Sorry for the delay in updating, my dears! Occupational hazard of reading Trogdor19 stories: whenever my favorite band books a show within 10 hours' drive of me, I will drop everything and run for it. (Go check out The Revivalists. Seriously, soon you'll be gleefully shunning your responsibilities to see them, too). Anyway, so I've been scrambling to catch up on client work after disappearing for two days, but the show was completely worth it, especially after the lead singer hopped the security barrier to dance with me and a couple of the other fanclub girls. Hells yes.

In non-musical news, YOU GUYS MADE THIS FIC HIT 11,000 VIEWS HOLY CRAP! I feel like I should give you a trophy or party favors or maybe a man with good, well-oiled abs and a tray of truffles. Instead, have this chapter, because Annie asked for them to stay in the little house forever, and you know how I have trouble telling her no.

Chapter 24: 10/10

Carol was trying not to laugh. Daryl was making it very difficult.

He had been fine all day, playing in the snow with Carl and then helping Rick give him a shooting lesson now that Carl had earned his pistol back. But as soon as it got dark, he got twitchy. Coming back into the house and going out again on made up errands. In between, he kept stealing glances at her, after which he'd scowl and snap at someone, about really anything. He'd gone out for water twice, snares four times. To check out strange noises twice and even she could tell the second had been a squirrel chittering. Not a single walker, though she bet Daryl was hoping for one by now.

"Gotta adjust the snares," he grunted as he picked up his crossbow. Checked the bolt, checked the string, slung it on his back.

Carl and Beth's hands slapped together as something passed from one to the other. Lori's lips twitched like she was hiding a smile and she bent a little closer over one of Carl's hoodies she was ruining with her attempts at mending.

"Make sure they're nice and tight," Maggie drawled blandly.

Daryl's head jerked her direction. Carol was pretty sure if it had been Merle, Daryl would have snapped back but he had no idea how to respond to a dirty joke coming from a girl. She bit the inside of her lip and reminded herself if she laughed right now, he'd probably sleep on the roof. Of a house several miles away.

Her laughter dried up immediately.

Beth leaned over to whisper to Carl and Carol caught the words get water next.

And of course Daryl's super hearing caught it, too, because his shoulders tensed with embarrassment, and dammit, enough was enough.

Carol cleared her throat, then raised her voice so everyone could hear. "All right, let's all talk about me and Daryl sharing a room tonight."

Hershel and Rick looked up from where they'd been arguing over a map in the corner. On the couch, Glenn lifted his head from his girlfriend's shoulder. Maggie grinned, and Beth's eyes went wide, like she wasn't sure how to handle this development.

Daryl looked horrified.

"I mean, you're all clearly highly interested so let's just talk it on over." She crossed her arms, arched her eyebrows, and waited.

"Personally I want a performance rating on a 1-10 scale," Maggie jumped right in, not a bit intimidated by Carol's bluff. "But since you're apparently going back for seconds, it must have been five or higher." She sat forward. "Seriously though, sometimes the shy ones, they start slow, but wow they're trainable."

"Margaret, that is inappropriate," Hershel said.

"Sorry, Daddy, but there isn't any private space around here to girl talk in. You can feel free to go check the snares with Daryl another ten or twelve times though. Surely we'll have caught a Bigfoot soon."

"Why don't y'all mind your own damn business?" Daryl growled. "How 'bout that?"

Beth smiled at him, no more intimidated than her sister. "We don't have TV anymore. You guys are like our own little romance novel. Like…" She faltered a little. "I don't know, like proof that life can be good again, even though we don't have the farm, or a house, or…"

Daryl hesitated, like he wasn't sure how to respond to that.

"We're just glad you two are happy," Lori said quietly.

"Yeah, man." T-dog nodded, giving Daryl a square look without a hint of teasing in it.

Daryl glanced at Carol, his fingers jerking at his crossbow strap, and she thought it was just nigh a miracle he hadn't shot anybody yet. Embarrassment still flushed darkly up his neck, but she thought maybe he seemed a little proud, too. Tentative, like he wasn't sure if it was okay to feel that way, but proud. She smiled at him, forgetting for a second that they weren't alone. So many things had been shared between them in that bed last night.

"That's looking like an eight, edging toward a nine," Maggie said. "Strong work, Dixon."

He made a disgusted sound, scowling at her so vigorously that Glenn frowned. "Hey, dude, she's just kidding around. Chill."

"Why don't y'all just let Daryl alone?" Rick drawled. "You've had your fun."

Daryl nodded several times, glaring at everyone.

A smile snuck onto Rick's face. "Besides, he's going to need his energy for later."

"Man, why'n't you shut your fucking mouth and worry about your own damn woman?" Daryl burst out. "I wouldn't need to save no energy if I hadn't spent all mine fixin' your shitty snares. Lucky if you could catch anything more'n a case o' frostbite, setting 'em like that."

Rick pulled on his boots and slung on his coat. "Why don't you quit expanding my kid's vocabulary and show me how to do it the right way, then?"

Carol hid her smirk behind a hand as she pretended to scratch her nose. Rick was starting to do what she always did, drawing Daryl off from the group when he was about to explode so he could blow off some steam in private and come back calmer. It was nice; that these days she wasn't the only one who cared enough to help soothe the prickly redneck.

