Disclaimer: Randomcat23 does not own TWD.

I Can't Lose You

At first light, Daryl woke up with a nasty ache in his back and a dry mouth.

"Serves ya right for sleeping in a closet," he thought as he rubbed the stiff muscles. He dislodged himself from the broom tangled between his legs. He took his time stretching, knowing in the back of his mind that he was procrastinating. He needed to grab his crossbow and bag for the run today. In his haste last night, he had left them in the room with Carol and Sophia. Then, like a coward, he hadn't returned. His back cracked loudly with a final stretch. Daryl ran a hand through his hair in an attempt to tame the wild wisps.

With the sky brightening and him out of muscles to stretch, he walked down the quiet hallway to their room. Daryl tapped his thigh, then with a heavy sigh, he unlocked the door. His crossbow and bag waited right where he had left them, tucked in his corner of the main room. As he slung them over his shoulders, he chewed his cheek and listened.

No one stirred. He risked a glance at the side room where Carol and Sophia slept. Like on most nights, the door was shut. He took one step toward the closet with the intent of knocking and briefly wondered if Carol would still get up without him and walk the fence.

In the next second he shook his head furiously, spun around on his heel, and left the room.

He stalked down the hallway faster than he normally would and the metal walkway answered in kind, his steps hollow and echoing. The noise attracted the attention of the few people milling around the dining area; Sam was spreading out tablecloths. Jonathan looked up from a book. He gave Daryl a curious look, but Daryl headed straight for the one train door Kenny leaned against.

"You still good to go?" Kenny crossed his arms.

"Yeah. Definitely."

"Perfect. Neal knows yer leaving, so he'll let you out. One more thing. The town is abandoned, but keep an eye out for the dead 'uns, alright? Also, feel free to grab anything useful ya find. Maybe we can trade when you get back, huh?" He jerked his head outside and then said, "Happy hunting."

"Thanks."

Kenny pushed open the large wooden door and pale light flooded in. Daryl gave the metal staircase one last glance before stepping outside. The air was as stagnant as the closet's he had slept in and Daryl coughed.

As he passed the guard tower, Neal popped a hand over the edge in acknowledgement. "I'll be down in a minute," he said.

Daryl toed the dirt by the gate. It still didn't make much sense to him. Why send him out when any of Kenny's men were perfectly capable? Daryl had witnessed both Rod and Rodney leaving on the train, tugging one lone boxcar and then returning later with brick and other supplies.

Perhaps a hose errand was beneath them.

To Daryl's surprise Jonathan hustled out of the roundhouse. He was huffing by the time he reached Daryl. "Where are you going?" he asked with a breath between each word.

"Kenny's got a run for me to make."

"Oh. So, is that what he wanted yesterday?" Jonathan rubbed his chin. He indicated the guard tower and lowered his voice, "Is everything alright? Are you in trouble? Do you need me to say something to Kenny?"

"Nah. It's not like that. I'm good."

"You sure? Laura said you seemed upset last night and..."

Daryl bristled. "Kenny's paying me ta do this."

"Paying?"

"Yeah." Daryl felt his shoulders straighten, just an inch.

Jonathan pressed, "With what?"

"Beer. Smokes...some bracelets for my...my daughter."

If Jonathan heard his hesitation, he made nothing of it. "Beer huh?" He visibly brightened. Bending to his side, he surveyed the field beyond Daryl. After a second's calculation he asked, "Do you need a second?"

"I'm good," Daryl blurted. "And, well, they need you at the fence, right?"

Jonathan's crestfallen face brightened back into a beaming grin. "Yeah, we both know Jules isn't going to keep them on task!"

Neal sauntered up to them just as Jonathan's haughty laughter faded. He cocked an eyebrow at Jonathan but said nothing as he unlocked the gate.

Daryl nodded his farewell.

When he was far enough away he pulled out his last cigarette and lit it. He had found it this morning buried at the bottom of his bag. The nicotine distracted him from the knot in his shoulder and the unease that always came after interacting with Jonathan. This was the first time he had left the fence and he was determined to enjoy it.

The path led him past the barrier around the roundhouse and into a field of wildflowers, itchy grasses, and shrubs. He glanced back at the building, now hazy in the distance. Pride straightened his back an inch; of course Kenny would have him do this sort of task. He was the only hunter in a sea of teachers and secretaries.

Feelin' pretty good up in Yankee Land, aren't ya brother?

