The sun had set by the time Daryl made his way to the house. He kicked his boots off on the porch and paused for a second in the faint glow of the lantern emanating from the frosted glass panels on either side of the door. Somebody was in the kitchen.

He took a moment to roll his shoulders before picking up his boots in one hand and turning the door handle, not ready for Carol to give him that broken look and cold shoulder like she had at the gates earlier in the day. He supposed they'd have to have it out properly – God knew he had some things to say – but he really didn't want to do it standing on the cold linoleum in his holey socks, with the whole house listening in. "A'ight." He muttered to himself, and stepped inside.

It wasn't Carol in the kitchen.

"Jude?" He said, "What'cha doing down here?" She was standing at the kitchen counter, a mug in her hands.

"Having water." She shrugged and put the mug down. "What are you doing here?"

He huffed and dropped his boots inside the door. "I live here, smartass. Why ain't you in bed? Everything okay?" She should have been in bed, tucked up warm and safe at Hilltop under Aaron's care… But Hilltop was gone; nothing but ashes and corpses. Instead she was at Alexandria, in an empty bedroom she was sharing with little RJ while Michonne went chasing ghosts. Where exactly? Daryl didn't know. North, somewhere. While her kid was growing old beyond her years and dispatching friends-turned-walkers.

"Yeah, I'm okay. Just thirsty." He knew she was having nightmares, even though she wouldn't admit to it. His stomach felt weird while he watched her feign innocence, sipping from her mug with slightly too-wide eyes. She put the mug down and looked into the bottom of it before meeting his eyes. "I had a bad dream, too." He crossed the kitchen and swiped the mug to place it in the sink.

"Wanna talk about it?" He offered. He didn't know what to say, really, but he figured the anxious twist in his gut would loosen slightly if he could make her feel better. She shuffled her little socked feet and shrugged again.

"No," she said, looking up at him where he stood next to the sink. "You don't really like talking about feelings and stuff."

He snorted out a dry laugh and crouched down, putting his hands on her shoulders and giving her a squeeze. Damn, that was an astute kid. "Yeah, but if you wanna talk about your feelings and stuff I can listen." She stepped up to him and hugged him tight, scrawny arms wrapped around his neck and head. He clutched her to him until she let go.

"I feel better now that you're back. I'm going to check on RJ, okay?" He watched as she padded across the floor to the staircase. She was wearing matching plaid pyjamas a size too big, and he hoped she was warm enough. The nights were still bitterly cold, although the days were growing bearable again.

"Go on back to sleep, a'ight?" He lifted a hand to shoo her up the stairs, then stopped. "Hey."

She turned around, two steps up. "Yeah?"

"Seen Aunt Carol?" What if she wasn't here? Where would she go?

"Nope, I saw her when she got back but that was before… Is she ok? She looked kinda sad." Once upon a time Carol had been a surrogate mother to infant Judith, but that was long ago. He kind of understood why she had distanced herself, but he hated it, too.

"Yeah," He sighed. "She's fine. Sweet dreams, kid." She disappeared up the stairs and he scratched his head with a groan. When did he become a babysitter to a grown-ass woman? He supposed he was being unfair. She'd looked after him plenty of times – made sure he was fed, put up with his moods… He didn't realise how hard it was, worrying about someone all the time. Shit's exhausting, he thought.

He trudged up the stairs and flicked on the light, then washed his face in the bathroom. He stood at the basin, squinting at his greying scruff and wondering if he should shave. He was exhausted, but not ready to sleep, so instead of shaving he brushed his teeth. Next he went to the closet in the hall and pulled out a pair of dark sweats and a clean flannel shirt, before returning to the bathroom and scrubbing himself down with a damp washcloth. He assumed Carol was asleep in the attic bedroom and didn't want the noise of the shower to disturb her, so he settled for a sink bath and redressed quickly before the chilly night air made him too cold. Clean jammies, he thought, mildly entertained. Worrying about getting a bit cold, and clean jammies. If he wasn't so busy stressing about Carol, life would be far too comfortable.

He poked his head into Judith and RJ's room, and spied them both tucked into their beds. RJ was flat on his back, one chubby hand up on his pillow beside his head and his little mouth open. Judith was curled up under the covers with Rick's hat on the pillow, one hand tucked under the pillow where he knew she stashed her pocket knife. The dog was curled up on the end of her bed and he hoped Judith would sleep peacefully until morning with the warm, comforting presence nearby. He padded up the hall to Lydia's room, where the door was shut and no light crept beneath it. For a moment he considered opening it to check on her, but he knew the intrusion would startle her awake so he carried on down to his own bedroom.

