tease her all day. When it came to saying something when he thought—when he felt—that they might be flirting and this might, somehow, be moving toward something he had only dared to dream about, he came up with the worst answers possible—as though his mind wanted to make sure that he had plenty to kick himself for when he was alone with his thoughts.

"Stop," he heard himself mutter as he reached for the offered cookie.

Stop.

How many fucking times had he said "stop" to her when what he really meant was "keep going" and "why don't you tell me what you're really trying to say"?

Daryl closed his eyes for a fraction of a second and questioned his own mind about the answer it had chosen from all the possible answers that had been rejected. If Carol noticed his need to sink inside himself for that brief moment, she didn't mention it. Her smile had changed when he opened his eyes—softened, maybe—but it was still there.

Daryl bit the cookie. It was good, but he knew it would be. Everything Carol made tasted better than it had any right to taste. Since they'd been at the rock quarry, she'd been able to turn the most meagre rations into meals that seemed gourmet—all things considered.

"Good?" She asked, raising her eyebrows at him.

He nodded and hummed. He felt a little more relaxed, on the one hand, because the flirtatious teasing seemed to have passed. On the other hand, he was silently kicking himself because he'd missed another opportunity, along with the thousands of others in the past, and he had no idea how to get it back—or how to respond like he truly wanted to respond, if he did get another chance.

He had only himself to blame for every time she'd "moved on" to someone different and left him feeling empty and alone. He was the best at self-destruction, though, and each time he got hope again, he just shot himself in the proverbial foot—or, perhaps, it was better to say that he shot himself in the proverbial blue balls.

Carol shifted her weight, and in doing so, she shifted the weight of her cookie burden.

"I get off at five today," she said.

"Me too," Daryl said. He didn't point out that everyone not working some kind of late shift or night shift job got off at about the same time.

"That's kind of perfect, if we get off at the same time. It can take a little organization and skill to make that happen."

She smirked. He caught the innuendo too late. She skipped ahead and didn't draw attention to it beyond the quickly covered smirk.

"I'm cooking dinner," Carol said, when Daryl didn't respond in any way because he felt like his insides had practically gummed up. "If you want—you could…come to my place. About six-thirty? Have something to eat and…hang out for a while…see what comes up?"

Daryl's whole body erupted into internal flames and his stomach rocked back and forth like a ship in a hurricane. He wondered if the heat was visible on his face. She was teasing him again. Again, part of him screamed to say the right thing—do the right thing—and the other part cowered and pulled away. His brain selected a response, the wrong one, as usual, and he cringed as he said it, but he couldn't stop himself.

"Maybe—we'll see…don't really know what I'm doin' when I get off…from work."

Carol considered him a moment, head tipped to the side, and then she straightened up and seemed to remember that she was on bakery business—probably meant to be selling the cookies she'd let him sample for free. Her smile was gone, but she put it back into place. This time, it was tight-lipped and clearly pasted on.

"Well—if you change your mind," she said, "you'll know where to find me. Have a good day at work!"

The last words were infused with a somewhat strained joviality, and Daryl winced a little as Carol walked off. He was kicking himself, but he wasn't quite sure how to fix it or what to do about it. He didn't even really want the half-eaten cookie in his hand anymore. His stomach ached, and he didn't feel like going back to the hot construction work from which he was currently taking a break.

"That was really fucking painful, you know that?"

Daryl's head turned quickly. Negan was walking up, a shit-eating grin on his face, and it was instantly clear that he hadn't been far away during the exchange. The water bottle he held in his hand, and offered out to Daryl, matched the other one he carried. They'd been assigned to the same job that day—one that needed hands with at least a little skill and strength, but not any real long-term dedication—and they'd been near each other since just after the sun came up. They'd exchanged a little conversation, but nothing worthwhile or meaningful—just bullshit. It was clear that, on a break, Negan was bringing Daryl water—and he'd arrived just in time to hear the exchange.

Daryl took the water somewhat reluctantly and, before he really realized what Negan was doing, Negan had plucked the unfinished cookie out of Daryl's hand. He bit half of it off in one bite, and smiled at Daryl while he chewed. Daryl didn't really care—he wasn't much interested in finishing it, anyway.