Guilt flamed across his face as Merle's voice slithered through his mind.

Of course you would be a star among those pansies.

"I waited," he snarled under his breath before taking a long drag.

His worst fear bit back, Not long enough.

Daryl stomped on the cigarette as if he could stomp out the worry that still ate at him. Had he waited long enough? Or was the train just a convenient deadline? He grit his teeth, willing his brother away.

Merle snickered.

After a time he picked up a deer trail that eventually changed into a gravel lined path leading to a small cluster of buildings. Dandelions and grasses poked through the stone. He reached the house Kenny described around midmorning. It couldn't have been abandoned long; the house was a crisp white with freshly painted blue highlights. The weeds and grass had gone to seed, but the vegetation lacked the wildness of a few years worth of abandonment. Daryl paused on the driveway to look for the dead or smears of blood. Finding none, he continued his task.

He found the hose hidden behind an untrimmed bush. It hissed and dribbled a little water when he unscrewed it. Daryl coiled the hose around his arm and then dropped it in the driveway.

With a glance at the sun he said to himself, "Might as well look around."

He followed a stone walkway around the back of the house and stopped cold. A fresh mound of dirt, topped with a cross, interrupted the lawn. Rain had softened the pile, but grass had yet to try and take over. It was a little too fresh to just believe it had been abandoned. He doubled back and checked all of the windows, not wanting a bullet in his head just because he trespassed under orders. Like the yard, the house was neat, but dusty. There were no signs of habitation. Regardless, he kept an eye on the house's dark windows as he backed up to the garage. He ducked inside.

The outbuilding was surprisingly clean. It housed an old, pearl colored Cadillac. The shelves along the walls were all labeled in a neat script on Scotch tape. Paint. Tools. Gardening. Hardware. He lifted a tarp and found a motorcycle tucked behind the car. Daryl ran his hands over the handlebar. His chest tightened.

Merle had made him lug his bike onto the bed of their pickup truck before they took off for Atlanta. As far as he knew, it was collecting dust in the hotel's parking garage.

Ain't the only thing you left behind.

"Shut up, Merle," Daryl growled. He gathered the items on his list and rushed out of the garage.

The front door of the house was locked, but the side door was not. He opted for the less visible option and eased his way into the kitchen. It was as if someone had put away their dishes from the night before and simply left. He found a handful of cans in the pantry and threw them in his bag.

While hands were busy, his mind kept going back that motorcycle. That, combined with the weight of the cans, put an idea in his head.

"I could just leave now."

He chewed his thumb nail as the idea took root. He'd seen the gasoline cans in the garage and a bike could go for a long time on just a few gallons. Then it would just be him, a bike, and the open road. Maybe he could find a way back to Atlanta, back to Merle.

The roundhouse would be fine without him. There were plenty of men to finish making the wall. Soon enough they would have running water. It would be as simple as him throwing the hose and supplies over the fence and disappearing into the night.

Most importantly, Carol had made friends. She didn't need him, especially not when there were likable men like Jonathan around. Kenny was the kind of man who divided men and women along traditional gender roles; surely he would keep a woman abandoned by her jerk husband, especially if said husband had a hand in getting water to the roundhouse.

She wouldn't have pretend to be married to an asshole.

He was halfway up the stairs when a prick in the back of his mind stopped him. What he had tried to forget flared back to life like a fire he thought he had put out only for it to burn stronger than before: Carol, last night, her face shining with tears, worry making her voice tremble.

Did she actually care about him?

Don't be an idiot, baby brother.

Daryl grimaced. "Naw, she's just worried about being alone. But she'd be alright."

His heart thudded the more he thought about it.

"It's easier this way. Better," he insisted.

Him, alone.

Her, unburdened by a fake husband, surrounded by friends.

Sophia, finally freed from the burden of having a shitty father, fake or not.

It was right.

It would be best for everyone.

He resumed gathering supplies. Can goods, matches, lighters. The house made it too easy. It was like a store where everything was free. In a trance he opened cabinets, raided closets, the urge to do what was right and best for everyone urging him to go faster.

We'll go huntin' once you come get me.

Back to Atlanta. He still needed to find a map, but they couldn't be that far, right? Wherever he was he could surely get back to Atlanta on a bike. Find Merle and then a house in the woods with plenty of game. He could practically feel the breeze, hear the imaginary creek where he would fish and shoot deer. Never trip over another rail or half-ass a conversation with preppy assholes who would have sneered at him before the world fell apart.