The stairwell up to the attic was dark. If Carol was up there he knew she would be lying awake in the darkness, swamped in her own thoughts.

He stopped outside his closed door when he saw the sliver of dim orange light on the hardwood floor. He heard Carol clear her throat from inside the room. He opened the door and saw her sitting cross-legged on top of the covers on his bed, a dog-eared old book in her lap, that she must have been reading by the light of the lantern on his bedside table.

"Hey." He said.

Her eyes met his, heavy with guilt and regret. Her lips pressed together in a tiny, sad smile for a second. "Hey."

He crossed the room as she scooted over and settled next to her, one leg dangling off the bed and the other stretched out in front of him. "You okay?" She sighed and closed the book. She unfolded her legs and leaned back against the headboard, her shoulder next to his.

"No," she said plainly, tilting her head back and closing her eyes. "I screwed it all up. Made a deal with Negan. Got people killed. And I don't feel any better just because Alpha's dead." Her fingers twitched in her lap and he leaned away from her to fish a pack of cigarettes and a lighter out of his bedside drawer. He lit one and took a drag. She smelled the smoke and rolled her head to look at him as he sighed out twin streams of smoke through his nose. He looked back at her, taking in the dark circles beneath her eyes and the puffy, discoloured corner of her mouth where she'd been punched. Wordlessly he passed her the cigarette and watched her breathe it in. He didn't know what had happened to her since she had left Negan parked on that log, but she looked like it had been rough. She had new scrapes on her face and down the side of her neck, and the back of her hand was bruised when she lifted the cigarette for another deep inhale. They sat together in silence, passing the smoke back and forth until it was a stub. When it was finished, she stared at it until the tiny trail of smoke died. She just looked so lost, and he ached to wrap her up in a hug and tell her it would all be okay.

It would have been a lie, and he knew she'd see right through it. And despite his instinctive need to comfort her, he was pissed at her too, so he flexed his fists in his lap until his knuckles popped and refrained from leaning up against her like he wanted to. He couldn't remember the last time her presence had made him uncomfortable but the silence stretched, cold and oppressive, until he broke it.

"What're you planning with Negan?" He hated that asshole. No matter what he did, or who he helped, the smug prick was evil. She hadn't seen it – the way Abe's huge body toppled like a felled tree, or how Glenn had suffered – but he knew she knew what Negan had done. She knew, and he hated the feeling of betrayal, of fury, and a sort of hatred that rose in his chest when he thought of how she still turned to him.

"I kind of thought he'd die out there." She crushed the flaky butt of the cigarette between her thumb and forefinger and tipped it into his open palm. He dropped it in the empty ashtray beside the lamp. She sighed in frustration. "I thought he'd kill her and one of them would kill him in retaliation. Didn't think that through, huh?" She laughed mirthlessly, staring at the wall across the room. "But you brought him back and now I have to hold my end of the bargain."

"You're blamin' me?" His face twisted and he forced his expression back to neutrality. "I dragged him back so it's my fault?" She rolled her eyes and he twisted towards her fully. "Nah, that's consequences. You did that."

She groaned and closed her eyes. "I know. I know, I do. I'll fix it. There's an old camping hut a mile off the south fence, it's outside the walls but he'd still be near enough to keep an eye on."

"You want him to stay?" Daryl asks, incredulous that she would even consider it. "Naw. Naw, he's goin'."

"Where's he going to go, Daryl? I told him I'd help him if he helped us, and he did. I know people don't want him here but he played his part." The apathy in her voice was disturbing. Did she really think he'd ever earn anything else besides rotting in the cell beneath Alexandria?

"Don't give a shit where, but he can't stay. Someone's liable t'kill him." She turned to scrutinise him, eyes slightly narrowed and the soft lines of her face hardening in the half shadow of his body.

"You, you mean?" She turned her whole body to face him, her knee pressing into his thigh. "I don't care who kills him, except for you. You don't have to cover my ass on this one." He sighed heavily and put his hand on her knee, rubbing slowly with his thumb. He couldn't quite look at her so he stared at his hand instead, watching the faded dark fabric of her pants crinkle and straighten again as his thumb smoothed back forwards. Her cool hand slipped over top of his with a squeeze. "I'm so sorry… About everything." Her voice shook and he pulled his hand away to wrap his arm around her and ease her against his side.

As much as he wanted to be furious with her, he couldn't. The hurt was rolling off her in waves. She'd been stupid, impulsive, selfish… But he understood. He remembered, in that high rise with that ugly damn painting, when she'd told him how she was losing herself. He remembered saying "We ain't ashes.". But that was years ago, innumerable horrors ago, and maybe ashes were all that was left.

