Author's Note: This chapter is dedicated to Goldnox, because SOCKS!

Chapter 7: Socks

Camp had come early tonight. It kept getting dark earlier and earlier, and a few hours ago, Carol had seen Daryl pull Rick aside. Telling him he needed more time to hunt, maybe. Probably, considering he took off into the woods before the bike engine even had a chance to cool.

She hated him going into that death-infested forest alone. There was no arguing, though, that when he took anybody else with him, they didn't come back with game as often. Everyone else was too loud.

Her stomach gave an ugly grumble and she looked up from the seam of Carl's shirt she was trying to mend. Sunset was starting to wash out of the sky in fading purple fingers and he still wasn't back. She stared at the trees until her vision began to blur. It was too hard, never knowing which day might be the one that carried final disaster.

Something moved beyond the trees and a sting of pain alerted her to the fact that she'd clamped her hand shut on her needle. She glanced to warn Rick, but he was already watching, too. The movement was too smooth, though. Too graceful to be a walker, and too casual to be an attack.

Daryl's broad shoulders took shape, a darker black in a whole forest of twilight grays. She wiped the droplet of blood on her pants and swallowed against a dry mouth. After he'd been gone this long, she'd been so sure he'd have bagged something big. A fox, maybe even a deer.

Daryl started to shake his head, but Rick was already turning away. Daryl's step stuttered a little before he found his stride again. He dropped his crossbow next to her without a word, went over to the bike to mess with the saddlebags.

Carol started counting the cans they had left. Only one can for each group of three, tonight. No one complained. No one said much of anything.

She took the can of peas from T-dog when he finished his third, trying not to be obvious when she checked if he'd taken more than his share. He glared at her, and she glanced away, carrying the can over to where Daryl was roaming amongst the cars. Half-pacing, fidgeting with their gear.

"What are you doing?"

"Stuff," he growled. "Go back to the fire."

"Something happen when you were out hunting?" She tried to check for fresh blood but his clothes were already black and deep brown with old layers of it.

It reminded her of camo. A hysterical giggle rose in her throat as she thought about the camouflage they used to sell in stores, the kind country boys upholstered their truck seats in. Daryl hadn't purchased a thing but he matched the forest like he was made for it. He smelled like trees and survival and all the layers of old blood on his clothes made him blend in with the slaughter of the wilderness just fine.

The smile faded from her face.

"What?" he asked her, not answering her question.

She fingered the edge of his vest, old dark stains tainting the lines of the wings on the back. "You need to stay in camp someday for more than five minutes when it's still light enough to do laundry."

He jerked away from her. "Cain't waste the light. Everything's all hunkered down for winter as it is. Like we oughta be."

He grabbed the bed of the truck, leaning forward and letting his head fall. She took a step closer, but then he abruptly coiled, jerking the truck so it rocked on its shocks. He hauled back and kicked it ferociously. Once, twice, then slammed his fist into the truck so the metal banged and crashed. She winced at the racket it made, fear fluttering at what that might call in.

She caught his arm. "It's not your fault."

"No?" He caught sight of the half-empty can in her hand. "Then why the fuck you eating somebody's old peas for dinner? People are supposed to stock up for winter. Prepare. Thought I was poor before all this but shit, we ain't got nothin'!"

Carol propped the can on the tailgate and raised an eyebrow at him. In her experience, if she refused to get rattled, he'd sort of stall out after a while. His temper never lasted long without Merle around to keep him stirred up.

"You're just grouchy because your feet are cold," she said.

He scoffed. "What are you jawing on about? My feet are fine."

"No, they're not. All the bushes out in the trees are soaked and your shoes are probably wet through." She grabbed his hand and sat down next to the truck. He followed her down, his gaze catching on their linked hands, then jumping away. She grabbed his bag from where he'd dropped it by the tire and started digging through it.

"What are you doin'?" He made a grab for it and she jerked it back.

"What, afraid I'm going to find your porn? If you had any, Carl would have been into it by now." She came up with an extra pair of socks, waving them triumphantly before she grabbed his boots and started unlacing them.

He tried to tug them back. "My feet are fine," he grumbled.

"They ain't," she said, throwing his word back at him.

He stopped struggling and snorted, shaking his head. She pulled off his boots and stripped off his socks, then tucked his feet up against her bare belly, pulling her shirt and jacket out to cover them.

She sucked in a breath. "Yikes! Told you they were wet. If we were any further north, you'd have caught frostbite by now."

He stared at her, his shoulders hunching a little. "The hell you doin'? Your shirt's gonna smell like feet."

"If you think my shirt doesn't already smell like feet, you haven't gotten close enough."

His expression lightened a little. "Why you think I run the motorcycle s' fast?"