Elbow deep in a closet, a flash of red caught his eye. He picked it up, ready to assess its use. The fabric flowed through his fingers. A feminine thing he'd never think twice about except he just imagined Carol twirling in a dress made out of it.

Startled, Daryl dropped the clothing and continued his tear through the closet. He grabbed a pair of boots that looked about his size and pocketed the extra shoelaces. The weird moment was nearly gone, the fire tamped back into submission, when he came across a sweater.

Again a little idea, "Carol might like this."

Then, running a hand over small sneakers, he absent mindedly decided, "The girl's gonna need new shoes."

He backed out of the closet. Chest heaving, he looked around for some useful item. Anything for him. There was a knife on the nightstand. He made an instant assessment, "It's small enough for her."

Daryl bit his lip.

"I could leave 'em. There's that bike."

He flipped the knife over in his hand.

"They'd be fine."

Once. Twice. He flicked the blade out, judged the edge sharp and the handle sturdy.

"I should leave 'em."

He threw the small weapon in his bag and went to the nearest window. Just over the horizon he thought he could make out the hazy form of the roundhouse. There, Carol would be washing laundry or helping with food preparation. Sophia was definitely off playing with the other kids, avoiding chores as she should.

He smirked at the thought and then cursed, "Shit."

Ain't nobody ever needed him, got what they wanted, and then kept him around. Nobody. None of his blood. None of his so-called friends. And yet, here he was, with his bag full of items for Carol and Sophia, fantasizing about their daily activities at the roundhouse, as if they wouldn't do the same. Wouldn't they?

"Nah," he declared. "They won't."

What about me, baby brother?

Daryl winced at the sneer and it shook him out of his daze. He wandered back downstairs into the kitchen. Daryl glanced down at a pile of mail. His pulse raced as he flipped over a sealed envelope and read the address.

Nebraska.

He'd never left Georgia before and now he was all the way in fucking Nebraska. The distance was so large it was also meaningless.

But surely he could still make that trip on the bike?

Daryl slammed the envelope on the counter. "And go back to what? Merle's dead, you piece of shit. Just admit it," he yelled at himself. Saying it out loud was as good as staring at a gravestone. It drew up a sob.

His brother left him in a hotel and died somewhere. Maybe Merle got shot. Maybe he got lost and then torn apart by the walking dead. The how didn't matter. In the end, there was only one truth; his brother was dead and there was no one to go home to. Somewhere in his gut he'd known that this entire time, but accepting the loss seared him.

Daryl picked through the kitchen with wet cheeks. He mindlessly searched drawers, finally letting himself mourn the brother who left him behind. Another sob rattled up his throat. He grabbed the countertop for support and cried.

After a long while, his tears ceased. He cleaned his face, sniffling once. Then, Daryl set his jaw and left for the roundhouse, but not before grabbing the red fabric and that small pair of shoes.

The field of golden grains rippled like waves as he plowed through. He plucked one and popped the end in his mouth. If he could chew his way into understanding his actions, his grief, he would. For now, he just had to accept two truths: he didn't want to leave Carol and the girl and he could not go back to Atlanta.

Not that ago he would have spit at himself for being so sentimental, so foolish. Trading blood ties for strangers? No Dixon alive was ever stupid enough to abandon blood. He must have been the first to leave Georgia in three generations. And he may never return. That fact stung more than the broken family ties, and maybe more than it should have, but as the roundhouse came into view his homesickness lessened. Just a little bit.

He followed the fence line, catching glimpses of the interior over some of the shorter metal pieces. He was nearly at the gate when someone knocked on the metal. Roused from his musings, he staggered backward.

"Daryl!"

The wall workers rushed the fence, narrowed eyes peeking over the sheet metal. "You're alright! We were so worried. Kenny didn't send you into a trap?"

"What? No."

"What did you get?"

"A hose and some hardware." At their silence he added, "He's making a water pump."

"Oh!"

After a pause, Jules inquired, "Jon said you got beer?"

"Not yet," he answered, unable to keep the irritation from his voice.

"Well, shit."

"I'd go outside the walls too if I got a drink."

Someone whistled, "Hell, if I could get some..."

Daryl walked away as their wishes divulged into crude remarks. Neal must have seen him emerge from the field because the pokey watchmen was already at the gate, twirling a key around his finger. In a seamless motion, he unlocked the gate and slid it open over the tracks.