"I know. I forgive you," He laid his cheek against the top of her head. "For all of it. Anything."

"You don't know all of it." She whispered. He heard her sniffle and squeezed her tightly, until she grunted through gritted teeth and jerked away. "My shoulder," She offered. "I hurt it before I came back in. It's fine."

"Didn't know if you would." He picked at the fabric of his sweats. "Come back. When I found Negan we waited for ya all night an' you didn't show." He looked at her then, chewing on his lower lip for half a second and finally meeting her eyes. She held his gaze for only a moment, before she glanced away guiltily and shook her head. "Hey," He insisted and she looked him dead in the eye again, gritting her teeth as her big, sad eyes filled with tears. "You scared me. Big time. I meant it when I said you never came off that damn boat, thought you just walked out to die in the woods or somethin'." She closed her eyes as her face contorted, tears squeezing out and tracking down her cheeks. She hung her head and took a deep breath, then scrubbed her them away with the heel of one hand. Her gaze dropped to her fists clenched in her lap. She sat mutely while he stared at her.

"Look at me!" He snapped, frustration and exhaustion finally brimming over. She didn't. He heaved himself off the bed and paced to the door before whipping around and jabbing a finger in her direction. "Hey!" She jolted and almost looked like she was going to cry again, then he caught a glimpse of hot fury. "Was that it? Huh? Y'wanted to just curl up somewhere n' die, Carol?"

She slammed her hand down on the covers and got to her feet, flinging the book across the room. "Is that what you want me to say?" She yelled. "You want me to admit it?" She flew at him and shoved him hard, sending him staggering a step backwards and throwing an arm up to block her next attack. It didn't come, though. "I don't want to do this anymore!" She cried. "I can't lose anyone else!" Her voice cracked and she dug her hands into her hair, gripping tightly as if the pain would ground her.

"Carol-"

"No!" She cut him off with a pitchy shout. "You want to hear this? How everyone around me gets hurt? How everyone I love dies? My children, gone?" She hunched over for a second, heaving for breath. He stumbled back until he hit the door, his heart an icy knot in the middle of his chest and his insides rolling with guilt at the misery he'd dragged up for her. "If I don't get people killed then I just end up hurting them! Why can't you just hate me, Daryl? Why can't you make it easy?"

"Stop it!" He yelled back. "You don't get to do that!" He sucked in a breath and tried to squash the wave rage that swelled within him. He couldn't, and he let go. "You wanna quit? No! You don't get to jus' walk out like that! If you wanna do stupid shit? Get people hurt? Pretend you're some cold bitch who don't need anythin' but revenge?"

He wanted to stop. He didn't want to throw it all back in her face like this, but he hurt. "You don't get to do this to me!"

"This isn't about you!" She screamed, hurling the lamp against the wall beside him, plunging them into darkness. The faint silvery moonlight illuminated one side of her body as her face contorted in fury. "It's about me! All I do is hurt people and it's too damn much!" She stepped towards him, rage radiating from her trembling body. "I came back for you but I can't do it anymore! Just let me die, Daryl!"

"Don't!" He roared, meeting her in the middle of the room and grabbing her by the upper arms, sore shoulder be damned. "You die, Carol?" He shook her once, hard. "You're gonna take me with you." She wrenched away from his grip and she shook her head, breathing hard.

Her face crumpled and she staggered backwards to the bed, arms wrapped around herself as she sobbed. Her legs gave way and she slid down the side of the mattress until she was sitting on the floor. "You should have left me in that cave… I can't do it myself, I just can't." Her whole body shook and the crushing stillness of the room was so heavy that Daryl felt like he was caving in on himself.

"I'm sorry," He croaked. "I didn't mean to hurt you." She looked so small, curled up and bawling into her knees. He felt physically ill at the way he manhandled her. "Carol. I'm sorry."

He found himself at her side on the floor, hauling her into his lap and hugging her to his body while she thumped weakly on his chest. "Don't." She sobbed, pushing him away while he held her and tried not to hurt her busted shoulder. "Please, please…"

"Shh." He cradled her head in his hand and stroked her hair with his fingertips. "Shh. I gotcha, sweetheart. 'S gonna be okay." Her ragged keen broke him and his brimming tears finally spilled over. He rocked her while she cried, and he cried silently too. "I just want you back. Don't leave me alone, just stay. For me."

"I c-can't," She sobbed. "I can't give you me. I'm not me." He swiped the snot and tears off his face with his sleeve and buried his face in her hair. Her hands fisted in the flannel of his shirt and he felt her finally lean into him. "I don't know who I am."

"I do," He whispered into her hair. "I do."