Disclaimer: I don't own AMC's The Walking Dead or any of its characters, wishful thinking aside.
Authors Note #1: This story is meant to fit in some point during the winter when they were going from house to house. Focusing on the scenario of: What if Daryl and Carol had met once before, decades before the virus and their escape from Atlanta. * Just to clear something up, this could be construed as an AU – however the way I plan to work it into the plot makes it virtually cannon compliant.
Warnings: Contains some minor season two and three spoilers, references to Daryl's past, allusions to Carol's past, domestic abuse/violence, sexual imagery, adult language and mature content. *This particular chapter contains specific mention of spousal abuse and domestic violence.
Lady in Red
Chapter 8
She blinked back an unexpected film of tears as she came back to herself. Setting down her drink and turning away as she let the shadows filter across her face, masking her expression as she banished the tears and listened to the wind whistling through the eaves. Rattling the shingles and pressing against the glass as the windows creaked with the pressure. Giving herself a moment to adjust as everything suddenly fell into place.
She swallowed hard, hearing the echoes of that rough edged voice and the scent of charred tobacco wafting through the air in her mind's eye as she took in her surroundings. She took a deep breath of the dusty air and smiled. Feeling something settle inside her as the final puzzle piece clicked into place and completed the picture, the realization both startling and undeniable as the moment faded and reality set in.
She'd often wondered what her life would have been like if she'd taken him up on his offer. Lord only knows how many times she'd regretted turning him down and calling Ed instead. She'd told herself that she'd done the right thing; she'd comforted herself with it if she was being honest. After all she'd barely known him.
Hell, she hadn't even known his name.
But even a handful of hours had been enough for her to take a guess. Truth be told, he hadn't been that hard to read. Under the surprising vulnerability and child-like uncertainty there had been a toxic tangle of sharp edges and barely restrained aggression. Indeed, one had to wonder what his life had been like if he figured every well-meant gesture was some sort of elaborate con.
Still, caution aside, when Ed had first laid his hands on her, that reasoning had been of little comfort.
She'd come to realization that regret is an emotion that has shades rather than colors and layers that go far beyond the light of day. It isn't simple or even straightforward, it just is. And once you have it, it is an emotion that is nearly impossible to erase. Because whether she realized it or not, she'd spent the rest of her life thinking about that dance.
But as the years had passed and things had gotten worse rather than better, she'd tucked those memories away. That night and a thousand different ones like it. She'd taken all the good times, all the lingering moments and could-have-beens and buried them deep - so deep that she'd nearly forgotten them herself.
The memories of that night became a part of her that Ed couldn't touch, a part of her soul that he couldn't find and pick apart - something that he couldn't ruin with words, words that even she'd started to half believe, or soil with the virtue of hindsight. She'd kept them hidden, safe - until the years had passed and idea of life before Ed became almost impossible to picture.
…Until now.
Life had a funny way of coming full circle, she supposed.
The atmosphere around the bar seemed strangely calm considering the nature of her realization. It made the moment seem almost surreal. Like she'd just imagined it or had caught some sort of fever. Because other than some muffled conversation by the fire, things remained remarkably as they had before. Quiet and still. A welcome change from all the running they'd been forced to do since they'd lost the farm.
Reality seemed subjective and unset as she looked around her. Hinged between fact and fiction as the storm howled outside, blasting across the plains as old man winter gave them both barrels. Howling down the chimney and screeching through the gaps in the brick as she snuggled deeper into the folds of her jacket. Conveniently forcing her back to the matter at hand as she questioned how Daryl could actually be warm in only his vest, long sleeve shirt and poncho.
Hell, she felt cold just looking at him.
She snuck a look at him through the fan of her lashes as he shifted beside her - using the moment to take him in, this time with the benefit of all her faculties as she played with the rim of her glass. Tipping it back so that it caught the light, reflecting uneven prisms across the table as the fire glowed in the background.
As she inspected his profile, she tried to push her personal feelings aside and see the difference between the boy and the man. And truth be told it wasn't an easy task. Hell, she got stuck on everything from the hollows underneath his eyes to angle of his cowlicks as he ran his hand through his hair and yawned - knuckling his scalp with a brand of thoughtlessness that made her smile as he rolled his shoulders and tucked his sharpener back into his bag.
She tapped her nail against her glass and waited - the ghosts of both the past and the present fighting for her attention as she watched him rummage through his quiver. Because all else considered, looking at him now was like looking at a merger between the young man she'd danced with in that bar and the jaded, but evolving man she knew today.
