AN: Here we go, another chapter here.
This story spans some time, so there are sort of "snapshot" chapters between parts that will show you a little of the character development. This is one of those chapters. It's another peak into their life as we go setting up the next little bit.
I hope that you enjoy! Let me know what you think!
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The winter wheat went into the ground when autumn dropped around the small farm. The tiny herd of cattle grazed and Daryl filled his days with jobs that would prepare their small home to withstand the snow and ice of the hard winter that was to come. Carol prepared their home for the coming weather and worked with Miss Jo to prepare and store food to sustain them and to prepare clothing to keep them from freezing to death once the cold settled in.
Daryl seemed pleased, when the first icy winds blew and the first snow fell around them, to find that their house was warmer than anticipated. The work he'd done with care paid off and the walls around them protected them from the cold.
Carol kept the fire burning at all times and Daryl kept the wood piled high for her so that, no matter how many of the sticks she took from the stack at any given time, she never had to worry that they would run out.
Every evening, just before their supper was ready, Carol bundled up as much as Daryl did and she went with him to feed the livestock so that, bellies full, the animals would stand the additional cold of the night better. Then, inside their small home, she would serve their food and warm their bath water over the flames in their small fireplace. And every night they would take refuge, under the blankets, huddled together to protect each other from the cold.
They'd wake the same way, sharing their body heat, each morning to face the day to come.
It was well after dark, one night, when Carol heard the cows bellowing. The distance from the field made the sound low and muffled. Daryl, asleep next to her, was unaware of the noise and for a moment, Carol thought she might be imagining it. She thought the sound might simply be something that her brain—trapped in the land between sleep and waking—was producing for her. It was part of her waking knowledge and, therefore, was becoming part of her dreams.
Another sound, though, caught her attention. The carrying snort of horses. A whinny that was closer than it should have been. A whinny that couldn't be heard from the barn.
Carol got out of bed and quickly wrapped her coat around her. Without bothering with her boots, she stumbled to the door and opened it. She was greeted with an icy blast of cold air, but still she stuck her head out the door of the cabin.
Trips back and forth to the outhouse had taught her the sounds of night. She knew them well. The nights on their farm were still and quiet. Carol had learned each and every greeting of their nocturnal animal friends and she knew well the calm and comfortable sounds of their own animals when they were stirring about.
What Carol heard were noises that were unfamiliar. They were unwelcome. They were the sounds of boots crunching on the icy ground and of horses shifting their weight.
They were the sounds of the cattle bellowing in the fields. The sounds of cattle disturbed by an unwelcome invader.
Carol closed the door quickly to keep her own voice from travelling outside.
"Daryl! Daryl!" She called. "Get up! Someone's out there. Someone's bothering the cows! Daryl!" Daryl hit his feet before Carol knew for sure that he was even awake. He was in the process of dressing when he mumbled to Carol to repeat herself and remind him what he was responding to. "Someone's outside," Carol repeated. "I hear the cows. Someone's out there. Horses. The cows are hollerin'."
"Fuck!" Daryl spat.
He was in his boots and had the gun from beside the door before he barely even got the one syllable word out of his mouth. He ripped the door open and started out. Carol quickly stepped into her own boots and, having no other way to help him should he need it, grabbed one of the large knives that she had before she followed him out into the dark night.
"Who the hell is out here?!" Daryl called, stumbling through the yard ahead of Carol.
Whoever had come had left their horses untied and Daryl's loud voice spooked one of the animals. It charged by Carol at a full run and she stepped quickly back to avoid be trampled by the creature. Immediately she picked up her steps again and followed after Daryl toward the fields where their small herd was held.
She heard other voices pick up—unknown voices belonging to strange men—as they yelled back and forth to each other in some frantic communications over what they should do.
"Get on outta here!" Daryl yelled at them. "This here's private damn property an' them are my fuckin' cows!"
The bandits—because that's what Carol considered them to be, even if she couldn't see them—had clearly not intended to get caught. There was some scrambling and Carol slipped to the side and opened the barn in search of a lantern that she might use to shed some light on the situation for Daryl. She expected to find the barn empty, everyone in the field attempting to steal the cattle, but was surprised to find that there was a man inside that was trying to get a rope around Nugget—Daryl's sorrel horse—that Nugget didn't seem inclined to wear. Carol could only see the outline of the man, but she could easily enough tell where he was and what he was doing.
