Chapter 12: Rebreak My Heart
Carol had given up trying to make dinner. Not that there was much she could do to spice up a can of wax beans and one of fruit cocktail. She certainly couldn't combine the cans. And staring at them wasn't doing much to distract her from the short tempers around camp.
Lori had snapped at Carl for building up the fire too high, Rick snapped at T-dog for something to do with one of the truck tires, and then Daryl called them all dumbasses for something she didn't even bother to listen to, because he did that half a dozen times a day. Except this time, Rick stepped up into his face, that wild light in his eye like the first night off the farm.
"You got something to say to me?"
"Shit yes, I do!" Daryl's chest went out, his chin cocking up. "And so should ever'body else, you leading us around like the Pied goddamn Piper forgot to pack his map."
Rick's jaw clenched. He was used to Daryl backing his decisions to the group, and she could tell he didn't quite know how to deal with this. And if there was one thing she knew about men, it was that if you pointed out their uncertainty, they got certain really fast. And loudly.
Instead, Rick swallowed and kept his voice calm, painfully reasonable. "Every time we stop for more than a night, we draw in too many walkers."
"So we get some fuckin' walls. Keep 'em out." Daryl threw a hand toward their puny fire. "Keep the heat in, so maybe we still got some people come spring, not a whole line up of man-sicles."
"You know as well as I do all the houses are close to population centers. There, the walkers group up even faster until it's all we can do to fight our way out come morning. But if you have a different strategic suggestion, Daryl, I'd be open to it."
"Man, don't you use your fuckin' cop voice on me." He shoved him. Not hard, just a smack of a hand against his chest. " 'A different strategic suggestion, Daryl…'" he mocked. "It ain't rocket science. What we doing ain't workin'."
They'd had this argument at least one hundred times. Carol resisted the urge to drop her head into her hands, because if she showed frustration, it would just feed both their tempers. "Time to eat," she called. "And hurry up or you won't get your share."
The two men locked eyes, and for a long moment, she wasn't sure if they were going to listen this time. But Rick's jaw flexed once, and then he turned away, taking the high road. Daryl followed, practically walking up the back of Rick's heels with a bounce to his step like he had energy to burn. Not a good sign.
Carol passed the cans to them first and Daryl dipped out a big bite of beans, chewing messily as he glared across the fire at Rick. "What we need is somethin' we can defend. None o' these fuckin' tract house, shack house, trailer house…" he bitched. "Thangs made of cardboard and fucking throw pillows. Too many windas."
Lori was watching him from across the fire, her eyes wide, and Carol could tell how badly she wanted to agree. But she wouldn't go against her husband openly. Bicker with him all day long about the color of the sky, but she wouldn't contradict him in front of the others about something important.
"Maybe it's better," Maggie said. "If we think we're safe, we relax. It might be better not to have the illusion in the first place."
"Not if it ain't no illusion," Daryl said. "When we left the farm, Rick, you said we'd find us a place. Fortify it. But now we's just runnin'."
"I haven't seen a good place, that's all."
"Historically," Hershel said, taking the beans as Daryl passed them on. "Fortifications were built on the tallest hill, with trees cleared for a better vantage point. Castles are the classic example, with a moat and a bridge that could be raised and lowered at need."
"Well, we ain't got us a chainsaw or a backhoe, so keep wishin' on castles, old man." Daryl propped his arms over his bent up knees.
Carol tried to think how she could soothe him without any more food to offer. There had been too many groups of walkers today, and a close call with Carl where Daryl had been stuck literally wrestling the child out of a corpse's grasp. He'd had to stuff his boot into the walker's mouth to keep its teeth out of Carl's ankle.
All that meant they hadn't found a camp until well after dark. He'd been driving all day, and hadn't gotten a chance to hunt, or shake off the noise of the group. He needed exercise or peace and quiet, but she couldn't give him either of those things. She dropped her head, rubbing the back of her sore neck.
"You hurt?" he barked out, and Carol's head came up, glancing quickly around the fire before she realized he was talking to her.