Like her, he'd changed in the intervening years. He'd lost that subtle softness in his bearing and the nativity that had been so present in his expression when she'd taken his hands in hers and placed them firmly on her hips. That innocence had been replaced by something harder, something less malleable and sharp. Something had been wrought through spilled blood and unforgiving fists rather than love and patience.
He'd been broken down and remade so many times that the resemblance to that of a wounded animal was more than just a metaphor, but rather an understatement.
But that being said he'd regained some of that softness since the quarry. It hadn't been easy, but eventually the wild and almost feral edge that had been so present in his actions in the beginning had been gradually soothed. Not tamed, but perhaps rounded out a bit, as if someone had taken a piece of sandpaper to the edge of a 4x4 and slowly smoothed it down.
He'd certainly come a long way. They all had.
In the meantime, Daryl still hadn't said a word, obviously keen on putting the label "Southern Comfort" to the test as he took another generous swig. Throat working almost sensually as he wiped his hand across his mouth, rasping carelessly through his stubble as he turned his attention towards the selection of bolts he'd spread across the table in the interim. Inspecting the flights of each arrow with a critical eye - checking for torn flights and bent shafts as his fingers examined each one with a level of care that even she'd rarely seen him express.
She shivered, remembering the sensation of those calloused pads firming around the flare of her hips as the band had started playing. His fingers, crooked with old breaks and laced with scars flirting with the material of her dress as every nerve she hadn't known she'd even had smouldered to life as he caught his stride and started to get cocky. Pulling her in as the music reached a climax and the rest of the world dissolved into the background.
The memory alone was enough to make her shift in her seat. Legs clenching involuntarily as she ran her fingers down the dirty velvet cushions, skipping over the occasional beer stain as she tried not to squirm in place. Her eyes went hooded as they paused on the stage. Seeing every detail of that moment in living color as her mind wandered and her body grew unexpectedly wanton.
Her nerve endings felt almost electric as the texture of worn velvet gave way to that of dust and ancient crumbs. All but looking for a distraction as a flush of heat coloured her cheeks and her thoughts strayed to the memory of skin pressing against skin. Hell, even the awkward huff of air that had ghosted down the nape of her neck when he'd caught her was fair game. Finding herself nearly panting as she remembered the way the zipper of his jeans had pressed into her navel as the moment had slowed and she'd wound her arms around his neck.
Jesus…
She shook her head. It almost didn't seem real. After all, what were the odds of such a thing? What were the chances that two strangers who'd met once in a backwater bar half a lifetime ago would cross paths again? Unknowingly coming together here of all places. Here in another bar at the end of the world. Perhaps she was bias, but it seemed almost…providential.
She held back a bubble of laughter as she tipped back her head and let it rest on the cushions - mindless of the dust and grit as she raised her glass and took a heady sip. Feeling the potent liquor trickle down her throat and spread down the length of her. Almost overwhelmed at the sheer beautiful impossibility of it all as a years' worth of dust motes whirled through the air above them.
"Only in Georgia…" She thought with a grin.
Finding herself completely unable to do anything else but smile all the wider when Daryl caught her expression through the gloom - cocking his head to the side in silent question when she nearly choked on her drink in response. Looking so much like that same young man that had taken her hand and pulled her close, swaying across that old, hardwood stage as the music turned slow and the rich twang of that old fashioned southern guitar had sounded out in the background. Content to simply breathe it in as the scent of crushed wheat and parched soil rose around them. Highlighting the moment as fate fell asleep on the job and set into motion a sequence of events that would eventually lead them right back where they'd started.
"…Sam's Grill." She breathed.
And from across the table, barely visible in the dusty half-light, his eyes widened.
A/N #1: Thank you for reading. Please let me know what you think! Reviews and constructive critiquing are love! – There will be one more chapter to this story, I was going to wrap it up in one but my muse had other plans. Besides, I figure this little cliff-hanger will leave more than a few of you with a bit of anticipation!
"Lost opportunities, lost possibilities, feelings we can never get back. That's part of what it means to be alive. But inside our heads - at least that's where I imagine it - there's a little room where we store those memories. A room like the stacks in this library. And to understand the workings of our own heart we have to keep on making new reference cards. We have to dust things off every once in awhile, let in fresh air, change the water in the flower vases. In other words, you'll live forever in your own private library." ― Haruki Murakami, (from "Kafka on the Shore.")