Carol stood back, admiring her work. Dozens of strips of venison hung over a sizzling fire while the sun simmered away overhead. She was grateful it wasn't another dreary day. The sky looked clear of thunderheads, but she was still on the lookout for the slightest hint of grey. The last thing she wanted was to be caught in a bout of rainfall. That would ruin any chance of jerky for sure.

Her gaze drifted towards two crosses in the distance. She used her hand to block the sunrays from her eyes. She'd already been over there, almost two weeks ago, to pay her respects to T-Dog and Lori, and to rip down the third monument. She didn't ask permission to do so. It was her grave, and she wasn't dead. Nobody had objected. They were relieved to see it gone. She'd noticed the rose, then. It was withered and soggy with rain but recognizable. She'd stroked the petals. They were browning at the edges. She'd wondered what Daryl's reaction had been when he thought she was dead; when he said goodbye to her. She'd never asked him. Figured if he wanted to talk about it, he would. But he didn't.

It's a funny thing, when you're thinking of someone or something and it suddenly makes an appearance, be it in conversation or perhaps even in front of you. Carol experienced that when she turned her head only to see Daryl strolling towards her, crossbow slung over his shoulder and gaze cast down at the cement. Carol smiled at him, though he didn't see.

"What's up?" she asked, breathing in the scent of smoking meat. Her mouth watered.

"Merle's out." he replied, spitting a glob of saliva bitterly into the grass. She stared at him, alarmed.

"What?!" she cried, furrowing her brow, her mouth hanging open. Daryl nodded dismally.

"Rick let him out, jus' a few minutes ago." He gestured towards the prison.

Carol placed her hands on her hips, not sure what to do. She had no say over the matter, but strongly opposed all the same.

"An' what do you think about this?

"I think it's a fuckin' bad idea is what I think." Daryl's voice hovered just below a yell. He clearly shared Carol's concerns. Neither one of them was fool enough to believe that Merle had given up his pursuit to "get his brother back", and neither one of them wanted to find out what doing so would entail. But Carol was distressed by how accepting Daryl sounded.

"Then why don't you say something? Rick'll listen to you!"

Daryl shooed her suggestion away.

"Nah. That ain't gonna help none. Rick's mind is made up. He wants t' give Merle a chance. What I say don' matter."

"But he's your brother. Youknow him better than anyone!" Carol's eyes were glistening with tears now. Emotion made her voice sound stretched. They would never get alone time together with Merle loose. Never.

"All I can do now's one thing: keep you safe an' away from him." He sighed. Suddenly both of their heads snapped in the direction behind them when they heard the side door slam closed. None other than Merle strode out, taking wide steps. After two weeks crunched in a cage, all he wanted to do was run. When he noticed Carol and Daryl standing particularly close to each other, his face lit up deviously.

"Well, well, well," he crowed, circling the two like a buzzard. Carol noticed a red shape in his hand, almost a sphere, but not quite. During their hunting trip, Daryl had spotted an apple tree. The fruit was sparse on its bare branches but they'd harvested what they could. They'd shared just one for breakfast on the third morning and instantly knew the fruits wouldn't be around long. They were sweet and succulent and simply divine. Carol wondered if Merle had been given the apple or if he'd just snatched it himself. "Now how'd I know I'd find you two here?"

"Hey, watch it! This is your dinner too." Daryl growled in reply. Merle advanced and Carol found her discomfort level skyrocketing. He was within an arm's distance of her. The closest they'd ever been without a set of bars between them. If he wanted, he could reach out and shove her straight into that fire. End her life. What a way to die that would be, given the circumstances of the world.

"Gotta admit, you did a damn nice job on this, lil' brother." Merle said. He took another bite out the apple. Carol noticed the terrible condition his teeth were in.

"Wasn't me. Carol thought all o' this up. I jus' helped build the foundation," Daryl replied, motioning towards the assembly of sticks where the venison hung.

"Ain't too shabby," Merle mused.

"I'm not quite as useless as you seem to think."

Merle's gaze fell over Carol and she found herself yearning to disappear. She wished like hell she hadn't said anything. She felt as if she were under a huge shadow.

"You talkin' t' me, Peaches? 'Cause if you is, I'd watch my damned mouth!"

"Leave her the hell alone!" Daryl yelled, jumping in front of Merle to keep him from looming any closer to Carol. He stared his brother down. "You wanna find yourself back in that birdcage? Keep it up."

Merle laughed sardonically but held his hands up anyway. As much as he loved to mock those two, his baby brother had a point. Merle hadn't been a liberated man for even an hour. He wasn't ready to do something stupid and get himself locked up again. Not yet.

.:|:.