"Asshole," he muttered. "It's a bullshit thing to do—eavesdropping on people."

"Hey—I was going to buy a cookie from the cookie lady," Negan said. "I just noticed she was over here—letting you sample her cookies for free. Trying to give you a taste of her real fucking cookies, if you know what I mean."

"You're treadin' on a damn line," Daryl warned. He lit a cigarette for himself.

Negan laughed quietly and held his hands up in mock surrender.

"Hey—I get it you. You hate my fucking guts, and you always will, but…maybe you ought to take a little helpful advice."

"From you?" Daryl asked.

Negan was too damn amused. Daryl had half a mind to knock that expression off his face. On the other hand, they were trying to keep the peace and, essentially, they'd agreed to do their best to play nice together. Daryl tasted some of the cool water and took a drag on his cigarette. He didn't respond one way or another, but Negan didn't need interaction to keep going.

"Look—she all but threw that shit at you," Negan said. "She was all but down on all fours, ass up in the air, begging you to dive right in…"

"Fuckin' line, Negan," Daryl warned. Negan laughed again. He renewed the fake motion of surrender.

"My point is—woman that looks like that? With the skills she's got to offer—and brother…I bet she's got some skills you don't even know about…"

"I ain't your damn brother an' you shut your fuckin' mouth talkin' about her like that!" Daryl warned, growling out the words through his teeth.

Negan's expression changed. There was a trace of a smile there, but he didn't offer the mock surrender this time. This time, he seemed a little more serious. He leaned toward Daryl like, in the shade of the tree, they were about to swap deep, dark secrets.

"You wouldn't be pissed off if you didn't know that what the hell I'm saying is true," Negan said, his voice barely more than a whisper. His normal bravado seemed faded, if not gone entirely. "You wouldn't be fucking pissed off if you didn't know that…you either got to get in there, or someone else will, brother…someone who—instead of holding his own damn dick in his hand—would rather let her hold it…or show him where the hell she'd like him to put it. Maybe even someone like me."

Daryl tensed. Negan laughed quietly. He hadn't missed the tensing of Daryl's muscles.

"She doesn't want someone else," Negan said. "If she did? She'd be offering her cookies to him. But she isn't. She's hanging around here, offering you cookies, inviting you back to her place to let you sample the full fucking menu…and you blow her the fuck off." He straightened up. He eyed Daryl. He ran his tongue around the inside of his mouth and smirked again. When he spoke again, he didn't raise his voice too much from what he had before. "And then you seem ready to cut my dick off when I mention slipping her a little something to help her sleep better. So—what's the deal? You want it or you don't? Because quality pussy like that doesn't stay on the market for long. Not even in the best of times."

Daryl wanted to fight Negan, but he didn't really want to fight him. For just a second, the feeling of defeat that he'd felt earlier crept back in.

"I don't know what the hell to do…" He muttered, surprised to hear himself confessing it. He braced himself for some smart-ass response, but that wasn't what he got. Instead, most of what he knew as Negan seemed to kind of melt away for a second. Negan's shoulders slumped forward a little as he, perhaps, put down the burden of his bullshit armor.

"Well—you better fucking figure it out," Negan said. "I'm serious. I'm offering free advice. Good advice. Get the hell over whatever has your ass nailed to the ground right now and let her know that you're coming to dinner and—with any luck—she's coming, too. If you catch my drift."

Daryl laughed to himself. It was a nervous and uncomfortable laugh that bubbled up from deep inside him.

"I've been trying for a damn decade."

"Then, shit or get off the pot."

"I've lost her before…" Daryl said. "There was nothing I could do. There was always someone better."

"She told you that? That—it was some-damn-body better?"

"No," Daryl said. "But—it's the truth. It's why the hell else they…got what I couldn't."

"If someone offers you something and you don't take it," Negan said, "then you've hardly got any reason to be pissed off when someone else does. You snooze you lose is an age-old fucking adage for a reason, Daryl. Maybe the reason she went somewhere else was because you blew her ass off. Made her feel like she wasn't enough. Like you didn't want what the hell she had. So, some damn body else told her they wanted to worship it a little…and she fucking listened."

