So, I'm still stuck without a laptop, and it's taking me a long time to write chapters and even longer to write good ones. The good news is that I will probably end up getting a new one very soon. Sharing one computer is slowly killing *everyone*. Anyway, I'm *sort of* satisfied with this chapter, so enjoy!

"Carol, no."

"I wasn't asking you," she snipped, grabbing her bag and slinging it over her shoulder. "I was telling you."

She squatted down and began sorting through a heap of dirty clothing in the corner. The mountainous laundry pile had been accumulating since she'd left with Daryl for hunting. Upon their return, she felt as though she'd gathered no time to wash clothes—or maybe she was just utterly spent. She'd since been re-wearing shirts and pants—the ones that didn't stink too badly, at least—but now her clean underwear stash was thinning and she'd decided that the line had to be drawn somewhere.

"You ain't in any shape to be goin' out on a run. 'Specially not alone."

"I'm not going to be alone, Daryl." She retorted whilst pawing through her bag. She seemed to have packed everything: four water bottles, a few granola bars, a spare tank top, extra ammo. Her gun she tucked into the front of her pants, pulling her shirt down to conceal it.

"He's a kid, Carol. He can't protect you."

"I can protect myself!" She cried, although a bit louder than she'd intended to. Daryl fell silent; his face grew sullen. He hated the thought of her leaving. What if she wound up bitten? Or gutted? Or captured? Or lost? And even if nothing went awry and they came back unscathed and bearing food and formula, the mere thought of not knowing if she was safe or starving or freezing or lonely terrified him.

"You're not going to lose me, Daryl." She pledged, laying a hand on his chest as a gesture of comfort; of reassurance. There was a rhythm thudding against her palm; the cadence of a heartbeat Carol knew well. "That's a promise."

The frustration in her voice had diminished. Her eyes softened. She gave him a frail smile, scarcely more than a twitching of her lips, and he sighed in surrender. He'd fallen victim once more to her gentle touches and shy simpers.

"Fine. You win. But if you're leavin…" he reached back and produced his rag from his pocket. "…you ain't leavin' without this."

He held it out in front of him, urging her to receive it. She stared uncertainly.

"I'm not sure I'm comfortable taking that from you." She explained, but his insistence failed to waver.

"I ain't comfortable with you not takin' it from me." He replied sharply. Then his features relaxed and he nudged it towards her. "Come on. 'S good luck."

She accepted the rag with hesitance and folded it into a little red square.

"If you're worried 'bout it gettin' lost, don' be." He assured her as she tucked it into a compartment on the side of her bag. "'S survived the end o' the world, remember."

She gave a chuckle as she tightened the laces on her shoes. Daryl gazed at her silently. Qualms grew like weeds in his mind and stomach felt akin to a void. She rose to her feet, brushed the dirt off her knees, and leaned in to deliver a tender farewell kiss.

.:|:.

Carl and Carol waited by the door, eager to embark on their mission. It would be nice to escape the stifling walls and creaky cell doors for a while. Daryl viewed from his perch, his gaze frequently wandering back towards the window to observe the walkers by the fence. There were only a few of them, and they looked particularly emaciated and weak: just graying flesh and brittle bones jabbing out from underneath tattered clothing. Just the four of them posed no threat to Carol and Carl, but a mass of them would. The two of them would be no match against a herd. They'd be devoured alive. Daryl tried to banish the thought, but it kept creeping back to haunt him.

The pair said their goodbyes to Rick, then to Hershel and Beth and Judy and finally Glenn and Maggie. Carol couldn't decipher why Maggie seemed so distressed, but she figured it best not to inquire. Perhaps she and Glenn had engaged in a brief dispute.

Daryl watched the two figures shrink as they crossed the prison yard—a little one accompanied by a larger one. His fingers curled into a fist as Axel opened the gate for them and received a nod of acknowledgement from Carol. Then their silhouettes vanished into the trees and he felt his throat clench up. He told himself to relax. Carol's voice replayed in his head, over and over and over:

"You're not going to lose me, Daryl. That's a promise."

