It has come to my attention that I wrote "I dunno know" in the last chapter instead of just "I dunno." It's just a stupid mistake on my part. Ignore it and enjoy! This chapter is a glimpse inside Daryl's mind, and it was a lot of fun to write!

Daryl scarcely had a moment to process what was going on—let alone enjoy it—before Carol pulled away. The light spilling in through the cracked door was musty and dim and only fell on a quarter of her face, but he could still make out the rosy hue breaking through the surface of the peachy skin over her cheekbones. He could feel his cheeks heating, too, and for several moments they just stood, neither saying a word. Words meant nothing.

At first they were so close he could feel her deep breaths on his neck. Then she pressed her feet flat on the ground, whereas before she had been balancing on her toes, shrinking as she leaned away. The distance between them continued to gradually grow until Judith's cries began to echo off every wall and bounce around the prison. Rick called for Carol's assistance. He hadn't mastered his baby-soothing technique yet. Carol pushed the prison jumpsuits onto a rickety shelf, planning to return for them later, and left to aid Rick. Still, she didn't tear her eyes from Daryl until the last moment.

Most of the time, darkness meant danger to Daryl. It meant he was blind. It was why he never went hunting after sundown. If he intersected a herd, he'd have no way of knowing where the walkers were or how many of them he was facing or how far he was from the prison. And dying alone in agony with night's hands clasped firmly over his eyes was Daryl's worst fear. But as he stood, dumfounded, wrapped in shadows, he felt oddly comforted by the silky blackness. It meant nobody could see him and the look of total confusion he no doubt had on his face.

Daryl's mind was still bending, trying to comprehend. There was something in his chest tugging at the strings of his heart. He could feel each one as it was yanked. A new pang of emotion would wash through his body each time.

I kissed her! He thought frantically. But the voice of his mind spoke unsurely, as if it were not so much a statement as it was a question.

No. He mentally corrected himself. She kissed me.

Little droplets of sweat budded at his temple and expanded. He pulled at the roots of his hair.

Fuck.

How could he let this happen? The entire group counted on him to keep them safe. To keep them fed. How was he supposed to do that if Carol was distracting him all day long? He tried so hard to keep her off his mind. After all, if he started thinking about her he'd never stop. He'd learnt that lesson the hard way.

It was their first night in the prison. Nobody slept well. Every cough and creak was amplified tenfold. Daryl was wide awake. He tried to doze off, he did, but all he did was toss and turn and find himself tangled and sweaty in his sheets. So he sat upright on the perch, trying to make out the shapes stumbling around in the prison yard, shifting in and out of the moonbeams. His attention fell upon the overturned bus. The jagged glass fringing the busted window frames glistened; the sleek metal shone. Just a day earlier he had stood atop that bus with Carol. They watched the others who were huddled around the crackling fire, faces and hair illuminated bright gold. There was still a nip in the air and Daryl had his poncho on. He was eating roasted owl. Carol was watching with a smile.

And then she complained about her damn shoulder hurting. He didn't even think twice about offering to rub it for her. And so he did. He remembered how he could feel the tight, sore knot beneath her skin. Then she started giggling and teasing him so he retreated back into shyness.

And then there he was, a night later, thinking about it for the millionth time. Only this time the thought didn't pass quickly. The image of her face stayed firmly in his mind. Before he knew it, he'd traced his memories of her back to the day Sophia went missing.

Gazing idly out the window, he was too lost in his own thoughts to notice the tear that slipped past his eyelids. It was one that got away out of many still waiting to escape. But Daryl had sworn he would never cry. Crying is weakness. Tears solve nothing. Tears can't cure world hunger. Tears can't mend broken friendships. Tears can't restore stolen lives.

When Daryl became aware of that stray tear slipping down his cheek, he found himself incensed. He brushed it away roughly. He blinked wildly. He balled up his fists. He dug his nails into his callused fingertips. His top tooth sunk into his bottom lip. He bit down hard. He tasted metallic blood on his tongue. It was a single salty teardrop, but it bothered him to no end.

He pondered in the silent, soft darkness of the supply closet. He knew he couldn't hide in there forever, but he wasn't quite ready to face Carol again. He needed some more time to think. He needed some more time.

One thing he knew for sure was that he hated how she had such authority over his emotions. He hated how she could make him laugh with the stupidest joke. He hated how he took every compliment she gave him to heart. He hated how she could leave him staggering in some supply closet with a tiny kiss and three words working together as a spell.

