If Tomorrow Wasn't Such a Long Time
Thank you for all the support and positive feedback on this piece that I've started! Without you guys I don't think I would continue to write or bother continuing at all. Another flashback and another moment of analyzing on behalf of Daryl. Eventually I may transition into Carol, but for now I like being inside Daryl's head. It's far more complicated than I perceived it to be and I am thoroughly enjoying it. Again positive and constructive criticism is always welcome. Let me know if you guys hate or love the way I structure things, dislike how the characters are, etc. etc.
Also: I own nothing in regards to The Walking Dead. All rights belong to the copyright holder.
Chapter 2
Carol came in with a tray of food and inquired about how he felt. He was in pain from having pulled the bolt from his side and his body ached something awful, but he wouldn't let them know about that. It wasn't any of their concern. He pulled the sheet up realizing that half his torso was revealed for her to see in all his wounded glory. Daryl rolled over and saw the plate of delicious food and the cold drink. He was starved. That squirrel hadn't done much to ease the pang of hunger when he had been out earlier that day.
Carol had moved in close to him. Immediately he flinched away bringing his shoulder up to eliminate any contact, but withdrew shortly after. He hadn't realized she was inching closer to him till she'd moved. Carol placed a kiss upon his temple. He stared at her in confusion as to why she would do such a thing. No normal woman kissed him like that. Not even his own mother. Daryl watched her with curious and unknowing eyes as he scanned her reaction to his action. She was like a statue. Her features were set. He'd felt a small jolt of warmth by the touch. He quickly shrugged off the feeling and drawled in a hoarse voice, "Watch out, you'll pull my stitches."
This wasn't true in the least bit, Hershel had wound a bandage around his head, but he knew it would make her more hesitant to try it again. He didn't like being touched. Human contact always made him weary and brought up old memories. It was still new to him, being part of a group and being acknowledged as a cog to help run the machine. It made him feel... needed. He wasn't sure if this was a good thing or not. He'd never really been needed before and it was very weird.
"You're every bit as good as them. Every bit."
Daryl furrowed his eyebrows at the statement. He didn't quite understand why Carol would tell him something like that. He was only trying to find the girl so they could move on. Fueled his anger into something useful by tracking the girl and bringing the camp some prey while venturing. He already sensed the unwantedness projeccted by Hershel. It was only a matter of time before they wore out their welcome and he would send them all packing.
Carol didn't stare at the scars on Daryl's body that weren't covered by the thin sheet. Simply had ignored them. Her attention was on him. Her eyes meeting his as an equal. Daryl watched her. His eyes shifting back and forth like a hawk scanning her for some expression. He knew that she probably looked similar. He'd borne witness to some of Ed's beatings, but always from a distance. He never felt it was his place to step in to their trifles. It wasn't his marriage nor was she his wife.
He'd seen first hand too many times what it meant to be struck by someone who was supposed to care for you. He'd seen his own mother all too often beaten by his father as well as himself at his wrath. Daryl had never wanted to become what his father was. He'd strived so hard to not be that man.
And yet... He had gotten so close to it though.
Carol had gone to where he was camped. He had been leaving the woods from taking a piss when he noticed her walking about browsing his campsite. Observing the furs of the prey he'd killed and skinned. Then she came to the walker ears. A trophy if you could call them that from having one of the most hellish days of his life. Bucked from a horse, impaled with an arrow, tumbling down the ravine for a second time further inching the arrow deeper into his side, and then attacked by two walkers. It was reason enough to keep the damned things.
He didn't like her browsing through his stuff, judging him perhaps. She probably thought he was just some ill-tempered redneck. His cheeks flushed hot and he made his way over towards her. Daryl had caught her off guard by the crunch of the leaves beneath his boots. Carol spun with a gasp.
"What're you doin'?" he snapped. Eyes roving over her for her reason for being there. He didn't like it when the others riffled through his things or came near his campsite. He stayed away from them and figured they'd have enough decency to leave him be.
"Keepin' an eye on you." Said Carol with a cool collectedness.
Daryl's eyes never left Carol's. He studied her. Watched her. What did he need watching over? He was better on his own anyhow. He didn't need them.
"Go ahead." She said. This caught him off guard.
His eyes narrowed. "Go ahead and what?" He sneered.
What was Carol playing at? Why had she come? Was she daring him to hit her? Was that her ploy? To get him to hit her? So she could feel something? This pissed him off to no end that she would come there to use him like that. Daryl lashed out at her. He'd kept his anger at bay but her challenging him was the straw that broke the camel's back. He let it all out. He spat harsh words hoping she'd just leave him be. He didn't want her there to begin with. What did she care? She had no reason to bother with him. She'd only needed him to find her daughter and to be blunt, they had.
"I can't lose you too." Echoed in the back of his head.