"How'd it go?" Neal had the gate shut and locked as soon as Daryl stepped through.

"Fine."

Neal was already walking toward his guard tower when he said, "Glad to hear it, man."

Daryl repositioned the bag and crossbow straps on his shoulder. "You know where Kenny is?"

Without turning around, Neal answered, "Over by the kitchen."

The weight of his cargo shifted dug into his muscles. With a huff Daryl crossed the turntable and went around to the side entrance of Genesis's kitchen. He grunted as he dropped the supplies on Kenny's table.

"That was fast," Kenny said. He pawed through the items. Then from behind his desk, he slid three packs of cigarettes to Daryl and a set of plastic bracelets. Kenny held up a finger and then added two bottles of beer. "You have my thanks. Share these with the Misses while they're still cold, hmm?"

Daryl huffed at the joke; the bottles were far from cold. The brown glass was cooler than his hand, however. Daryl stuffed his payment into his bag and turned to leave. Then, thinking better of it, he said, "I got some questions."

"Shoot."

"How did ya know there were supplies there?"

"Ah. Well...that house? Used ta be mine. I guess it still is, technically, even though I ain't payin' my taxes anymore." Kenny snorted. Daryl cocked an eyebrow and Kenny cleared his throat. "I, ah, have a hard time goin' back there."

Daryl remembered the fresh grave and the cross on top. Another piece to the roundhouse puzzle clicked into place. He pressed, "But why me and not Rod or Rodney?"

Kenny pulled off his cap and held it between his hands. "We gotta start diversifying jobs, huh? Ya'll are almost done with that fence, and then what? This place needs more than a fence and a wall to thrive."

Daryl crossed his arms. "So, it was a job interview?"

"You could say that. Or a trial run." He pulled the brim through his fingers one way and then back again. "You think you'd be willin' ta go out more often?"

"Yeah. Sure."

"Okay." Kenny grinned crookedly. "Great. I'll make up a schedule for ya."

Outside the kitchen he spied Sophia on the corner, her tiny form hunched over a bucket. Once he got closer, he realized she was surrounded by walnut shells.

"Hey," he greeted.

Sophia tucked her shoulders inward, trying to make herself as small as possible. With a loud crack, the nut popped open. She separated the meat from the shell, going on as if he wasn't there.

What the hell did he know about young girls? He didn't have any kids, no nieces or nephews. He remembered being twelve and hating his father. That was probably the end of their similarities.

"After last night, it's no wonder she don' wanna talk to you."

Daryl licked his lips and tried again, "Whatcha doin'?"

"Shelling nuts." She placed a new nut carefully in the nut cracker and squeezed.

Daryl squatted a respectful distance from the girl and watched a bit. He then grabbed his knife and popped one nut open with a easy flick. She eyed him from behind her blonde hair as he dropped the nut into her bucket.

"Why are you eating grass?" Crack.

He had forgotten he had the blade in his mouth. He took it out, showed her the chewed, but complete end and said, "Ain't eating it."

"Oh." She shelled another nut without lifting her head. She was quite good at it, her small fingers prying, extracting, and depositing like a machine. After a moment, Sophia said, "My Mom's mad at you."

Daryl swallowed. "Why's that?"

"You left." Sophia shrugged.

"I was coming back," he said, exasperated. It was only a few hours ago that he had considered leaving. Even so, his time in that house's kitchen, dreaming about taking the motorcycle, felt as distant as a fading dream now. Fuck, he had been good at lying to himself. When did he start to care? He gnawed again at the grass blade, contemplating while Sophia punctuated the air with cracking nuts.

When she cracked the last one in her pile, Sophia clapped the shell fragments from her hands and turned in her work to Samantha in the kitchen. She came back and stared at him with her hands on her hips, waiting, expecting.

Rustled out of his stupor, he dug the bracelets out of his pocket. "Here. Got these for you."

Her mouth opened in surprise as she accepted the gift. She slid them over her wrist and flung out her hand like a lady in a magazine. He couldn't help himself, he grinned.

"Thank you," she said timidly. Apology accepted.

"You're welcome."

"My mom's probably inside," Sophia hinted with a cheeky smirk.

Daryl got up and wiped his hands on his thighs. "Well, I better go find 'er then."

"Yep. You should. In the meantime, I'm going to go play on the boxcars." She skipped away without another glance at him.

