AN: This is a little one shot that I wrote based on a couple of Tumblr requests/prompts. If you have any requests or prompts, I'm always taking them. You can drop them here or in my Tumblr box.
I own nothing from The Walking Dead.
I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!
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Carol closed her eyes and inhaled. With her face pressed against his back, she could smell him. Even with the wind rushing around her body, she could smell the scent of leather and the smell that was simply Daryl.
She had long convinced him that bathing wasn't going to make him more desirable to Walkers, but not bathing might make him less desirable to her, so he no longer smelled as pungently of rot, decay, and the overall disgusting nature of his reality, but he did retain a certain odor that was strong and specific to him.
Carol had come to learn that scent and to love it. She smelled it at night when it was just a little stronger for the exertions that he put into making love to her. She smelled it in the morning when he wrapped his body around her and held her tight like a child who had never—not once in his life—had a plaything to hold and was making up for lost time and all the hugs he'd never had.
Carol knew the smell on the bike. She knew the way that Daryl smelled as she settled in behind him and trusted him, happily and easily, with her life. She trusted him to get them wherever they were going—even if she didn't know where that was—and she trusted him to protect her as they weaved through a sometimes-unpredictable landscape.
They had left the group some time ago in search of something all their own. The group was capable of taking care of themselves and of each other. They were building homes and lives. Carol and Daryl, though, felt that their lives—their life, now that they were building one together—was still out there somewhere.
Maybe they would go to New Mexico as they jokingly said they would. Perhaps they would make it all the way to the Pacific Ocean. They might stop short—in Alabama or Mississippi. Maybe they'd even turn north and head up to the more fertile lands of the Midwest. They might see states they'd only read about before.
It didn't matter where they went as long as they went there together.
For now, though, they were retracing steps they'd already taken in life. They were, perhaps, going to say goodbye to those that they'd lost along the way—maybe, even, they were going to say goodbye to their former selves that they'd buried somewhere along the path they'd travelled to become who they were now.
The landscape around them was familiar. Looking out over it, Carol got, at once, a feeling of homecoming and a gnawing feeling of uneasiness in her stomach. Whenever the wave washed over her, she closed her eyes again, tightened her hold on Daryl, and closed her eyes.
She recognized the exit. She looked at it when he slowed the bike to take the turn. She held onto him as he accelerated again all the way until the farmhouse—not that there was really anything left, now, to say it had once been a farmhouse.
The years had removed the scorch from the earth. The plants were taking over. Nature was reclaiming what had once been hers. Still, there was some evidence, here and there, of what had been—pieces of barns and fences that, somehow, remained. A fallen piece of the farmhouse frame, not burned entirely, still stood. A few boards, somehow not consumed by fire, marked the place where the old barn had been.
Carol stood in front of it, hands on her hips, and faced it—what was left of it.
Daryl, who had been walking around the remains of the farmhouse, walked up behind her and put his hand on her shoulder. She jumped at the touch, and he clicked his tongue at her as though she were an animal he meant to calm. Rather than be insulted by the knee-jerk reaction—because that's all it was—Carol smiled and leaned her face to affectionately trap his hand between her cheek and shoulder.
"It still hurts," Carol said.
She didn't have to explain to Daryl what she was talking about. It had been his idea to come here. He had been the one to suggest that it was something she needed to do. They may never see Georgia again, and Carol needed a final goodbye—especially since she'd denied herself the mourning that she'd needed all those years ago.
Before they'd left, she'd put flowers on Henry's grave. She'd said goodbye.
She would never be able to retrace her steps to say goodbye to Mika or Lizzie again.
It was Daryl, though, that had insisted that—no matter how far out of the way it seemed—she say this goodbye.
"It's always gonna hurt," Daryl said.
It wasn't condescending. Daryl said it matter-of-factly. He said it like he understood. Whether he could truly understand or not, he was more willing to try to understand how Carol felt than anyone she'd ever known in her whole life.
"Where…?" Carol asked.
She didn't have to finish the question. Daryl merely understood—again. He nodded at her and squeezed her shoulder before he guided her away from the ruins of the barn. He knew the landscape better than Carol could. He moved without trouble around what was left of the farm when Carol could barely keep her bearings for even half a second when she wasn't facing the ruins of well-known landmarks.
Daryl was good with directions, though. He was good with learning the land around him and relying on it. He was good at trusting his instincts.
And Carol trusted his instincts without question. He trusted hers, as well. They would need that trust, more than ever, as they set off to navigate the world together.
"We laid her here," Daryl said, leading Carol over to the spot. "I moved that rock myself for her."
It was a large stone—the kind that would have caused even Daryl to strain to move it on his own. Carol smiled to herself. Her chest ached. It throbbed, even. She walked over and dropped down on her knees touching the stone.
"My baby girl died in the woods," Carol said.
"She did," Daryl said. "And you never gonna know how sorry I am for that."