It was like a fuse had been set off triggering something inside of him. Why did Carol come here? Why? Lose him too? What did she like own him now or something? Was he just some tool that she needed to cling to? She had nothing left and was he her only connection to what had remained of Sophia? Her last hope? He felt perturbed by this irrationality, what made this all the more frustrating was Carol never moved. She didn't say anything. She just watched him. Her expression never changed. Was she judging him? What was she thinking? She just took his verbal beating. Why?
Daryl became more angered by her lack of emotion. He couldn't read her and it bothered him to no end. What was she fucking thinking?
"You ain't my problem. Sophia wasn't mine... All you had to do was keep an eye on her!" He yelled.
Carol had spurned so much anger from him that he took a step forward towards her. His hand poised to strike her quickly dropped to his side. He realized what he had been in the process of doing. After all he had tried to do, Carol had just simply given up. Daryl's desire to want to find Sophia had been so strong in himself because he had seen the love that Carol projected to her daughter. It had been her conviction in finding Sophia. The fact that someone cared enough to want to find her.
It rang close to home with him. Daryl had been lost himself out in the woods, for nine whole days, but no one had cared to look for him. Merle was in juvie and his father out making callous attempts with some floozy woman. He had been alone in the woods and no one had even known or noticed he was gone.
His eyes flickered away from Carol. A woman-batterer. That wasn't part of who he was and he knew that. Daryl had never struck a woman and he wasn't about to start now.
"Every bit as good as them." Had echoed into his ears and he'd studied her for a reaction. Daryl clenched his jaw shut and watched as she blinked back tears and let out a small sob.
Before he could verbally abuse her anymore than he had already done, Daryl stormed off into the dark. It was that pathetic cry she let out after he'd finished yelling at her that told him she had had enough. He'd lashed out at Carol with a venomous bite. Part of the things he had said were not true. He just wanted to make her feel bad for not wanting to attend her own daughter's funeral. He had gone to pay his respects, hell he had tried to encourage her to go. He may not have cared much for Sophia herself, but he'd be damned if he didn't try and find her. A child alone in the woods? In this world? A world of disaster was waiting to happen and it had.
But for a mother to not attend her own child's burial? It had hurt him deeply. Daryl couldn't quite understand why it bothered him so much but it had and it was driving him almost crazy trying to figure out why.
Maybe it was the hope he had channeled through Carol. He'd given her something to hold on to. Her hope had been squandered upon the revelation that Sophia was no longer alive. Hope was something none of them really clung to but this time had been different. Daryl had tried so hard to keep that hope alive.
That was why he had given Carol the Cherokee Rose. He wanted to reinvigorate her hope and keep it burning so he could work off that. Give him something to do.
And yet despite all the squabbles he had had with Carol she still stayed by his side. Why? He wasn't particularly nice nor sociable. He was quiet and kept to himself, yet she always made sure he had something to eat. Whenever he trekked off in the dark or left somewhere to hunt, he always heard her say, "Be safe."
Daryl huffed in frustration and raked his hands through his hair pacing back and forth. Why did this bother him so much? What was the point of all these "feelings"? They screwed too much with his head. Too much clutter in a man's head could kill him.
"You're every bit as good as them."
He thrust a powerful kick into an old tree stump and watched as the thing rolled. "Son of a bitch." He growled between clenched teeth.
"Every bit."
Daryl stared at the head wrap in his hands, sounds of the old prison groaning bringing him from his thoughts back to the here and now. His jaw clenched, teeth grinding back and forth. His fingers rhythmically played with the cloth feeling for traces of her left. Not even a wispy strand of hair was caught in the cloth.
There had been blood everywhere. T-Dog's corpse lay mutilated a mere few feet away. His eyes slowly moved towards the remains and back to where the wrap had been. This was the only sign of Carol anywhere and not a good one either. Her pistol lay empty of rounds on the ground.
Daryl could feel himself tensing up. Anger beginning to seethe into his pores. He threw the head wrap to the ground in frustration and stormed off with Rick and Glenn as they continued their search through the prison for the rest of their group. He quickly pocketed her pistol before taking one last look at the room.
They turned corridors and checked every room they came across. No sign of Lori, Carl, Maggie or Carol. Each room they stumbled upon Daryl could feel himself becoming more and more twisted in his guts. He felt with each pound of his heart, it became harder to breathe. Daryl tried his best to ignore the anxiety this caused him. He wanted to kick in each door he came across to let loose the anger he felt, but that wouldn't make Carol come back.
They finally made it out of the prison. Nothing. Daryl lingered by the door hoping he might hear a faint call from within the catacomb-like halls. He could vaguely hear the conversation going on between Rick and Hershel. He didn't recall adding his two cents into their conversation but he did. He was thrust from his thoughts by the sound of a baby crying. He shut his eyes in exasperation, a shallow breath escaped his lips, head dropped and he kicked the ground.
