AN: I'm begging forgiveness in how long this took to write. I've had a very shitty week, and my life is not the most fun it's ever been and sadly, I just don't have much will. I'm persevering, though, so with luck I will have more sooner than this one came out.
Chapter Three
There was a quiet atmosphere of disbelief as people slowly woke the next morning, stretching, yawning and at last tugging free of whatever coverings they'd had to ward off the cold night. They'd slept through it, an occurrence more unusual by the passing day, and Rick himself seemed less severe and moody than they were used to seeing him. Seemed more relaxed and carefree from the unexpected bout of solace the place had afforded them: food, resources, sleep. T-Dog reported no sightings of walkers, same as Daryl, and the relaxed, celebratory air extended to the point that Daryl's jaw ached from clenching his back teeth so hard in annoyance.
Preparing breakfast was casual, the usual sense of urgency making way for this level of comfort they'd not allowed themselves to believe in for months. Not accepted that hope could actually deliver to them once more.
"I can't believe we're havin' pancakes," Beth gushed, her sparkling eyes and happy smile jarring him just as Carol handed him his own plate with a huge grin on her face, a gentleness in her eyes that he was still uncomfortable seeing aimed at him.
"The wonders of a full pantry," Carol agreed, softening even more as she fell into the familiar role of housewife and Daryl watched the devolution through narrowed eyes, his lips tightening with an anger he couldn't explain. He'd thought she was done with this domestic bullshit, that in her pursuit of change, to not be a burden on the group, she held herself to being more than camp cook creating miracles out of a can of beans. Seemed like all she needed was a stash of core ingredients and she reverted to being happy as a pig in shit over abso-fucking-lutely nothing. Daryl grunted as he pushed himself away from the wall, the plate grudgingly emptied as the meal settled in his gut like a stone. He eyed Rick, their fearful leader hanging back from the others, aiming resentful glares at his wife whenever he caught her not looking. Everything melded together to twist into something that felt off, like a warning—they were too complacent, too reliant on their perceived safety and he just knew they were going to pay for it sooner or later. Pay for it with more of their blood. The only gamble was on who would go down first.
The kitchen was a large one, homey with an artificial country ambiance that made Daryl cringe. They'd all crammed around the well-loved table, enough chairs to indicate that this was once a real hub of activity for the family that had lived here when the world was right and people had the freedom to laugh. The bustle inside now was more than Daryl could handle, so he cleared his throat rudely, peered intently across the room until he snagged Rick's gaze, then loudly prompted a reminder of their conversation the previous night. He felt a keen urgency for some kind of a plan to get people skilled up. He didn't know why—wasn't sure if it was a fear in his guts or just experience, but catastrophe was coming and it was stupid to sit on their asses, gorging on plentiful food when half their group was still lacking the skills to fight, and fight hard. They'd already waited too long, had too many near misses. Almost lost Glenn when he was distracted by Maggie.
"Listen up," barked Rick, and instantly he had the attention of everyone in the room. Rick wandered a little more centrally into the group, his expression one flavoured with concern and guardianship. "We've had a good run here and I think while we've got the chance, we should stop a while and try to work on weapons skills for those that don't really have any." There were some eager nods from the younger ones, the kids, and then a stark echo of pain that Daryl caught before Carol worked on pushing it down, hiding her fears before anyone else had a chance to see it. "How does this work for everyone? Maggie and Beth—you work with Glenn and Hershel, Carl's with me. Daryl with Carol and T-Dog, you and Lori. I advise doing any shooting practise away from the house, just in case it draws in walkers. I'll talk with Daryl and we'll set up a series of shifts that should maximise everyone's chance to practise. We've been coastin' too long, depending on the group to stay protected, but there might be times we aren't with the group. We want to make sure everyone can take care of themselves."