Then another memory was recalled, still sharp and vivid in his mind's eye:

Daryl was young—five, six, seven at the very oldest. He'd just lost his top tooth. He prodded the spongy gap with his tongue as he sat, dazed, in front of the TV. Mama was washing dishes in the kitchen. He remembered hearing the clattering of plates and the drizzle of water. Merle was somewhere else. He didn't know where Daddy was. Maybe he'd blotted that part out to make the memory fonder.

The name of the show he was watching was a detail long departed. All he could remember was a teenage girl and her younger brother in a large, dimly lit living room. The teenage girl painted her toenails some sickly shade of pink. The little boy rolled his cars along the wooden floor.

"What's it feel like to be in love, Jenna?" he asked her without lifting his gaze from his cars. The teenage girl dabbed more polish on her toenails.

"I dunno," she answered, before expanding monotonously. "I guess it feels like you're trapped and can't escape. Like someone's wrapped your heart up in chains and they won't unchain it no matter how much you beg. But really, you don't want them to."

Daryl snapped to attention when he heard his name being yelled out repeatedly. Not knowing what to do, he cracked the door open and peered out. When he saw nobody was coming, he slid through, continuing down the hall towards the source of the calling. It seemed to be getting closer. Daryl tried to look less flustered as Rick approached.

"Daryl! Where you been?" he asked. Carl was at his side. The kid was clutching his gun far too eagerly.

"Wha'? I ain't been nowhere, jus'-"

"Merle's been askin' for you. I'm takin' Carl into another cell block. I wanna see if there's anything worth grabbing. Go see what he wants; jus' don't let him out."

Daryl nodded, swallowing hardly as Rick slapped him on the shoulder before passing him by. Daryl's pace slowed as he entered Cell Block C. Carol was standing there, her back against the wall, a tiny smile playing on her lips as she watched Beth coo to Judith. Her eyes met Daryl's, and for a few moments their gazes were united before she coaxed Beth out of the prison to leave Merle and Daryl alone.

"Come on. Some fresh air'll do her good."

Daryl's eyes lingered on her until even after the door closed. Maggie and Glenn were in the watch tower (although he doubted any watching was getting done) and Hershel was in the room where they ate their meals, sitting at a table, working at a slip of paper with a graphite pencil he'd found on the floor.

"Been here almos' a week an' you haven't barely said a word t' me. Ain't no way to treat your Ole Merle."

Daryl peered at his big brother through thick metal bars. He was perched on his bed, fiddling with a long piece of metal he'd smuggled in at some point. The knife he used for his arm attachment had been taken when they were in the screamer pits. The gap in the leather seemed to have left a gap in his heart, too.

Annoyance flashed across Merle's face when his brother remained silent. Picking on Daryl was a skill that had taken a lifetime to hone and ten months to dull.

"You wanna tell me wha' this is all about?" he asked, but not in the normal, comforting big-brotherly fashion. Daryl knew whatever he said would be taken, mangled, spat out and used against him. So Daryl kept his jaw firm and his stare firmer.

"This ain't about that woman, is it?"

Daryl tried his best, but he couldn't keep his eyes from glancing down briefly. He brought them back up quickly, but Merle was faster. Nothing slipped by Merle. He let out a deep, throaty chuckle.

"Yeah, I figured as much."

Merle reclined, kicking his shoes off and flinging them across the cell. That clanged against the metal bars. When he saw no reaction flash across his little brother's face, he tried to penetrate Daryl's mind. Tried to figure out what would make him flinch. But he couldn't read him. Not anymore. He was a different person. Merle had worked so hard to carve Daryl into a real man. Now he might as well have been gossiping with the women.

"I got a lil' bit o' advice for you, though."

Merle scooted towards where Daryl was positioned. He leaned in as close as he could so that if anything he said had any bit of impact, he would be able to see it manifest in his brother's expression. Daryl's face was thinner than the last time they were together. His hair was longer. His eyes were drilling but softened somehow. Merle played his cards wisely.

"That woman…she's weak. An' she's old. An' she'll die sooner rather than later. She ain't worth your love, lil' brotha. Ain't nobody worth your love but me."

When Merle failed to draw a reaction from Daryl, he went ballistic, his voice full of unbridled rage.

"You listen t' me, lil' brotha, an' you listen good! I don' wanna see you near 'er. I don't wanna see you talk to 'er. I don' wanna see you touchin' 'er, an' I sure as hell don' wanna hear 'bout you two doin' shit 'hind my back!"

Daryl jumped away, his breath shaking. He was seething, but he wouldn't let his anger be released. Instead he stormed off. He needed a drink of water. Merle snickered to himself, proud to have found his brother's weak spot at least. He'd had his baby brother on a harness for his entire life. He was glad to have his hands wrapped around the leash once more.