Disclaimer: I do not own The Walking Dead.

a/n: I would like to thank everyone that has left a review. Your kind words mean a lot, and are ever so gratefully appreciated. Thank you.

...

Boots

"What's wron' with yer, woman?" Daryl grumbled as she sloshed through the puddles, hurrying to keep up with him. Rain lashed down at them heavily, soaking them and thunder boomed warningly overhead.

Their feet kicked up sprays of water off the concrete, and Carol squinted against the rain, casting her eyes to the fences. There wasn't a single walker in sight. She glowered at him, moisture running rivulets down her face, "What's the rush?" She hissed, "It's not as if there's going to be many walkers out in this weather."

"Exactly," Daryl said, turning his head momentarily over his shoulder, smirking at her.

Carol rolled her eyes at him, making a face behind his back. Her feet were soaked and chilled, and she could feel water sloshing uncomfortably in her shoes. She had been nice and comfortable, and warm reading her book in her cell back at the prison. Had been until Daryl had stomped in, and to everybody's surprise, grabbed her arm, hissing in her ear that she was coming with him. Her heart had leapt in her chest then, silently marvelling at the fact that he might have actually overcome his shyness with her... but no. She was out here in the pouring freezing rain, while everyone else were toasting their toes back at the prison.

"Where are we going?" she asked warily.

"On a run," Daryl said, stopping beside the car and throwing the door open. "Get in."

...

They had driven for miles, the journey itself unmarked by incident, but the drive was in an awkward silence and she longed to break it. But every time she peeked a look at him, the words dried in her mouth. He hadn't looked or spoken to her since they'd gotten into the car, and not for the first time, she wondered what what she could have possibly done. His eyes were narrowed, staring straight at the road ahead, hands gripping the steering wheel so tightly, she could see that pale contrast of his knuckles. She slumped further into the seat, trying to forget the way her clothes clung to her soddenly, her hands fidgeting in her lap, and she saw by the way he was frowning, he was trying his best to ignore her.

Carol sighed loudly and kicked off her shoe as he drove. She picked it up, and emptied water out of it, glancing at him as she heard his sharp intake off breath. "Great," she complained loudly, "I'm soaked through." She wiggled her toes, trying to feel some life return to her numbed digits.

"Yer annoyin' me, woman," Daryl eventually said, shaking his head a little. "Quit complainin'."

She gaped at him, eyebrows raised,"Why? Because I'm all wet? Because I got a hole in my damned shoe?"

Daryl didn't take his eyes off the road. "Mhm," he growled.

"I wouldn't be if you hadn't had dragged me out. I don't know what your problem is, Daryl."

"You are."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

Daryl glanced at her, smirking. "What I said. You're my problem."

...

Daryl had gone on a run two days previously. With the influx from Woodbury, spare clothing was getting scarce, and tempers were getting rife with the new arrivals starting to be a drain on their already dwindling resources. Rick had organised a small group to recon a new area just outside of their normal range. What with all the near local areas dwindling in loot, Daryl had scouted with Michonne, and had informed Rick that this new place hadn't had been as ransacked as much as the other places they'd been to.

Many from the Woodbury group were still wearing relatively new clothing, or clothing that was a damn sight less worn than what their own small group had. Especially Carol. She always seemed to be the last in line when clothing from runs had been distributed, always seemed to hang back and whenever it was her turn to pick, she'd either offer the clothing back to the others, or say that things were too large for her to wear or too small. And she was still wearing the same threadbare jacket, and the same damned worn shoes, and it had irritated him immensely.

He had gone with Glenn, Maggie, Tyreese and Sasha, figuring that the two women would have more of an idea on what type of clothing would be appropriate, Daryl himself would have just grabbed the first few things he saw. Although, this time was different, this time he was going to search for a few things for himself, for Carol. He didn't know why, or even question himself why he couldn't just let Maggie, or Sasha pick for her. It just wasn't an option. He wanted to do it.

There hadn't been that many walkers to deal with. They'd seen some lumbering a few miles up the road, and they had looked like they were starting to form a small herd, maybe ten or so, but a few of the walkers were so withered and skeletal, limbs barely hanging on by a few tatters of flesh, that Daryl had thought at the time, a damn good wind could have blown the fucker's over. He hadn't been greatly concerned, but Glenn had pointed out that the herd could have the possibility of growing and heading for the prison, although Daryl had doubted that. Even so, they'd gotten out of the car, headed to the walkers and put them down quickly enough, Glenn and Maggie almost back to back as they'd slashed through heads, as Tyreese cracked rotten skulls into pulp with his hammer, and Daryl's crossbow took out the last few stragglers on the edges of the group.

There had been two walkers in the small store, milling about aimlessly, and they'd been easily dispatched with a bolt, and Maggie's knife. He'd smirked at her sudden loud groan, when the walkers head had popped open with an audible crunch, spattering her T-shirt bloodily, then the sound of sneakered feet squeaking on the floor as Glenn had darted to her side. Sasha had glanced over, rolling her eyes as Glenn fretted over Maggie. Tyreese stood guard in the doorway and his large dark eyes had flickered over them impassively, one hand clutching at the hammer hanging at his side on his belt.

