Disclaimer: I do not own The Walking Dead, or any of the characters.

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Sorrow.

The large wood doors swung open slowly, creaking loudily in the sudden silence. Heavy stagnant shadows masked the interior, while the sun blazed brightly overhead, almost as if to warm the mass of black bloodied corpses littering the hard dry ground. A frail breeze whispered, sending tendrils of dust in the air, swirling, lighting softly upon the bodies, as if to cover them in their shame.

They stood there in the silence, in trepidation, as a lone small figure scuffled dirty tattered sneakers from the dark, into the light. Pale arms reached outwards, almost beesinchingly, as opaque eyes swiveled upwards, dirty blonde hair whisping away in the slight wind. Lips peeled back into a feral snarl as a low guttural moan rocked the small figure. The shamboling gait turned, focusing on them, and the small arms lifted higher into the air. The small girl in the filthy blue T-shirt faced them, not seeing who they were and what they had meant to her once, but seeing what they were and what they meant now, and the one single aimless compulsion that drove all walkers, drove her, compelling her further out of the barn.

Fleeing across the dirt, she had run to her little girl, her voice calling, screaming, pleading "Sophia" as strong arms had whipped her back, driving her to her knees. Holding her. And that single crack of gunfire had seemed the loudest that she had ever heard, and the thud of the small body hitting the arid earth, the singular most heartbreaking...

Carol woke suddenly, Sophia's name still imprinted on her lips. Her heart thumped brokenly in her chest, her breathing shallow and ragged. One hand was tangled in the sheet of her bed, wrapped in a knot around her tightly clenched fist. She shut her eyes, willing her heart to slow its tumultous beat, and moving her head slightly on the pillow, her cheek against the worn cotton, she was aware of the dampness there from tears she'd shed.

She felt the tight numbness in her chest as if it were on old familiar friend. She blinked rapidly in the darkness, and stifled a sob before it burst from her throat, not wishing to wake the others around her from their slumbers. Part of her welcomed the grief, could still feel the rawness as it piqued at her heart. Sighing, she slowly sat up, clutching the sheet to herself, one hand flattening out, smoothing across her cheek, smearing the tears from her eyes.

Carol sat there for a few moments, listening to the stillness of the prison, holding the sheet like a shield over her heart, before suddenly throwing it off, and dragging her boots on to her feet, her old threadbare jacket about her shoulders.

She slipped soundlessly from her tiny room, her feet carrying her towards Daryls cell. She paused in front of it, wanting to see him, to feel his implacable solid presence, a soothing balm to her heartache, but the need to not disturb him moved her more. Pressing her lips tightly togther, she stepped away, moving instead to the door that led to the courtyard.

The light of the moonlight guided her feet, and she stopped as she felt the first fine droplets of rain hit her skin. Holding her head high, she let the cool rain soothe her jangled nerves.

The scraping of boots against metal caused her eyes to flutter open, and Carol suddenly felt self conscious, stood there in the rain. Her eyes quickly scanned for the source of the sound. A dark shape moved above her, and she let out a shaky sigh of releif as she recognised the mans shadow pacing up at the watchtower. Rick.

She climbed up and lifted the trap door, letting it drop slowly with one hand. He was stood with the binoculars held loosely in one hand, his mouth quirking slightly as he saw her.

"Couldn't sleep?" Rick asked.

"Bad dreams," she replied tightly.

"I know those," Rick said softly, his head tilting to one side as he watched her. "After Lori, I...I didn't think I'd be able to sleep again. But you do," his shoulders shrugged sadly. "You cope. You have too."

"I know," she answered, glancing away from him, unable to bear the scrutiny in his blue eyes.

"Walkers are quiet," he said, gesturing to the fences with the binoculars.

"Rick," Carol asked suddenly, then felt foolish as he regarded her with a slight upturn of his lips. "I just wanted to...thank you."

His eyebrow quirked. "For what?"

Carol paused before answering him. "For getting us here," she gestured expansively. "The prison. I know it hasn't been easy for any of us, but we are safe, and we are together."

He laughed softly, "We work together Carol. Joint effort. It's what we do."

"I know, but I just wanted to say thank you."

He smiled at her, one hand reaching out to grasp her shoulder, fingers squeezing gently. "And I appreciate that."

She faced away from him as he raised the binoculars back to his eyes, and she gripped the bars that bordered the tower, feeling the cold metal chill her skin momentarily. She'd wanted to thank him, not for the prison, but for that one time back at the farm. His bullet ending her daughters new unwanted life. She couldn't have done that then. Maybe even now she couldn't have done it. She would never have the chance to find out. A shudder ran through her at the thought.

She was broken from her reverie by a large stifled yawn coming from behind her, and on turning around, she saw Rick give her an almost sheepish grin.

She smiled, "I can take watch if you want to catch some sleep Rick."

"I would feel guilty," he complained half-heartedly.

"And I would insist," she chastised him. "I'm awake anyway."