Silence reigned for a second after the door closed behind the two men, and the floor creaked as Carl shifted his weight.

"Sooo…" Maggie drawled. "Eight? Or more like a seven but you didn't want to say it in front of him?"

She and Daryl hadn't shared much more than some handholding and a clumsy few kisses, but Carol met the other woman's eyes squarely.

"Ten," she said, and meant it.

#

When they closed themselves into their private room that night, Daryl was stiff as a chunk of frozen pond water. Carol was feeling bold, so before she slid under the sheets, she'd taken off not just her boots but her cargo pants—they were lumpy as hell to sleep in, with all their pockets. But after all that, Daryl wouldn't even come to bed. He kept messing with his crossbow and things inside his pack, pulling them out and then grunting with frustration and chucking them back in.

Finally, she couldn't take it anymore. There wasn't much worse than waiting in bed—pantsless—for a man who didn't seem to be in any particular hurry.

"If you come to bed," she said, trying to pitch her voice low and a little sultry to hide her uncertainty. "I'll tell you a secret."

His head came up, but he wasn't looking at her. Not exactly. "S'rry," he grumbled. "Ain't you."

"I know," she said, though she hadn't, not for sure. She smiled, relief making it come easy, and crooked a finger to beckon him closer.

They were out of candles, so she'd aimed a flashlight at the wall to soften its light. It was a shameful waste of batteries, but she'd look extra hard for them on the next scavenging mission to make up for it. The extra risk was completely worth it, to be able to track the changing expressions on Daryl's face when they were alone.

He sat on the edge of the bed to take off his boots, but when he rolled in beneath the covers, he still had his pants on. A wisp of disappointment colored her mood. Still, it was Daryl. It's not as if he'd be comfortable taking off his pants just because she had. In fact, he'd been so busy fidgeting she wasn't sure he even saw what she'd done.

He lay back, cocking an arm up to tuck it beneath his head, then taking it back down so it lay rigidly beside him.

She rolled up onto her side, scooting close enough that when she started to speak, she could see the light shiver that ran through him at her breath tickling his ear.

"Is this okay? This way they can't hear us," she said. She was guessing that was why he was so uncomfortable; because he didn't want anybody to hear what did or didn't go on in here. Thanks to Maggie, he probably all thought they were critiquing his performance, too. Carol made a mental note to "lose" half the younger girl's socks the next time laundry day came around.

He nodded. "What's the secret?"

Now it was Carol's turn to hide a shiver. When he pitched his deep voice to a whisper, it made a delicious sort of rumble/murmur that sounded better than sex. Almost.

She laid a hand over his shoulder, because it felt awkward to be so close without touching. "Remember the night I told you the Velveteen Rabbit story?"

"Mm-hmm."

She pressed her thighs together and suppressed the urge to ask him at least thirty more questions he'd have to whisper the answers to.

"I wanted to stay out there and sleep next to you so bad that night," she breathed. "It was all I could think about, back in that room by myself."

"Why didn't you?" He turned his head, craning it to try to see her face but they were lying too close. "I didn't tell ya to leave."

"I didn't know if you wanted me to stay."

He propped himself up on an elbow, staring at her with that knitted-brow look he got when someone said something he deemed particularly unintelligent.

She rolled her eyes, breathing out a frustrated laugh. "But how would I know, Daryl? It's always been me asking you. I asked you to skip rocks down at the pond. I was the first to say you meant something to me, that I didn't want to lose you. The first to ask you to share blankets on cold nights. A girl likes to be asked, too."

He looked so uncomfortable that she lifted a hand to cradle his jaw to soften her admission.

"It'd just be nice, that's all. Just once, if you could tell me something that you wanted. Or show me, even."

He struggled, silently, for a long moment and she would have paid in gold for a peek at any one of the thoughts churning through his head just then.

"What if ya don't…like it?"

She exhaled, her smile softening as she brushed her thumb against his cheek. "Do I seem shy about speaking my mind?"

Just then, an aching sort of moan sounded from the second bedroom next door, right before something started thumping rhythmically against the wall.

Daryl swore, rolling to stare toward the other room. "You fuckin' with me?"

Carol's fists clenched and she wanted to howl, too, but in frustration, not ecstasy. Except then Maggie's moan rang out again. Higher pitched, warbling longer than the first. The squeaking of the bedsprings joined the thumping against the wall.

Daryl flopped back on the bed, glaring at the ceiling. "Damn. Them sumbitches ain't never quiet, but they ain't usually loud enough to draw walkers."

Carol's eyes widened, and she clapped a hand over her mouth to stifle the giggles. "Oh my God."

Daryl gave her a sour look as Maggie cried out the same phrase in the next room, with quite a bit more enthusiasm.

Carol poked him in the side. "You realize what they're doing?"

"I weren't raised in a damn nun house, Carol."

"They're covering for us," she whispered. "To give us some privacy so nobody can hear what we're doing." Most likely because Glenn felt bad about Maggie needling Daryl earlier. The sensitive Korean had warmed to Daryl on the many runs they'd done together, and Maggie had a softer heart than she liked to pretend in public.

Emotions flickered across Daryl's face too fast to count, and Carol laid a hand on his chest and leaned down to whisper, "You lead this time." And then she reached across him and clicked off the flashlight, plunging them into darkness.