That bleak morning, a defensive distance falls back between them. It's necessary because they have work to do.

Daryl packs up their meager supplies while Carol finally sheds her dirty clothes and changes quickly. She is eager to rid herself of the layers of tarnish that coat her spirit and remind her of that ill-fated grove. She wants to forget, but she can't. It's a part of her now. Preparing herself for the tough tasks ahead, she armors herself in the color of mourning.

She wears her grief gracefully, he thinks. But he's heartsick from the veil of regret that obscures her pretty face. And there's no time to do anything about it. He understands that she's still working things out, that these things take time, but he wishes he could do more than just be there for her. It doesn't seem like quite enough.

But she surprises him, like she always does.

"Hey, got you a present," she smiles mischievously and tosses a black bundle at him.

He catches it against his chest with a bewildered expression. "What? Me?"

The cloth unravels as he inspects it. It's a fresh shirt with the sleeves cut off.

He looks back at her and she's dangling the shirt sleeves by her ears and making a silly face at him.

The unexpected sight of her teasing smile makes his heart grow lighter. He chuckles in amusement.

"You tryin' to tell me somethin'?" he raises his eyebrow in feigned offense.

She snickers and shakes her head at him before she turns back into the other room. His gaze lingers admiringly on her retreating form. Even though she's walking away, it seems like she's coming around. For the moment, he feels as if he has his best friend back. Hope spreads like a flame inside his chest and he smiles to himself as he changes into the shirt.

She reappears with her bag on her shoulders ready to go. Her face is all business again as they form a plan. Not knowing what obstacles lay between them and the hospital, they decide to exit through the building and scout for small tools, weapons, food, whatever they can easily carry that could be useful. There's a rhythm to their work. Slay, scavenge, move on. Slay, scavenge, move on. It's almost like a dance. Nimbly, they flow through the building in a zen-like state, so highly focused on these tasks that they are not prepared for the scene that assaults them when they enter the corner unit. Two young girls, flesh rotted to the bone, stagger aimlessly by the window. Abandoned by their parents, they'd been left alone to wander for eternity.

Initially, they both freeze and then falter from the impact of it. It hits a little too close for comfort. But their instincts kick in as the threat of their snarling teeth looms near. His kill is quick and resentful. But Carol still hesitates, moving unwillingly, hindered by the wretched scene from a few days ago that replays in her mind. She knows what she has to do, but as a mother, it goes against everything she feels in her body. Lamenting, she stabs the once child through the brain. Then, she lovingly lays the corpse down on the floor to rest beside her sister.

The sight of her kneeling beside the dead girls as she straightens their soiled clothing stabs Daryl between the ribs. He deflates as the hope leaks, painfully, from the wound. But he can't stop watching her dote on them. Like a sentinel, he remains steadfast despite his suffering. He knows she needs to do this so he doesn't try to stop her.

"We can't leave them here like this," she sobs. Her face is a wet wasteland when she looks up at him imploringly. "There are enough ghosts in this world."

The forlorn look in her eyes devastates him. He bites down hard on his lower lip to hold back his own grief which threatens to erupt from his chest. Unable to refuse her, he nods his head in loyal deference. He will fix this for her. He has to. Determined, he tears through the place until he finds a couple of sheets which he brings to her faithfully. Then, without any qualms, he helps her to gently place each body onto a sheet. They wrap them up with reverent precision. There is something in carrying out the ritual that begins to soothe her. And he is grateful for it.

With leaden feet, he carries out the first body into the building's tranquil courtyard and sets the sheet on fire. Pausing for a minute, he makes certain the flames catch and then, woefully, turns back inside for the other one.

After he places the second body on the pyre, she joins him. Her eyes are still red and puffy but the tears are gone. He shifts awkwardly on his feet wondering how much space to give her. His eyes float down to her empty hand. He wants to hold it but he doesn't. Patiently, he waits for her lead.

The time for grieving is nearly over. She can't dwell in the past or she will remain haunted by the ghosts of the people she's lost and the parts of herself lost along with them. Carol knows she must move on, and that Daryl is there to help her do just that. She takes a step closer to him, feeling a quiet strength emanating from him. Dutiful Daryl. Never wavering, he has been there for her through it all. Those angel wings on his vest truly suit him. He saved her from the farm. He saved her from the tombs. And now, he is there to save her from herself, from the darkness buried in her soul that threatens to consume her. He won't let her be. The love she feels for him, from him, fortifies the cracks in her resolve. She must let go to save herself. To start over. Gazing into the fire, Carol feels the hard remnants of her self-doubt burn away within her, seeking release. She lets the flames consume it all.

"Thank you," she says to him for everything he's done for her, for just being there. For reminding her that she will always be a mother. Fierce, protective, loving. Even when she'd lost herself, he still remembered and wouldn't let her forget.

He just nods back at her like it wasn't anything at all for him to stand by her side. Because it really isn't. He wants to be there. It's where he belongs.

They stand there for a while, watching the pyre burn. There is something wholly sacred about the act. The flames continue to lick and devour the emptiness left behind by those they've lost along the way. The loved ones who are free now. At peace. Maybe they've been watching over them, guiding them to each other. Maybe only together could they discover the deepest truth about themselves. They weren't lost at all. As the smoke rises, Daryl feels a burden lifting from his shoulders, from his heart. He looks at Carol hoping she does, too. The cloud of smoke continues to ascend towards the heavens, cleansing them of their pain, carrying it away. They aren't touching, but they both feel it. Two damaged people, fitting together, becoming unbroken. Looking up at the sky, he wipes away the tears of gratitude that fall from his eyes.

Purified, they withdraw from the fire, ready to return to the fray that awaits them.


AN: While this feels like a fitting end, there's still more that I've written. But I feel conflicted. Do I end the story with angst or with hope? Whatever shall I do?