"Limited space remember," Sasha had called, watching Maggie and Glenn rifle through the shelves, holding an item of clothing up, gauging the size, then discarding. Glenn had given her a small tight nod, sighing as he put back two baseball caps clutched in his hand. Maggie had frowned and said, "God no, Glenn. No hats!"

Daryl had grunted then, seeing that Sasha's backpack was crammed tight, and she was stuffing a few plaid shirts and pairs of thick woollen socks into the backpack Tyreese bore. Smiling, she had patted her brother on the arm, casting her eyes back at Daryl as she took watch, waiting with Tyreese. Seeing that was his cue, Daryl had strode to the back of the building, frowning as he couldn't see what he was looking for. He kicked a few boxes across the floor, stomping on another, before his eyes lighted on what he'd been searching for. Several pairs of boots had been carelessly stacked on the shop floor, and Daryl had grimaced when he realised that he had no clue what size Carol wore. His eyes narrowed in concentration, trying to recall the exact size, but all he could think was that she had small feet. Growling with irritation, he had picked a pair of black ones, and stuffed them into his own backpack.

"We're done," Glenn had said, motioning to Daryl that he and Maggie couldn't carry anything else, and they'd left the small building.

Carol had been so pleased with her new boots, that Daryl had almost puffed up in pride. He had asked her to try them on, make sure they'd fitted, but she had smiled and waved him away with one hand. The next day he had been angry to see Maggie wearing them.

...

Carol looked at Daryl warily as he pulled up some small distance from the entrance of the small store. His shoulder brushed against hers as he reached across to pull his backpack and crossbow off the back seat. Glancing at the sky, she felt thankful that the rain had eased off for a while, but her feet still swished damply inside her shoes as she got out of the car. She took her knife from her belt, grasping it firmly, watching as Daryl shouldered the backpack, and with a quick nod to her, walked towards the entrance, crossbow poised. He turned to her, beckoning her with a wave of his hand. She quickly stood next to him, noticing his line of sight as he pointed to two walkers shuffling around a long since abandoned car. He motioned her to stay, and crouching, he edged nearer to them, letting bolts fly into their heads in quick succession. He stooped forward, retrieving the bolts, and he gave her a smile then, and as it brief as it was, Carol felt her heart lift at the sight of it.

They stepped into the store side by side, Daryl's hand suddenly on her arm, gripping her tightly, cautioning her to stop. She looked at him warily, brow furrowed, lips pursed, and he gave her an apologetic look. Nodding, she clasped her knife higher, and stepped into the shadows.

No walkers.

She lowered the knife, slipping it into it's sheath at her waist, watching as he lowered his crossbow. He motioned her to the back of the small store, his lips quirking at her, and she found she couldn't stop the smile form on her lips.

Daryl was stood behind her, and she thought she could hear her pulse quicken loudly in her veins at his sudden close proximity. His hand snaked out and grasped her arm again. She sighed under her breath as he pulled her with him, stopping suddenly. Carol frowned as she saw a pile of new boots laying haphazardly all over the floor.

"We ain't leaving 'til you pick a pair," Daryl grumbled from behind her, his breath ghosting at her neck. She felt her skin prickle at the sensation. "And ya can try 'em on, find ones that fit."

She stared at him, and all she could finally think to say was, "Why?"

Daryl paused, biting his lip. He sighed, and said gruffly, "You give to others, I've seen ya...and you never take anythin' for yourself." He gestured to her worn battered shoes, "Those ya got on yer feet won't last ya through another winter."

Carol glanced down at her shoes. "Oh." She couldn't find the words to tell him why she wore them, wasn't sure if he would even understand, or if he would think she was just stupid. She kept those shoes, wore them even with the holes...because they were the last and final link she had to her old life, to Sophia, to Ed. And she wore them even though they caused her discomfort, because deep down she never really thought she was good enough. Ed had told her that often enough, and even though he was long since dead, his words still haunted her.

Reluctantly, she cast her eyes to the boots littered across the floor, and grabbed a pair she thought would fit. Long rugged black ones, thick soled with a lot of buckles. She thought they'd seem sturdy enough. Kicking off her old shoes, she pulled the boots on.

Standing back, and feeling a bit silly, she said, "Are these good enough for you?"

Daryl's eyes gleamed at her. "Mhm."

Bending down, she picked her old shoes up off the floor.

"Leave those," he said moving towards the door, gesturing to the shoes in her hand.

"No," she said quickly, "I can't..."

Daryl paused, his shoulders hunching. He said softly, "Ya don't need those no more. Ya got me."

She felt the breath catch in her throat, and the sudden prickle of tears in her eyes. She reached down, her hand brushing against his, a lone tear spilling from her eyes as she felt his hand catch hers, entwining her fingers tightly within his. She thought her heart would burst from joy.

As they walked out the store, she never gave those battered old shoes a second glance.

...