Daryl came in the room and immediately passed Carol the plate and forks. She'd told him to bring a piece of pie that was large enough for two people, but he'd practically brought half of the pie from the kitchen.
As soon as he closed the bedroom door behind him, he started looking around the room like he'd dropped something and was trying to hunt it down.
Carol sat cross-legged on the bed and watched him. She tasted the pie to entertain herself while she waited for him to join her again.
He'd put on his boxers, at least, before disappearing into the kitchen for something to give them the strength they would require to get through the rest of the plans that they'd made for the night. Carol had pulled his shirt over her head, but she hadn't bothered with anything else.
Carol's concern grew as she watched Daryl look for what he'd dropped.
Soon, he wasn't simply looking under things—under the dresser, under the bed, under the nightstand. Soon, he moved on to running his fingers around the edge of the dresser and the nightstand. And then, he started rifling through the top drawer of his dresser.
"Daryl—" Carol said when she couldn't wait any longer to know what had come over him. "What are you looking for?"
"Shhhh," Daryl said while he continued to search. "I'm lookin' for where the hell he hid it."
"He?" Carol asked.
"Merle," Daryl said. "I think the room is bugged. Stepped out on the porch to smoke a cigarette an' his asshole was sittin' out there, grinnin', bigger'n shit. Started givin' me hell about—what the hell we was doin' in here. Asshole's listenin' in on us."
Carol laughed to herself.
"He might be listening," she offered, "but—I don't think the room is bugged." Daryl looked at her, brow-furrowed. It was all she needed to hear his question loud and clear. She smiled at him. "You're not as quiet as you think." pan/p