"No. Just tired." She dredged up a smile, her skin prickling at all the eyes watching them. Daryl hadn't asked that of any of the others, and they'd all been caught in the same walker attack.
"Not much these days is already fortified," Rick mused. "We tried the military bases, but they were all Ground Zero of the worst action. Full of walkers and scavengers now, too. A prison would work, too. Something with walls, or at least fences." He glanced at Daryl. "Is there one around here, that you know of?"
"Why the hell you lookin' at me? You're the cop."
"Just…you're kind of from around here," Beth jumped in, looking distressed.
"So what? You think I been in ever' lock up for a hundred miles?"
Carol bit down on the inside of her cheek, the hurt flashing in his eyes gouging inside her own chest. "That's not what she meant, Daryl. You just have a knack for remembering locations." She smiled. "Heck, you knew where the only craft store was when we needed sewing supplies. And nobody's accusing you of having an secret needlepoint habit."
The mood around the fire eased as he sat back a little, and Beth held out the can of fruit cocktail to him even though she'd barely had a bite. "Didn't mean anything by it," she whispered.
He ducked his head and took the can. "S'rry."
She brightened, perking back up. Carol fought back a smile. Beth had a hundred questions a day for him, and he got frustrated with her fast, but he didn't seem to have much heart for yelling at the delicate little blonde. He was as quick to apologize as he was to snap.
"We need us a swamp house," Daryl said through a mouthful of fruit cocktail. "Up on stilts. See what's comin' atcha." He took one more bite and passed it to Carl. "Even a regular house'd do. Bust out the stairs, get a ladder you could pull up."
"Like a drawbridge," Hershel said approvingly.
"And listen to all the walkers down below?" Lori shuddered.
"What, like we don't listen' to 'em now?" Daryl threw a hand out at the forest, where even now, they could hear faint moans. Smell the rot of old flesh. "Up high like that, you could pick off the walkers when you wanted to come out."
"Until we ran out of bullets," Rick said.
Daryl snorted out a derisive sound. "Hell, with my bow and a couple o' sharp sticks, you could kill 'em all before you ever had to come down into reach. Pick up the bolts when you's done."
"Until too many grouped up," Rick said.
"Kill 'em early," Daryl said. "Sound's what draws in the others. Kill off the first group, maybe send some people to clear out the area in layers. They don't ever start comin', they won't group up." He sucked his fingers clean, scooted back and grabbed a stick, started drawing in the dirt. "You pile up the brush like this, make an arrowhead out of it. Wouldn't even have to be a fence if it was far 'nough out. If nothin's drawin' 'em on, they's just stagger on 'round whatever's in their way. Like herding rabbits into a snare like I showed ya." He drew a shape like an almond, so any walkers would be deflected out and around their camp.
Hershel nodded. "Even better if one side of it could be a natural defense, like a cliff or a stream."
"Not that mud like at the farm, though. They get stuck and get to hollerin', they draw in more." Daryl dropped the stick and dusted off his hands. "We could start scoutin' for a place tomorrow. Clear it a little fore we ever even brought the group in."
"It's not safe, to deliberately take on as many as we'd have to in order to clear an area," Rick said.
"What, and this is safe? Drivin' round like oil grows on trees? Oil's like ammo. World ain't makin' no more, so you don't burn it 'less you're about to die." Daryl glared out at the forest. "And camping every night ain't safe. Not remotely. Ain't nothin' between us n' them, Rick. And you think this is the worst of it, you're the dumb end of a fucking stupid ass mule."
"We'll make do," Rick murmured. "We have so far."
"You think this is as cold as it's gonna get? You think this is as bad as it's gonna get?" Daryl squinted at him. "Yes, I guess you would. Guy like you, ain't never been hungry long 'nough to know how bad it gets."
"So what? Because you were poor, you're smarter than me?" Rick's calm cop voice was starting to slip.