Daryl barely had the chance to judge their fearless leader a lily-livered pussy for palming off his own wife before he found himself astride his bike, Carol sliding in way too close behind him and her arms curved sweetly around his waist. He should have been chilled with the bite of the frigid wind cutting through his clothes as he sped away from their camp, but the heat of Carol's thighs pressed tight against his sparked a fire that whipped through him. The shock of it left him stiff with fear while his body reacted to an attraction he wasn't prepared for. He felt caught, twisting and stuck in a web made of stuff he'd never encountered before, and the tighter it coiled around him, the more frustrated he was. She shuffled even closer and Daryl sucked in a strangled breath, contemplating where his breaking point was as he found her touch almost too much. His stomach rolled violently, his body tense and he sat rigid while he tried to talk some sense into his reactive body parts. They didn't have time for this—he didn't want it and he was damn sure physical release was the last thing on her mind, if she'd even welcome his touch after her ass of a husband had laid his meaty paws on her. His brain had switched off with the weight of her hands at his hips, choosing instead to imagine the press of her curves into his back. He shook himself and almost swerved the bike off the road, his face flushed hot and his palms sweating. His relief was palpable when he pulled off the road at a field far enough away, snapping the kickstand into place. She hopped off and he only just caught the hint of confusion that crinkled around her eyes, her expression thoughtful before she wiped all traces away, focusing on him with a fierceness that made him forget what the fuck he was even doing out here in the middle of bumfuck nowhere, completely alone.
"You bring a knife?" He tried to speak softer than he was used to, knowing somewhere deep inside that the time for this woman to be treated rough was at an end, and if he ever did it again, surrendered to his baser reactions to strike out at her, he'd kick his own ass. If she was ever going to be a confident fighter, ever be able to survive this world, then beating her down had to stop, and it started with him.
She grinned at him, a touch of indulgence there in the corner of her mouth as she pulled a knife from her belt and let it sit flat in her open palm. His heart twisted painfully and he wondered if this was the beginning of his end. If he was going to die one small piece at a time whenever Carol smiled at him. "Of course. I don't leave home without my sharpened, deadly weapons."
"This ain't no laughin' matter," he grumbled, irrationally annoyed with her as well as himself. "I'm tryin' to teach you how to live."
Her head canted to the side and his body flushed at her up and down appraisal. Awareness renewed its bittersweet longing as he peered back at her, sweeping his hungry gaze right up her body, lingering at her open shirt and the hint of a crease between her breasts. He swallowed against a dry throat, an uncomfortable sweat prickled across his flesh. What the fuck was he doing? Did she even know what she was doing to him, or was she doing it on purpose?
"And I appreciate that, Daryl. What should I know first?" She looked contrite, though there was a hint of pink on her cheeks that fascinated him before he felt like a fool and quickly looked away, looked at anything but her as he frantically tried to stop his body's gentle stir toward life.
How could he find attractive someone who was so fucking useless? She floundered with the knife like her palms were slippery with sweat, not finding a good grip no matter how much she moved it around in her hand, and every time she did it he was certain smoke was blowing out his ears. His hand descended on hers so fast she flinched hard, though she tried to take it back with a fierce look that showed how much she wasn't scared of him. How much she wouldn't let herself be, and it was that fighting spirit that had kept him beside her in the first place. She was dumb as a rock when it came to protecting herself, but she wasn't going to cower anymore, and already that made her stronger than him.
"Put that knife away for now," he said, his voice gruff as he moved to help guide her hand and knife back to the sheath at her hip. She went to drop her shirt over the top and his fingers raced to cover hers, their eyes clashing as perspiration broke out on his forehead. Slowly he balled the fabric, lifting the shirt back up until a slit of her flesh was visible and he was caught in the wonder of what he was doing. His knuckles brushed against her skin and he froze, his body screaming at him that this was good, this was what it wanted and damn he'd taken his time working it out. It took strength he never knew he had to ignore it, hastily tucking the fabric behind the knife. "Need to be able to get to it fast," he explained, taking a step back and praying it would mean his brain came back out to play. Understanding immediately, Carol nodded and then ran her fingers over the place his hand had just been, smoothing the shirt down.