Daryl couldn't find her in the main hall. She wasn't near the laundry sinks either. Exhaustion tugged on his shoulders and he gave in to it, trudging up the stairs with heavy steps. He pushed open the door to their room, practically salivating over the beers in his hand. The knot in his back returned, grating over bone as he started shrugging out of his shirt. If he wasn't careful, he'd poke a finger right through the threads. He considered the worn garment briefly, and wondered why he hadn't thought to grab a shirt for himself from the house today.

He stopped, realizing he had pillaged Kenny's old home. The man had said he could take other things he'd find useful. At the same time, Daryl snorted; he lost interest in stuffing his feet in Kenny's old boots.

"I'll give 'em back later."

The air wasn't much cooler inside, but it felt good on his freed skin regardless. Leaning over the chair, Daryl pressed the knot and grimaced at the tender muscle under one of his scars. What he wouldn't give for a hot shower and a couple muscle relaxers...

The door cracked open, scattering his musings. He jumped, instinctively spinning his back to the window to stare at Carol, who gaped at him.

"Knock next time!"

"What wife knocks before entering?" She snapped back.

"Ain't my wife."

"Believe me, I know. Here." A new shirt smacked him in the face. Carol disappeared into the side before he could pull the cloth from his eyes. The door slammed.

He flung back his head and exhaled sharply. Leave it to him to fuck up an apology attempt. He couldn't even get to the part where he expressed remorse. Muttering curses, Daryl buttoned the new shirt, which of course was a perfect fit. His chest tightened unexpectedly. Or, maybe not so unexpected anymore; he now recognized it came after seemingly disappointing Carol.

He pocketed the red fabric he had found and, with the two bottles in hand, he knocked on the door.

Carol peaked at him through a crack, her eyes so much like the day they first met. He froze, knowing in that instant that this was what he came back for, for the kindness she held in her eyes when she looked at him. Even though he didn't deserve it.

"I'm sorry," he said.

"Me too." She took the drink and let him in. Carol opened the bottle and sunk into a chair. "Where did you get these?"

"Kenny gave them to me."

She sighed appreciatively.

Daryl found spot on the floor. They had to take out all the shelving in here to make space for her and Sophia. He hadn't been in here since he had helped her throw out all the old boxes and cabinets. They'd decorated. Little magazine pictures of trees and beaches covered old nail holes. It was nice for what it was, and he admired that.

Now that he was in the door, his mouth went dry thinking she would ask about his scars. She had a full view of them when she surprised him. He knew they were hideous, those physical markers of old pain and shame and the glare of his father. He swallowed, but the lump in his throat remained. Wanting to avoid that topic, he opted to ask about another.

"Rough day?" He cautiously eyed her over his beer bottle.

"I spent all day worrying about you." The bottle hit her teeth with her aggressive swig. Carol wiped her mouth. "What I would do if you didn't come back. I hated it."

He flinched at the bite in her tone and dipped his chin. "Don't know why you bothered yourself."

"No?"

"You'd be fine," he said. He may have finally admitted to himself his own reasoning for coming back, but the lingering bit of doubt that Carol cared lodged in his heart like a splinter.

"I'm not faking it." She pressed the heel of her palms to her eyes. "I mean, I don't have the energy to fake concern..." she paused, then threw down her wrists across her knees. "I...I just can't lose you."

His heart stuttered as his sliver of uncertainty crumbed under her piercing stare.

"I know we agreed you could leave once I felt I could handle it on my own. And I'm grateful for what you've taught me, truly! But if there's any way...if you decide you'd rather stay with us..."

He bit the inside of his cheek to keep from answering too fast. "Nah. Change of plans. I don' wanna leave."

"Oh. What changed?"

Daryl traced a pattern on the tile, picking his words carefully. Would there be anything worse than screwing this up after he admitted what he wanted to himself? He wished his pulse wasn't so loud. He wished he was better with words.

"Just, uh, been doin' some thinking and I got nowhere ta go."

"Really?"

"Nah."

They sat in silence, alternating who drank. It went on for so long, Daryl wished he had a second beer. He sloshed the last sips around the bottom, spinning her declaration over and over in his mind.

"I just can't lose you."

He downed the last of his beer, desperate for the slight buzz to soften his nerves.

Carol had her attention on the grounds outside. Brow furrow, she picked at the label on her beer bottle. "You really don't have anyone?" When he shook his head, she clarified, "Before, you...you mentioned someone named Merle?"