She slapped him lightly on the knee, mock scowling until a glimmer of laughter came into his eyes.

She glanced over her shoulder, back to where everybody was gathered around the fire, but nobody was paying them any mind. It was nice, having a moment just to them when the engine noise wasn't too loud to talk.

"I used to do this for Sophia. When she got home from school in the winter. We couldn't afford waterproof boots and her little feet would get so cold nothing else would warm them up."

"That how you knew my socks were wet?"

She picked up one of the dirty ones and pelted him with it. "I know because you're a pig. I never see you change your socks."

The teasing won her the quirk of one of his small smiles, almost hidden in the shadows as he pulled his feet back, putting dry socks on before he jammed his boots back on.

She passed over the can of food, knowing he'd assume she already took her share. He dipped out peas fast enough to make her heart ache a little that she didn't have anything else to give him. No wonder he was kicking the truck.

"We're going to be all right, you know." She crossed her legs and leaned her arms on them, her stomach still cold from the touch of his frozen feet. She smiled. "God knows you're the wimpiest one of all of us. And I hear it's a lot harder than this to kill a Dixon boy."

He chuffed out a laugh, then shook his head, laughed again, and hooked an elbow over his knee as he gulped down the rest of the peas.

She nudged him. "You done with all your bellyaching now so we can go back to the fire? I'm freezing."

"Wouldn't be s' cold if ya didn't go sticking my dirty feet all over yo'self. That's on you." He rolled to his feet.

Carol smiled as he put his hand out, rough and blunt like it was no big deal. She may have had to be the one to sit him down, but it was him that lifted her back to standing.

#

"Carol? Do you have a minute?"

She glanced at Rick, then stood up from where she'd been trying to figure how to stretch a can of corn and a shriveled apple to be breakfast for all ten of them. It involved a whole lot of staring and trying to figure out how not to cry.

He nodded away from camp. Her eyes narrowed, and she shot a look to where Glenn was trying to talk Maggie into something she appeared dead set against. Lori was arguing with Carl. T-dog slumped on a tailgate like he couldn't remember their morning routine. Daryl was already gone, scouting the first part of today's route.

She followed Rick, letting them get forty feet out from camp before she said, "Why do I get the feeling this is an official visit, Sheriff?"

"Sheriff's deputy," he corrected, then ran a hand over his beard, blowing out a breath. "I saw you last night, with Daryl."

She folded her arms and raised both brows.

"By the cars at dinner." Rick looked uncomfortable.

"I was warming his feet. I didn't have my hand down his pants."

Rick took a step back. "Whoa, hey…"

"Sorry." She had to force the word out, because she knew it was the right thing to do, but she wanted to spit nails right now. "I didn't have much to eat last night. I'm a little grouchy. But Daryl's business is Daryl's business and he'd be the first to tell you that."

"Sure," he agreed easily, running a hand over his neck and squinting up at her. "Look, I think you're getting the wrong idea here. I think you've been nothing but good for Daryl. He's kinder now, less volatile. More committed to the group. But I also think he maybe hasn't had a lot of experience with women. And I think if things go bad between the two of you, he might not know how to handle it and the first thing he'd do is probably take off." Rick looked her in the eye and she could see how much weight he'd lost in the hollows of his cheeks. "Without him, the group is weak."

She gritted her teeth. "So what? I'm responsible for everyone's lives now?" She waved a hand at her tangled gray hair. "I'm not some kind of temptress here, Rick. I got him to change his damn socks for once, which you should be thanking me for, since trenchfoot would take him out just as fast as a broken heart." She took a step forward. "I don't know what you think you saw, but I'm not playing any games."

He held up both hands. "I know. All I'm saying is take it slow. Be sure. And be careful with him."

Rick didn't wait for her to snap at him again. Just turned and headed back toward camp with strides a little shorter, a little less steady than they'd been even a few months ago.

Author's Note: I'm glad I got to post the happy chapter for Christmas Eve! Up next…Ugh, I really don't want to tell you. But it starts with A Moment between Carol and Daryl, so you have that to look forward to.

I want to post a one-shot on Christmas, and I'm going to give you guys your choice. There's a happy, kind of funny one about the town wanting to throw Daryl a party after he saves Alexandria. Rick and Carol veto the party but instead, everyone's bringing gifts by the house for him while Carol tries to shield him from all the unwanted attention—especially female unwanted attention.

OR there's a little bit more dramatic one (but still happy, I think) about Daryl getting stitched up after he saves Alexandria. Description: Daryl needs stitches & when he hesitates to strip down in a crowded infirmary, Carol finds an unexpected way to protect him.

So, votes? I'll post both eventually, but which do you want for Christmas? Santa Trogdor at your service here.