"I never blew her off."

"You blew her off just now," Negan said. "Same as if you told her ass to go to hell. She offered you that pussy on a silver platter and you told her no fucking thank you—I'd rather have something else."

"I'm not good enough for her," Daryl said.

Negan laughed quietly.

"Of course you're not fucking good enough for her," Negan said. "You listen to me—and I'm not bullshitting you. Not this time. None of us are ever…ever…fucking good enough for them. We can spend our whole damn lives—everything we've got—trying to be good enough for them, and it won't be good enough. It's not about finding a woman that you're good enough for. It's about finding a woman who thinks you're good enough. Period." Negan reached and took one of Daryl's cigarettes from his shirt pocket like they were old friends. Maybe that's what he thought they'd become. Daryl didn't stop him. He found, really, that he didn't even mind all that much. "You want her? Go and get her. She's telling you you're good enough. She's telling you she's made her choice. But you dick around enough and she's going to move on—leaving you to jerk off with nothing but your tears for fucking lubrication, while someone else gets what you weren't man enough to go after. Trust me on one damn thing—from fucking experience—you won't ever be enough for her…but when you've lost her for good? You'll know what the hell you've lost."

Negan started to walk off. Daryl called him back when he spoke.

"I always say the wrong thing," Daryl said.

Negan stopped and turned around. At a few paces of distance between them, Daryl could see he'd slipped back into his asshole armor. His shit-eating grin had returned.

"Maybe it's time to stop fucking talking, Daryl," Negan said. "It's time to just act."

111

When Carol opened the door to her apartment, she looked a little suspicious and, maybe, even a little annoyed. Daryl didn't know what, exactly, was behind the expression, but he offered her a smile, and she smiled in response.

"I didn't think you were coming," Carol said.

Everything inside Daryl churned. His stomach ached. His heart pounded. His throat felt dry, and his knees shook.

Still, he was here. He'd showered, put on clean clothes, and had talked to himself the whole way here—using some of Negan's words, somewhat ashamedly, as a pep-talk to get him all the way here. It was now or fucking never—and Daryl realized that he couldn't live with never.

"I'm not…yet," Daryl offered.

Carol furrowed her brow and, then, the joke hit her when Daryl laughed to himself. Her cheeks blushed pink, but she gave him that impish smile.

"Well—" she said, drawing it out and hesitating for just a second. Daryl gave her the time she needed…after all, he'd taken over a decade to get here. "Why don't you come in and…we'll see what we can do about that?"

"I thought you'd never ask," Daryl said, as Carol moved out of the way and invited him into the apartment.

"I've asked plenty of times, Pookie," Carol responded. "I thought you'd never come."

"That still remains to be seen," Daryl said, feeling more confident now, but still a little shaky. Carol's giggle gave him a bit more strength.

"Fine," she said. "I'll do my best. But—does that offer you made me years ago still apply?"

"Offer?"

"You once told me that—you'd go down first," Carol said.

The door closed. They were in her apartment. It was warm. It smelled like good food cooking. It smelled like home and comfort.

When Daryl looked at her, his pulse picked up and he could practically feel the blood running through his body as it moved from place to place—a lot of it headed to the spot where she was most counting on it to go.

The teasing that normally embarrassed him into not being able to find words was empowering him, now. She wasn't rejecting him. He may not be enough for her, but she thought he was enough—and that was all that mattered.

She was all that mattered. Here and now.

Daryl smiled and swallowed. He touched her face and moved toward her, almost afraid that his attempt to kiss her would break whatever magic this was. She moved toward him, closing the distance, and completed the kiss for him. It was so long in coming, but it was worth every second they'd waited. He sensed that there were a million kisses to come—a lifetime of them, maybe. He was free to have them, to taste them on his tongue. He was free to taste all that she had to offer.

"What you're cookin'—can it wait?" Daryl asked.

"It can simmer for hours," Carol said.

Daryl smiled at her.

"Good," he said. "I'd—uh—I'd like to eat dessert first."

111

I hope you enjoyed! Please don't forget to let me know what you think!