"Smart 'nough to come in outta the fuckin' rain. We gonna keep this up when the baby comes, huh? Lori gonna have to have that baby in the backa the fucking Suburban while we's driving cause it ain't safe to stop? Whatcha gonna do when the crying hauls in all the walkers?" Daryl stabbed a finger down at the diagram he'd drawn in the dirt. "We had a cleared area, that baby'd be safe. Out here, it ain't gonna last a damn day or two."
Lori gasped and Rick shot to his feet.
"Are you saying I'm not capable of protecting my family?"
Daryl blasted to standing. "Man, I don't have to say shit to anybody that's got eyes in their head."
Lori grabbed Carol's wrist, squeezing hard. Rick was being stupid enough, she had half a mind to let Daryl hit him, but the group didn't need to see their two leaders beating on each other, and none of them could afford those men to be slowed by injuries. Not with as many walkers as they'd seen lately.
"Daryl," Carol said, keeping her voice low and soothing. "Why don't you sit down and have a little more to eat?"
He spun at her. "Don't you use that fucking voice on me. I ain't Ed."
It was the voice she'd used on Ed, she realized with a little quaver deep in her throat. But at this point, Daryl was almost as loud as her ex-husband had been, dangerous energy blowing off him in waves. Even Beth was edging away across the fire, and Hershel had a sharp eye on the other man.
"I know that," Carol said steadily. "But Rick's just trying to keep us safe."
"What the hell you think I'm doing?" He exploded, whirling to find something to punch, but there were people all around him. He hauled off and kicked a log end hanging out of the fire, sending flames and sparks blasting up into the frigid night air. "Why you think I'm doing all this? You dumb fuckin' bitch!"
Carol didn't even hear if the group around her had a reaction, because her gut was shrinking in on itself.
Why do you think I do these things? Nobody else is ever going to want you, you dumb bitch. Nobody's going to take care of you and Sophia if I don't, and God knows you're not smart enough to do it on your own.
Daryl was doing this for her. So she could bathe without walkers trying to eat her. So she could stay warm at night. Because he was trying to protect her.
Her shaking hand rose to her belly, but it brushed metal first. The brass knuckle grip of her trench knife.
That wasn't the whole story, though, was it? Because she didn't have to rely on him to protect her anymore. She could do it herself. Sometimes, she could even help protect him. She wasn't helpless. And she wasn't stupid.
Carol stood up.
Daryl kicked the fire again, a burning log shooting out onto the ground, but she just went around it and stepped up nose to nose with him.
"Carol, don't," somebody warned, but she didn't look to see who it was.
"The fuck you want now?" Daryl roared. "For me to hold yer hand because you're too stupid to know when it's time to stop runnin' and fight? But how the hell would you know that, huh? You been runnin' all your damn life!"
"The loudest voices," she said, "come from the smallest men."
His mouth hung open.
In the background, the fire snapped.
A squirrel chattered.
Hershel got to his feet, and Rick took a step closer.
"Baby, come over here," Lori murmured to Carl.
Carol didn't blink. "If you're mad, you walk it off until you can tell me why. But you never, never call me stupid again. You want me to not use the same voice on you that I used on my husband? Then don't you act like him."
Her voice shook, but her hands didn't. She was done shrinking from men's anger. If he felt like throwing a punch, she was damn well going to throw one right back.
Rick and Hershel both eased closer. "Now, son," Hershel murmured, "Regret lasts longer than anger. Trust me, I know. Don't do anything you might have cause to regret."
Daryl's eyes cut Hershel's way, then to the other man coming up to protectively flank Carol. "That what you think of me?" he spat. "All this time, that's what ya think? Fuck you."
He whirled, but he stepped back as he did it, so his shoulder didn't so much as brush Carol before he disappeared into the woods. Without a flashlight, without a bow. Without anything more than the knife on his hip.
Knowing him, it'd take two or three days to walk off this mad. He'd come back bruised, dirty, and covered in something else's blood.
"What did you do that for?" Beth burst out. "He didn't mean anything by it. Daryl never does."
Carol sank to sit on a damp log by the fire, suddenly exhausted. "I know he doesn't." She exhaled. "But it means something to me, Beth. When he says those things, I hear them. And I can't believe those things about myself anymore. If I go back to the way I was, I'll die." She stared at the ground. "Out here, I'll die."