Maggie and Glenn rounded the corner to Cell Block C. They hadn't been spotted all morning, which wasn't very unusual. They frequently scurried off randomly into the dark, winding hallways with their blades hanging at their sides, not returning until several hours had elapsed. When they finally did make their way back, they were normally splattered with walker blood, glistening with sweat and holding hands.

It was good to get time away. At least, that's what Glenn had always replied with when questioned about their daily trips into the unexplored confines of the prison. Daryl had always been confused by that. Running around in the darkness cleaving walker skulls didn't really seem like 'time away'. But when he and Carol began pursuing their secret nighttime trysts, he suddenly understood. 'Time away' was Glenn's code for 'time together.' And by 'time together', he meant 'time together alone'.

The couple didn't necessarily have to be screwing each other to enjoy their 'time away'. In fact, they often just talked. Chatted about things they couldn't converse about in front of the others, such as Rick's mental health, which had been deteriorating since Lori's death, or what the hell Andrea was doing. Daryl had informed them that he'd seen her at Woodbury. Stared her straight in the face, he claimed. She'd distracted the Governor for long enough for Daryl to slip his spare smoke bomb out of his back pocket. 'Bastards shoulda briefed me if they knew anythin' 'bout anythin'. Jus' my luck, they didn't.'

But that particular day they'd been discussing Daryl and Carol, and the status of their relationship. They both found themselves in agreement: there was something else afoot between the two besides mere friendship.

"Have you seen the looks she gives him?" Maggie asked. She stopped in her tracks to cock her head and bat her eyelashes furiously. She hooked her pinky finger in her mouth, between her slightly parted lips. She laughed. Glenn rolled his eyes.

"She does not look like that," he argued, but his lips were cracked into a tiny smile.

"Whatever," Maggie huffed, quickening her pace to catch up with Glenn. "I stand by my point."

"I didn't argue with your point."

"So you agree then?"

Glenn nodded. Maggie halted, leaning against the wall, and fished around in her bag for their water bottle. She unscrewed the cap and quenched her thirst. She held the bottle out to Glenn. He accepted it, taking only a small sip, saving most of it for Maggie. He handed it back to her.

"In fact, I don't just think so, I hope so." Glenn said, planting his back against the stone-cold wall and sliding down to sit with Maggie. "I mean, you never knew Ed, Carol's husband. And by the time you met Carol, well, most of her bruises had healed."

Maggie's face grew solemn when she realized what Glenn was hinting at. It was hard to imagine such a strong, lively woman like Carol in a position like that.

"She deserves a decent man in her life." He added. Maggie rested her head on his shoulder and kissed his cheek.

"We should get going," she sighed, rising to her feet. She helped Glenn up. The two started down the corridor.

"It's just too bad about Merle," Glenn remarked suddenly, and Maggie noticed instantly the dreary tone Glenn's voice assumed. Remembering Ed had started it and thinking about Merle was maintaining it. She reached up, scratching the back of his neck, combing her fingers through his grimy black hair. The whole group had become completely unfazed by the constant presence of filth.

"I don't understand why he cares so much."

"You don't know Merle."

"But I'd want Beth to be happy, no matter what."

"Like I said," Glenn turned to face Maggie. "You don't know Merle. All he cares about is having Daryl's complete loyalty. Nothing else matters."

The two navigated their way through the shadowy corridors without saying much else. All the talk about Merle had put a damper on Glenn's mood. Maggie's mind raced furiously for a solution to cheer him up.

"Think they've done it?" she asked. Glenn gave her a strange look.

"Carol and Daryl?"

She nodded. He laughed.

"Where would they even go? They haven't been in the guard tower, and Cell Block C echoes like hell."

Maggie shrugged, smirking coyly. She pointed ahead. There was a window looking into an empty room. There were some bloodstains on the walls. Some wreckage pushed into the corners. More importantly, there was a lantern in the center. She'd seen it before. It was Daryl's.

"There?"

.:|:.

Rick had called for a meeting. It seemed everyone was present except Daryl. He'd chosen to stay in the prison yard and tend to the meat, even though it didn't really need tending. It was just an excuse to evade having to take part in the discussion. Carol swung her hips softly, cradling Judith in her arms. Glenn was akin to a pissed bull, ready to charge. Maggie's brow was furrowed and her arms were crossed.

"I understand what Merle did to Glenn was unjustified. However, I think Merle believed he had reason to do what he did. He wanted his little brother, and he was going to get him no matter what it took. That said, I don't think it's fair to continue keeping Merle in a cell."

There were no mumbles of agreement following Rick's words.

"I trust that as long as we don't treat him like an animal, he won't act like one. Isn't that right, Merle?"

Merle nodded.

"Ain't gonna give you no trouble, Officer Friendly," he promised, though he wasn't looking at Rick. His eyes were fixated on Carol in a way that made her squirm. "None at all."