"Back away from that horse!" Carol spat at him.
The man stopped what he was doing, but he didn't respond. Nugget continued his frenzied knocking about in the stall until Carol worried that he would hurt himself or break down the door.
Outside, there was some yelling and a shot cracked through the silence. Carol jumped with the sound, but she didn't move.
The man laughed at her.
"Like to know what the hell a cunt like you aims to do about it," the man a few steps in front of her spat at her.
"Kill you," Carol said, aware that her own voice shook slightly. "If it's what I gotta do."
He laughed again and Carol swallowed. She sucked in a breath and remembered something that Andrea had told her once. She should never make a threat to a man that she didn't fully intend to go through with. Andrea told her they could smell fear and they could sense bluffing. She shouldn't make a threat that she didn't intend to keep.
But if someone took off with their horses—if they took off with their cattle—they could leave them without the means to keep going.
If the shots that rang out outside—more of them breaking through the silence of the freezing night—were intended for Daryl, they could take him from her.
And that would mean more to Carol than if they took her own life from her.
"Step away from the horse," Carol said, tightening her hold on the knife in her hand. "Or so help me...I'm going to kill you."
The man laughed again, but he did step away from the horse. He stepped toward Carol, instead, and she held her breath.
Outside she heard the sound of another shot. She heard the sound of hooves pounding on the snow that—iced over and harder than it had been after it fell—crunched loudly.
"Your friends are leaving," Carol said. "You go with 'em—or you don't."
The man rushed toward Carol and Carol reacted. As he reached her, he turned to go around her and leave her standing in the barn, but she'd already committed to her action. Her knife made contact with him and he howled in response to the bite of the blade. His hand came out, making contact with her face, but then he seized the opportunity to escape and ran from the barn.
In shock, Carol stood there holding the knife in her hand. She could feel the slippery wetness running down from the blade. It was proof of what she had done. It was proof of what she was capable of doing if she had to do it.
Having done it, though, she couldn't find the strength in her knees to move again or enough breath in her chest to call out for Daryl. She hadn't killed the man, but she could have killed him. It was his choice—to try to sidestep her and avoid her entirely—that had kept her from running the blade clear into his gut. It was his choice to avoid her that had saved him from the death that she was willing to deliver to him.
But she had to protect her home as much as Daryl did. She had to protect her life.
Carol was still shaking when Daryl found her. He was already carrying a lantern—the very thing she'd come into the barn to get—and that meant that the trouble outside was done. One way or another, it was done. Carol jumped when he wrapped his arms around her from behind, leaving the lantern on the ground to illuminate the space around them, but he slipped a hand down and wrapped it around her wrist to control the knife and to keep her from injuring him in her shock.
"Shhhh..." he hissed quietly in her ear. "Easy. It's me. Only me. You shouldn'ta been out here. Ain't nobody hurt'cha did they? Carol?"
Carol closed her eyes and listened to his voice. She listened to the soft sound of his words as he repeated them over and over. His reassurance was almost like a lullaby to her. It was the quiet promise that he was there. He was still there. And so was she.
"You're OK?" Carol asked.
"Fine," Daryl assured her. "Assholes shot at me, but they can't aim in the damn dark. Didn't have to fire my own damn gun even once because one of the assholes shot one of the other ones." He laughed quietly. "Shot his own damn partner."
Carol swallowed, only just realizing that she was fighting sobbing.
"You're OK?" She repeated.
Daryl turned her body and finally pulled the knife out of her hand. He tossed it on the ground to the side of them and pulled Carol into him. She felt the pull of him tangling his fingers in her hair—yanking gently at her curls—and she buried her face in his chest. He shushed her again.
"Don't cry out here," Daryl said. "Your tears'll freeze right to your face. I ain't even scratched. But you ain't said—if you OK."
"I don't know if I killed him," Carol said.
"You ain't killed nobody," Daryl assured her. "Seen somebody light outta here like his ass was on fire. But he weren't no ghost. Just as damn solid as you an' me is."
"I coulda killed him," Carol said, rubbing her face against Daryl.
"You shouldn'ta been out here," Daryl said, his tone of voice not matching the reprimand at all. "What the hell was you doin' out here any damn way?"