#
The fire had burned down to glowing red coals when Carol felt a tug on her blankets. She rolled over, her hand half-casually going to her knife.
Daryl squatted just beyond the darkest layer of shadows. He beckoned quick, toward himself with two fingers. He wasn't looking at her.
A lump stuck in her chest. This was it, then. Whatever the result would be of her line in the sand earlier. Whatever it would cost her to stand up for herself. It had always cost her something.
People at quarry camp, they sent her those pitying looks like she'd never fought back against Ed. She had. Harder and probably longer than any of them would have. But every time, it cost her more and more and more, until it was far easier to take a simple beating.
For just a second, she wished it could be that easy with Daryl.
She pushed back her blankets and stood up. And she didn't apologize. What was done was done. No matter how she felt about him, no matter how precious their relationship was to her, she couldn't give up the strength she'd found that she still had. Without that, she had even less than she'd have if she lost Daryl.
When he walked off into the dark woods, she followed.
It was only a half moon, but the light of it gleamed between the trees once they got away from the fire. So she could see it with perfect clarity when he reached for her knife.
She knocked his hand away. "No! You want to take back your friendship? You want to hate me? Fine. But you're not taking that knife. That's my knife."
He moved, hunter fast, and even though she tried to block him, he ripped it out of its sheath.
Silver moonlight bled across the blade and uncertainty flickered in her throat. She didn't know him at all, in this moment.
He flipped the knife, caught it by the blade. He shoved it hilt-first toward her as he jerked back the leather sleeve of his jacket with the other hand. "Cut me."
She blinked. "What?"
"Want you to cut me. Where I can see it. And the next time I treat you like your husband did, you do it again." He clenched his fist, like he was bracing for her to do it. When she just stared at him, he let out a ragged breath, shaking his head. "I don't know, Carol. I cain't be like Ed. Won't. But I—I blow up. My daddy did, Merle did. Cain't stop it. I'm always sorry after, but I can't seem to stop right then. And I cain't—"
"Bullshit." She caught his face in both her hands, heedless of the knife between them. "You'll throw a punch at the first person who pisses you off, but never if it's a woman. Never Carl, no matter how much he nags you to let him shoot your bow or teach him to fish or ride the motorcycle. That's control. You have it."
His eyes held onto her face like it was the last thing left in the world.
She took the knife from him.
He lifted his hand again, offering the back of his wrist, the skin so taut it was almost twitching.
She tapped the knife on his wrist like a warning, though she would never, never cut him. Peeking out above the sheets in Hershel's house, she'd seen the scars tearing up his back, ripping down his chest. But he needed a reason to believe he could control himself, so she left the cold metal against his skin for just a second.
"First time's free," Carol said. "And there isn't going to be a second time. You're not your daddy. And you're not Ed. Now go to sleep."
She walked back to the fire without him, got his blanket out of the saddlebag of the motorcycle, and laid it next to hers.
When he came back and saw it there, his footsteps hesitated. Carol didn't open her eyes, but she didn't relax until she heard the rustle of him settling in next to her.
She still wasn't sorry.
She'd seen the deep, ugly hurt in his eyes when he talked about being like his daddy. But it was exactly how she felt when he called her the same name her husband had. She didn't want either of them to hurt, but sometimes, you needed to re-break a bone for it to heal straight. And for both of them, that's exactly what she'd done.
Author's Note: I realize this might be a controversial chapter for some people. My take is, I loved the scene after Sophia's death when Carol let Daryl yell at her. She so deeply understood what he was really hurting about, that most of what he said bounced right off her. But at the same time, it's always bothered me that it wouldn't be good for her, long-term, to be with a guy who dealt with most emotions with loud, breaking-things outbursts including name calling and verbally hitting at her weakest points (which Merle also had a talent for, which is probably where Daryl learned it). So I wanted to include a scene of her putting her foot down and finally teaching him (because no one else ever had) that he's capable of dealing with his anger in other ways.