One look. That's all it took. Lori and Carol weren't there with Maggie and Carl. He felt that thought wash through him like his blood had been drained and he felt cold. The wailing continued, but it was drowned out by Rick's mental collapse. Daryl glanced up and saw Rick rolling on the ground crying. He had hit his breaking point.
Rick suddenly got up and kneeled in a catatonic state. The change in behaviors had been so drastic Daryl wasn't really sure what to think of the situation. Rick was unblinking and unmoving. Daryl made his way over to him and waved a hand in front of his face to grab his attention. No response.
"Rick." Said Daryl as he observed Rick. His eyes had dilated and his breathing was in short fast breaths. A crease in Daryl's brow expressed his concern as he called one last time. "Rick." Suddenly, Rick jerked himself up and made his way to the cell block. He instinctively grabbed his axe from the floor as he walked on by without saying another word. Daryl had seen the look in his eye change that last brief moment and it was deadly.
Chewing his bottom lip, Daryl knew what had to be done and felt himself go into auto-pilot. Barking orders and hustling the group back into their cell block. His only thoughts were, "Not her." This baby was a concern and he couldn't stomach the thought of losing one so young.
Daryl swung the crossbow to his back and made his way to his motorcycle. He started the ignition and revved it to life. He felt Maggie against his back, her hands on his waist as she held him. The motorcycle growl sounded so soft compared to his rampant thoughts. He wasn't sure how he'd made it to wherever it was that Maggie had directed him, but they'd gotten there.
A daycare center. Daryl quickly removed his worries and set to work. Eyes darting over the landscape as he backed Maggie up from behind. They'd made their way through a window and into a room with cut-out hands with their respective child's name scrawled across it. Sophie caught his eye. Daryl took a long look at the hand. Seemed to be ghosts were always on his heels. Quickly, he followed after Maggie. He couldn't dwell on ghosts right now. Not when he was being counted on.
He set off in the opposite direction of Maggie and began rummaging through some cupboards after he had made a thorough sweep of the room. No walkers. Daryl would've heard them had they been there with their growling and hissing and their smell. Not much had been left. Broken toys that would have benefited an older child. His attention was drawn to a dirty yellow item left on a children's table.
A doll. Perfect.
A loud thumping and scraping noise drew his attention out of the room, crossbow raised to his shoulder. He quietly stalked down the hall, Maggie following in tow from the room she had just been searching. The possum would make do for dinner. Least that could be done for it raising alarms in their heads that they weren't the only things left in the building. Maggie scoffed at the possum and let Daryl grab the dead thing.
"Alright, dinner."
He tucked it under his belt and helped find the remaining items they needed.
Night had crept up on them by the time Daryl and Maggie got back. They rushed into the cell block, Maggie thrusting the duffle bag of supplies onto the table, speedily making formula. Daryl went to Carl and ushered the wailing baby into his arms, rocking back and forth cooing to soothe the crying.
The sobs softened and he snapped his fingers for the bottle that Beth had in her hands. Daryl adjusted the bottle and got the babe to suckle quieting the room. Only the noise of suckling and his shuffling feet could be heard. It felt natural the way he had rocked the baby back and forth whilst cradling the soft head. He had never held a baby before but had seen it done numerous times from the young mothers in the neighborhood he'd grown up in. Cradle the head and bounce the thing. Seemed simple enough and it had been. He had no idea why he always heard the mother's fussing when people misheld their infants. As if you could screw up holding a child. A thin crooked smile spread across his lips and he glanced at Carl.
"She got a name yet?"
Carl adjusted uncomfortably from where he stood and said, "Maybe Sophia."
Daryl stopped rocking back and forth, eyes flickered to Carl, his smile was less soft and tugged into a slight grimace. His gaze was hard and seemed to negate the gentleness he had just evoked.
"Carol."
Daryl's jaw set. He was biting his lip again. His tongue clicking against his teeth. He wanted to smack Carl for even being so foolish to name the baby after the dead. He understood why Carl was listing the women that had died over the course of their journey, but it still angered him nonetheless. There was no honor in naming something so innocent after people who had died gratuitously before their time. He quickly let go of the anger he held for the boy and returned his focus to the baby in his arms gently rocking back and forth again.
"Like that, huh? Lil' asskicker," he paused and looked at the remaining members of the group. He wasn't aiming to say this aloud but he had. They chuckled at his remark. The mood lightened and his tension eased. "Right that's a good name, eh? Like that, huh? Like that sweetheart?" he continued as he rocked again.
It was interesting. Daryl Dixon holding a baby and cooing at it. The thought made his cheeks flush. Had the world gone insane? He had never been one to enjoy the presence of children let alone infants, but somehow this felt different. And he wasn't sure if he was supposed to be OK with it. Daryl looked to one of the women and passed the baby off to one of them feeling slightly embarrassed. He'd had enough of playing the role of "leader".
He acknowledged the remaining group members and set out of the prison to stand watch. He needed time for himself. Tonight had been very trying and upsetting for all of them.