He looked at her, his hand briefly clasping her shoulder again. "Thank you," he murmered, handing her the binoculars.

She watched after him as he moved away, as he made his way back to the prison door, watching as it clicked shut behind him. She let out a sigh, and resumed his watch.

She hadn't really grieved after Ed had died. Not at all. And even if she had felt some small marked measure of grief for him, it had been out of fear and misguided loyalty, rather than love or compassion. Carol was glad that the woman she had been had died the moment she had swung that pickaxe. She wondered why it had taken so long for her to realise the simple fact that she didn't love him.

The only blessing from that union (and she shuddered to remember his drunken fumblings, his quick anger and even quicker fists) had been Sophia. The girl had been nothing of her father, and for that she'd always been thankful. Sophia's looks, manners and mannerisms had come from her side of the family. Not his. And she knew that fact was yet another thing that had always angered him. He'd accused her of having an affair, of bearing him a bastard child...and he had beaten her senseless when she had done no such thing.

She missed Sophia with an ache that ran through to her soul. Tears misted her eyes thickly, and she made no attempt to hide them. She didn't bother to hold back the sob that rose out from her mouth. She wrapped her arms about herself, hugging herself tightly as she remembered her beautiful bright eyed child.

She didn't hear the trapdoor close quietly behind her, didn't see him stood there sadly regarding her. She just wanted her grief. She sniffled to herself, and then she heard him. "Carol," he said quietly.

Turning her head, she saw Daryl stood there, biting his lip as he did when he seemed nervous. He shifted from one foot to the other, but his eyes never left her face. She gave him a small tight smile and turned back from him, trying to regain her composure. She flinched suddenly as his hand rested on her arm. She found she couldn't look at him.

"I dreamt about Sophia ," she said quietly. She heard the hiss of his breath behind her at the mention of her daughters name. "It's always the same dream. I...I see her, coming out of that barn, and all I can hear...all I can hear is Ricks' gun." She grasped the metal rail firmly as if it was a lifeline, her knuckles turning white. A deep sob escaped her before she could reign it back in, and she cursed herself as fresh tears spilled hotly down her cheeks. Ed would have taunted her for being weak, if he'd been alive.

Daryl watched her, his face unreadable. His fingers clasped tighter about her arm.

"C'mere," she heard him say roughly and the next minute, she was burying her face in his chest. His arms went around her, holding her tightly to him, one hand at the nape of her neck, cupping her head, his thumb brushing against her hair.

She cried then, her tears splashing his shirt, dampening the thin material. "'M here," he said gruffily, his lips close to her ear, "'M always here." She felt his stubble against her cheek, and she buried her face into his neck, inhaling the scent of him. His hand moved up from her neck, his palm now brushing against her hair, holding her close. He held her as she cried, and she wondered at the fact that Ed had never held her this way.

She sighed wistfully and edged away from him, placing one hand on his chest, trying to put some space between them, trying to ignore the racing pulse beneath her palm.

"I'm sorry Daryl. I don't make it a habit of crying on folks."

He narrowed his eyes at her, but didn't let her go. His hands were banded around her waist. "Ya don't have nothin' to apologise for," he said.

She smiled at him wanly. His eyes watched her intently, dark and foreboding, and she felt a shiver run through her as one hand ran lightly up her back, pressing her more firmly to him.

"I should go back," she said weakly, all thoughts of manning the watchtower leaving her.

"Nope," Daryl growled, and she couldn't help but feel mildly alarmed at this sudden change in him. He was usually so meek, and she was normally the bold one. She tentatively reached up, and traced a finger down his cheek, wondering at the fact that any contact like this would normally make him bolt for the woods. But he suprised her again.

He caught her hand in his, pressing her finger to his lips. "Ya don't think I hear ya crying, do ya?" he said softly. "But I do. An' it hurts me." He frowned. "I wish I could'a done more. Found ya little girl for ya."

Carol looked at him, and felt her heart break all over again. A tear slipped down her cheek, and she swallowed as his thumb caught the drop. "You couldn't have done more than you did." She pressed her forehead to his chest, whispering,"You did more for her than her own father did."

Daryl didn't answer. Instead his hand cupped her chin, pulling her face up to his gently. He paused, and she could read the fear and uncertainty in his eyes. She leant against him, her heart racing, and before she could change her mind, she pressed her lips quickly to his. The kiss was brief and awkward, neither knowing how to react to this moment. She stood back from him, as far as his arm would allow, and she smiled.

Daryl stared at her, his blue eyes crinkling suddenly, and then he pulled her up for another kiss, his lips pressing more firmly, and moving against hers. She felt a flicker of his tongue at her lips, and she giggled in surprise against his mouth.

"What?" he breathed at her.

She just smiled at him, for the first time feeling her heart thaw a little.

"I like you," he growled, slowly smirking at her.

Carol leant her head against the crook of his neck, feeling his arms tighten around her, and said, "I liked you first."

...