"That wasn't her in the barn. It was her, but—it wasn't her."
"I hate that—it happened to her like that," Daryl said. "Hate that it happened at all, but…it never shoulda happened like that."
Carol brushed her fingers affectionately over the stone. Her touch was more meant for the kindness that Daryl had paid to her daughter—he'd been willing to give his life just to bring her back to Carol—than it was for the body of her daughter that had been twisted, in some ways, by the virus that had turned her into one of the creatures that still haunted them all.
That wasn't her Sophia. That wasn't her beautiful, sweet, wonderful baby girl. Her baby girl wasn't here. Her baby girl was—and always would be—in her heart.
Daryl helped Carol to her feet and she accepted the hug he gave her as he pulled her against him.
"Thank you for—being kind to her."
"You don't gotta thank me for that," Daryl said.
"I do," Carol insisted. "Her Daddy was never kind to her. He never would have done for her anything that you did for her." Carol shook her head at Daryl. "He never would have done anything for me that you did."
"I'd do it again," Daryl assured her, holding her eyes with his own and her chin with his fingers. "I'd do it again without hesitation. And I'ma go to my grave wishin' I coulda done more."
Carol glanced back at the grave. She smiled to herself and bent over to go after what she wanted. Her chest ached, but there was so much pain—the good and the bad kind—mixing together in there that it was difficult to tell where one ache started and the other ended. She carefully pulled the flower from the vine. She held it up to Daryl. He smiled at the flower.
"I didn't know they'd actually take root," he said. "I just put a lil' vine there."
"A Cherokee Rose," Carol mused.
"I was so sure they was bloomin' for her," Daryl said. "Leadin' me to her. I know, now, they was just bloomin' for your tears. Your mournin' her. Tellin' you to keep goin' because you had to. Because I needed you to."
Carol sucked in a breath and turned the flower over in her hand.
"That was the first flower that—anyone ever brought to me. Ed never brought me flowers."
"You deserve flowers every day," Daryl said. "I just wish—it was for happier things than that."
"You know—I felt so bad because I was so heartbroken over Sophia," Carol admitted. "But I was starting to think I could love you, and I felt so conflicted."
"I did love you," Daryl said. Carol shook her head and he laughed to himself. "I'm serious. Weirdest damn thing to me was—I was seein' how much you loved your daughter and that made me love you even more. Made me want to be with you more'n I could stand. And I was thinkin' that ought not to be the time or the kinda thing that gets my ass turned on—like there was somethin' wrong with me."
"There's nothing wrong with you," Carol assured him. "Everything about you is—very, very right." She glanced back at the flower in her hand. "There have been a lot of Cherokee Roses for me, in my life…"
"Too many," Daryl said. "One of the biggest damn sorrows I got is that I can't change that. Give you—somethin' to hold onto. An opportunity to be a Mama when…there ain't no tears. At least, not the bad ones."
Carol smiled to herself. She reached a hand up and touched Daryl's face. He pulled her hand around and kissed her palm.
"We wasted a lot of time," she mused.
"Too much," Daryl said with a hint of mourning to her voice.
"But there's still time, Daryl," she assured him. "For all of it. Whether—you believe me or not."
"I look forward to whatever the hell the future brings," Daryl said. "And to spendin' every damn minute of it with you."
Carol sucked in a breath and looked around at the landscape. Soon, the Cherokee Rose vines would swallow up the stone that marked the grave. Soon, Mother Nature would take back the farm entirely. Soon, there would be no sign that they were ever here.
And, soon, Carol and Daryl would be starting a new life somewhere else—a life that, though Carol kept some secrets to herself, may even be fuller than Daryl could imagine at the moment. For now, though, she thought as she smiled to herself, it was better for him not to be distracted by the tiniest little things that lived and grew among them. For now, it was better for him to focus on building the future—a future that she would help fill for him when the time was right.
"Are you ready to go, Daryl?" Carol asked.
"You ready?" He asked.
Carol nodded.
"I think—it's time we got started on our future. Let's not waste anymore of those minutes."
Daryl smiled at her and kissed her before he reached down and pulled another Cherokee Rose from a vine nearby. He offered it to her.
"One more for the road?" He asked.
She shook her head.
"No," she said. "I don't want anymore Cherokee Roses."
"I just—wanted to give you a flower."
Carol smiled at him and wrapped her arms around him.
"Then you can bring me a whole handful of wildflowers, every day, from our front yard—wherever we end up."
"I'll start the minute I can," he assured her.
"Then sooner we leave, the sooner I get my flowers."
Daryl laughed, and he dropped a hand around Carol's waist. He pulled her with him, toward the bike, and Carol didn't look back. Sophia wasn't at the farm—she was in Carol's heart, along with everyone else who had ever had a place there.
Carol climbed on the bike behind Daryl and wrapped her arms around him. She was carrying everything that she needed—past and future—inside her. She and Daryl weren't going backward. Now, they were only moving forward together.