"Helping you," Carol said. "Helping you. Getting a lamp so you could see. I thought—I could get a lamp in here. He was in here. I coulda killed him."
"You coulda killed him," Daryl said. "But he coulda killed your ass too. And that's what the hell scares the shit outta me, Carol. Hell—if you'da killed him, it ain't no skin off my teeth. Yours neither. Nobody would be lookin' for some no good horse thief. We'da fed him to the damn pigs and never spoke of that shit again. But if he'da killed you?" Daryl sighed when Carol shivered. "Don't matter. He's gone now and—no harm done. Come on—let's go inside. Get warmed up."
"The cows?" Carol asked quietly as Daryl collected her knife off the ground and wiped it on the hay. She could see that there were some droplets of blood that the man had left behind—a trail that proved he'd even been there.
Daryl laughed to himself.
"Not even spooked," Daryl said. "Better'n you an' me both."
Daryl gathered up the lantern and pushed Carol gently toward the door of the barn. He guided her out and she took the lantern from him and held it up while he closed the barn and checked the security of the door. He reached for the lantern and Carol pulled it back from him.
"I can help," Carol said. "I'm not helpless. I'm not."
Daryl hummed at her.
"That you ain't," Daryl said. "You sure ain't. Come on. Let's get inside. You ain't even got nothin' on your legs. Gonna freeze to death out here."
He put his hand on Carol's back and pushed her back toward the cabin. She walked along without putting up any sort of a struggle.
"Are you mad, Daryl?" Carol asked.
"Yeah," Daryl said. "I guess I am."
"About me stabbing the man?" Carol asked.
"No," Daryl said. "About you puttin' yourself in a situation where you coulda got killed. Where I coulda lost you."
"He could've taken Nugget," Carol said.
"And I coulda bought another horse," Daryl said.
Carol's stomach twisted with her own thoughts, but she gave voice to them at any rate.
"You could get another wife, too, Daryl," Carol pointed out. "Whores aren't that hard to come by and...most of them would be happy to be made a wife."
Daryl stopped her by pulling back on her shoulder. She almost lost her balance on the slippery ground with the abrupt stopping of her forward movement, but Daryl caught her. He turned her around to face him. Even with the limited light provided by his lantern, she could see the stern expression on his face.
"Don't'cha never say no damn thing like that again," Daryl said. "Ain't gonna stand for it. I got one wife. Only one I'm ever gonna have. And—you that wife. That's all the hell there is to it. And a good damn wife? She don't go runnin' out the door when she oughta stay inside."
"I was helping you," Carol said. "A good wife helps her husband."
"And you'da done me a lot worse if I'da knowed what you was doin'!" Daryl barked. "Don't you realize that? If I'da knowed you was out there? I'da got my own ass killed because I couldn'ta paid attention to what the hell they was doing because I'da been too damn worried about you." He backed up a little from Carol and some of his frustration seemed to fade. "Don't you see nothing? Don't ask your ass to stay inside for you. Ask you to stay inside for me."
Carol's stomach twisted again. She nodded her head at Daryl.
"Fine," she said. "I understand. You want me to stay inside because—you want me to be safe."
"Want you to stay inside because I love you," Daryl said.
Carol swallowed and nodded her head.
"I understand," Carol said. "But—don't you understand anything, Daryl? I wanted to come outside because you might need my help. You might—need me to do something. I mighta been able to help you somehow. I wanted to come outside because—I love you too." Carol sucked in a breath and held it. She watched Daryl watching her. "Every bit as much as you love me, Daryl." She added.
Daryl frowned at her, but she wasn't entirely sure it was her words that brought about the expression. He pointed toward their house.
"Get inside," Daryl said. "Before your legs freeze off."
Carol nodded and turned. She headed quickly toward the house with Daryl right behind her. Inside, he set about lighting the lamps. He'd already returned the gun to its place and he put the knife on the table to be washed. Before Carol could even ask him what he was doing, Daryl filled the bowl on the dresser and wet a rag in it. He turned around and walked back to her. Taking her face in his hand, he dabbed at the side of her lip with the rag.
"Didn't tell me out there that the asshole got'cha," Daryl said softly.
Carol had forgotten that the man had even managed to touch her. She hadn't realized that he might have left any noticeable evidence behind of the slap he gave her for stabbing him.