Daryl bit back the angry guilt ignited by his brother's name. "When did I say that?"

"Back on the train. You muttered that name in your sleep and few times and...well...anyway. Who is that? An old girlfriend?"

He laughed. "My brother," Daryl corrected. "He would slap ya for thinkin' him a girl."

"Oh." Carol buried a giggle in her shoulder.

"Not that I would let him hit ya," he corrected in a rush, remembering the angry red mark on Carol's cheek left over from Ed's wrath.

Softly, she reassured, "I know."

He cleared his throat. "I left him. Back in Atlanta." It was like coughing up stones at first, admitting he abandoned his brother. It left his throat raw. "He disappeared one day from the hotel and never came back. The city fell apart and I heard the radio...I just ran to the train."

"I'm sorry," Carol whispered through a frown. "I wanted to go to my sister's. Ed demanded we stay. We stayed and stayed. Ed finally gave in with the train option. Said it would be for a few weeks till the city stabilized." She made a little gesture toward the room. "And here we are."

The sun bathed her in golden light. She tipped back the bottle, took a slow drink. Daryl tore his gaze from the delicate curve of her throat.

"Probably not how you expected it to go," he said to the floor. Her husband was dead and she's stuck playing wife to a redneck in an old train house.

"No, it's not." Her face lit up and her next words knocked the air from him. "Honestly, it's better."

Blushing, he set the empty bottle down as a distraction. Adjusting his position, he felt the lump in his back pocket and remembered the red fabric he had pulled from the closet.

"Here, I found this today."

She let out a pleased gasp as she accepted the fabric. "For me?"

"Thought it could be...useful."

Carol ran her hands over the piece, the corners of her eyes crinkling. "I love it."

"Thought you might." The little admission slipped before he thought better of it.

"How did it go, anyway? The run?" She spread the fabric between her hands; it was a scarf or something, not nearly large enough for her to wear as a dress like he envisioned. Even so, he was captivated. She carefully wrapped it around her head while he told her about his walk, the house, and his conclusions about Kenny.

Final knot tied she said, "So Kenny used to live out here?"

"Yeah. I also found out where we are. Nebraska."

She repeated the state name as if trying it on. Turning her head one way and then the other, she glanced at herself in the mirror on the wall. "Did you find a map?"

"Just old mail. We're near Sunnydale, Nebraska."

"We could look it up though. From the way you described it, Kenny's got a map of every state down there."

"Could." He mindlessly fingered the hem of his shirt. "You wanna leave?"

"I...don't know anymore." She sighed, leaving the mirror. "Call me crazy, but I'm okay with this place. For now. What about you?"

Daryl recalled the way Kenny nervously asked him to make the run. He considered the high likelihood that someone important to the old engineer was buried behind that house. Then, the overall scope of this place and the plan going forward. Lastly, he looked at Carol, considered the trust she held for him. Trust, and well, yes, some level of affection.

He turned away as he said, "Nah. I think we're good here for now."

"We can always be ready to leave, though. Just in case."

"Just in case. But, ya should know, if we stay Kenny's gonna start sendin' me out more. Somethin' about diversifying jobs." He looked at her through his hair, thankful for the shaggy shield.

Carol sucked in a breath. "It's dangerous."

"But if we're stayin', it's gotta happen."

"You'll be careful, right?"

"Yeah," he rasped. "O' course."

"Well then, I guess I'll just live with it until I can go out with you!" She chuckled at his slack jaw. "Come on, I'm not that bad am I?"

His ears burned as he stammered out a response. "No...no, yer gettin' the hang of it for sure. I just..."

She laughed again. "Daryl, it's okay. I know I'm not ready. But just know I plan on it. Eventually." Winking, she deposited the bottle in the waste bin. "Thank you for the beer. I better go find Sophia."

His fingers circled the lip of the bottle. The smooth motion contrasted greatly with the wild thumping of his heart. "She said she was goin' to the boxcars."

Carol touched his shoulder in thanks. "I'm glad you made it back alright."

He nodded and attempted a smile. "At least there's one thing I'm good at."

"Hmm. Aren't you selling yourself short? I could probably name a few others."

With a wave and a saunter she sent his thoughts in a tailspin. Daryl cradled his empty beer for a long time after the door closed behind her. When the shadows lengthened across the floor, he tossed his bottle in the waste bin and allowed himself a small grin.

Author's Note: Thanks for reading!-randomcat23