.:|:.

The jerky wouldn't be ready for several more days, but the group ate nonetheless. Their dinner was not nearly as wonderful as it had been the previous evening, and random cans of fruit could scarcely be considered a "warm, comforting meal", but Carol had done a fine job rationing it and there was enough for everybody to have second helpings—except Daryl, of course. He didn't even finish his first serving. Let Carl polish off the rest of his can. Merle just glared. Generosity was fucking ridiculous as far as he was concerned. Rick pretended not to notice. He just stared down into his tin and skewered a grape with his fork. He didn't bring the utensil to his lips.

"Kid's growin'," Daryl drawled, wiping the corners of his mouth with his rag. Carol had offered to wash it for him earlier and he would have declined if not for the fact that it was drenched in deer blood. He'd previously refrained from letting her take it. He was afraid it'd get lost or wrecked somehow. And that stupid strip of cloth was one of the only continual things in his life. But he'd decided that he could trust Carol with it and didn't regret it when it was returned to him a few hours later fresh and clean, smelling peculiarly of lemon dish soap. "Needs it more than I do."

.:|:.

Carol and Beth rinsed the forks and the insides of the cans. Soon, no trace of the thick, fruity syrup remained and the tins could be utilized as cups for water. That was a wrap to their post-supper dishwashing, and they were relieved of their duties particularly early that night. Having nothing else to do, Carol resolved to occupy her twitchy hands with a pencil and a pad of paper.

Carol had always loved any form of creation, but art and music were always her favorites. She'd paint for hours on end, every stroke of her brush filling in the details of a new universe, until she was so tired she'd accidentally take a sip of her paint water. Then Ed lost his job and Carol found herself working overtime at the local supermarket. Suddenly those hours of free time vanished. And when Sophia was born, it was officially over. She laid her stack of blank canvases to rest in the attic, tossed the brushes into a kitchen drawer, and threw the paints into the garbage can. But she never lost her yearning to craft, nor did she lose her knack for it.

The first few things she did were just random doodles: Baby Judith, Carl's sheriff's hat, a Cherokee rose. But other ideas soon trickled into her mind, and she found herself sketching the outlines of a room. Then she scribbled in a lantern, right in the center, and finally, in the upper left corner of the paper, a moon. Hopefully he would understand her request.

She made sure nobody was looking as she climbed the steps to Daryl's perch.

.:|:.

"So this's your crib, huh?"

The sudden raspy voice came as a surprise to Daryl, who was sharpening his knife in the corner of his perch. He glanced up at his older brother momentarily before bringing his gaze back down on his blade.

"Don' blame you for not wantin' to sleep in one o' them damned cages," Merle continued, picking through a pile of dirty clothes, mostly consisting of vests and other sleeveless shirts. "But I mus' say,'s a bit far away from Peaches, huh? 'S a wonder how you two get your fucking time in."

"Shut up," Daryl hissed, kicking Merle's hand away briskly. "Ain't never fucked Carol, or anyone else for tha' matter."

"Yeah, I know it," he grunted. "Can't even score you some damned leftovers."

Daryl bit down on his tongue. That wasn't what he'd meant. Merle had just failed to read between the lines. He'd meant there was a world of difference between fucking and what he'd done with Carol. Fucking was quick and rough. It was what Ed probably did to her. No feeling. No passion. Just in and out. And Daryl had sworn he'd never be Ed.

"The hell's this?"

Daryl looked up suddenly. Merle had found his poncho and wasn't sure what to make it. He just sort of held it out as far from his body as possible with his index finger and thumb, like it was infected with the plague.

"This your blankie, lil' brother?"

"'S pretty damn comfortable."

"You make this yourself?"

Daryl nodded, much to Merle's amusement.

"Should make yourself an apron next! Get you some pink fabric, the kind with the cupcakes on it." Merle cackled.

"Go to hell." Daryl spat.

"I'm on my way, baby brother, 'cause you's gonna be the death of me."

Suddenly Merle's attention switched and he dropped the poncho. Daryl lunged forward to keep it from sliding off the edge of the perch. Merle bent over and plucked a slip of paper from Daryl's crossbow. It was tucked in between the cables and strings. He smoothed it out, examining the vague drawing that consisted mostly of lines and squiggles. He raised an eyebrow at Daryl. Daryl fought the urge to raise one back. Where the hell had that come from?

"You sure ain't much of an artist," Merle grumbled, releasing the paper so it floated down to rest by Daryl's foot. Merle hadn't the slightest what it'd meant. As far as he was concerned, his little brother had probably scribbled down some shit as a way to appease his boredom. But Daryl knew better, and he could read the message behind the illustration clear as day:

Meet me in our room, tonight.