"It's nothing," Carol said.
"It's bleeding is what the hell it is," Daryl said.
Carol shook her head gently at Daryl.
"It's nothing," she repeated. "Daryl? It don't even hurt."
"And everybody what sees it is gonna figure I knocked you a good one," Daryl said.
"You wouldn't," Carol responded.
Daryl sucked his teeth.
"Yeah but they don't know that," he responded.
"Then we tell them," Carol said. "Nobody sees me but Miss Jo. Hershel Greene. Merle."
"Merle's gonna kick my damn ass," Daryl said.
"For something you didn't do?" Carol responded. "He wouldn't."
"For lettin' you run around when you had no business bein' out there," Daryl said. "He oughta."
Carol caught Daryl's hand this time and held it. She rubbed her thumb over his skin. It was rough and chapped from the cold. Daryl didn't have gloves and it was one thing he needed. It was one thing that she didn't have to offer him, though she'd learned to make a good deal of clothing already. Carol pulled his hand to her lips and she kissed it, watching his face even as she did so. He struggled to swallow.
He wasn't mad. Carol had seen mad before. The expression on Daryl's face was something else entirely—and it was something he was having a harder time admitting to than simple anger.
Daryl was scared.
And Carol didn't believe, not even for a minute, that it was Merle that Daryl was scared of. It wasn't Merle or Hershel or Miss Jo. It wasn't anything that anyone might say to him or do to him.
Daryl was scared of what had already happened. He was scared of what might have been. Daryl was terrified of a few drops of blood that barely stained the rag in his hand because it was Carol's blood.
And Carol had never been loved like that before. She'd never even felt she'd deserved love like that before. She wasn't sure she deserved it now. But, deserving it or not, she had it now.
"We'll tell them the truth," Carol said. "And nobody will say a thing, Daryl. I went out there to help you. And I'd do it again. You need me to help you, Daryl, and I'm sure—I'm sure that if you ask Hershel? If you asked him what a good wife is supposed to do? I'm sure that somewhere it says that a good wife is supposed to help her husband, Daryl. You can't do everything alone. You don't have to. That's what I'm here for." Daryl opened his mouth to protest and Carol shook her head quickly at him to keep him from speaking. "But," she said, interrupting him before he could even begin, "but—if you want me to stay inside? If there's somebody out there? And you're wantin' me to stay inside? I'll do that. I'll stay inside. Just like you want me to."
Daryl sucked in a breath and let it out with a sigh that made his shoulders drop with some release of tension.
"That's what I want," Daryl said. "I want'cha to stay inside. Stay safe."
Carol smiled at him and nodded her head gently.
"Then that's what I'll do," she said. "Up until—I can't. Because if I gotta go outside? If you need me? Daryl—you didn't build a door that's fit to hold me back."
Carol could see some frustration cross his features and she smiled at him. He stared at her, trying his best to hold onto what little bit of anger he was mining out of his fear, but he couldn't keep a good hold on it. It gave way and a smile broke through.
"You're a hardheaded woman," Daryl said, shaking his head.
Carol swallowed, worried for a second that he might hold such a thing against her.
"Been told that before," Carol said. "Like it weren't a good thing." She raised her eyebrows at him. "Like hardheaded women don't make good wives."
"Best wife I got," Daryl said. He smirked at her. "But the damned hardheadedest one too."
Carol laughed quietly.
"My husband sure don't have the softest head in the world," Carol said. "But—his heart's just about right. Go back to bed, Daryl?"
Daryl shook his head at her.
"You go on," Daryl said. "Put another stick or two of wood on the fire. I'ma stay up just a lil' bit. Keep an ear out to make sure they don't come back. Don't figure they will. Gotta get somewhere and patch up their friends. One of 'em's shot and the other's stabbed. Figure they don't come back here for a good long time if they ever come back at all."
"Come to bed then," Carol insisted. "Warm up."
"Don't feel like I can sleep," Daryl said. "Wound too tight. Just gonna stay up a bit. Keep an ear out."
Carol smiled at him and reached a hand up to touch his face. Then she took the rag from his hand—the one he was still holding—and tugged his hand.
"Come to bed," Carol said. "Warm up. We'll save the sleepin' for in a little bit. See if—we can't unwind things a little."