But how on earth could she expect him believe that? Shouldn't she, of all people, know not to put faith in empty promises? He'd told her a million times that Sophia would be alright. He said it over and over. And he believed it, he did! But it didn't matter. Those promises were vacant and null. Sophia died. Words couldn't protect her. Words couldn't save her. And before he knew it, he was miserably regretting letting Carol walk out that door.

"Mind if I sit?"

Daryl glanced up to see Rick looming over him. His Sheriff's hat cast shadows down on his face. It'd been a while since he'd worn it. It almost looked foreign. Daryl grunted a meager 'sure' and Rick took a seat beside him.

"Got your hat back?"

"I'm keepin' it safe for Carl."

"You worried 'bout 'im at all?" Daryl asked, turning to face Rick, who was gazing out the window, though focusing on nothing in particular. His companion shook his head.

"Maybe eight months ago. But he's grown up a lot since then. He needs to learn how to scavenge. It may come in handy sooner than I'd like to think."

Daryl nodded, wishing he could feel as hopeful.

"You worried about Carol?"

The question didn't surprise Daryl as much as it just confirmed a theory that had been developing in his mind for a long time. He'd never really fooled himself into believing that he and Carol's relationship wasn't completely fucking obvious. Plus, Rick could see through anyone like they were made of glass. So he said nothing, partially meaning to convey a hint, and just stared ahead at the skyline.

"Don't be. She'll be fine."

A silence ensued. Daryl found it tense and strangling. Rick, however, used it to carefully string together his next sentence, making sure to avoid certain words that would send a shudder down his friend's spine. But much to Rick's surprise, Daryl spoke up first.

"She promised me she'd be okay. Don't help much, though."

"Yeah, I get it. I've been there, but on the other side. I'd tell Lori—I'd swear to her—that nothing would happen to me; that'd I'd be fine. Didn't stop her from worrying. But in the end, I always kept my promise. I always came back. You're going to have to put the same trust in Carol that Lori put in me."

Rick's voice gave out as his throat clenched up. Over the past month, there had been no time to grieve. They laid their fallen to rest and moved on—or pretended to, at least. But it didn't numb the pain of loss; didn't even blunt the edges. It made it worse. They swallowed their sorrow and gradually, it amassed inside them, weighing down on their spirits. Lately, nobody had been struggling more than Rick. He felt as if he were obligated, as their leader, to be strong and collected. But he was crumbling, and it was excruciatingly obvious to everyone.

"Sorry, man."

Rick shook his head and sighed, the spell of grief ebbing. They came and went, moments like those, normally during nightly vigils when he was on watch duty, but it wasn't unusual for him to find himself choking up in the middle of the day during casual tasks, like eating breakfast or cleaning his gun.

"There's nothing I can do about Lori. She's gone. Maybe better off than all of us. But the thing is…when she died, I worry she didn't know just how much I loved her—how much I still love her. We had a lot of disagreements towards the end. I was stressed, she was pregnant…we just weren't gettin' along like we used to. I meant to fix it, I did, but I…I thought we had more time. Turns out we didn't. So when Carol gets back, you need to tell her how much she means to you. Otherwise you might never get another chance, and brother, take it from someone who knows: you do not want to live wondering if she ever knew somethin' like that."

.:|:.

"How far away is it?" Carl asked, trudging through a patch of vines, little thorns gripping at his pant legs and scratching the leather of his shoes. Just ahead, Carol was crouched down in the brush, using a hand to shield the sun from her eyes as she craned her neck, peering across the street. There were several walkers stumbling around aimlessly, drooling and growling as they wended their way in between cars. She could discern six of them, but knew full well there could be plenty more out of sight.

"Not far. But I don't want to risk runnin' across just yet. I can't see very far, an' the last thing we need is a herd on our trail."

"So we just do what? Sit here and wait? Find another way around?"

Carol unzipped her bag, cautiously and quiet, and pulled her water bottle out. She unscrewed the lid and took a swig before offering it to Carl.

"I'm workin' on it."