Her eyes were owl-like as they stood staring at each other, time seemingly taking some much needed vacation time and leaving them adrift on uncertainty. Flinching, having absolutely no idea what should happen next, Daryl pulled out the guns from the bike's saddle bags along with a bag of empty cans from their breakfast, walking without speaking to a part of the field closer to the woods. He pointed to a spot and waited for her to understand she was to stand there and then he went and position the cans at various heights in the front line of trees. Wherever he could jam it, determined she'd learn to look and fire without thinking, finding her objective and altering her aim whenever need saw fit. Weren't gonna learn shit just lining cans along a fence. They didn't have time or bullets for taking things easy, and Carol had never had it easy anyway. He wasn't going to bubble wrap everything for her.
Once they started he was shocked to find she was a good shot. She had a good eye and excellent aim and really all he needed was to make sure she could hit a moving target. She had her chance a lot sooner than he'd expected, with only ten minutes of pinging tins into the air behind them before walkers started flooding out from behind the trees. With his crossbow he picked off a few, but then grew angry as she stood there indecisively, her shots going wide before she jerked her hand and tried to line up the next one. They were in the thick of it before he knew it and soon the walkers were too close to use guns.
"Get your knife," he shouted at her, frustration and fear thrumming through him like lightning, adrenaline making it all a blur. She hit one that didn't fall, the pressure behind the knife not enough to kill it and Daryl found he had to rush in to finish it off. "Harder," he shouted at her, not caring anymore if he was too harsh or not, if he was confronting or not. He didn't care if he scared her, the field was full of monsters that should do that for him and he was covered in sweat and foul-smelling blood working double time while she tried to get the hang of the knife.
"I'm trying," she whimpered and he heard the tears in her voice, them acting like tinder to his booming rage.
"Fuckin' try harder."
Her wrist was weak, her jabs not always firm and strong, not confident and in a last minute whirl of temper, Daryl finished them off bar one. He threw his crossbow to the ground and took long, furious strides to her, wrapping his bloodied hand around her fist on the knife, taunting the final walker to come closer. She was shaking in his arms and he was vibrating with anger and adrenaline, the walker moving too slow so he jerked her forward, pushing her forcefully with his body while she was trying to back away. He was stronger and so three steps in they were right in front of it, one of his hands spanning her waist as he used all his strength to force her to thrust her knife through its mushy skull, the blade protruding right through the back with the matted hair and burst of black blood. It fell like a stone as together, he pulled the knife out of its head. Daryl threw himself away from her, panting, his knees wobbling until he stumbled and fell on his ass. His chest rose and fell as air rushed through his diaphragm, the pain a pinch that made it difficult to find somewhere for his temper to go.
Finally he had enough composure to just glare as he practically snarled at her. "The fuck was that?"
She had tear streaks down her face but he ignored them, his heart still hammering away far too hard for him to have energy to spare for anyone else in the midst of their panic.
"I'm sorry."
"Sorry ain't gonna keep your ass alive." He shook his head, like he couldn't quite believe things had just gone down like they had. The shells of remnants of the human race lay scattered around him, torn and bloody and useless and he could no longer see the humanity that had once been in them, just the rancid, rotting reality of the world they once used to know. They were little more than a plague now, spreading like wildfire through the breathers that remained in this fucked up world. Thing was, he liked breathing. He liked it a whole lot. He didn't do shit with the gift of life except survive, but he wasn't going to opt out any time soon, and it pissed him off like nothing else that Carol could be so strong, the survivor that would potentially outlast them all, yet she couldn't get a fucking knife all the way through a walker's half mushy head.
"I know," she sniffled pathetically and it was like a bucket of ice water to his earlier conflict over his body's responses to her. Right now her failure to be all that he knew she could be made him question why he was bothering. When she turned those sparkling crystal-like eyes at him, the blue so hot that he lit up from the inside, he knew there wasn't a damn thing he could do to stop himself. He was going to make sure she could save her own life if it killed him. Snorting in self-disgust, he pushed himself upright and snatched his crossbow off the ground, striding toward the bike. When he straddled it and revved the engine to life, he was still too irritated to even take advantage of watching her rush back to him. He flinched when she took her place behind him, her hands hesitant as she settled them lightly on his hips, and damn it all if her touch didn't make him feel more alive than ever.